Archive of Our Own

Jensen's seven years old, over at the neighbor's house because Mama wants to watch her stories and Daddy won't have a TV in the house. It's been hours, though, and Jensen's so bored he's actually playing with the little neighbor kid, Jared, up in his room that's got all kinds of baby stuff in it. He wishes Mama would hurry up.

They're playing GI Joes because Jensen wanted to, but Jared had demanded that they play dress up with them. The kid had gotten a bunch of Barbie dresses from somewhere, Jensen doesn't know, and now he's explaining how to stuff a soldier into a pink dress.

"You're doing it wrong," Jared says.

"Well, you do it then." Jensen's fed up. GI Joes aren't made for Barbie clothes, everyone knows that.

"I can't," says Jared. "I'm too little."

"Well then, guess you're gonna have to let me do it my way." Jensen has been handing them over to Jared as each one gets dressed—pretty well, all things considered—and Jared's lining them up in a row. They're going to have a fashion show. "Here, this is the last one, kay? You have enough."

Jared takes it from him and starts posing the dolls. He's talking to himself and Jensen doesn't pay attention.

"Okay, now you be the audience," Jared says. Jensen stares at him, because he doesn't know how to play audience. Jared gets mad and says, "No, you have to clap!"

Grudgingly, Jensen claps, and then makes woo-hoo noises. That seems to please Jared, because he smiles and starts to make the dolls dance.

It's not that bad, actually. Jensen's kind of getting into it, hollering when Jared makes the dolls do dips or flips, or makes them fly.

The door opens and it's Jensen's dad. "Daddy!" Jensen says.

"Hey, kiddo, ready to go?" Dad says, and then his face gets red. "What have you got there?"

Jared shows him the soldiers. "We're playing fashion show."

Kneeling down, Dad takes one of them from Jared's hand. "These are both boy dolls, Jared."

"Uh huh."

"Why are they wearing dresses?"

Jared shrugs. "Iunno." He's twisting the other doll in his fingers. Jensen starts to feel bad, like maybe they're in trouble.

"You shouldn't dress boys in dresses. It goes against God. Do you know what that means?"

Jensen's got this one. He says, "Yes. God made the covenant."

When his dad smiles at him, Jensen knows that he got it right. "That's right. And God made man and woman. Only women wear dresses, okay, buddy?"

"Okay, Dad," says Jensen. He looks over at Jared when he doesn't agree, and the kid's starting to cry. "What's the matter, Jared?"

Jared just bawls, and then when he does start talking, it's hard to understand between the sobs. "I don't want to play with girl dolls," is what Jensen thinks he hears.

Jared's freaking out, and Dad stands up. He says, "Go get his mama."

*

When Jensen’s in third grade, Jared starts kindergarten and they walk home from school together. At recess everyone plays on the playground, and sometimes Jensen plays with Jared, just because.

But today he wants to play dodgeball and Jared's too little for that. He's running over to the grassy mound when he notices that a couple of first graders are pushing Jared around. He changes direction.

"Hey, Jared, what's up?"

Jared looks equal parts annoyed and scared. He says, "Ask them."

He turns to look at the first graders, who both take a step back. "He's playing house with the girls."

"So?" says Jensen, and he's feeling his hackles rise. One of the first graders runs away.

"So, that's gay."

"So?" Jensen doesn't know what 'gay' means, but if Jared wants to play house, let him. He's like, five.

"So, if you let him, that makes you gay, too."

"Why don't you pick on someone your own size," is Jensen's retort. It's pretty lame, but Jared's on the verge of tears and Jensen wants to get him inside where no one will see. The kid doesn't budge, and Jensen takes a step closer. "Like me, for instance," he adds. He's bigger, and the kid seems to get it, turning away.

"Whatever, you're just as gay as Jared is."

When Jensen gets home he asks his mama what 'gay' means. When she tells him, he vows to give that first grader a beatdown.

*

Jared skips first grade; he's in all of these accelerated classes and has to stay inside doing homework a lot.

Jensen gets it into his head that he wants to sign up for violin, but his daddy says he should play little league instead. When Jensen asks his mama if he can play violin, she says, “Oh, honey, I think it'll be too loud. Besides, a boy your age needs to be outside playing.”

That fall, his dad signs Jensen up for pee-wee football; he's a natural on defense.

Sometimes, when he's out in the backyard, he can see Jared working on his schoolwork at his kitchen table. Once in a while Jared will slip out and they'll play catch across the fence or just stand around talking. Jared shows him sketches that he's made of ideas for clothing and Jensen listens, even though he doesn't know anything about clothes. Jared's interesting, and he's got a crazy imagination, narrating the lives of the people he draws and explaining why they're wearing his outfits. He'll say stuff like, “See, this one's a lady and she's been left by her husband on the Cote d'Azur. He's taken off with all her worldly possessions. But it's okay because she just found a new husband. He's a banker in Switzerland.”

Sure, he's little, but he makes a nice change from Jensen's older friends, who only ever want to pretend to be in the World Wrestling Federation. Jensen likes that, too, but sometimes it's too much. He likes hanging out and just talking once in a while.

When Jensen goes to middle school they stop walking together, but Jared still comes to Jensen's games sometimes, and they see each other at church on Sundays.

They sit together most of the time, their families on either side in the pew. It helps make service less boring. As they get older they make up stories about the other parishioners. Jared usually starts, pointing to a lady with a bird on her hat and nudging Jensen in the ribs. “She steals apples out of her neighbor's yard,” he says.

“Huh?”

“Yeah. In the middle of the night, she'll get up and prop a ladder against the tree that divides their property line, and then she fills up her apron full of apples. The next day she makes pie and offers it to him. He always compliments her on how delicious it is.”

It makes Jensen laugh, and then he tries to top Jared's stories. “That guy in the pinstripe suit?” He points to a balding guy with like, ten kids. “On the weekends he gets in his boat and sails down to Mexico, where he has a secret treasure trove. He keeps it down there so no one will steal it. He only ever visits it, though, he never brings anything back with him. His wife noticed that he has a suntan in December, though, so I think the jig is up.”

“Jensen Ross Ackles, hush,” says Jensen's mama, and then they have to face front, pretending to listen to the preacher. Until Jared gets fidgety again and then they tear pieces out of the hymnal, rolling them up into balls and trying to furtively throw them at each other. Jared's the only reason Jensen can stand Sundays.

Then one day, Jared's family stops coming to service and Jensen's daddy tells him not to see the Padalecki boy anymore.

Jensen doesn't get it, but he's busy and he's got other friends, and anyway, Jared's a little kid; Jensen's sixteen. All the same, once in a while, if he's out mowing the lawn, he'll catch a glimpse of Jared at his kitchen table, doing homework. He's bummed that they can't hang out, but he knows better than to try and cross his daddy.

*

When he's a senior in high school Jared's a freshman and they're in the same school again. He wishes he could offer to drive Jared to school. He's never ended up asking his dad why they aren't friends with the Padaleckis anymore, but as the school year goes on, he thinks he might have an idea.

It's one of those things, like a growth spurt, that's hard to track as it happens, but it's been a while since they've really known each other. Somewhere along the line Jared's started to get a bad reputation.

"Jesus, what is with that guy," says Tom as they pass Jared in the hall. Jared had said hello and Jensen had waved.

"Huh?" Jensen's late for math.

Tom's a fullback and since Jensen had made the team, Tom had kind of adopted him, introduced him to the other guys, inviting him to parties. They hang out a lot. He's an okay guy.

"Jared. Is he some kind of fag or something?" Tom makes a motion like his wrist is limp, and Jensen turns around, watches Jared walk down the hall. He's got his hair in pigtails, laughing with some freshman girl, his shoulders are thrown back like he generally doesn't give a fuck as people turn to stare.

He does kind of swish, Jensen notices, and it reminds him of that time on the playground, other kids who'd said the same thing. Could it actually be true?

"I don't know," says Jensen. "Does it matter?"

"Oh, sorry, didn't mean to insult your boyfriend," Tom says, and nudges Jensen's shoulder.

Jensen doesn't bother rising to the bait, but he pays more attention after that, and he starts to notice things about Jared that he hadn't before.

He doesn't get it when Jared comes to school in a super-tight t-shirt and lip gloss. He doesn't understand why Jared has to act weird. In Jensen's opinion, Jared's life would be a hell of a lot easier if he just kept his head down. He knows better than anyone that high school reputations stick with you for all four years. Jensen's freshman year, he'd started to get a rep for being a nerd. After the first time his books had been thrown in the dumpster, he'd promptly put an end to it, beating up the resident bully.

He'd gotten suspended for half a day; his dad had patted him on the back, saying he was growing up and it's about time he stood up for himself. Then he'd handed him a steak for his black eye.

As far as Jensen can see, there's no reason to antagonize people into calling you names. Not if it's easy to prevent. Jared should know better.

It's not like they pretend not to know each other or anything, but they're in different crowds now, and Jensen doesn't go out of his way to be friendly.

Still, he thinks back to the scrawny little kid he used to defend on the playground and it makes him sad that they're not really friends anymore. If he feels a twinge of guilt about not defending Jared this time, well. It's Jared's choice to be conspicuous.

Besides, Jensen's a football player and on the lacrosse team. He goes to keggers and bonfires and makes out with cheerleaders; he blends in. It's not just his dad who'd get pissed if he started hanging out with Jared again. Everyone would laugh at him. They'd call him a fag and Jensen's not willing to take the risk for a neighbor kid who's a freshman and hell-bent on acting like a freak.

After school one Friday, Jensen's at his locker before practice, and Jared's at the other end of the hall, outside the door to the theater. He's doing the costumes for the school's production of Annie—Jensen doesn't know why he knows that—and a handful of football players are hassling him.

"Come on, Jared, you know you wanna blow me," says Brad, captain of the team.

"Sweetie," Jared says with a sarcastic edge. "I wouldn't touch you with his dick." He points at Tom with a bolt of cloth.

Jensen freezes mid-way into closing his locker door when Tom shoves Jared. His first impulse is to run over there and break it up, but then he remembers that in about five minutes he's gotta be out on the field with these guys.

Jared shoves back, and then there's a scuffle and Jensen—still conflicted—runs over to the fray. "Hey, guys, come on, we're gonna be late," he says.

"Just a minute, Ackles, we gotta straighten out the fag first," says Tom, and Jensen's on the point of physically getting between them when Jared punches Tom in the face.

Tom goes down like a sack of potatoes. Jared's skinny as a string bean, but apparently he's been working out. He shakes his hand and says, "Now I know your mama taught you better manners than that."

He calmly picks up the dropped roll of cloth and, as he turns to go, gives Jensen an indecipherable look. Jensen stares back, mouth agape.

So, Jensen guesses, Jared doesn't need protecting anymore.

*

College is confusing. Jensen is there on a scholarship for lacrosse, and the same scholarship got him into Kappa Delta Phi. It's not so bad; it's nice to be away from home, but along with keggers and hazing rituals, he's finding that frat life is stiflingly ritualistic. They're all in lock-step: any variance in opinion is promptly ridiculed, and brothers who don't take the same electives as everyone else are mocked. He learns immediately that he must be available on every Friday and Saturday night for parties, and if he wants to study instead, well he just needs to suck it up.

He makes a good wingman and designated driver, always willing to get a brother's back, but the parties aren't his scene. He finds himself disappointed, although he isn't sure why. Life in Kappa Delta is pretty much exactly how it had been advertised in every film and TV show he'd ever seen.

Jensen's majoring in economics, and so is his roommate at the frat, Chad. This apparently creates a bond between them that not even death will break. At least, according to Chad. One night after too many jello shots and not enough common sense, Chad sits on Jensen's bed and says, “Serious, bro. I fucking love you. You're like...” and he waves his hands around. “So fucking awesome. If you were a chick I'd totally bang you.”

Jensen, fastidiously, moves his valuables out of range of Chad's flailing limbs. “I appreciate the sentiment, Chad.”

Blinking at him, Chad continues earnestly, “No, man. Nothing faggy or anything, you know. You get what I'm saying, right? We're bros, right? I got your back, man.”

Dearly hoping that any communicable diseases won't penetrate his comforter, Jensen says, “Thanks,” again and cedes the territory to Chad, spending the rest of the night in the library. The next day he opens the door and Chad's doing a girl doggy-style on the floor.

By his second year he's figured out a way to spend most of his time elsewhere. Whatever, fraternity credentials will look good on his resume.

Chad might be useless, but it's through him that Jensen is introduced to Alona.

One day Jensen’s in the library, nose in a book, when Chad comes up to him, knocks him in the shoulder and says, "You need to get laid." Then he takes off.

A few minutes later, he comes back leading a blonde girl by the hand. He thumps Jensen on the shoulder again, smirking, and leaves them alone.

"Hi," she says, watching Chad walk away. "I'm Alona."

"Nice to meet you. Um..."

She laughs. "Chad's kind of weird, huh?"

"Yeah. How do you know each other?"

"He's in my psych class." She sits down, tucks her hair behind her ear. "You're an econ major, right?"

"Yeah," Jensen says.

"Do you think you might bE interested in tutoring me? I mean, if you're not busy. Chad said you might be interested. I could pay you..."

"Oh." Jensen sits back. He gets it; Chad's a sneaky fucker. "Um, sure. What class?"

Looking relieved, Alona smiles again. She's really pretty, Jensen thinks.

"Seriously? That'd be awesome. It's Calculus. I'm kind of totally lost."

They talk about math and Chad, then about other things. Alona is cool. It turns out that, aside from being friends with Chad, she's almost perfect.

She invites him out for coffee and afterward he walks her home. Alona tells him about her hometown. About her folks. She invites him in and Jensen thinks about it, standing under an oak tree, looking up at her building.

"Maybe next time," he says. "It's late."

"Sure. Next time." She tucks her hair behind her ear again and flashes him a smile.

Jensen watches her go inside. A third floor light turns on and he guesses it's hers.

He stands on the sidewalk and mulls the evening over. Alona's nice, and he wonders if he'd made the right decision in not going up. Maybe he's old-fashioned, but rushing into things isn't his style.

They meet up semi-regularly after that, usually in the library.

"Okay, show me what you're working on," Jensen says.

"Okay. It's differential calculus." She flips through her book and points. "But that's about all I can tell you," she huffs and throws her hands up.

Jensen snags the corner of the book, pulling it toward him. He flips back a couple of pages and skims. "Right. So, derivatives. Is that where you're stuck?"

Alona laughs, her hair sliding along the back of her jacket. "Maybe? I don't know what those are."

Her smile is...charming. Jensen's smiling back, lost in it for a moment. "Let's start there, then." He thumbs through his notebook to a clean page and starts sketching a graph. "It's just like in algebra, where you input something into a function, and you get a new thing at the end, only here, you're putting an entire function into a function."

He goes on, explaining limits and tangent lines, and as he watches Alona's eyes go from glazed panic to engaged understanding, he loosens up. He loves the pure clarity of math; it's an easy subject to talk about. Getting to share it with someone—watching them get it—it's a rush.

Calculus is the ice breaker, but it's not all math: they drink coffee, go see bands. It's nice to have someone around who's cool with just doing whatever. No pressure. Alona quickly becomes his closest friend at school.

In between Thanksgiving and Christmas break, they're sitting in her room and Alona's trying on outfits. Jensen's sitting in a beanbag chair. "Yeah, that's hot," he says. "I like the strappy thing."

Alona turns to him, smirking. "The strappy thing?"

"Yeah?" Jensen's playing with a little yellow stuffed teddy bear and puts it down. "What do you call it?"

"It's a halter top," she says, and plops down next to him. Jensen makes room for her under his arm and she gets closer, resting her head on his shoulder.

"Okay. I like the halter top."

"You're not very good at this," she says. Some of her hair gets in his mouth. It smells like strawberries.

He tries to remove it without her noticing. "Not good at what?"

She's so small and warm. He pulls her closer, thinking about how she'd feel underneath her clothes. Probably smooth, she uses a lot of lotion. She's close, filling his senses, her overwhelming girlness ignites something and he wonders if this is the moment he should--

"The girly stuff. I appreciate you trying, though."

Heart beating quick, Jensen leans in and kisses her. Alona's lips taste like strawberries, too.

She's still for a moment, and then draws back. "Um," she says.

Admittedly, he doesn't exactly have a plan here, but Alona's reaction isn't what he'd been hoping for.

She's holding fingers to her mouth and Jensen realizes a beat too late that he messed up. "I'm sorry," he says. He sits up, and she does too.

"No, I just." She smiles. "Jensen, I don't really think of you like that. We're such good friends, you know? "

She says it like a question, like she's not sure. Jensen's nodding, "Sure, no, it's cool. I don't know what--"

"Don't get me wrong." She's talking over him. "I mean, God, when we first met? I had such a crush on you."

She rakes her hand through her hair. Jensen picks up the teddy bear again.

"So, what you're saying is that once you got to know me, I wasn't cute anymore?"

Alona takes the teddy bear away from him and holds his hand in hers. "I'm saying that you're amazing, and one day you're going to make someone very happy. But..." She sighs, squeezes his hand. "That person isn't going to be me."

When Jensen leaves, he promises not to let things get weird between them, but they kind of do anyway. He intends to call, but he puts it off, then finals happen and he gets busy.

Once the semester's over, Jensen rationalizes, Alona won't need his help anymore because she'll be done with calculus.

*

When he goes home for Christmas break his parents want to know how he's doing. Jensen tells them, in vague terms, about research papers and the division championships. He keeps it vague, and when his mama asks him if he's seeing anyone, he implies that he's seeing Alona, even though they haven't spoken in weeks. When he thinks about her, he gets a squishy sick feeling, like he's done something wrong.

Jensen runs into Jared downtown on the eve of Christmas Eve. He's even taller than the last time Jensen saw him, and he's filled out. He definitely looks intimidating, and Jensen wonders if he's compensating.

They're at Starbucks, of all places; Jared's ahead of him in a line that almost goes out the door. "Hey, Jared," he says.

Jared turns away from the friend he's with, a cute little brunette, and says, "Oh my God! Jensen? What are you doing here?" And then they're hugging.

Slapping Jared's back, Jensen says, "Break. How's it going?"

Jared releases him, smiling. It's way too warm in here to be wearing a goose-down coat, and Jensen unzips. "Great! Really great. Oh, Jensen, this is my friend, Sandy. Sandy, my neighbor, Jensen. He's in college."

Sandy says, "Nice to meet you," inching up the line.

"Hey, what are you doing tonight?" Jared's wearing a rainbow scarf and his gestures are completely unmodulated. He's loud and bright, and all at once, Jensen's acutely aware of the spectacle they're making.

"Um," he says.

"We're doing this benefit thing tonight, for the Children's Hospital, you should come. Oh, order me a hot chocolate, kay?" The last part is addressed to Sandy, who's at the counter now. "And a sea salt caramel cookie. Those are my favorite," Jared says, turning back to Jensen with a smile that shows off his dimples. "If you're free."

Blinking, Jensen catches up. "Um," he says, and then he thinks about what he's got to look forward to at home: staring at his parents as they read; his dad quoting choice passages from the bible if he's lucky. "Sure. I'm free."

The benefit, it turns out, is being held in a gay bar. Worse, Jared's performing. In drag. By the time Jensen figures all of this out, it's too late, and he's sitting at a front-row table with Sandy, in sight of the wings behind the stage. He can't duck out without Jared noticing. Jensen is distinctly uncomfortable.

He looks around and wonders if this is what all gay bars look like. Aside from a rainbow flag over the bar and a poster telling him to 'wrap it up,' it looks like any other bar he's ever been to. He wonders how Jared managed to get in, seeing as he's still underage. Twisting in his seat, he catches sight of two men kissing. They're both tall, well-muscled. One's wearing cowboy boots and a pearl-snap button-down, the other's in gym clothes. Jensen realizes he's staring, not breathing, and he turns back to the stage.

"Don't worry, honey," Sandy says, laying a hand on his arm. "If any big scary queers try and talk to you, I'll pretend to be your date." Her eyes are laughing and it irritates him, if only because he actually feels relieved at the offer for a second.

"Thanks," he says, dry.

It's a series of performances, boys dressed like girls dressed like, so far as Jensen can tell, fruit salad. They all lip sync to songs he's never heard before and then Jared comes on stage. All along the crowd had been…highly engaged. There's a crush of people at the foot of the stage, hollering and singing along, waving dollar bills at the "girls." When it's Jared's turn, though, it's like the energy cranks up to eleven; everyone's on their feet and they're all singing along to whatever Jared's pretending to sing. It's apparently a classic.

Jared looks ridiculous: electric blue eyeshadow and hot pink lips, a glittery spandex suit and a crazy red wig. Jensen's never seen anything like it. It's clear that Jared's playing to the crowd, dancing suggestively and plucking the money out of their hands; by the end of the song it's equally clear that Jared loves performing. He's a natural, at ease in the spotlight in a way that baffles Jensen.

When his song is over he comes to sit at their table. He's sweating and flushed, grinning ear to ear. He's still in costume and people come by to pat him on the back. Sandy, who'd been going as apeshit as everyone else during the performance, gives him a giant hug and a kiss on the cheek. When Jared smiles, Jensen finds it hard to do anything but smile back. "Great job up there," he says.

"Thanks! Man, it's a great crowd. It's awesome that people are willing to come out so close to Christmas."

"Well, it's for a good cause," says Sandy. "Plus, there's you." She smiles and Jared's blushing. She nudges him in the shoulder and says to Jensen, "This is all Jared's idea." She waves at the stage.

"Oh yeah?" says Jensen, leaning back in his chair.

"Yeah," he says, drawing out the vowel like it's no big deal.

"Don't be so modest!" Sandy's ebullient, effervescent, other words that start with an 'e.' "Jared's an amazing performer."

"I noticed."

"All right," says Jared. "I'm going to go get cleaned up, and then you," he turns to Jensen, "are going to tell me everything you've been up to for the last, what? Two years?"

Jensen laughs. "Give or take."

When Jared comes back to their table he's wearing normal clothes. Well, normal for Jared, anyway. In this bar he doesn't stand out as much. They order soda pop and catch up. Later they do a round of 'remember the time' and Jared's got a better memory than Jensen, who doesn't remember half of what he mentions, mostly involving pranks on unsuspecting churchfolk. When Jensen brings up the incident on the playground in third grade though, Jared's riveted.

"Wait, seriously? I was playing house and first graders were going to beat me up?"

Jensen smiles, feeling loose, though totally sober. "You don't remember?"

"Nuh uh." He leans his elbows on the table. "But that explains why I used to feel safe when you were around."

It's Jensen's turn to blush. He coughs, and Sandy says, "awww."

"It was the first time I'd ever heard anyone use the word 'gay,'" Jensen says.

Jared makes a face, like he's considering the information. "But I bet it wasn't the last."

"No," Jensen says with a mirthless laugh. All night he's been trying to look at the other patrons without getting caught. Once in a while a guy will stare at him in blatant invitation. It makes Jensen anxious; he's still not over the shock of watching two guys kissing. "So, uh, I guess you always knew, huh?"

He says it to Jared, but it's Sandy who responds. "I'm pretty sure Jared knew on the day he was born."

They all laugh. Jared, though, he looks at Jensen, bottom lip between his teeth. Finally he says, "You know what? No, actually. Not always. There was a time, too, after I knew, where I refused to believe it."

Jensen doesn't know what to say to that. He guesses that he'd feel that way, too, if he'd been faced with that kind of bad news. He quirks his lips into a rueful grin and finishes off his soda.

"But then something awesome happened," Jared continues. "When I was twelve, I got caught kissing the pastor's son."

"Um, how was that awesome?"

Jared smiles again, and his hair drops into his eyes. He says, "Because it brought everything into the open. The pastor threw a fit, of course, but when he went to tell my folks about our iniquity, you know what they did?"

"Hm?"

"They told the pastor that he was a bigot. To his face," Jared laughs, eyes focused on the past. "And when he insisted they needed to punish me, they quit the church."

"Woah," says Jensen. "Is that what happened?"

Jared nods, chewing on his straw. "My mama sat me down and explained it all." He rolls his wrist like he's unwinding the story. "And she told me never to be ashamed of who I am; that some folks wouldn't understand, would even be cruel, but so long as I was true to myself, I was on the right path."

Everyone at the table is silent for a while after that. Jensen finds it hard not to envy Jared his parents. An unbidden memory bubbles up: he couldn't have been more than eight, and he'd been helping his mom make a cake—it was some kind of special occasion, Jensen doesn't remember what—when his dad had come home. Jensen had been so proud, he'd been working on the frosting and his dad had laughed at him. Had said that he looked like a girl, that if Jensen kept it up, they'd be calling him 'Jenny' soon.

His mama hadn't said anything, just let him go outside to play when Jensen said he didn't want to help anymore. His dad hadn't even looked at the cake.

It's funny, Jensen hasn't thought about that in years.

Finally Sandy yawns and says, "Boys, I'm sorry to break up the party, but I think I'm going to hit the sack."

Jared hugs her, saying, “Merry Christmas! Call me and tell me about everything you got.”

Jensen shakes her hand. "Nice to meet you."

"Yeah, you too." And she's smiling like she means it. "I'll see you around, kay?"

Jensen nods. When they're alone Jared says, "Um, she was my ride? Do you think it'd be okay if...?"

"Totally," Jensen says, without a second thought. "It's not like it's out of my way or anything, right?"

"Guess not." Jared says with a laugh.

The night goes on, and they talk and drink and laugh. Jensen finds himself talking about his life in an uncensored way, feeling liberated to say, for the first time in a long time, exactly what he thinks. For some reason he feels comfortable with Jared. It's nice.

He ends up telling a couple of stories about frat life. “…And then,” he explains over Jared's laughter, “They filled the living room with sand, right? Like, spilling into the hallway and it's getting everywhere, well, somebody upstairs sets off the fire alarm and all of a sudden the sprinklers go off.”

Jared throws his head back, laughing harder, and Jensen's laughing too as he struggles to finish the story. “But it gets worse, because they'd turned the stairs into a slip-n-slide and so there's this noise like thunder, and then half a dozen naked people end up in the middle of a mud pit in the living room. The fire department showed up and it was just chaos. I guess a couple of the brothers had girls visiting, and some of them were underage. Naked people running across the lawn, it looked like Burning Man.”

“Oh Jesus,” Jared says, gulping for air.

“Yeah.” Jensen leans back and slaps the table. “And that's why you should never pledge a frat.”

“I will heed your warning,” Jared says with a mock salute. “Although I doubt many of them would pick me, even if I did pledge.”

It reminds Jensen again of Jared's difference, something he'd forgotten for a moment, and Jensen thinks again about how weird Jared's life must be. People always reacting to this one fact about him, rejecting him out of hand before they even get to know how awesome he is. It sucks. In a lot of ways, Jensen thinks it's brave, the way Jared never compromises who he is to make other people happy.

And he's funny too, does pitch-perfect impressions of old high school teachers that have Jensen in stitches, tears in his eyes.

Jared talks about the charity he volunteers for, how they're looking for cures for childhood cancers. He talks about the awesome kids he's met, about resilience and optimism in the face of tragedy.

They discuss his plans for college, and Jared says, “Well, you know I've always been interested in fashion design, but I don't know. It feels kind of selfish when there's so much wrong with the world.”

“But is it what you wanna do?”

“I mean,” Jared grins at his hands. “Of course, my God, I'd love to be a designer one day, I just… It seems impractical.”

“You sound like my dad,” says Jensen. “He told me if he was going to be paying for my education then I'd damn well learn something useful.”

Jared looks up at him, tilts his head. “What did you really want to study?”

“I don't know,” he says, clinking the ice in his empty glass. “That's the thing; I never had any real direction, so I kind of didn't fight him. And then I got the scholarship, but by then everything was all laid out for me. Anyways, economics isn't bad. I like it.”

Smiling, Jared makes a flourishing motion with his hand. “Sweetie, nobody likes economics.” And Jensen laughs.

“But you should do what you have a passion for,” Jensen says. “You've always loved design, ever since you were little. Drive like that's a gift, Jay, don't waste it.”

They sit and talk so long that Jensen's surprised and a little disappointed when the lights go up and they do last call.

They're in the car in Jensen's parents' driveway when Jensen says, "I'm really glad I ran into you."

"Me too," Jared says.

"We should stay in touch."

"Definitely." Jared smiles; he's still got some glitter on his eyelashes. "Merry Christmas, Jensen."

*

And they do stay in touch, all the way through Jensen's senior year in college. They email each other every day and they hang out on Jensen's breaks. Once in a while Jared convinces him to go to the gay bar—usually for a performance—and eventually Jensen relaxes. He's no longer surprised by the sight of two guys kissing.

But that doesn't mean that he tells anyone else about his friendship with Jared. Practically the opposite. His parents definitely don't know, and as for anyone else in his life, well, they're all in a different city anyway, so it's not like they'd even know who Jared is.

Jared tells him about school and the charities he volunteers for, sends him sketches for clothing he plans to make. Jensen tells him only mildly embellished stories about life in college.

Jensen goes to Jared's graduation and he even stops by the party afterward, parking the next block over and cutting through Jared's backyard so he doesn't run into his folks. He hadn't told them he'd be in town and it would just get awkward if they found out he'd struck up his old friendship.

He remembers the last conversation he'd had with his dad about Jared. Well, conversation might be stretching it. Jensen doesn't know what had sparked it, but his dad had come in, ranting about the Padaleckis and the way they rubbed the neighborhood's nose in their son's lifestyle.

Jensen had been at the table, supper ready, and his dad had sat down, pointed a fork at him and said, "Don't let me ever catch you talking to that boy, you hear?"

When he makes his way inside the Padalecki house, Mrs. Padalecki gives him a hug, says she's missed him. He accepts the slice of cake she offers.

She doesn't look like a godless heathen, she looks like he remembers: sweet and kind. Jensen's irritated with himself for obeying his dad for so long. He could have been friends with Jared all along, he could have been enjoying Mrs. Padalecki's welcoming hospitality for years.

When Jensen finds Jared in the living room, Jared tells him about the design school he got into. He says, “I don't think I would have applied if you hadn't talked me into it.”

Jensen smiles. He says, “You watch, a couple of years and I'm gonna tell people 'I knew him when.'”

*

Jensen gets a job offer in New York at a brokerage firm and he falls out of contact with Jared for a while. What with the new job and long hours, Jared just beginning college, their emails drop from daily to weekly, weekly to monthly, and then sporadic to the point of silence. It's not intentional, it's just that life happens and they're both busy.

It's through a colleague at work that Jensen meets his first real girlfriend. Danni's gorgeous and funny, with crazy dimples that come out at the slightest provocation. She works at a rival firm and is almost scarily aggressive; Jensen's besotted. All his life he's been surrounded by alpha types, but Wall Street is some next level carnage. Jensen feels some days like he's barely keeping his head above water.

And that's what he loves about Danni: she makes it all look effortless. They'd been meeting up in a group for almost two months, always sitting together when everyone else would mingle, and Jensen had hemmed and hawed and scratched his neck until finally Danni said, “Jensen, I'd like to take you home and rip your clothes off. Are you amenable to that idea?”

Jensen had been, and so they'd left, to the snickering cheers of Jensen's coworkers, for Danni's place. Six months later they're making plans to move in together. Danni's hiring a professional decorator and Jensen's signing legal documents.

It's scary but awesome. Jensen feels like maybe he's finally on the right track. This, he thinks, is what life is supposed to be like.

In bed Danni isn't shy, and while it's not like Jensen doesn't have experience, she's got moves that porn stars would envy. Jensen goes to work every morning with a smile on his face.

He thinks he finally knows what it feels like to be in love, thinks about asking her to marry him. They're making all these plans: summer in the Hamptons, autumn in Italy. Danni takes the reins; Jensen's happy to be along for the ride.

And then she breaks his heart, coming home one day to tell him that she's met someone else.

She says, “I don't see this relationship going anywhere.” Jensen thinks about telling her that he'd been thinking about proposing, but he knows that's not what she means. “You're just floating, Jen, and I need someone who's willing to grab life by the balls.”

Jensen lies on the floor and drinks Jim Beam out of the bottle for a week and then decides to call Jared.

Wherever he is, it's loud. "Jensen? Hey! Good to hear from you. How you been?"

"Shitty," Jensen says.

"What?" There's a noise on Jared's end like a door closing and then it's quiet.

"Nothing. I'm good. How's school?"

"Good! Really good, actually. I have a boyfriend."

For no reason at all, Jensen starts to cry. "Congratulations," he says. Thankfully, Jared doesn't appear to notice the tremor in his voice.

Jared rambles on, telling Jensen all about his new boyfriend, Justin: how he's really involved in social justice and good causes and how he's seriously hot. He's a junior with his own place off campus. Jensen takes another swig of whiskey and considers the fact that this is the first time Jared's ever talked about a boy.

He knows in the abstract that Jared's gay, but this is the first time it's been underlined by the reality of what gay people actually do. They date people of the same sex. And, apparently, talk about what good kissers other boys can be. Jensen tries to imagine Jared kissing someone and he fails. All he can see in his mind's eye is Jared on stage, spotlit and wearing the glittery spandex outfit he'd had on the first time Jensen had watched him perform. He can't see anyone with him. It makes no sense. Jensen's drunk.

Which is probably why he misses what Jared says next. "...would that be okay?"

"Huh?"

Jared laughs and repeats himself. "For the summer. Can I crash with you while I do my internship?"

"You have an internship in New York?"

"Jensen, are you okay? You seem a little out of it."

"No, yeah, I'm good. Congratulations, man, that kicks ass." Jensen sits up and the floor tilts. "Of course you can stay. Stay as long as you want."

"Awesome! Thanks. It's like you read my mind when you called."

Jensen hangs up and resumes drinking.

*

Summer arrives and when he shows up, Jared looks like a slice of Jensen's past; it sets up an ache of nostalgia in Jensen's chest. He's also taller, which puts him up in giant freak territory. Jensen tells him so as he gets wrapped up in Jared's customary hug.

Laughing, Jared releases him. "Well, you always knew I was a freak, so."

"Yeah," Jensen says, smiling. In the cab on the way to the house Jared tells him all about the internship he has working with a costume designer on Broadway. He's really excited and he talks with his hands. Jensen grins, remembering a time when that used to embarrass him. He can't imagine Jared being any other way.

They do the tourist thing, wandering around the city on the weekends. Museums and, Jensen is proud of himself and his Google-fu, a handful of trendy gay bars.

They're in one whose theme is old show tunes, Jensen is reasonably sure, when a weird thing happens.

They're drinking and Jensen's listening. Jared says, “But so then, Amanda More slips on stage and lands on her ass and of course, Miss Thing is not having it, so she gets up and lunges for Anita and rips off her wig, and then it's a total free-for-all on stage, all the girls catfighting and somebody thinks it's a good idea to cut the power!”

Jensen's laughing, and then Jared leans in and kisses him. Jensen's shocked still for a minute, blinking, and before he can decide what to do about it, Jared releases him and makes a weird face over Jensen's shoulder.

Jensen turns around to look and Jared says, "Sorry, there was a guy, you see the one in the black muscle shirt? He's been cruising you all night like a shark circling chum and I just," he takes a sip of his drink. "Got tired of it. You don't mind, do you? Figured it was the simplest way to get rid of him."

"Um," says Jensen.

"I know, total faux pas, right? There's probably a rule: don't kiss your straight friends, even if they're in a gay bar and look so adorable they're fighting off guys with a stick."

"I look adorable?" It's not at all what he'd intended to say.

"Oh honey." Jared says, looking at him fondly. "Let me just say? You can have your pick. Boys, girls," he waves his hand. "Cocker spaniels."

They both laugh. Jensen feels like there's a spotlight on the two of them the rest of the night, and he fidgets under its glare.

Jared's almost never at the apartment, the internship is a big deal, from what Jensen can gather. But they spend a couple of nights in, eating takeout while Jared shows Jensen his sketches.

They sit tailor-style on the floor, eating chow mein from paper containers.

"Seriously," Jared says. He slurps noodles from his chopsticks. Jensen examines a sketch of a woman, all parallel lines and deep blue, with a feathered hat. Jared had called it a cloche. "My boss is kicking my ass, but it's good. I never thought I'd even get this far, and here I am, making a dozen costumes in three days."

"You seem happy," Jensen says.

Jared smiles. His lips are shiny with grease, it's kind of gross and kind of funny. Jensen tosses him a napkin. "I really am. I just wish I had more time to see the city."

"There'll be other times," Jensen says. "I'm not going anywhere."

"Yeah? You never think about moving back home?"

Jensen blinks. "No. Why?"

"I don't know, you always seemed to like it when we were growing up. You've got a lot of friends there."

"I guess so." Jensen shrugs. "I mean, I liked it enough, but. This is New York, you know?"

"Yeah," Jared says, and the sigh in his voice is exactly how Jensen feels about it too.

"How about you? You gonna stay there once you graduate?" Jensen snags the chow mein from Jared's hand and Jared pouts for a second, before picking up the Mongolian beef.

"Well, as fun as it's been, being the town's resident homo, I'm going to have to say no. Not if I can find a job somewhere else. Although I'll miss my folks."

Jensen looks up, noodles dangling precariously on his chopsticks. He manages to swallow them with at least a little grace. "Yeah, your folks are cool. I miss them."

Jared laughs. "They like you."

"So you gonna move to a big city, you figure?" Jensen guesses it's got to be hard, being visibly out in a small southern town. "Somewhere with more, you know...people like you?"

"Oh, yeah, I am definitely only moving to a city where the average height is above six foot one."

When Jensen coughs up noodles, Jared pats him on the back, and his grin is sharp.

"Sorry, that was lame," Jensen says.

"You're allowed to say the word, gay." Jared whispers it like it's dirty.

Blushing, Jensen takes a sip of water. "But I mean, I wouldn't blame you. You took a lot of shit in school."

"It wasn't all bad. Sure, there were a couple of douchebags—Tom, for instance—but honestly, most people were too focused on their stuff to mess with me, you know? And I gotta say, being out in high school definitely helps you know who your real friends are."

"Yeah?"

"Yeah." Jared's smiling. "And—" He shakes his head and takes another bite of noodles.

"And what?"

"Let me put it this way: not everyone on the football team was straight."

The noodles fall off of Jensen's chopsTicks. He's stunned. "Seriously? Who?"

Jared laughs, rocking back on his haunches. "A gentleman doesn't kiss and tell."

Stuffing napkins into the carton, Jensen sits back with a long belch. He's flipping through his mental roster of the football team; he knows he's forgotten at least half of the guys he used to play with and he wonders if he still has any yearbooks.

"Oh my God, dude, gross," Jared says, waving a hand in the air. It takes Jensen a second to switch gears, and when he does, he laughs, even as he can feel his face pink up for no reason.

"Better the second time around, right?"

"You are so foul. God, open a window." Jared gets up and pulls on the sash, but it won't give. Most of the windows had been painted shut years ago.

"Please, like you smell like roses all the time."

"You should see a doctor; I think you're rotting from the inside."

Jensen shrugs, playing it off like it's not horrendously embarrassing. "Hey, so."

Jared sits back down and cracks open a fortune cookie. He tosses the other one to Jensen, and Jensen catches it midair.

"Huh?"

"I mean. Uh." Jensen's stuck, unsure of how to phrase the question. "How did you—How come…"

"Spit it out, Jen."

"Well, I guess I'm wondering, like, one day you were just." He makes an encompassing motion from Jared's head to his feet. "You. How you are now, but you didn't always used to be?"

God, if Jared can make any sense out of that sentence, he deserves a prize. He's looking at Jensen, head cocked, like he's giving it the old college try.

"What?"

Taking a deep breath, Jensen starts, "I'm not trying to be offensive or whatever, but you didn't used to be so…effeminate."

His head is still tilted, and as comprehension dawns, he blinks, owlish. Then Jared laughs. "You mean, how come I'm so faggy?"

"No," Jensen says quickly. His shoulders are stiff with tension and he forces them down. "Forget it, I'm sorry."

"Does it seem like that? Like I changed?" Jared's quiet, holding himself still. Jensen recognizes the technique: it's the way Jared used to sometimes respond to teasing in school. He wants to reach out, reassure him that it's not like that, but Jensen's pretty sure Jared would hit him if he tried.

"I don't know," Jensen says, lifting a shoulder. "Kind of." Maybe it's just that Jensen can see it now. When they were kids, Jared had always just been Jared, with his stories and his fashion shows and his dolls. It didn't mean anything back then. And now it does. It means all kinds of things.

"Hm. Well, you know, nothing good comes from hiding your light under a bushel." He's leaning back, hands on his knees, and he slants a look at Jensen. Jensen fiddles with the wrapper on his fortune cookie. "Like you. You were always so good at sports, so that's what you did, but you also used to love music."

When he looks up, Jensen's caught in the look Jared's giving him, sort of fond, a little sad. He's surprised that Jared remembers. Jensen used to babble for hours, imagining what it'd be like to play the violin, touring the world and playing for huge audiences. He'd gotten hold of a Paganini cassette tape from somewhere, and he'd play it over and over, Jared listening along with him.

It had only lasted one summer, his imaginary career in music, and they were young. In the fall, Jensen had signed up for pee-wee football.

"When we hide who we are, don't you think we miss out on who we could be?" Jared says.

Jensen cracks open his fortune cookie. It says: Being happy is not always being perfect. He looks at Jared. "What's yours say?"

After a stubborn second where Jared's staring at him, he evidently relents. Uncrumpling the little slip of paper, he says, "You are thinking about doing something. Don't do it, it won't help anything."

Jensen laughs and eventually, Jared joins him.

The summer flies by, and then he's taking Jared to the airport. They hug and vow to stay in better touch; Jensen waves from the far side of security, watching Jared take off his shoes, belt. When he's out of sight, Jensen takes a deep breath.

All summer Jensen hadn't felt lonely once; turning toward the cab stand, he realizes that New York is going to feel empty without him.

*

It starts as almost an accident. It's after work on an early autumn evening and a couple of girls from work invite him along to a bar close to the office. Alex he works with every day, Sheryl's his boss' assistant. He'd run into them in the elevator and Alex had suggested a drink.

It's a gay bar, the first one he's ever been in without his own personal tour guide. Jensen tells stories of other bars he's been to, the performances he's watched, what Jared had said. He finds himself talking a lot about Jared and wishing that his work friends knew him, too.

After that, Jensen stops by the bar a couple of times a week on the way home, sometimes with the girls, sometimes alone. He likes how it feels more relaxed than other places. There's no pressure. He doesn't know what he means by that, exactly, but all he wants is a drink and some time to decompress before going home. Plus, the bartender's nice to him.

Like everyone else in New York's service industry, Misha's only doing it until he gets his big break. He's there most weekday nights and Jensen tends to sit at the bar, so they end up talking a lot. Misha kind of reminds him of Jared.

“Evening, Jensen,” he says as Jensen takes a seat. He's alone tonight. “Usual?”

“Thanks, yeah.” Jensen loosens his tie. It's been a bitch of a day. “How's it going?”

“Oh, you know,” says Misha. “I turned down another baron who wanted to whisk me away to his villa. Had the Jonas Brothers in earlier; the ushe.”

Jensen takes his shot of whiskey and his beer and grins. “Right on.”

“How 'bout you, sugar?”

Jensen takes the shot and wipes his mouth with the back of his hand. “Oh, you know, acquired another dozen companies, ruined a small country or two. The ushe.”

There's a professorial type sitting at the other end of the bar and when Jensen looks over, he tilts his glass in Jensen's direction. The attention he gets in here is kind of flattering, he's willing to admit. Once he'd had it pointed out to him, it's like he sees it everywhere. Male attention has a way of being direct, unmistakable in a way that the occasional glance from a woman never is.

He nods at the professor and turns back to Misha, who's smirking at him.

“What?”

“Jensen, you're the worst kind of tease. It's like leaving a steak on the ground and asking wolves not to eat it.”

Jensen shifts, uncomfortable. “I don't know which is worse, comparing me to raw meat or comparing gay men to wolves.”

“Hey,” Misha flings a rag over his shoulder. “If the shoe fits, Mary.”

“Jared says that. Or, I think he did once. What's with the 'Mary' thing, anyway?”

“Oh, Jared said it, huh? You know, you keep talking about this mysterious guy, but I never see him at any of the meetings.”

Jensen drinks half his beer while Misha goes over to tend to the professor. When he comes back, he's pouring another round for Jensen. “Compliments of Jeff,” he says, setting the whiskey and the beer in front of him.

Jensen looks over at the guy he now knows is Jeff. He tilts the whiskey toward Jeff and then downs the shot.

He says to Misha, “He lives in a different state. They probably have their own chapter.”

At work he keeps his IM open and Jared chatters at him throughout the day. He upgrades his phone when his plan is up for renewal, and then they text each other constantly, Jared narrating a particularly boring lecture; Jensen giving lurid details of Powerpoint presentations. It's all mundane, routine, nothing important.

Over the following weeks Jeff inches closer to Jensen's seat at the bar. Within a month, he's bought, by Jensen's estimation, twenty-four rounds without ever talking to him. Jensen accepts the drinks; he's not in charge of the guy's finances.

Finally Jeff talks to him. He says, “You're Jensen, right?” Like he hasn't known it for months.

“Yeah,” Jensen says.

“I'm Jeff.”

“Pleasure to meet you, Jeff. Can I buy you a drink?”

Jeff laughs. “I guess it's your turn.”

Misha brings them their round with eyebrows climbing toward his hairline. “So glad you two crazy kids decided to talk to each other. I was getting tired of playing emissary.”

He stares at them for a second until Jeff clears his throat, and then Misha notices a customer who needs his attention on the other side of the bar.

“So what do you do, Jensen?”

“I'm a stockbroker,” he says, taking a sip of beer.

“Oh, so this is your fault.” Jeff waves a hand at the door.

“Um,” Jensen says.

“Sorry, bad joke.”

Jensen's uncomfortable, but he doesn't think it has anything to do with stock market jokes; he's heard enough of those over the last year that they've lost their sting.

“No, it's okay. I'm not exactly a high roller. Mostly I just push papers around. What do you do?”

Jeff chuckles into his drink and says, “If you can believe it, I'm a psychologist.”

“Why wouldn't I believe it?”

“Well, just with the whole lame pickup act. But to be fair, Misha might have tipped me off that you're a little skittish.”

“Hm,” Jensen says. He takes a sip of his beer. “Not so much skittish as straight, actually.” He gives Misha the evil eye, but it's a wasted effort because Misha's back is turned.

“Really?” Jeff rakes his fingers through his beard. "Straight-acting and actually straight."

Jensen can feel himself blush. "What's that supposed to mean?"

"It's a compliment." Jeff's laugh is rumbly. Inviting. Jensen finds himself smiling despite himself. "You've got the whole rugged individualist thing going for you."

Jensen shrugs. He has no idea what that's supposed to mean. "Psychologist, huh? I was guessing professor."

"It's the elbow patches, isn't it?" Jeff grins ruefully. "I knew they were one step too far."

"No, they look good on you. Distinguished."

Jeff props his chin up on the palm of his hand. "So tell me, what do straight stockbrokers who hang out in gay bars do for fun?"

Jensen laughs. "Uh," he says.

"I mean, besides tease the bears."

"Yeah, sorry about that."

"It'll be interesting." Jeff shrugs. "You can be my token stockbroker friend."

Jensen grins and Jeff grins back, and then it's no longer awkward. They end up talking about politics and currents events; they discover that they both live on the Upper West Side and go to the same gym. Jensen finds himself agreeing readily to a squash date.

"Gotta warn you," he says, maybe a little inebriated. "I take no prisoners."

"I'd expect nothing less from a man who manages money all day. But don't let the grey hair fool you, kid, I'm going to mop the floor with you."

And then it's a regular thing. They meet on Saturdays, early, and pound the crap out of a little rubber ball. They're pretty evenly matched, and it feels good to push himself. Loser buys breakfast, and a little more than half the time, Jensen's buying.

They sit on benches and eat croissants or sometimes in diners and eat pancakes, but Jeff's watching his carbs, so Jensen's the one who orders and then Jeff sneaks bites off his plate.

Jensen finds it easy to talk to Jeff. Surprisingly so, actually, and he worries that he's taking advantage of Jeff's professional skills for free.

"I'll tell you when your time is up," Jeff says. "Don't worry about it."

"Still," says Jensen.

They're on a bench in the park, watching old ladies feed ducks. Jensen takes a bite of his croissant.

"Why do you think it didn't work out between you and Danni?" Jeff asks. It's not a total non sequitur; Jeff'd chosen this morning to interrogate Jensen about his past relationships. Being that he's only had one, it had been a short conversation.

"What?"

"She left you, right?"

"Yeah." Jensen keeps his eyes on the pushy mallard who's knocking all the pigeons out of the way.

"Why?"

"Jeff, are you shrinking me right now?"

"Just interested. Bad habit. Sometimes I think I went into psychology so that people would pay me to do what I do anyway."

"She said she was looking for a ball grabber." He shreds up the rest of his croissant and flings it out; birds come flocking.

"Huh?" Jeff's laughing.

"Uh, she said that I wasn't aggressive enough, I guess."

"Hm," Jeff says.

*

In between his sophomore and junior years in college, Jared goes to Paris. Jensen's disappointed that they won't see each other, but he laughs when he opens an email with a picture of Jared standing in front of the Eiffel Tower, holding up a baguette suggestively. Jared sends him postcards and goofy trinkets. Once, Jensen gets a lumpy package via airmail. He opens it and finds a shirt, pale lavender and intricately tailored. There's a note from Jared inside. It says, "Saw this in a little shop near the Seine. I know it's like pearls before swine, but give it a chance, I think you'd look good in it."

Jensen tries it on; it fits like it's made for him.

The last summer before Jared graduates, they make a plan to meet up in their hometown and spend a couple of days camping at the lake. There's a considerable amount of stress when Jensen tells his folks that he's only staying one night. He hasn't seen them in a number of years, but nothing's changed: his dad, gruff and taciturn, reads a newspaper while his mama makes supper. They eat together and take turns answering questions in monosyllables.

At one point, Jensen's mama looks like she'd like him to stay, but she doesn't speak up. Jensen kisses her on the cheek as he packs the next morning, saddened as usual by the strained relationship he has with them. The fog of generalized disapproval that always hangs over their house is hard to shake, and when he meets up with Jared at the end of the block, he has to fight it off with an act of will. Jared's smile, when he slides into the passenger seat, helps, too. It's a ray of sunshine cutting through the clouds.

Jensen used to camp a lot as a kid but Jared has never been. He'd sounded enthusiastic about it right up until it’s time to set up a tent.

"Seriously?"

"What?" Jensen says, driving a stake into the ground.

"I just. We're sleeping outside?"

Grinning, Jensen takes the length of rope Jared hands him. "You expected the Ritz?"

"I don't know. The Eddie Bauer website made it all look so glamorous. But." He slaps at a mosquito. "We're actually outside."

Jensen laughs. "Yeah. Come on, princess, I know you can rough it if you try."

Jared's glare is pretty spectacular. "Damn right I'm a princess," he says. "And I expect to be pampered. Where am I going to plug in my hot rollers?"

"Very funny. Come on, help me finish this and then we can go swim."

When he's done rolling his eyes, Jared pitches in and they're done lickety-split. The water's ice cold when Jensen dives in, but he gets used to it. They mess around and splash each other for a while, then climb up on a platform and lay in the sun.

Jared turns over and rests his head on his arms, saying, "This is nice. It's good to just be doing nothing."

"Yeah," says Jensen.

"I get so caught up, you know, in the daily bullshit and I forget how to relax."

"Mm." Jensen's going to fall asleep.

"I think I'm going to break up with Justin."

Jensen opens his eyes, shading them with his hand. "Oh yeah? Why?"

Shrugging, Jared says, "He's great and all, but we're going in different directions. Don't get me wrong, I'm still totally dedicated to social justice, it's just." He looks across the water. "It's not all I want to do with my life, you know? Plus, I think I might have a job lined up for after graduation."

"Serious? That's cool."

"Yeah." Jared scoots into a patch of shade and sits up. "You know that internship I did? Well, I submitted the drawings as part of my portfolio to a designer in New York, and he said he really liked them. Said to call him next spring."

"New York, huh?"

"Yeah." Jared shrugs. "That's where it's all happening. Do you mind if I share your city?"

"Copy cat," says Jensen, smiling. He gets a pleasant buzz of anticipation at the thought of living near Jared again.

"Whatever, just because you're an old man and got there first." Jared throws a twig at Jensen's head. It misses.

"Dude, it'd be really cool if you came out East." And Jensen means it. "And you always have a place to stay. You know, until you get on your feet."

"Really?" Jared turns and sits cross-legged. He swats Jensen's thigh with the back of his hand. "You'd let me stay with you?"

"Totally. It's hard to get your footing there. And real estate's a bitch."

"I know," Jared says. "I've been looking online. How'd you score such a swank place?"

Jensen had bought the place because he'd thought he'd be moving in with Danni, and then he never got around to downsizing. He makes enough to keep it and he likes the neighborhood. After a while, he just got used to it, and ended up staying. "Dunno," he says and they're quiet for so long that Jensen falls into a light doze.

When they climb into the tent, long past midnight and Jensen's head buzzing from too many beers in the sun, Jared quirks him a grin. "Why are you so awesome?"

"Huh?" Jensen's getting into his sleeping bag.

"I don't know, it's just, you're the only straight boy I've ever met who doesn't get freaked out around me."

"What should I be freaking out about?"

Jared laughs. "I have no idea. Maybe that I'll molest you in your sleep?"

"Did you have plans to do that?"

%D

Jared eyes him, assessing. "I haven't decided."

Jensen tucks his hands behind his head. "Well, if you do decide, let me know. I'll have to at least make a token protest."

He doesn't know why he says it like that, maybe it's all the flirting he'd done back home, but it just doesn't bother him. Jared's eyes get big and he laughs. "I promise to wake you up before the main event," he says.

"Deal."

When he goes to sleep it's to the sound of Jared's breathing.

*

Jensen finds himself doing things without knowing why. For instance, letting guys buy him drinks when he's out at bars. For that matter, going to bars with a very low ratio of ladies to men.

Also, there's the lost weekend (that includes a Friday because he has a raging head cold) that he spends curled up in bed, Gatorade and Kleenex tucked under the covers and a Netflix queue full of classic musicals that Jared had recommended to him years ago but he'd never watched. He lays around and lets them play, one after another, the plot of Carousel blending into My Fair Lady. He doesn't see the appeal, but the films make him think of Jared. And maybe it's just the head cold, but he suddenly misses Jared fiercely. He hopes that school is going well for him, that he's following his passion.

There's something lurking in the corner wherever he goes, just out of sight, a nagging sense of something he's forgetting to do. When he can't put his finger on it, Jensen ignores it. He plays racquetball with his boss and takes clients out to dinner and goes home alone every night.

At the office he's like a man possessed. He works sixteen-hour days and while he's still not the highest earner in the firm, his work starts to get recognized. His reward for all of this is more work, but Jensen doesn't mind. He likes going home exhausted at the end of the day, and when Jeff can't make their squash appointment, he'll spend hours on the free weights in the gym. When Alex invites him out, he declines, saying he's tired. It's mostly true, but it feels like lying.

Jared's in his final year at school and talks non-stop about his projects, the challenges of putting together shows, how tough the competition is. He sounds like he loves it on the rare occasions Jensen catches him on the phone.

"Hey," Jensen says, flipping over the steak frying in his skillet.

"Jensen! How's it going?" Jared's laughing at something and then it sounds like he's covering the earpiece, talking to someone else.

"Catch you at a bad time?" He's balancing his phone between his shoulder and his ear, pulling lettuce out of the fridge.

"No, sorry, that was a friend." The way he says 'friend' pings an alert and Jensen straightens up, grabs the phone in one hand while he searches through his cupboards for the salad spinner.

"Oh yeah?" he says, and lets his interest bleed through. "I can let you go."

He can practically hear Jared's eyeroll. “Oh please, as if I wouldn't tell you if I was dating someone. You're the first person I'd call.”

“Yeah? I thought you were supposed to have, like, a dozen hags who hang on your every word.”

Jared's laugh is clear as a bell. “I do, sugar, but you're still my number one.”

Jensen smirks at the steak sauce as he sets it on the table. “And don't you forget it.”

“Speaking of dating, haven't heard you mention anyone lately. No lady friends to escort about town?”

He pops a potato in the microwave and sets the timer. “Huh? Ah, not really. Too busy with work.”

“And squash with Jeff.”

“And squash with Jeff, I guess. You'll have to meet him one of these days. He's a cool guy.”

“He sounds dreamy. Don't let anyone steal him before I get there," Jared says.

“I'll do my best. But you know, I hear all the best ones are either taken or gay, so.”

“So I can have my pick?”

“Zactly.”

*

On an overcast Saturday morning, Jensen's returning from a jog through Central Park and there's a kid playing in the lobby. He looks up when Jensen comes in.

"Hi," Jensen says.

"Hi." He's got a whole army of plastic dinosaurs. It looks like they're ready to go to battle on the marble checkerboard tiles.

Jensen looks back at the door, where Herman, the doorman, is standing under the awning outside. He turns back to the kid. "Are you with Herman?"

"No, I'm playing dinosaurs."

Squatting down, Jensen looks him in the eye. "Where are your parents?"

The kid stops ploughing a t-rex into a herd of apatosauruses. "Upstairs. You want to play?"

"Uh, sure. My name's Jensen."

"I'm Zach."

Jensen picks up an apatosaurus and makes it trot. "Do your folks know you're down here?"

Zach shrugs, his t-rex mauling Jensen's dinosaur. "We're going to the park. My mom's taking a long time."

"Yeah, parents can lag sometimes, huh?"

"Yeah." Zach picks up two new dinosaurs; apparently Jensen's is dead now. He drops it.

Zach looks about five. It can't be a good idea for him to be alone. Jensen's sweaty and looking forward to a shower, but he doesn't want to leave the kid by himself, so he sits down and watches him play. "How old are you, Zach?"

"I'm six and a half. How old are you?"

Jensen laughs. "Um, I'm a little older than that. So tell me what's going on here."

Zach instructs him the art of dinosaur wars and Jensen is amused. The kid's got an imagination, and Jensen listens to the complete history of the disputed lands of the marble kingdom as Zach rambles on.

It might be nice to have a kid one day, he thinks. It'd be cool to have a tiny little intelligent being around, someone to explain stuff to when they ask 'why.'

Jensen's never given it a lot of thought, just assumed that one day he would have kids. But having kids means finding a wife, and he's been kind of a shut-in lately. He's lost in thought, sitting with his back against the wall as Zach enacts an epic battle, when the elevator dings and a harried-looking blonde woman rushes out.

"There you are! I was so worried about you!"

"Hey Mom," says Zach. Jensen stands up and waves.

"Hi, uh. Zach was just showing me his dinosaurs. I'm Jensen, in 324?" He tacks on the last part so she won't think he's a creep, although he's finding it hard to reserve his own judgment. She looks frazzled, but still. How do you lose track of your kid?

"Oh my gosh, thank you for sitting with him, I can't believe he left without me. I'm Megan. Zach's mom." She points at herself with an expression like she's stating the obvious. "We're in 527."

"It's nice to meet you. Zach's a great kid."

She tousles his hair. "Yeah," she says with a smile. "He is. It's hard, you know? Being a single mom and trying to juggle everything."

Jensen smiles at her, having no idea. She holds his glance for a second. "Well. Thank you, again, I'm sorry about that."

She turns her smile on Jensen and Jensen finds himself smiling back. "No trouble. I'll see you around, Zach," he says, and waves them off as they head out.

He watches them go with a surprising amount of fondness. Hopes he'll see them around again.

*

Jensen's social life has pretty much ground to a halt in the three years since Danni left. The tentative friendships he'd formed at the office have died off like plants he'd never watered, and he knows it's his fault for not following up. Most of his friends were Danni's first, and left when she did.

He doesn't intentionally isolate himself, but one day, he looks up and realizes that he hasn't been on a date in years, that he's got no idea what anyone from high school is up to—whether they have kids now, if they all still live in his hometown. Outside of Jared, he hasn't kept in contact with anyone.

He tells himself he's still adjusting to life in New York, that he's getting over a really bad breakup, but none of that explains why, aside from Jeff and maybe Misha, he's basically a stranger in his adopted city.

Deciding that he's ready for a change, Jensen buys a new couch and throws out all of his old, baggy jeans in favor of expensive, tight ones that the sales clerk says 'really show off his assets.' He runs into Zach and Megan in the elevator once in a while and always thinks about asking Megan out on a date. Zach keeps him up to date on the latest developments in dinosaur land, and Jensen always smiles nervously as Megan flips her hair off her shoulder, bends to straighten Zach's shirt collar.

He thinks about asking her out, but he never does.

His parents visit him for his twenty-sixth birthday. They sleep in a hotel and he meets them for brunch. Afterward they ask him where he worships and Jensen, usually so good at deflecting his dad's crazy, doesn't have a prepared answer.

"Oh, Jensen, don't let this place turn you into a heathen," says his mom.

They look up places nearby—he has no idea if there even are churches in his neighborhood—and end up going to First Baptist, and Jensen, for the first time in almost a decade, sits through a service.

Jensen's reminded of when he was a kid and he and Jared would tear corners off the hymnal and throw them at each other, aiming occasionally for the fancy hats old ladies wore. Thinking of Jared makes him smile until his mama catches his eye and smiles back at him.

He knows that his parents raised him weird. They're devout and evangelical and, while probably misguided, they'd meant well. They'd wanted the best for Jensen, even if they couldn't always provide it for him.

And he loves his parents, always has, but since he'd moved away it's been easier. The occasional phone call is manageable and he finds that the less he tells them, the better their relationship is. He should probably question this, but he doesn't. The world is a bigger place than they can conceive of, or maybe they're just scared of it, he doesn't know, but what he's coming to understand is that they'll never fully understand him, and he's okay with it, he decides. He determines to love them despite their limitations, and for most of the visit, he succeeds.

His dad's baggage isn't his, Jeff had said once. Jensen's starting to get that. But he's still stiffly formal for the duration of their visit and can only truly relax once they're gone.

*

When Jensen asks him when his graduation ceremony is, Jared tells him not to bother with a flight, that Jared's getting on a bus an hour afterward, headed straight for New York. Jensen laughs and asks him if that means he got the job or if it just means he's going to be a mooch. Jared says, "Duh," and hangs up on him.

In preparation for Jared's arrival, Jensen cleans up the place. He goes through drawers and gets rid of stuff he hasn't looked at in years. In the drawer of the coffee table there's a picture, stuck way in the back, of him and Danni at Coney Island. He doesn't throw it away, but it migrates to a box full of a hundred other photos Jensen's never had time to deal with.

He tries mopping the floor himself, but gives up and calls a service. After that, the house is spotless. Going through his closet and chucking stuff, he finds that well over half the stuff he owns he never wears anymore. He boxes it all up and in the morning he calls Goodwill.

It's weird; he doesn't know why he's so excited. Jared, if anything, will take up too much room and play disco music until late in the night. But even with the prospect of pantyhose hanging over his shower curtain, Jensen can't quite clamp down on his anticipation.

Jeff gives him shit for it. “Oh my God, it's my BFF Jared,” he says. It cracks Jensen up, because he cups his face in his hands and bats his eyelashes while he says it. It's seriously creepy. “Ah, kid, you know I'm just jealous. He's gonna take all your free time.”

“You'll have to meet him. I've told him a lot about you,” Jensen says.

Jeff grunts in that way he does when he doesn't want to say what's on his mind.

Jensen pushes. "What? You only make that noise when you're thinking something."

"I'm always thinking," Jeff says.

"You know what I mean."

"Does being a stockbroker make you happy?"

"What?" Jensen says, wiping his mouth with his thumb.

"Is trading futures your passion in life?"

Leaving aside the fact that he doesn't actually trade futures, Jensen hasno idea where the conversation is going. "No."

"I didn't think so."

"And?"

"And... Look, all I'm saying is that I haven't seen you this happy in a long time. I'm glad for you."

Nonplussed, Jensen lets the subject drop.

Jared arrives at Jensen's front door in a sparkly rainbow, lugging a thousand suitcases. As is long custom, he takes up at least twice as much space as he needs and he swoops Jensen into a hug. "Oh my God, you look fabulous!" he says.

Jared is walking chaos; Jensen's missed him fiercely.

"Turn around, show me the goods," Jared says, spinning Jensen in place. Jensen shrugs him off, but turns, shaking his booty like a dork. "Lord in heaven, somebody finally taught you how to wear clothes."

"Yeah, well, once in a while I can make an effort. You know, you make a really bad queer eye, man. You let me walk around like that for years."

Laughing, Jared flops on the couch. "All that stuff I said about not hiding your light under a bushel? It doesn't apply to you. You start flaunting it and there won't be anyone left for the rest of us."

"Please," says Jensen, sitting down next to him. "You could have your pick. Boys, girls, cocker spaniels."

"Oh speaking of, there was a majorly cute one walking by as I came up, I think he lives nearby."

"Please tell me you're not talking about a cocker spaniel."

Jared's smirk is devilish. He runs his hand along the back of the couch. "Is this new, too? Jensen, seriously, did you go on Queer Eye?"

"Is that show even on anymore?"

"I have no idea. Aren't you going to be a gracious host and offer me some lemonade?"

"Bitch, you live here now, get your own lemonade. And while you're up, get me some."

Jared shoves at his shoulder, but he gets up. From the kitchen he calls, "Are these sea salt caramel cookies? Jensen, you missed me!”

“They sell 'em on the corner,” Jensen says, grinning. Every time he stops in for coffee, he sees them and thinks of Jared.

“Please tell me that couch is a pull-out,” Jared says, coming back into the living room. “I have such fond memories of your old pokey tweed one, but it definitely wasn't made for sleeping on."

The couch does pull out; Jensen had measured it in the store and the reason it's here now is that it'll sleep someone nearly seven feet tall with ample room to spare.

"The real question is," Jensen says, eying the mountain of luggage. "Did you leave anything behind, or did you bring every worldly possession with you?"

Jared hands him a glass and sits back down. "Sweetie, you know I don't go anywhere without my Strawberry Shortcake doll collection."

Jensen gets lemonade up his nose when he laughs.

Later they go out: dinner, cocktails, walking. The city's alive in springtime, life pouring onto the streets from every doorway.

*

"Oh my God, that's the guy," Jared says. They're in the bar by Jensen's office. "The cocker spaniel."

"What?" Jensen whips his head around. "Who, Misha?"

"You know him?" Jared's wearing a feather boa and when he leans in, the feathers get in Jensen's mouth.

He knocks the boa out of the way and says, "Yeah. He's the bartender."

"You didn't tell me you were connected, baby." Jared's...kind of aflutter. It's something Jensen's never seen before.

Over time, Jensen's picked up a thing or two about gay culture, enough to know that he doesn't know much; aside from accepting the occasional beer on the occasional evening out, he's never witnessed a gay mating ritual up close before. It makes him squirm in awkwardness; he waves Misha over nonetheless.

He makes the introductions and Misha says, "Wait a second, you're Jared?" He turns to Jensen. "The Jared?"

Jensen scratches his temple. Jared goes from full-on flirtatious to Sherlock Holmes in two seconds flat. "I see my reputation precedes me," he says, and arches a perfectly sculpted eyebrow. "Does Jensen talk about me a lot?" He addresses the last part to Misha, who's wiping his hands on a bar towel.

"We started a pool; I lost. I bet that you weren't real. Others chose 'boyfriend in Canada' and 'alternate personality.'"

Jared's eyebrows, already extended, rise higher. Jensen clears his throat, says, "'Nother round?"

"Yes, please," Jared says.

Misha heads behind the bar and Jensen's in the hot seat.

"So you come here a lot," Jared says, resting his chin in his hand.

It occurs to him, belatedly, that although he'd mentioned the existence of Jeff, he hadn't told Jared about coming here. "I work up the street."

"Uh huh," says Jared, and, miraculously, leaves it at that.

By the time they leave, Jared's done a karaoke version of 'I Will Survive' and gotten at least half-a-dozen phone numbers, Jensen had lost track. He's also got a shot at a recurring gig on Saturday nights.

On the way home Jensen says, drunk, "Is that a gay thing?"

Jared's leaning against him; neither one of them could beat a breathalyzer. "Huh?"

"A gay thing, the whole...with the drag and the singing." It makes sense in Jensen's head. "Needing attention."

Pointing a finger as Jensen's chest, Jared says, "Is that a straight thing?"

"What?"

He waves his hand vaguely. "The whole...repressed, uptight thing."

"What?" says Jensen. "I'm not—"

"I know you're not, sweetie. Which is why I'm gonna let that slide. I had fun tonight. You have fun friends."

"I really do," says Jensen, because it's true, Jared's awesome.

There are things he doesn't understand about Jared, but that doesn't mean he doesn't appreciate him. Sometimes he thinks he even envies Jared's ability to instantly draw everyone's attention, like turning the light on in a dark room.

*

Jensen's original prediction about living with him comes true: Jared's messy. He leaves wet towels on the floor and skincare products all over the sink. The living room looks like a hurricane came through and decided to stay. He doesn't get why Jared thinks all of this stuff is necessary. Jensen's been on his own so long he's forgotten what it's like to share space and the first month or so, as he follows behind, picking up towels and straightening stacks of magazines, he wonders if it's going to work.

But then there are the dinners Jared makes, always amazing, never containing things Jensen hates to eat, and the way he sings along to whatever's on his iPod as he works on costumes. He kind of dances in his chair, humming sotto voce until the chorus and then he belts it out, sequins flying. It's cute.

Jared drags him to cultural events, things like a lecture on fashion in the Middle Ages or a fundraiser for a new pediatric wing at the hospital and Jensen has to wear a tuxedo and eat mini-quiches. Jared makes him go to the MOMA to look at art and then they have a picnic in the park with homemade fried chicken to make it up for it; it's always something new and Jensen finds himself looking forward to what Jared will think up next, even if—maybe especially if—it's stuff Jensen would never think to do by himself. The city is saturated in color, alive in a way it hadn't been before. Jensen tries to remember what he did with his free time before Jared's arrival and finds that he can't. Stuff just hadn't been nearly as interesting without him.

But the thing is, Jensen's apartment isn't really made for two people. At least, not for two roommates. When Jensen wants to watch TV, he has to sit on Jared's bed. And Jared's cool about it, he always watches along with him, but it's still awkward. Every time Jensen wants to go to the kitchen or even leave the house, he has to cut through Jared's room. There's no privacy and sometimes when he's getting ready for a show, Jared will be half naked, applying makeup, in the living room.

Now, Jensen isn't a prude, despite his upbringing, and Jared's got every right to do what he wants, but it's still kind of weird; Jensen keeps his eyes on the floor and mumbles a 'sorry' on his way through.

And then there are the nights when Jared brings somebody home with him.

It doesn't happen a lot, but once in a while Jensen gets woken up by a fumbling crash or stifled laughter. It takes him a long time to go back to sleep.

One Sunday morning Jensen comes out of his room to find Misha sitting at their kitchen table.

"Morning, sunshine," Misha says.

Jensen's still half asleep, and he stands, stock still, in his boxers and nothing else, and stares at Misha. For half a second he's confused, seeing Misha out of context, and then he catches on. "Morning," he says, and goes back into his room to put on some clothes.

"Pancakes, bacon, coffee, amen," says Misha when Jensen comes back out. Jared's at the table now too, and they're both digging in.

"Morning," Jared says. "I made enough for three if you're hungry." He's extra chipper and wearing a Wonder Woman t-shirt two sizes too small.

"Mm," says Jensen. He pours some coffee.

Misha laughs. "Why am I not surprised that you're grumpy in the mornings?"

"When is Jensen not grumpy?" Jared says. "When we were little we used to walk to school together, and I'd be chattering away about whatever was going to happen that day and Jensen was like a lump on a log." He laughs. "I remember I used to try and get a rise out of him, spinning yarns about, I don't know, how we were going to meet an astronaut that day, or how they invited me to be on Saved by the Bell, and Jensen would always just nod his head, totally not listening at all. Thank God he discovered coffee."

"What?" says Jensen. "You never did that."

Jared's laughing at him and it's seriously irritating. Misha says, "That's right, you guys grew up together, huh?"

Nodding, Jared steals a slice of Jensen's bacon. Jensen feints like he's going to stab Jared with his fork and that just makes him laugh harder. "Yep. I've put up with this one for years."

"You love me," Jensen says, and takes a sip of coffee.

"I do," Jared says, and plants a kiss on Jensen's cheek. "Warts and all."

Wiping the slobber off, Jensen says, "So...you two..."

Misha and Jared exchange a look and then there's more laughing. Jensen contemplates going back to bed. Misha clears his throat and says, "No. My roommate's girlfriend is in town, so Jared let me sleep over."

The coffee is working its magic. Jensen's starting to feel a little more human.

"Misha dished all the dirt about what you've been up to, though," Jared says. "You naughty little minx. You never told me how you met Jeff."

"Huh?" But even with the coffee, it's way too early in the morning to face both of them. At his best, Jensen can only deal with one queen at a time. "Don't believe a word out of Misha's mouth," he says. "He's practicing for his career at The National Enquirer."

They both laugh and Jensen smirks; if these two are in league with each other, Jensen will never get any peace, but strangely, the thought doesn't bother him too much.

It's a lazy afternoon at home for the both of them, no plans, and after Misha leaves Jensen joins Jared on the couch, where he's watching What Not to Wear and painting his toenails.

Jensen sits down next to him. "Stacy's a bitch," he says.

Looking out of the corner of his eye, Jared says, "You think so? She's only telling the truth. I think honesty can be a good thing."

"Even if it's brutal?"

Jared shrugs. "Want me to do yours next?" He wiggles his toes. They're each a different color of the rainbow, in ROYGBIV order, starting with his left pinkie toe.

"Sure," Jensen says, and enjoys the look of surprise that earns him. He stretches his feet out on the coffee table. "Go nuts."

Jared makes an evil mastermind laugh, and Jensen's maybe already having second thoughts. But then his feet are in Jared's lap and the coffee table looks like a nail salon: ten thousand bottles and obscure looking instruments strewn across it.

On the television, a girl breaks down sobbing in the three-way mirror. Jared's turning his foot from side to side, examining it and frowning. He says, "Jesus, Jensen, it's called a pedicure. You could get one."

"Scoot over, I can't see."

"Seriously, this is going to take an extra strength pumice stone."

Jared pokes him with something and Jensen twitches. "Ow, man, be careful."

"Don't wiggle unless you wanna lose a toe," he says, and clamps down on Jensen's ankle. Clinton's giving the girl a hug. He's always the nice one, giving advice but still compassionate.

"So you and Misha haven't slept together?" Jensen doesn't know why he says it, but then it's out there, too late to take back.

Jared looks up at him through his eyelashes. "Why? Were you jealous?"

Jensen snorts. "Just wondering which of you'd have to suck it up and be the top." Something sharp pokes him again and he says, "Ow, damnit."

"Need I remind you that you're at serious risk of losing a foot?"

Jensen rubs one foot against the other. "How do you..."

"How do I what?" Jared's concentrating on Jensen's big toe. Jensen watches them throw the girl's entire wardrobe into a trash can.

"Nothing."

"What?" Jared says.

"How do you decide who's gonna do what?"

Jared stops attacking his feet and looks up. He's smirking. "Are you asking me how gay sex works, Jensen?"

Jensen shrugs. "Yeah."

"Well," Jared says, and puts down the torture implement. "That depends." The show goes to commercial and Jensen's fascinated by all the things a Swiffer can do. Jared continues, "Everyone's different, you know?"

Jensen looks up at the tone in Jared's voice and is surprised to see him blushing. He doesn't know if he's ever seen Jared looking uncomfortable before. "You don't have to," he says. "Forget it."

"I mean," Jared says, shaking a bottle of glittery blue polish. "It's like. People talk, you know? How does it work when you sleep with a girl? Do you automatically know, or does she tell you what she wants?"

Jensen thinks about it. Frankly, it's been an embarrassingly long time since he's had to. He's aware that he's deflecting when he says, "Have you ever slept with a girl?"

"Yes," Jared says. It's surprising. "Have you ever slept with a boy?"

He's applying the blue stuff to his feet now, and Jensen realizes that he totally set himself a trap, here. He can't get away. "No," he says.

This is the stuff they never talk about. Stacy and Clinton are in Macy's, stalking the girl through the dress section.

"But you've thought about it." Jared's head is bent over his feet again.

"What? No."

"I told you," he says. "Misha dished."

"Well, he couldn't have told you that, because I never said it."

"Actions speak louder than words, honey." He's almost done with the nails on one foot. Jensen tenses up and Jared tightens his grip. "I'm not trying to pry, Jen, I'm just saying: it's okay."

On television, the sad girl is happy now, twirling around in her life-changing outfit.

Jensen gets up, one foot polished, and goes to his room.

*

There are a lot of new clients at work and Jensen has to stay late all week. Jared's got a show coming up, and so they don't see much of each other for a while. Jensen is aware that he's also, maybe, avoiding Jared a little bit. They dance around each other, being extra courteous if they happen to both be home at the same time; the towels are all hung up to dry and every common surface is clutter free.

Jensen feels a little like a douche for sulking, but the fact that Jared's letting him get away with it just inflames his ire even more. He's not a little kid and nobody needs to walk on eggshells around him, damnit.

He gets an engraved invitation in the mail; it's for Jared's design collection. He huffs in exasperation and hangs it on the refrigerator. Jared's in the shower, singing along to "Alejandro,” when Jensen knocks on the door.

"Yeah?"

"Hey, why'd you send me an invitation to your show?"

"What?" Jared yells.

"I said," Jensen opens the door and pokes his head in. Jared's got a shampoo mohawk. "Why'd you send me an invitation to your show?"

"You don't have to come if you don't want. It's gonna be kinda faggy, so. I get it." He's squinting under the spray.

"What the hell does that mean? I'm just saying that you could have asked me face to face."

"Okay."

His tone is cold and Jensen is getting pissed. "Dude, it's your first show, of course I'm going to be there."

Blinking the shampoo out of his eyes, Jared says, "Okay," again, and this time it's softer. They stare at each other for a minute and then Jared continues, "Um, can we talk about it later? You're letting the cold air in."

"Oh, yeah, sorry," Jensen says, and backs out of the bathroom.

*

They make an uneasy truce, both of them apparently agreeing not to talk about it anymore. It's fine with Jensen.

Jeff comes over on a Thursday night after work to drop off Jensen's squash racket, which he'd left in Jeff's car a couple of weeks before Jared had showed up. At least, that's the pretext Jeff makes as he stands at the front door, but Jensen knows better.

After the last conversation they'd had about Jared, Jensen had been reluctant to introduce Jeff to him, and when Jeff had called, Jensen had let it go to voicemail. He doesn't like to think about the truth of what Jeff had said. He doesn't like the implication that Jensen isn't happy with his life, so he's been dodging Jeff for a while now.

But Jeff, implacable when it suits him, has persevered; there's no getting out of this and Jensen bows to the inevitable, swinging the door open. Says, “Come in.”

Jared's in the living room, and he stands up, crosses over to Jeff and says, “Hello, daddy.”

The unexpected chuckle that gets out of Jeff is pretty funny; Jensen's never seen Jeff blush before.

“You must be Jeff,” Jared says, shaking Jeff's hand. “I've heard a lot about you.”

“Likewise,” says Jeff, shaking back.

"Come in, have a seat, tell me all aboUt yourself." Jared throws a pile of bright purple fabric off the couch and pats the cushion next to himself.

"I just came by to return the racket. I should probably…"

"Don't be silly, stay for dinner, at least." Jared's, like, gleeful. Jensen starts to get worried.

But he says, "Yeah, Jeff, stay. There's lasagna."

"Sure, okay," Jeff says, one eyebrow raised.

After Jared scoots his drawing board and related paraphernalia off of the rarely-used dining room table, they sit down to eat.

“You're in fashion?” Jeff nods when Jensen offers him a glass of wine, and Jensen gets a third glass out of the cupboard.

“Yeah,” says Jared. “Design. I'm working on my first professional show, actually.” He laughs. “That's what all this mess is about.”

Jensen dishes up plates of lasagna. With Jared busy over the past week there'd been no food in the house, and while Jensen's culinary skills begin and end at frying steak, he can pick up take-out. The lasagna's from Zabar's and it's pretty good.

As he takes a too-hot bite, Jensen realizes that he's started to take Jared's presence for granted, relying on him to make sure there's food in the house and assuming that Jared will think of something to entertain them both on the weekends. He vows to try harder to show his appreciation.

“First show, huh? That's pretty awesome,” Jeff says.

“Yeah,” says Jared. “I'm excited. I mean, it's not all my work, but...”

“I've seen the sketches,” Jensen says, breaking off a piece of garlic bread. “A lot of his work's gonna be in it.”

Jared's blushing, but he looks pleased. Jensen feels pleased, too.

“Still, you must be pretty good, if you're already showing work. Didn't you just graduate?” Jeff helps himself to more wine.

“I've been really fortunate. Fashion's always been my dream.” Jared grins at Jensen and says, “Just ask Jensen. I used to bore him for hours with my sketches.”

“Yeah,” Jensen says. “Other kids were playing stickball and Jared would sit in the corner, ripping off Yves St. Laurent.”

Jared laughs and throws his napkin at Jensen. “Like you even know who Yves St. Laurent is.”

Catching it and tossing it back, Jensen says, “It's true. Is that even a person?”

Jeff's chuckle is warm and amused, and Jensen feels like maybe he's passed some inscrutable test. Or maybe Jared has, who knows, but Jeff's looking at him with a smile and Jensen relaxes. If he had to put a name to it, he'd say that Jeff approves, and he wonders why Jeff's opinion matters so much to him.

“You start designing menswear, let me know. I'll be first in line,” says Jeff.

“Seriously?” Jared jumps a little in his seat, eager. “Because I'd totally design an outfit for you. Jensen wouldn't be able to tell a bespoke suit from a hole in the ground; he's no fun. And I've always wanted to try doing menswear.”

“I have a strict no outfits policy,” Jensen says and tilts his glass toward Jared before taking a sip.

*

Later, Jensen walks Jeff down to the street. The evening had gone well, and Jensen has a lot to mull over.

"Thanks for dinner," Jeff says.

"Yeah, you know, anytime you want to invite yourself over." Jensen's standing on the front stoop, propping the door open with his hip.

Jeff huffs a laugh. "If you'd take my calls, I wouldn't have to barge in."

"Yeah." Jensen scratches his neck. "Sorry about that."

Cocking his head, Jeff appraises him.

"What?" Jensen shifts his weight to the other foot.

"Nothing, just surprised that you admitted you were ignoring me."

Jensen shrugs. "Well, I only just figured it out."

Chuckling, Jeff says, "That sounds about right." His hands are in his pockets, and he looks ready to go, when he turns back. "There's this thing in our culture, Jen, where being a man means not showing vulnerability."

"Uh...kay." Jensen blinks.

"I'm just saying, sometimes we get it in our heads that masculinity means pretending not to be human."

He's doing his best to follow Jeff's train of thought, but it jumped tracks somewhere and Jensen's lost. "I...don't know what that means."

Jeff clears his throat, says, "It means: it's okay to care about people." He's staring down at his shoe where it's poking the side of a step. Jensen watches it too. "It's okay if people know that you care about them."

When he looks up, he's got a serious expression, one Jensen's rarely seen.

"Okay," Jensen says, throat tight.

"When I came out, back in the dark ages, activism was all about the health crisis, about getting the government to even admit that AIDS was an issue."

Jensen winces, a pang of sympathy for what Jeff and others like him must have gone through.

Continuing, Jeff says, "And now we're fighting for the right to marry." He gestures at the street, as if it could encompass all of that time. He shakes his head. "Something I never would have guessed would be possible. Hell, when I first heard about gay marriage, I laughed."

"Why?"

"Because when I accepted the fact that I was gay, I thought I was accepting some other fundamental truths. Things like: I was a man, and if I liked fucking men, I'd never settle down; men can't be faithful or intimate. Men can't form long-lasting bonds. But that's bullshit. It was all just stuff that our culture says is true."

Not knowing what to say, Jensen says nothing. Jeff goes back to looking at his shoe.

"And that's what I'm saying. It doesn't matter if you're gay or straight or whatever." Jeff takes a deep breath. "Part of being a man, or so we're taught, is that we have to be in control of our emotions. Because if we're not, then the whole system will come crashing down."

Jensen scoffs. It's cold out and he's in a t-shirt; he crosses his arms against his chest. "I don't think that's true," he says.

"It isn't? How many times were you told to suck it up as a kid? You ever fall down, skin your knee, and your dad or your coach told you that crying is for sissies?"

Jensen shrugs and looks away.

"That's what I'm talking about. You care about Jared--" Jensen scowls and Jeff puts his hands up. "Don't get defensive. I'm not accusing you of a bad thing, here. You care about that kid, and he cares about you. It's okay to show it."

This conversation needs to be over. It's freezing and Jensen's still got the door open. "Are we done?"

"Just think it over," says Jeff. Jensen nods and Jeff, after raising a skeptical eyebrow, nods back. "Now I fully expect to be ignored for another six months. Do me a favor? Let me know when I'm out of the doghouse."

Jensen grins involuntarily as Jeff leaves. The bastard has a way of defusing him, even as he's riling Jensen up.

*

Backstage at a fashion show is more like the Stock Exchange than Jensen would have guessed; people are running and yelling and making weird hand gestures. Jared's in the middle of it all, directing traffic. He looks kind of amazing. Definitely in his element.

Jensen hangs around in the corner, watching. He's wearing a suit that Jared had picked out and it's constricting and itchy, far tighter than he's accustomed to wearing; Jared had said, "You're not going to embarrass me by wearing anything you own," and hung the suit over Jensen's door.

Jensen's got to grudgingly admit, it's a nice suit. He's standing near the buffet, compulsively eating grapes when a woman in thick-rimmed black glasses and a turtleneck comes over to him. She's smiling over the glass of wine in her hand. "Your boyfriend's really talented."

Jensen chokes on a grape. "Excuse me?"

"You're Jensen, right? Jared's boyfriend? He's a natural. His first collection and already he's got most of the major media eating out of the palm of his hand."

Jensen looks again at Jared, who's smiling at a model with a bright blue wig. He looks radiant, and Jensen's proud of his achievement. He says, "This was always his dream, you know? When we were kids he used to dress up dolls and make them do fashion shows."

He doesn't bother correcting her about their status. Maybe it's the 'when in Rome thing,' but he senses that now isn't the right time to stand up and declare his heterosexuality. And he remembers what Jeff had said, about being okay with affection or whatever; he figures that this is part of it. It's Jared's night, and Jensen's fucking proud as hell of him. No reason to scare the locals, just because of a misperception.

He does care about Jared and he's been thinking over what Jeff had said for a couple of days now. He's still uncomfortable, a deep-down squishy sideways kind of feeling, whenever he thinks about it too hard, but it's not totally bad. In fact, it's kind of nice. When he does something that he knows will make Jared happy—bringing him a cookie, meeting him at the subway and walking home together—it's like a circuit completes, and it feels good to know that he's made a difference, however small. Working against his natural inclinations, doing things purposely, just to make Jared happy…it makes Jensen, well, kind of happy too.

There's a party after the show and Jensen meets a whole lot of famous people. Some of them get their picture taken with him, and later Jared says, "You know you're going to be the star of page six tomorrow."

"Huh?" Jensen turns to him.

Jared's smile looks fond. "You're the hottest person in the room, Jen. Once again." He shakes his head. "I swear, it's not even fair. At the very least you should be a model or something."

Jensen clears his throat. He eats another cracker with brie on it. When the photographers come by this time, Jared puts his arm around Jensen's shoulders and they smile.

The sun is rising when they finally make it home, both of them tipsy with champagne and Jared's success.

"They all thought I was your boyfriend," Jensen says, struggling to kick off his shoes.

"What?" Jared's laughing, holding himself up against the wall.

"Tonight. All those people. They thought we were a couple."

"Huh," says Jared.

Shoes off, Jensen pads over to where Jared's leaning and says, "Does it bother you?"

"Shouldn't I be asking you that question?"

Jensen takes a step closer. He shrugs, touching the cuff on Jared's shirt. "I think it bothers me less than it should." And he looks up, feeling like his heart will burst from nerves.

Jared's just looking at him, and Jensen gathers his courage up and leans in, kissing him on the lips.

It's technically their second kiss, but it feels like a first. Jared's mouth opens up, lets him in, and Jensen gets closer, puts his hands on Jared's hips. It's soft, gentle, and Jensen gets the feeling that Jared's trying not to push. The idea that Jared might want this too goes to Jensen's head and he deepens the kiss, brings his hands up, sliding a palm along Jared's cheek.

It's different than what he'd expected. Not that he'd thought much beyond this point, but still. He's lightheaded from too much champagne and from the fact that he's kissing Jared, the little neighbor kid and in a lot of ways his best friend.

Jared's mouth is hot and his tongue, as it touches Jensen's, sends sparks down Jensen's spine. He makes a noise, maybe like encouragement, and then Jared's touching him, sliding a hand into his hair and wrapping the other around Jensen's back and it feels good, but it's also incredibly weird; Jared's big and angular and strong. It's all so different; Jensen's not expecting it when Jared flips them around, his back hits the wall and then Jared's kissing his neck and unbuttoning his shirt and Jensen starts to panic.

"Jared," he says. "Jared, I can't." He's grabbing Jared's hands in his and Jared finally looks up. "I can't, I'm sorry--" Jensen closes his eyes, but he can still tell when Jared gets it, because he squeezes Jensen's hands once before letting them go.

Hissing air through his teeth, Jared says, "Jesus-- Jen." He leans his forehead on Jensen's shoulder and Jensen's running a hand through his hair before realizing that it's probably less than a comforting gesture. He stops.

"I'm sorry--"

"Just." Jared shakes his head and takes a step away. "It's okay, Jen. It's-- Getting late." He turns away, waving a hand at the window where the sun's starting to stream in. "Good night."

Jensen's left slumped against the wall, shirt half undone, staring at Jared's back. "Jared--"

At the sound of his name, Jared tenses up. Jensen realizes that he's standing in the middle of Jared's room, and Jared's not about to ask him to leave. He pushes the heel of his hand into his eye socket, an unbearable rushing in his head.

He shoves off the wall and stumbles into his room.

In the morning the apartment's empty. Jared's bed hasn't been slept in. Jensen takes his coffee and cereal and makes a nest out of the blankets, turning on the television.

*

When Jared finally does come home, sweaty from a jog and carrying a bag of groceries, Jensen launches right into his explanation.

"It's not that I don't want to," he says. "I'm really trying not to yank your chain, here."

Jared pulls earbuds out of his ears and says, "What?"

Jensen laughs softly to himself, shaking his head. He starts over. "I care about you."

"Okay," Jared says. He's staring blankly at Jensen and the mess he's made out of Jared's bed.

"And I'm trying not to fuck this up."

Raising an eyebrow, Jared says, "Trying and succeeding are two very different things."

"I realize that."

"Is there a reason you're in my bed?"

Jensen tips his cereal bowl in his lap, watches the milk slosh back and forth. "I didn't want to miss you?"

"Uh huh," Jared says, and lifts the grocery bag. "I'm gonna put my stuff away before we have this conversation."

Jensen nods, waits for Jared to come back. When he does, he folds himself up next to Jensen.

"I get that you're confused," he says. "But I'm not an experiment."

"No, I know," says Jensen. "And I'm really sorry about last night."

"Apology accepted," he says.

Jensen nods, and they don't say anything for a while. Finally, Jared says, "Okay, then. Good talk," and makes to get up.

Jensen grabs his arm and says, "Wait." When Jared sits down again, he continues, "I am confused, but not about you."

His mouth's gone dry and Jared's arm under his fingers is warm. The whole room is too bright and Jensen starts to sweat. "You know," he says. "About how I was raised."

"Yeah?"

"And how religious my folks are. When they found out about you, my daddy cussed a blue streak. He told me I couldn't see you anymore, and I didn't know why. Do you remember when we were little and he caught us dressing GI Joes in Barbie dresses?"

Jared looks up, startled. "He did?"

"Yeah," Jensen says, and lets go of Jared's arm. He rocks back and steadies himself, hands on knees.

Laughing, Jared says, "How old were we?"

"Uh, I think you were three."

"Wow, I never even stood a chance of being straight."

They look at each other and grin. Jensen finds the courage to continue. "Well, anyway, I remember he caught us and told us that it went against God."

"Jesus, seriously?" Jared's sitting tailor style and he hunches over, a look of deep concern on his face.

"And, you know, you've always been braver than me." Jared makes a disbelieving noise, but Jensen cuts in, "For real. I remember when we were kids and you came to school wearing lip gloss. Lip gloss, Jared. You were fourteen. That takes balls."

Jared barks a laugh. "Man, you've got the memory of an elephant."

Shrugging, Jensen says, "I guess this is the stuff that sticks out. I remember wondering why you'd do something like that when it'd just make your life so much harder."

"You said 'should' last night." Jared's picking at a thread in his comforter, and his voice is quiet.

"Huh?"

He takes a deep breath and looks up, shaking his head like it's silly. "Last night, you said that people thinking you're my boyfriend doesn't bother you as much as it should."

"Oh," says Jensen, not getting it.

Jared looks him in the eye for a minute, and says, "You're not hearing the wrong in that sentence?"

"Uh, no?"

Quirking up one side of his mouth, Jared pats him on the knee. "This is what I mean, Jen. I can't be your experiment. You don't need to fool around, you need a queer theory class."

And none of this is going in the direction Jensen thought it would. Jared's standing up again and Jensen says, "Wait a second. Jared, hold on. What are you talking about?"

"Sweetie." He bends down and touches Jensen's face with his fingertips. "There's nothing wrong with being my boyfriend. There's nothing wrong with you being gay."

Jensen closes his eyes, leans into Jared's hand. It stays there for a long time and then it slips away. There's a throbbing behind Jensen's eyes and he blinks. This can't be the end of it all. "Jay," he says, voice gone. "Please. I'm trying."

"I know you are." Jared starts to pace. He sighs. "And if you were anyone else in the world I would have kicked you to the curb by now."

Jensen raises his eyebrows. "Damn."

Jared leans against the windowsill and says, "You've always been in my blind spot, Jen. I had such a crush on you when I was a kid." And he laughs self deprecatingly.

"Really?" Jensen shifts and the cereal bowl tips over, soaking his sock. "Shit."

"Here, I got it." Jared goes into the kitchen and comes back with a roll of paper towels. They mop up the spill together.

"Sorry, I don't think any of it got on your bed," Jensen says.

"This is what they make kitchen tables for," says Jared. "I'd call you a frat boy, but that's just low hanging fruit."

Jensen glares at him, but picks up the thread of the conversation. "So, where were we?" he says. "Oh right, we were talking about your crush."

"Fine," Jared rolls his eyes. We'll go there. When you came to my show over Christmas, you remember?"

"Yeah."

"You were so cute, and sweet, and you stayed for the whole performance, even though I could tell you were uncomfortable."

"I wasn't—"

"Bitch, please. I've seen deer in headlights look more relaxed than you."

Jensen blushes. He remembers how it felt being there, a fish out of water. But he also remembers how after the show they'd stayed and talked all the way until closing.

"Well, if I was, I got over it quick."

"You did," Jared says. They're both back on the couch now, cereal bowl safely out of range of flailing limbs. "Which just made me like you even more. Whatever, I was a kid."

"So, you, what? Got over me?"

Jared smiles, and it's the kind of smile that Jensen's willing to stake some hope on. "Anyway, the point is: what I got over was feeling ashamed of who I am, and I've already helped my quota of closeted baby-gays come out. I don't know if I can do it again."

"So I missed my window, is what you're saying," Jensen says, and feels his hope start to ebb.

"Do you think you might actually be gay, Jen?” He says it in a confidential tone that reminds Jensen of the way Jeff talks to him. “Or are you just confused because you know I am and we're really good friends?"

Jensen blinks. He'd never considered that possibility. "Is that a thing? Can you turn straight guys gay through the sheer force of your charms?"

"It's been known to happen. Not to me, but I think they're doing a study on it in Sweden." Jensen rolls his eyes, and Jared says, "You know... Last night, you freaked out."

"I did," Jensen says, nodding. "And I'm really sorry.”

“You don't have to apologize,” he says. “God, I don't ever want you to do something you don't feel comfortable with. Not for me or anyone.”

“Yeah, no, I know. I mean... It's hard to explain.”

Jared laughs, squeezing his hand and letting go quickly. "It's okay, I'm not taking it personally."

“I've been thinking about why I panicked. Part of it, for sure, was kind of a shameful gay freak out, no question,” Jensen says, and huffs a laugh when Jared smirks. Even just saying the word 'gay' as possibly, loosely related to himself triggers Jensen's fight or flight reflex. He takes a deep breath, though, and continues. “Like I said, it's hard to unlearn years' worth of training overnight.”

Jared doesn't say anything, but his arched brow speaks volumes.

“But,” Jensen says. “And I think it's... I think. It's--"

“You don't have to explain, I get it.” He looks stricken; Jensen's fucking this up.

"No," Jensen says. He has to get this out there. "Jared, before you came, I was living on autopilot. Going through the motions, but not really awake, you know? And then you told me you were coming out here, and it was all I could think about. You were all I could think about. And I realized that... You make stuff better."

Jared sucks in a breath. Jensen's blushing beet red, uncomfortable in his skin. But he'll never get a second chance to say this, so he continues. "I think I'm in love with you." He glances up and then looks away. "And I think I have been for a long time."

"Jensen," Jared says. He takes Jensen's hand again, and this time Jensen lets him keep it.

It might not be their first kiss, but as Jared leans in to meet him, as their lips touch, Jensen can feel it: the rightness of the moment, the charge between them. This is their first real kiss, and Jensen opens up, Jared's tongue sliding along his own, his heart in Jared's hands.

There's still a part of Jensen that's freaking out, the tiny voice in the back of his head that tells him he's a sinner, but it's barely a whisper and this time, when Jared's skims a hand up his arm to tangle in his hair, the voice is drowned in the deluge of want that surges up inside. This. This is what he's wanted and it's what he's made room in his life for; Jared is the part of him that he's kept hidden, but for all of that, he's also the part that he's kept safe.

They start slow, Jared letting Jensen take the lead. He tilts his head, deepening the kiss and leaning up to get closer. Jared's going with it, opening up to let him in. Jensen rests his hand on Jared's knee and then slides up, feeling the muscles flex under his fingers. After a moment, Jensen touches his chest and Jared makes a noise like he likes it and maybe doesn't want Jensen to stop; they're sitting in mirror image, though, and it's not conducive to making out, so Jensen uncoils, breaking the kiss in the process.

Jared's watching him with a wary expression as Jensen rearranges them so he can get closer. He says, “Jen, are you sure?”

“Are you?” Jensen responds, kissing Jared's jaw. “Kind of leaving me hanging.”

“Sometimes I thought it would be better to stop knowing you altogether,” Jared says and Jensen pauses where he'd been working his way down Jared's neck. “It was torture. For years, you have no idea. Don't stop,” he says and Jensen resumes his task. “But I couldn't. I don't think I could ever not know you. And of course I love you; I always have.”

Jensen bites him lightly behind the ear and Jared groans. There's no more time for talking, and he buries his face in Jared's neck until he can get control of himself. It's like a miracle, so complex and so simple at the same time: Jared loves him. Why did it take them so long to reach this place? Jensen can't think of a single good reason.

He takes one of Jared's hands and puts it on his hip, in the process turning them so they can fit together, and as he gets up on his knees, Jared slides down until Jensen's crawling over him and they're making out like teenagers, legs tangled together. Jared's hands are running up and down Jensen's back and it feels good, they're trading little kisses and gentle bites, but Jensen's ready for more and he doesn't know how to say it. Instead, he shows Jared, biting his collarbone, their hips colliding; he's hard and now he's sure that Jared is, too. There's a silence hanging over them that lasts until Jensen runs a hand up Jared's hip to touch him through his clothes and Jared bucks, gasping. When Jensen looks up he catches Jared looking at him, and it's like they get it at the same time: this is for real, and Jared wraps him up in his arms, fingers tangling in his hair, running up under Jensen's shirt, down to cup his ass.

Jensen works his way beneath Jared's clothes, sweaty-hot skin hard with muscle. He bends to run his tongue around a nipple, taking it into his mouth and Jared hisses through his teeth, twitching. Jensen does it again, and then licks over to the other one. He sits up and tugs at Jared's shirt, saying, “Off.”

Jared obeys and then there are miles of skin under Jensen's hands; he explores it all and Jared lets him. He uses his fingers and his tongue, seeking out the places that make Jared sigh and groan and buck up underneath him. Jensen's hands are shaking; this is Jared.

“Jensen,” he says, breathless. “Too many clothes.” Jensen agrees, and he pauses to strip his shirt over his head, kicking off his sleep pants and tugging Jared's running shorts off. They're naked and Jensen takes a minute to just look. Jared's beautiful. He reaches out, running a finger down Jared's dick from tip to base and Jared says, “Don't know if I can hold back.”

Jensen looks him in the eye and says, “Don't.”

And then Jared surges up, and Jensen lands on his back as Jared kisses down his chest; he kisses the tip of Jensen's cock, leaking precome, before taking it to the back of his throat. Jensen tries to keep still, but it's hot and wet and tight and Jared's really good at it, sucking deep.

Unsure of what to do with his hands, they float and then settle, one on Jared's shoulder and one in his hair. “Jesus,” he says, and then Jared does something with his tongue. “Fuck.”

He's digging his feet into the sheets, trying to keep from snapping up into Jared's mouth and as he tenses he drags his nails up Jared's neck and that just makes Jared take him deeper.

“God, Jared, so fucking good. Don't stop, fuck.” Jensen's staring at the ceiling until it's too much and he closes his eyes, clenching his jaw, Jared swirling his tongue, rising off only to sink back down again, deep throating him in an onslaught guaranteed to cut this whole thing way too short. “Jay, shit, I'm gonna.”

Moaning, Jared picks up speed, running his free hand from Jensen's hip to his belly, and Jensen falls over the edge, coming in Jared's mouth.

Jensen lies there, ceiling swimming back into focus and Jared's head resting on his thigh.

“Jesus,” he says and Jared laughs. “Jay, come here.”

Jared snakes up Jensen's body and when Jensen kisses him, he can taste himself. It's kind of hot. Jared's holding Jensen's head in his hands and fucking his mouth with his tongue; that's even hotter. Jensen can feel that he's still hard, and he takes his dick in hand. Jared's low moan is a clear indication of appreciation, but Jared breaks off and says, “Don't.”

“What?” Jensen says. Jared's hand wraps around Jensen's on his dick. “I want to.”

“It's okay,” Jared says, and he kisses the hinge of Jensen's jaw. “I got it.”

Confused, Jensen lets go and kisses Jared back when he insists. Jared lays on his side next to him and starts to jack off as they kiss and Jensen's not sure what to do, but Jared seems to, so he goes with it, long lazy swipes with his tongue as Jared starts to lose focus on the kiss, hand picking up speed. Jensen rubs a hand down Jared's arm, feeling the muscles strain and bunch, and he turns to face Jared, capturing the bitten-off moans that escape. He whispers, “Yeah, come on Jay, come on.” And Jared's not looking at him, he's got his eyes screwed shut but he's panting, mouth open and Jensen cards a hand through his hair. When he comes, it splatters all over both of them.

After a long inhale, Jared moves to get up, but Jensen stops him. “Where you going?”

“Clean up.”

“I got it,” he says and gets up on shaky legs, bringing a wet washcloth with him from the bathroom. He's gentle with it as he wipes Jared down; there's an edge of weirdness to the silence and Jared's not meeting his eyes. This has been kind of a big deal for Jensen and he could seriously use a little moral support, but if anything, it's Jared who's acting like a virgin.

“Hey,” he says, laying back down so Jared can't avoid him. “What's up?”

Jared rolls onto his back and says, “huh?” with a little smile, like he doesn't know what's going on.

“You're acting...standoffish. Did I do something wrong?” And it doesn't occur to him until he says it, but he could be a terrible lay. He hadn't had two spare brain cells in the middle of it to even consider performance anxiety, but now...

“What? No! God, no, Jensen, you were perfect,” Jared says, and his smile looks genuine.

“Then. Why--” And Jensen's no good at this kind of shit. Talking about feelings. He'd rather scoop his eyeballs out with a melon baller. He clears his throat and tries again. “You wouldn't let me touch you.”

Jared props his head on an elbow. “Yeah, I. I just. You know, after last night, and I wasn't sure if. Shit,” he says, and scrubs a hand over his face. “I didn't want to freak you out.”

Jensen's putting two and two together, and it's coming up five. “Um. You were worried that if I touched your dick, I'd suddenly realize you were a guy and run away?”

Shrugging, Jared's “yeah” is more breath than sound. For some reason, it's funny. It's so funny that Jensen starts to laugh and can't stop. When Jared gives him a puzzled look he laughs harder and then he gives in to the urge and tackles Jared to the bed, kissing him like crazy. When he's distracted, Jensen lets his hands wander under the covers, squeezing Jared's ass, fondling his dick and balls, pulling up a thigh so that he can get one of his own between them.

“Remember that time that I told you I loved you?” he says.

And Jared laughs as he says, “Yeah. That was a pretty good day.”

Nodding where he's nuzzled into Jared's neck, Jensen says, “And then you gave me a blowjob and I came my brains out, and then I returned the favor?”

The laugh in JaRed's chest rumbles through his skin. “Oh, did that happen?”

“It's about to,” says Jensen, and as he goes down on Jared, he leaves a trail of kisses.

*

Later, after they wake up from a nap, Jared says, "So like, does this mean you're going to start singing Judy Garland songs now?” He lays a hand on Jensen's chest, drumming fingers along his sternum.

Jensen grins at him. "Forget your troubles, come on get happy." And Jared laughs.

"Impressive. But just so we're clear: you're not borrowing my Spanx."

"I don't know what that is," Jensen says.

"Lord, let's keep it that way." Jared settles in and Jensen runs lights fingers along his arm.

"Thank you," Jensen says, quiet.

"For what?"

He scoots up and shrugs. "For being patient. For not writing me off when you should have."

"I can't remember a time when you weren't a part of my life. Don't see why I'd try and go cold turkey now."

"I used to think it'd be the worst thing in the world, finding out you were gay," Jensen says. "I felt bad for you, you know? But there was always this irresistible pull, too. Like you were so bright, I couldn't look away."

Jared makes a thinking noise. Jensen looks down and kisses him. "Seriously. And then at some point, I think I was jealous. That you were living on your own terms, and I knew I could never do that."

"You're doing a pretty good job now," Jared says.

"You think?"

"Definitely." His hand's wandering under the covers and Jensen helps it find what it's looking for. He arches up into Jared's touch, legs falling open and Jared gets it, wriggling down the bed, taking most of the covers with him.

Jensen shivers, but doesn't stay cold for long; Jared's mouth could revive the dead.

He's getting into it, hips doing a lazy roll, when Jared pulls off. “Do you think you might be ready for the advanced class?”

Jensen raises his head and looks down at him. “What did you have in mind?”

“Can I show you?” Jared's rubbing Jensen's knee and the look on his face is almost like a dare.

“Will it hurt?” Jensen says, and swallows thickly. He's not sure if he's ready for...everything.

Jared laughs. “No. I promise, no sticking things into your butt. At least, not until you beg me to.”

And that's been the elephant in the room for the last couple of hours, as far as Jensen's concerned. He wonders if he will beg for it, one day. “All right, big talker,” he says, fighting back his nerves. “Show me.”

And Jared does, first picking up where he'd left off, deep throating him and then spreading Jensen's legs wider apart. He goes further, sucking on Jensen's balls and Jensen's feeling incredibly exposed. He closes his eyes, as if he can hide behind his eyelids. And then.

And then Jared's rimming Jensen's ass. Jensen opens his eyes, looks down at Jared. It's sinful, wet and soft and it's fucking amazing. Jensen twists the sheets in his hands, trying to hold on because this feeling, it's. It's beyond anything. Jared's not even touching Jensen's dick, his hands are wrapped around Jensen's thighs, keeping him spread open and it takes every ounce of consciousness for Jensen not to just clamp his legs around Jared's head and keep him there forever. “Jesus fucking Christ,” he says. “Jared, fuck, fuck.”

And when Jared chuckles, Jensen can fucking feel it and it's so dirty, but it feels so fucking good and he's ready to pop already and he says, “Jay, please, please, fucking touch me, do something, fuck.” And Jared does, wrapping a hand around Jensen's dick and jacking him off twice and Jensen comes, arching into Jared's mouth and his hand and it feels like dying.

Later—Jensen's not sure what time it is, but the sunset's casting deep shadows in the room—he rolls to his side, Jared a warm weight next to him. “Holy shit,” he says, and blows out a long exhale.

Jared's in a post-coital coma, from the looks of him. Jensen's starving. He sits up, sore all over, and says, “Hey. Jay, wake up.”

“Mm.” Jared snuggles deeper into the covers.

“Fucking starving,” Jensen says.

“Me too. Bring me food.”

Jensen laughs. “Are we supposed to be somewhere? Didn't Misha want to celebrate your show with you or something?”

Jared sits up with a start. “Shit!” he says. “What time is it?”

“No idea,” says Jensen, searching for his underwear. Jared's out of bed, running around the living room stark naked. “Hey, it's cool, don't worry. We can reschedule, right?”

Jared stops flailing around and smiles at him. “You, sir, are a genius. There's no way I could be in mixed company right now.”

Grinning back, Jensen says, “How 'bout this, you go rustle up something to eat and I'll call Misha.”

“Deal,” says Jared.

When he leaves a message on Misha's voicemail, it's hard to keep the smile out of his voice; Jensen knows he's going to get a ration of shit for it the next time they talk; he can't find it in himself to care.

The cupboard's almost bare and Jared brings a box of rye crackers and a bottle of Coke back to bed. “We're pathetic,” he says.

“Why?” Jensen snags the Coke out of his hand and drinks half the bottle in one gulp. “I think we're pretty awesome.”

“We just laid around in bed fucking for an entire day while our friends are out there,” he waves his hand at the door. “Waiting to celebrate with us, and we can't get our act together. And we have nothing to eat.”

Jensen's got a mouthful of rye crackers. He says, "I have a feeling they'll understand."

"Does that mean you're gonna tell them?" Jared sits down and takes the crackers away. They're not so delicious after all, even if he is starving.

Shrugging, Jensen says, "Don't you think it'll be hard to hide it from them?"

"Well," Jared says. "Yeah. But I figured you'd want to try."

"Why?"

Jared blinks at him, disbelief all over his face. "Um. Because you've been in the closet for like, thirty years?"

Jensen finally swallows the crackers—dry, horrible, stale crackers. He's never buying those again—and says, "Dude, how old do you think I am? And anyway, it hasn't been the whole time. More like…" And he really has to think about it. When did he realize what was going on? "Two weeks?"

The laugh Jared makes is loud, full of genuine mirth. "Yeah, okay," he says.

"Well. Whatever, I'm not stressing over what other people think," Jensen says. "I'm fully committed to the gay train if it gets me a seat next to you."

"Yeah? Okay. You know you're a total dork, right?" Jared's looking at him fondly.

Jensen gets back under the covers and pulls Jared in with him. "What should my drag name be?"

Jensen runs light fingers down Jared's ribs and Jared squeaks, wriggling away. "No way, dude, you are so not getting a drag name."

"Hm" Jensen says, noncommittal. He climbs up, straddling Jared's waist with his knees and pins Jared's arms to the bed. "But seriously, what are Spanx?"

*

The first thing Jensen does is let himself look.

Or, well, if he's honest, the first thing he does is acknowledge that he's looking, and it's like he has new eyes.

He starts with Jared, the subject of so much fascination for so many years. He watches the way Jared moves when he's brushing his teeth, making coffee, looking for a pair of socks: little inconsequential moments when it won't matter if Jared catches him. Jensen watches the way the muscles pull and stretch, the long line of his throat when Jared's not paying attention to what he's doing. There's a wall, ancient and familiar, that's crumbling inside Jensen's head and as he lets himself look, appreciating the firm swell of Jared's ass when he bends to put on his shoes, he feels the first trickle of arousal; it quickly becomes a geyser when Jared smiles over his shoulder, eyes raking over Jensen where he's propped up in bed.

It's the male gaze again, only this time it's reciprocated and it's like a punch to the spine. It feels, for the very first time, like it's okay. "Come here," he says, stretching his arm toward Jared.

An arched eyebrow, a crooked grin, and then Jared comes, tangling their fingers together. "Jen, you're killing me. We haven't left the bed in what, a week?"

Jensen pulls him down, seeking out the tender skin at Jared's collarbone. "More like a day."

"We need groceries." Jared groans when Jensen's teeth sink in, just a little. The hip twitch lets him know that Jared likes it more than he'll admit. "Daylight. Dry cleaners."

"What?" Jensen pulls back.

Blinking, Jared leans up on his elbows. "Huh?"

"We need dry cleaners?"

"I left some stuff there. Your suits."

Jensen had called in sick, figuring he's earned a couple of days off. "They'll wait."

"Yeah," Jared says. "Okay."

Jensen laughs; Jared's so easy.

When they actually do make it outside, Jensen continues his little experiment, head turning to admire a guy in a yoga outfit, picking out arugula.

The guy's looking back, and Jensen's caught, until the guy smiles.

"Will you eat this?" Jared says.

"Huh?" Jensen turns back, pinking up. Jared's holding a green pepper. When he looks up, Jared's looking at yoga guy, his mouth set in a line, and then his fingers find the dip in Jensen's lower back. It feels strangely possessive; Jensen leans into it. "Yeah, sure."

Whispering as he pulls Jensen closer, Jared says, "I think he was checking you out." The fingers curl, Jared's short nails scratching.

"Yeah?"

"Mm. He's hot."

They're standing really close now. Jensen turns to breathe in Jared's scent. He closes his eyes.

"Maybe, but I'm taken."

When their eyes meet, Jared's flushed, and he breaks into a radiant smile. "Oh yeah?"

"Yep."

Jared's smile morphs into a grin and he pushes the cart down the vegetable aisle.

Twenty minutes later, they're looking at ice cream and Jensen's fidgety. Jared's staring at the Ben and Jerry's selection like his life depends on his choice.

"You know, we don't have to be exclusive."

"What?" Jensen puts down the automatic scooper he'd been playing with.

"I just mean, this is all new territory, and I'd understand if you wanna, you know, play the field a little."

Jared's standing there, tall and goofy and gorgeous, pensively twisted eyebrows and earnest face, and Jensen can't help it, he laughs, catching the back of Jared's neck and pulling him into a kiss, right there in the middle of the frozen dessert aisle. Jared's stiff with tension at first, and then he brings his hands up to cup Jensen's shoulders, he loosens up and lets Jensen in.

When they break apart, his eyes are round in surprise. It's a much better look for him. "Shut up," Jensen says.

This time when Jensen leans in for a kiss, Jared meets him halfway.

*

Yeah, Jensen's going to look, he tells Jared later as they're walking into the bar, but it's only looking. "And the same goes for you, just so you know," he says, feeling a thrill at staking the claim. "You can look, but no touching."

"Not even Misha?" Jared's got his tongue between his teeth.

Misha's in front of them, wiping down the bar. He looks at Jensen, then at Jared, and then he says, "Holy fucking crap. Congratulations. It's about time, darling." He says the last part to Jensen as he claps his hands and Jensen can feel the flush climbing up when everyone in the bar turns to stare.

"Especially not Misha," Jensen says, glaring daggers.

"Oh please," says Misha. "About thirty seconds after I met him, I knew Jared was gone on you."

Jensen settles into his usual seat and Jared pulls his chair close enough so that their thighs touch. It sends a spark of pleasure down Jensen's spine. "You did?" He looks at Jared, who shrugs. "And you didn't tell me?"

"What would you have done with that piece of information?" Misha's smirking, the smug bastard.

Scratching his temple, Jensen sighs. "Yeah, okay."

"Anyway, all's well that ends well, right? Now you get to live happily ever after, my little sleeping beauty."

Misha ducks when Jensen chucks a lime wedge at him.

Jared fills Misha in on how his show went and Jensen settles into a fond daze, watching the way Jared's enormous hands illustrate the story with flourishes. He's still a little amazed that he gets this. He gets to have Jared, after all this time; Jared had waited for him to figure out his crap, and he'd been patient, and kind, and generally awesome, the whole time. It's a little overwhelming.

*

"Oh, fuck, Jen," Jared says, sucking in a breath. Jensen licks along the path his teeth make on Jared's neck and Jared groans. "You know I want to-- but, shit. I have to get this done."

Jared's bent over his sewing machine the same way he has been all weekend; Jensen's bored. "Fine," he says, and straightens up. "I should probably go into the office anyway."

Jared stretches, cracking out his back and twisting to look at Jensen from his chair. "Yeah? You know I totally want the distraction, but."

"Yeah, no, I didn't mean it like an ultimatum or whatever," Jensen says. "Seriously, I know how important this is." He waves his hand at the purple beaded lump currently underneath the needle.

"You've been working a lot lately. Big client?" Jared shakes out his arms. Jensen knows that he gets cramped up, sitting hunched over the machine all day. He takes Jared's right hand in both of his, pushing his thumbs deep into the muscle. It makes Jared groan in a way that makes Jensen want to redouble his efforts at distraction.

"Yeah," he says. He sighs. "Fucking enormous." It's been six weeks of non-stop negotiating to land this company, and even though his heart's not in it, Jensen knows he's got to step up, prove that they made the right call in handing him their money.

"You hate it there," Jared says, and then groans again when Jensen kneads up his forearm. "Why don't you quit?"

"And do what?"

He watches Jared's head tilt back, his eyes flutter shut. "I don't know why you won't call Sarah."

Jensen focuses on Jared's other hand, working out the kinks. Sarah's the director of the LGBT Center, and a friend through Jared, who's started volunteering there. "What would I say? Hi, I want a job managing your funds."

Jared's eyes open. "Yeah? It wouldn't be your only client. We've talked about this, you could go into business for yourself, set up hedge funds for non-profits."

When Jared looks like he's relaxed, floppy as a wet noodle, Jensen drops his hands. He places a kiss on Jared's forehead. "Yeah," he says, pulling away. "Maybe."

In the end, he brings it up with Jeff. Jeff, who, when Jensen had come out to him, had given him that closed mouth, lopsided grin and clapped him on the back, saying, "proud of you,"

They're feeding the ducks; Jeff's sneaking bites of Jensen's croissant. "What's stopping you?" is what Jeff says. It's surprising.

"I dunno, the fear of poverty?"

"Yeah," Jeff says. He's staring at the pond. "That'd do it. But on the other hand."

Jensen turns back to watching the pond, too. "On the other hand."

The ducks flap and a little kid rushes up to the edge, sending them squawking. Jensen eats another bite of croissant.

He thinks about it some more, and then he calls Sarah and makes a lunch date.

It wouldn't hurt just to talk about it.

When he hangs up, Jeff cuffs him on the back of his neck. "Look at you, all in charge of your life."

"Yeah," says Jensen, and he can't help it, he breaks out into a smile. Because he kind of is.

Epilogue: Milan, Italy, Two Years Later

"That was Misha," Jensen says. "He says break a leg."

Jared doesn't stop what he's doing, which is fine by Jensen, because he's currently sucking a bruise behind Jensen's ear while unbuttoning his shirt. Jensen puts his phone back in his pocket and says, “Jeff's bouquet was bigger than mine.”

“Which one, with the roses?”

“No, the lilies,” Jensen says, and unzips Jared's pants.

“Those were from my folks; Jeff sent roses.” Jared does a little shimmy and then his pants are around his ankles. Jensen works a hand inside his underwear.

“Oh,” says Jensen, and Jared groans into the skin of Jensen's neck. “Well okay then.”

Jared leans back and looks him in the eye. “Why? Were you jealous?”

Jensen's teasing him, light fingers along the inside of Jared's thigh. “What? No. Just can't have anyone else's be bigger than... Uh, never mind.”

Jared laughs. “Baby, yours will always be big enough for me.” He kisses Jensen, then, and they fall back into the wall with a clatter; the shelf full of cleaning supplies that had previously been bearing their weight giving up the ghost.

“Shit,” Jensen says.

“You know somebody heard that,” says Jared, guiding Jensen's hand to his dick. “Better hurry.”

Thinking that it's wise advice, Jensen drops to his knees and Jared braces himself against the wall as Jensen takes him deep. He's still not as good at this as Jared is, but Jared's more than willing to let him practice. Shutting his eyes, he focuses on going deeper, breathing through his nose, and Jared's cussing now, hand tight in Jensen's hair.

He works the shaft with his tongue, hollowing his cheeks and fingernails pressing into Jared's ass, pulling him forward. “Fuck, Jensen, shit,” says Jared. Jensen concentrates, and as Jared starts shallow thrusts he opens up and lets him in. Jared's on the edge, saying, “God your mouth, Jen, fuck.” And then Jensen runs a finger down Jared's crack, pressing at his hole and Jared comes.

Jensen's still on his knees, reSting his head in the hollow of Jared's thigh, catching his breath, when there's a knock on the door. “Jared, are you in there?”

“Uh,” Jared says, still holding on to the wall. Jensen chuckles. “Yeah. Gimme a sec?”

“Okay, but only one, show starts in five.”

“Be right out,” says Jared and he's making a valiant attempt to get his clothes righted. Jensen gets up and helps.

“You go out there and show them how awesome you are,” he says and nibbles on Jared's earlobe. He continues in a whisper, “and when you're done, I'm gonna take you back to the hotel and fuck your brains out.”

Jared shivers as he straightens his tie. “Fuck, Jen. You promise?”

He laughs, genuine surprise. Jared sounds like a little kid on Christmas. “Break a leg, baby.”

When they open the door it's into a hallway suddenly full of people. Jensen can't get the grin off his face, and figures that the entire corps of international journalists staring at them knows exactly what they've been up to; after a twinge of self-consciousness that will probably never go away, he's more or less fine with it. The last couple of years have given him plenty of practice, and Jensen's usually calm in the face of public scrutiny, although it'll probably never come naturally; he's always got to take at least one deep breath.

He squeezes Jared's hand once and then makes his way to the front of the house, where he's got a seat in the first row.

Jared's had shows before, but this is the first one where he's the headlining designer. They'd flown first class and Jensen had taken time off work so he could be here for the final round of fittings and press interviews Jared had had to do.

Jensen's phone lights up, and Jensen flicks it to life, briefly, even though he totally shouldn't. Guiltily, he checks his email, and there's a new one from Sarah, asking him how it's going and wanting to know, when they get back, whether or not Jensen might be interested in a position on the board. Jensen smiles.

His little fledgling enterprise has finally started to grow wings. The first year had been touch and go, with Jared sometimes shouldering more of the bills than Jensen had felt comfortable with, but after the third quarter returns had come in, the handful of non-profits Jensen works with had all seen positive growth. It had meant that Jensen could take a few days for himself and come along on this trip.

Of course, being self-employed means that every minute he's out of contact, he worries about everything, but Jared had taken his phone out of his hands and demanded that they go sightseeing. They'd walked around Milan and seen The Last Supper, the Duomo; it's the first visit to Italy for both of them, Jensen's first trip outside of the U.S., and now it's all happening: the music's playing and the house is packed; Jensen's sharing the front row with famous people and moving his feet out of the way of photographers. He's so fucking proud of Jared he could burst.

The lights dim and there's a rustle rippling through the crowd. As the first model comes out, strutting and pouty, the music swells, the lights begin to strobe and there are dozens of them, all in fantastic constructions—play clothes, Jared had called them—skinny women with bird's nest hair, feathers and blood-red lips. But after them comes a line of men wearing the same stuff: red lips and just as many feathers.

It's part of Jared's idea and part of why he's on the cover of every trade magazine and blog having anything to do with fashion. When he'd first started sketching the collection, Jensen had thought it was a joke, but Jared had been serious.

"It tells a story," he'd said, shuffling drawings across the table. "Transformation, rebirth. It's about looking at what we see every day with new eyes. It's asking why things are the way they are."

The men come down the runway in similar pouty fashion and then another set of women come out in menswear: suits perfectly tailored and crisp white shirts. They form a pattern: sober, dark prints weaving between explosions of color. Jensen starts to see it, the story Jared's telling. It's beautiful, even if he maybe doesn't totally get it.

At the end, the stage is packed with all the models posing, everyone intermingled, feathers, gold lamé and charcoal pinstripes forming a sea of exuberance, and then the crowd's on its feet, a standing ovation. Jensen stands up, too, and hollers along with them.

Jared comes out and takes a bow; someone gives him flowers and he waves at Jensen, winking before throwing the bouquet for Jensen to catch. For a minute all the photographers turn around to get a look at him and he's blushing, but he waves; he hopes he'll have to get used to being looked at for years to come if it means that Jared's a success.

Backstage is a crush of people, only a handful Jensen recognizes. All he has to do to find Jared is head toward the center of the thickest group. When he catches sight of him, he's laughing, head thrown back. Jensen smiles, struck again by how beautiful he is.

When Jared sees him, he makes room and pulls Jensen in close to his side. “This is Jensen, the love of my life,” he says and there's a mild collective 'aw' from the group. Jensen scratches his temple.

“Looks like you did pretty good,” he says. “A standing ovation, even.” He kisses Jared on the cheek.

Jared's hand on his shoulder clutches tight, keeping Jensen locked to his side. “I know, it's unbelievable, right? I need to call Mama, she'll be up early, wanting to hear all about it.”

Jensen nods. Jared's folks had been really supportive when they'd gone down for a visit. Jensen's parents had, as expected, disowned him.

After one particularly awful visit, with Jensen attempting to make peace with his folks, they'd started to fly Jared's folks up to New York on the holidays. Jensen had been hurt by the final scene with his dad, who'd called him a disappointment and no son of his. Jensen reckons that in the end, he'd done the right thing, coming out to them and giving them a chance. But they'd never been able to accept him, not really, and so he'd cut the cord. It still makes him sad, sometimes.

Jared's mom had sat him down and told him that as far as she was concerned, Jensen was part of her family now. He'd definitely gotten a little misty over it, feeling a sense of belonging from her that he'd never known before.

“Go call her, I'll hold off the adoring mobs,” he says to Jared, and Jared kisses him again before slipping out a side door.

Later there's a party with champagne and brie on crackers and famous people. Jensen remembers back to the first time he'd been to one of these. While he's by no means adjusted to this kind of life, preferring the quiet comforts of his home, he's finding it easier to deal with. Especially now that he knows that when they leave here, he gets to go home with Jared and fuck him through the mattress.

A lot of people think that they can use Jensen to get to Jared; the fashion industry is a weird culture of sycophancy and it can sometimes be scarily obsessive. Jared's gotten fanmail and naked pictures from boys claiming to be models.

After a profile in The Advocate, with a picture of the two them headlining the article, they'd had a fight about it all; Jared laughing off the attention and Jensen freaking out about the invasion of privacy. It had been a pretty serious fight, but in the end they'd compromised, moving into a building with better security and hiring a personal assistant to go through Jared's mail.

Anyway, Jensen's standing in the middle of a throng of people, most of whom are chattering in Italian and he thinks: there was a time when he'd wondered what Jared's engine was. He remembers not understanding why Jared would willingly stick out, a target of mockery, a red flag for bullies. He didn't get what motivated Jared to be the person he is.

But all the time he used to spend wondering about what made Jared tick, he realizes, was actually a smokescreen, specially constructed so that Jensen never had to think about what made him tick.

In a way, they've come to the same conclusion, only backwards: Jared's spent his life being comfortable with his sexuality and understanding that it's only a small fraction of his identity; Jensen knows that if he'd never known Jared, he'd still be resisting acknowledging the piece of himself he'd been taught is unacceptable. If he'd never met Jared, he'd probably be married to Danni by now and he'd probably have kids, and while he definitely still wants to have kids one day, he's thankful that he never got a chance to mess up someone else's life with his own insecurities.

Growing up the way he had, Jensen knows—always having to police himself and make sure he was doing what he was supposed to—could have warped him. He could have turned into his dad, constantly defending his masculinity against the fear of it being questioned.

He's glad that he found the courage to tell Jared how he feels and he's glad that Jared feels the same. Most of all he's glad that coincidence or fate had his folks move into the house next door to the funny little Padalecki boy, who'd never learned to hide his light under a bushel, and who'd been kind enough to share until Jensen learned how to kindle his own flame.

A woman with a British accent jostles him out of his reverie with a question. "Would you say that you're Jared's muse?"

He blinks, looking at her, smile still on his face. "Honestly, no." He laughs. "He tells me every day that my fashion sense is a tragedy. You'll have to ask him who his muse is. Excuse me." Jensen disengages from the throng and double checks his pocket; the little velvet box is still there.

He finds Jared on the patio, finger in one ear and phone pressed up against the other. "Yeah, Mama, I'll tell him," he says. "Love you, too."

“Hey,” says Jensen.

“Hey. Mama says she loves you.”

“You ready to get out of here?” Jensen, although willing to deal with thousands of strangers who want to talk to him on a routine basis because it makes Jared happy, is nevertheless not a saint and he's just about done. Jared, thankfully, puts up with him.

“Sure. You still gonna make good on your promise?” Jared's grinning as he tugs on Jensen's trouser pockets.

“Mm,” says Jensen. “Which promise was that again?” He leans into it when Jared kisses him.

“I believe the exact words were,” Jared says, breath warm against Jensen's lips. “Gonna take me back to the hotel and fuck my brains out.”

Licking his lips, Jensen says, “You up for it?”

“Definitely.” And he shows Jensen just how up he is, grinding his hips into Jensen's thigh.

“Let's go,” says Jensen.

*

The sun is rising and they're both sweaty and exhausted when Jared rolls onto his back and says, “Jesus Christ. Is it possible for someone to get better at sex?”

“I hope so. Otherwise there'd be no future for the human race.”

“Not exactly something we need to worry about,” Jared says, and twines their fingers together.

“Yeah,” Jensen says, and even though he's reasonably sure of Jared's answer, his mouth is dry as he sits up and reaches over the side of the bed, snagging his suit jacket from where it had been unceremoniously tossed. “About that. I've been meaning to ask you something.”

"Something that involves the future of the human race?" Jared's smiling indulgently as Jensen palms the box.

"Sort of. You know how we talked about how we both would like to have kids one day?"

"…Yeah." Jared's incredibly sexy looking when he's sleepy. And also when he's fucked out, and right now he's both: sheets puddled at his waist as he leans against the headboard, hair in sweaty tangles and eyes at half mast, and suddenly this is the easiest question Jensen's ever asked.

"Well," he says. "Usually, or sometimes, I guess, it's customary for people to get married. You know, before they have kids, and um." He opens the box and holds it out. "Will you marry me?"

Jensen looks up from where he'd been staring at the ring. Jared's staring at it too, mouth open. Jensen smiles.

"Seriously? You're proposing to me right now?" Jared says, and Jensen blinks.

"Why? You think it's a bad idea?"

"No! No, it's definitely not a bad idea, I just. Seriously?"

Laughing, Jensen says, "Seriously. Jared Padalecki, will you take me for your lawfully wedded husband?"

Jared looks at him, and he says, "Yes. I will take you, Jensen Ackles, to be my lawfully wedded husband. Or, well, lawfully wedded in some states and most of Europe."

"And Canada," Jensen says, and takes the ring out of the box.

"And Canada," says Jared, and he holds his hand out for Jensen to slip the ring on. It's plain, solid gold.

"I didn't know what kind to get. We can exchange it for something fancier."

"No way. This is never coming off, it's perfect."

"So're you," Jensen says, and doesn't even care if it's totally sappy.

They're quiet for a long time and then Jared kisses him, looking sleepy and happy and exactly the way Jensen wants him to be, forever.

"You know,” Jared says. “I used to imagine that we'd get married. When I was little, before they told me that two boys weren't supposed to."

Jensen's resting his head on Jared's shoulder. He traces the band on Jared's finger. "They told you wrong." They'd both been told a lot of wrong things. If Jensen thinks about it too long, he'll go crazy. He clears his throat. "But that's okay, because we're gonna work hard every day to teach our kids what's right."

"Our kids," Jared says, and he sounds like he's falling asleep. Jensen's fighting off a yawn himself; it's been a long day, all things considered.

"They're gonna have the best dads ever,” he says.

"They won't think so."

Jensen chuckles. "Yeah, probably not." He thinks about that kid who used to live in their building, Zach. His mom had probably been doing the best she could. He wonders how Zach's doing now; they lost touch when Jensen had moved away. He knows that he's never going to let his kids feel neglected or unloved, no matter who they are, or who they love.

"Love you," Jared says, on the edge of sleep.

Jensen turns his head, places a kiss on Jared's cheek. "Love you, too."

As he drifts off, the wind stirs the curtains and the sun pours in. Jensen falls asleep in the bright light of day.

The End