Flaming Ninja Waffles 2/2
Sep. 3rd, 2008 12:22 am![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
randomlingThe second part of my entry for JuC Swap 2008.
Summary: Summary: When Justin gets into trouble in a diner parking lot, JC's there to help... but JC's the one who really needs saving.
Warnings: Boybands, RPF.
Parts 1 and 2
Flaming Ninja Waffles
Part 3: In The Open
Justin worked the night shift on Mondays and didn't start until six. In the morning, JC ran all the errands he could think of – laundry, cleaning, finally changing the blown lightbulb in his desk lamp – twitchily, feeling like he didn't have enough to do. Therapy was at three, and he behaved himself again. Even her questions about Justin didn't put him in a bad mood.
After that, he had two more hours to kill. He drove home and did the usual: showered and changed clothes, fixed a sandwich, ate it over the international news section of the paper. When he'd done the dishes and it was finally time to leave, he felt weirdly nervous again. His hands were balled into fists in his pockets right up until he needed his car keys.
He reached the diner a few minutes before six and drove around the block three times before parking. It wasn't until he was out of the car and shoving his keys in his pocket that he realized that was kind of a strange thing to do: circling the block to avoid showing up before a waiter whose name he hadn't even known a week ago. Was it really that long since he'd made a friend?
JC shook his head as he walked to the diner. He really needed to learn how to do this better.
"Hey, yo! JC!"
JC turned. Justin was running across the lot to catch up with him, backpack slapping against his hip as he ran. "Hi," JC said.
Justin's stubble was a beard now, really; JC couldn't make out the bruises at all underneath it. "Hey." Justin was barely out of breath, falling into step with JC instantly. He slung one arm around JC's shoulders, squeezed lightly, let go, like it was nothing. JC stiffened a little, torn between leaning into the contact and shrugging Justin off, and ended up doing neither; Justin didn't seem to notice. "How's it going?"
"Good," JC said, a totally automatic response. He really had no idea how to figure out how he felt right now.
"Cool." Justin's fingers brushed the back of JC's elbow, and JC turned to look up at him. Justin looked wide-eyed and serious. "Listen - I really wanna talk to you about your poem, but I'm kinda running late. Can we catch up later?"
"Sure we can."
"Awesome," Justin said, grinning suddenly. "Grab a seat," he went on, "I'll bring you some coffee in a few." And he slipped into the diner, holding the door open behind him. JC took hold of the door and followed Justin, and he caught an exclamation from Blonde Starlet that might have been, Finally!, followed by Justin's, "Sorry, sorry, sorry."
Justin went into the kitchen and disappeared from sight. JC found an empty booth towards the back of the diner, one that had a view of the street instead of the parking lot. It still wasn't the most interesting view ever, but moving cars beat stationary ones, when it came to entertainment. Still. He pulled out his notebook and started to write. Nothing big, just a few tentative notes here and there: the difference between moving and standing still.
He didn't look up until a shadow fell across his notebook, startling him. Justin was hovering over him, coffee mug in hand. "Here," Justin said, smiling, and put the mug down by JC's hand.
"Thank you."
"Not a problem, you know that. Get you anything else?"
"No, thanks."
"Not even ninja waffles?"
JC grinned at that. "Maybe later?"
"Fine," Justin said, hands on hips, grinning back, "don't give me an excuse to come back, I don't care."
Suddenly, he wasn't quite sure why, JC was quivering with suppressed laughter, closing his mouth firmly to stop it from spilling out. Justin caught his eye, folded his arms across his chest, then looked at the floor, pressing his twitching lips together, and for some reason that was it. JC snorted, and the laughter pushed its way up his throat and out of his mouth. Justin seemed to buckle, and he ended up perched on the table, holding firmly onto JC's shoulder as JC bent over the table.
Together, they laughed and laughed. Justin leaned forward until his forehead was resting against the top of JC's head, and the hard-and-sweet sound of his laughter flowed right through JC, making his insides tickle with amusement. Yeah; way back in the distant past, but he remembered friendship being like this.
Eventually, the moment passed, and Justin sucked in a wheezing breath to stop himself. JC's own laughter bubbled to a stop, but Justin didn't lift his head for a moment. Into the silence he whispered, "You know I'm coming back anyway, right?" and his voice was soft and intimate. The shiver it sent through JC was almost enough to set him off laughing again, and definitely enough to keep the grin plastered on his face.
Justin straightened slowly and then stood, saying, "Catch you later," in a far more normal voice. He was still grinning as he brushed himself down and took off.
"Get back to work," JC said, swiping playfully at Justin's side as he went by. Justin gasped and jumped aside to avoid JC's hand, just late enough that JC's fingers brushed the top of his hip.
Justin let out a brief laugh. "You won't get me next time!" he called, backing away.
JC crossed his arms on the table and, a second later, dropped his head onto them. He started to laugh again, almost silently this time, and the feeling that went with it, shaky and amused and excited and disturbed, was unfamiliar and beautiful and very, very strange.
***
During the dinner rush, JC wrote and wrote and wrote. Justin was busy, of course, but every so often he stopped by with fresh coffee for JC and a friendly word or two. In between, JC had somehow gotten into something that was more narrative than poem, something long and flowing that seemed to want to pour out of him all in a rush. He felt almost flooded with it.
It was almost a nasty shock when, after the rush was over, someone tapped him on the shoulder; but then he looked up and it was Justin and that was fine. Justin said, "I'm just about to go on break. You hungry?"
"Um, yeah."
"Ninja waffles?"
JC smiled. "Could I get extra syrup, too?"
"You want flaming ninja waffles?" Justin gave JC his goofy grin, and JC grinned back. Justin shook his head a little. "Comin' right up."
Five minutes later, Justin was back with waffles and coffee for JC, pancakes and Coke for himself. He slid himself into the seat opposite JC without more than a, "Hey," cracked open the Coke, dug for painkillers, and downed two pills with one swallow of Coke.
"How's the head?" JC asked. Justin waggled his hand in the air – so-so – and delved into his pancakes. JC took a forkful of waffles. The extra syrup was really good. Although, hell, if the waffles he'd been eating before weren't fattening, these sure were. He washed the waffles down with a swallow of coffee.
"So," Justin said when his mouthful was done. "Your poem, man."
JC looked up. "Mmm?"
"I'm not much of a... I don't know much about poetry. I really don't. But it was just so. I don't know, so real, does that sound dumb?"
It didn't. JC swallowed and shook his head. "Real?"
"Yeah. Like. Like, I know what you mean." Justin put down his fork carefully and bit his lip, looked away briefly, then down at his plate. "It's like, last week. When those guys went for me..."
Justin fell silent for what felt like a very long time, staring down at his pancakes. JC looked at him, trying to figure it all out. There was a question his therapist kept asking, whenever he went quiet during a session: What's happening now? He wanted to ask that of Justin.
Then Justin said, "It was, it was like that."
JC nodded, unsure how to respond to that.
"The way you wrote it," Justin said, "it's like, in that moment, when it's happening... you're almost, yeah, you're more alive than you've ever been. And that feels. It sounds so fucked-up. But it feels good. And at the same time you're hurting and you're terrified. You know?" He looked up at JC, searching his face, and JC met his eyes. Felt the connection, just for a moment, before Justin's eyes flicked away. "You wrote it, man, so I guess you do."
JC nodded again. "I do." Justin had stopped eating and was looking out the window at the empty street. It was dark outside, and there were no cars driving past, no lights at all until the bright neon sign of a Best Western a few hundred yards over.
Tentatively, JC reached out and touched Justin's wrist. Justin's head snapped up and their eyes met again. "Justin," JC said, "I do."
"Yeah. I know. It's." Justin paused, his eyes back to searching JC's face. "I'm glad, you know? That you get it."
"Me, too," JC said, and meant it.
He took his hand from Justin's wrist, carefully, like it might hurt him. Justin watched the hand move, kept his eyes on it until JC picked up his coffee mug again. Then he glanced down at his plate and started to eat. JC sipped at his coffee and was quiet while Justin chewed.
After a little while, Justin said, "Were you in Iraq?"
"Yes," JC said, and Justin nodded.
"You were injured out there?"
"Yeah."
Justin looked out the window for a long moment, then back at JC. "How?"
"It was a car bomb," JC said. Justin kept looking at him, looking and looking with those dark blue eyes. JC swallowed air and said, "Three people died."
"Shit," Justin said.
"Yeah."
"I'm really sorry."
JC shook his head, then looked down at the table. He hadn't talked about this, really talked, in a couple of months, not since the day he broke down on the phone to his mom, and he'd really thought he'd gotten it under control. It was disconcerting to find that the old emotions were still there, lurking under the surface. Grief, pain, fear; the friends he missed. "Sorry," he said, though he wasn't sure what he was supposed to be sorry for.
"Hey," Justin said, and it was his turn to reach out for JC's hand. "It's okay. You've been through a lot, man."
JC nodded. Justin's big hand covered his, easily. When he didn't say anything more, Justin squeezed his hand once and then withdrew.
"I guess," Justin said, "I guess I can't really get it. It was so much bigger than what happened to me. But I... if you ever need someone to talk to. Someone that's just a friend, I mean, not a therapist or a doctor or whatever. I'm here."
"Thanks," JC said, looking at him again. He couldn't interpret the expression on Justin's face, except that there was sadness there, and he wasn't sure he wanted to be the cause of that. "I appreciate it."
"You're welcome," Justin said.
JC glanced at Justin one more time, dropped his eyes, and started to eat.
***
"You know," Justin said as he was clearing their plates at the end of his break, "I'm really glad I met you. Not just because you saved my ass."
JC threw back the last of his coffee. "I'm glad I met you, too," he said. He smiled; Justin snatched the cup from his hand.
"Later, dude," Justin said, balancing the plates in the crook of one elbow so he could pat JC's shoulder with the other hand.
JC spent the rest of the night writing, the same piece. It wasn't running as fast as it had been earlier in the evening, but he kept pushing at it, nudging it when it dried, and it slowly trickled out onto the page, word by word sometimes, but it came. The night felt cozy and companionable: there was no one else in the place by just after twelve, and Justin was moving about in the background, stacking the dishwasher, fixing coffee, singing along to the radio. When Blonde Starlet's shift ended at eleven, Justin had switched off the TV.
Every so often, Justin would prod JC in the shoulder and trade JC's empty coffee mug for a full one, but he otherwise didn't disturb JC's writing until the end of the night.
Two o'clock seemed to roll around faster than normal. JC was vaguely aware that, behind him, Justin was going through the motions of closing up for the night, but he was so absorbed in his narrative that he didn't pay much attention until Justin's voice was right by his ear. "Hey, can you hear me in there?"
"Wha'?"
"Time to go home, dude."
JC blinked, put his pen and notebook away in the inside pocket of his jacket, and stood up. They walked out of the diner together, walking side by side down the aisle, close enough that they almost touched. Justin held the door for JC again, and JC ducked out into the cool night air and waited while Justin locked the door.
"So," Justin said when he was done. "I've been thinking."
"Yeah?"
"Yeah. I wondered what you were doing Wednesday." Justin stuck his hands in his pockets as they started to walk across the parking lot.
"Wednesday?" JC asked. "Don't you work?"
Justin nodded. "Yeah. I coach basketball in the afternoon." He took a deep breath and went on, "I wondered if you would maybe wanna come down. Meet the kids, shoot a few hoops, have some fun."
JC swallowed. "Justin, I don't..."
"C'mon," Justin said, stopping so he could turn to look at JC. JC stopped too. "It'd be good for you. And good for the kids, too, I think."
JC thought about it. "How many kids?"
"About twenty, most weeks."
"That's a lot."
Justin pursed his lips. "Yeah, maybe it is. Look... will you at least think about it? Let me know tomorrow for sure?"
"Yeah," JC said. "I will."
"Great."
Justin leaned forward and hugged JC. Not the casual, one-armed squeeze he'd greeted JC with, but a real hug, wrapping his arms around JC tight and pressing their bodies together. JC lifted one hand to pat Justin's back, awkwardly, and Justin let go and stepped back.
"I'll see you tomorrow, man."
"Yeah, for sure." JC sort of wanted to hug Justin again, properly this time, and for longer, but he repressed the urge. He wasn't sure he was quite there yet. "Have a good night."
"Will do. Drive safe, okay?"
With that, they parted ways, and made for their separate cars.
***
JC wasn't done writing. When he got home, he sat right down at the kitchen table and wrote until after four. He only noticed how long he'd been doing it because his hand was cramping up, his eyes gritty, his leg aching mildly from sitting, driving, and then sitting some more. Four-thirty, he finally made it to bed.
Tuesday was groceries day. He woke up much later than usual, still yawning in the shower, and drank his morning coffee with his pen in his hand, flicking through the pages he'd written last night. Pages and pages, almost to the end of the notebook. Most of it wasn't bad, even. Before long, he'd looked up at the clock and it was almost three, and he'd better get going if he was going to be in and out of the grocery store and all the way over to the diner by the time Justin got to work at six.
Justin. Next time his therapist said it sounded like he'd made a friend, JC was going to smile and say, Yes, I did. He was oddly proud of himself.
After he'd shopped and unpacked and eaten, he got right in the car; this time, he wasn't going to wait around for Justin to be there already. By the time six o'clock rolled around, he was sitting in the same booth he'd been in the day before, sipping a cup of Egghead's coffee and making notes on his long piece in the new notebook he'd picked up that afternoon. This book was bigger and thicker, heavier, more expensive. He was going to keep writing. Maybe show a couple more things to Justin.
He had his back to the counter, so he only noticed that Justin had gotten in from the sound of his voice, greeting his co-workers cheerily. The kitchen doors swung as Justin disappeared through them, and swung again as he emerged without his backpack, rubbing his hands together. He caught JC's eye as he ducked behind the counter, raising one hand briefly – just a sec – before moving over to help a pretty girl carrying a squalling baby.
They got busy early. JC was finding it hard to concentrate on his writing, glancing up every time Justin hurried by, and Justin seemed to notice every single time, grinning at him, detouring to clap JC on the shoulder when he could. The dinner rush seemed to crawl, on and on, and as much as JC tried to bury himself in his writing, it just didn't work. It probably didn't help that he was powering through the coffees as he wrote, enough buzz from the caffeine to make his head ache.
Finally, ten o'clock came around, and the last of the dinner customers were finally trickling out. Justin was behind the counter with Egghead, taking glasses out of the dishwasher and stacking them on the shelf, half an eye on some reality show on TV. Now it was quiet – just JC and a couple of guys sharing a basket of fries near the door – JC felt less wired and restless. Maybe it had been all the people that had bothered him and not Justin constantly rushing past.
After a few minutes, Justin emerged from behind the counter and hooked his elbow around JC's neck, pressing JC's head briefly against his chest. "Food?"
"Uh... sure," JC said. Justin's hand rubbed briefly against JC's neck before he vanished into the kitchen.
"You got a new book," Justin said when he came back. He sat down, sliding the waffles across to JC, keeping pancakes for himself.
"Yeah," he said. It had felt like a big decision at the time, picking it out and buying it, like he'd decided to keep trying. To keep living, almost. "I'm gonna keep writing." Justin grinned around his mouthful of pancakes.
"That's awesome," Justin said when his mouth wasn't full any more.
They ate together for a couple of minutes, saying nothing, friendly silence. After a little while, Justin said, "Did you think about it?"
"The basketball thing?"
"Yeah."
"And?"
JC shook his head, and Justin looked so disappointed he could hardly bear to follow it up with a no. Instead he said, "I don't know. Convince me."
Justin's grin came back.
"You'll love it," he said. "Fresh air, a little exercise, and there's nothing like working with these kids to get your spirits up. You ever work with kids before?"
"No."
"It's like nothin' else."
Justin sure could wax lyrical about the joys of youth work when given the chance. JC sat back, sipping the last of his coffee while Justin talked, but mostly it was Justin's enthusiasm that he let wash over him, not the words. Justin could have been talking about life on the moon, for all JC knew.
"Plus," Justin said eventually, getting serious again, "I think it'd be good for the kids to meet you. Some of them know a lot about violence, you know, from the inside. The way I never can."
"My experience isn't like theirs," JC said.
"No, it's not. But... You might get it. Or get bits of it that I don't get. And that might help some of 'em."
JC nodded.
"Willing to try?"
JC took a deep breath and said, "Okay."
"Awesome," Justin said, grinning, and JC couldn't help but grin too.
***
After two, when Justin had shut the place down and locked the door, JC walked him partway to his car. Halfway across the lot, Justin stopped in his tracks, looked around him, glanced back at the spot near the diner door where he'd been beaten up. "I just realized," he said to JC. "It's been a week. I made it through a week."
"You did," JC said. He put a gentle hand on the back of Justin's arm, just above his elbow. Proud of him.
"That's stupid, maybe," Justin said.
"No," JC said, "it isn't at all."
Justin looked down at him, his eyes seeming very big in his face. JC stood there for a second, rigid with indecision, then reached up and put his arms around Justin's neck. Justin hugged him back, hard and gratefully, clinging around JC's waist and pressing his face into JC's shoulder. They seemed to stay like that for a long time, crushed together, not saying anything. Then, at last, Justin loosened his grip and drew slowly back.
"You're doing great, Justin," JC said. They were still holding each other loosely; Justin was warm and very solid in his arms.
"Thanks, man." Justin let go all the way and, a little reluctantly, JC dropped his arms back to his sides. "I'll pick you up at two tomorrow, okay?"
"It's a date," JC said, and Justin grinned and reached out for him again. JC leaned into the hug, and Justin's body felt like a wall of muscle against his. The hug was over almost as soon as it had begun, Justin still grinning at him as he stepped back.
"See you then," Justin said.
"You still have my address?"
Justin tapped his pants pocket where he'd put the page from JC's notebook that had JC's address and phone number. "Apartment nineteen, right?"
JC nodded. "Right. Goodnight."
"Night, man."
Justin waved as he backed toward his car, then turned and ran across the parking lot. JC watched him go, get into the car, drive away.
Once he hit the highway, he switched on the radio. The easy listening station he'd liked so much on Saturday night was bugging him now, and he spent half of the drive turning the dial until finally he hit on a station playing Bon Jovi, and sang along, all about how some girl gave love a bad name. He stayed with the old-school rock until he drew up into the parking garage near his apartment with Paul Weller blaring. The neighbourhood was totally silent, and it suddenly felt like he was pulling up outside his parents' place in the middle of the night, music blasting, high on excitement, aged seventeen. He let the song play out before switching off the engine, then went upstairs.
He felt so damn good.
He took the last flight of stairs two at a time, not caring if it hurt his leg, like there was something fizzy and light buzzing through him to counteract the pain. He'd started on the Paul Weller song again, and that song bubbled right up through him until he felt high on it, lost in it, his voice ringing up and down the stairwell until he didn't even really care who he woke. Yeah.
He'd felt like this before. Way back when. Half-stumbling out of his dad's car and collapsing against the garage door, not yet daring to step through into the house, the taste of his very first kiss still warming his lips. He smiled to himself as he turned the key in his front door.
...Oh, wait. Back up a second.
He had the door half-open, one foot inside his apartment, and he was suddenly stopped in his tracks, remembering how Justin's arms had felt around him, firm and comforting. The way Justin's voice could sometimes make him shiver deep inside. Justin's eyes, sparkling with laughter.
He forced himself through the door and shut it behind him with a thump. Then he sank back against it and let it hold him up while he laughed at himself, and at the universe, and at his mother who'd once said to him, These things always happen when you least expect them.
Yeah. He'd felt this way before, all right.
Part 4: No More Standing Still
JC felt good when he woke the next morning. Ridiculously good, something like delight sparking right through him, making him grin against the pillow before he'd even opened his eyes. He'd slept better last night than he had done for weeks, and he didn't remember his dreams. That was a good sign, these days.
After breakfast, he pulled out his notebook and started work on the long narrative thing. He fixed three coffees during the morning, but was so absorbed in his writing that he didn't manage more than a couple of sips out of any of them. When one-thirty rolled around he stirred himself to fix lunch and put the writing aside while he ate it. Justin would be here soon.
He only ate about half of his sandwich, stomach twisted up with nerves, and almost jumped out of his chair when the doorbell buzzed ten minutes early.
Justin was bracing his hands on the doorframe on either side of him when JC opened the door. He grinned and held out his arms to hug JC, and JC hugged back, feeling the pleasure of being squeezed close. Justin's arms tight around his waist, his broad back under JC's hands. "Hey," Justin said.
"Hey yourself."
When they broke apart, JC was grinning too. Justin had shaved, first time since the attack as far as JC could tell, and the bruising around his mouth was slowly fading out, the sickly yellow-green bruises turned when they were finally starting to go. Despite the bruises, he looked sort of great: he was wearing a sleeveless white T-shirt and grey sweatpants, and JC had the opportunity to admire Justin's muscular arms, almost all the way up to his shoulders. JC could probably have looked at him all day.
"Let's go," Justin said. JC grabbed his keys and wallet from the shelf by the door and followed Justin down the three flights of stairs to street level. Justin had parked on the street, and he bounded across to his car, then turned to wait for JC, who was jogging a little to catch up. Not the best for his leg, but never mind. Justin waited for JC before getting into the driver's seat.
JC folded himself into the passenger seat. Justin's car was as neat and clean as his apartment; no surprise there.
"Nice neighbourhood," Justin said as he pulled out onto the street.
"Yeah, it's not bad."
Sports First was a small, grey, single-storey building about twenty minutes from JC's place. Justin parked right by the front door and got a sports bag out of the trunk before showing JC inside.
"So," Justin said, gesturing around the small office, "this is it. Not much, but it's home, so to speak. Have a seat." There was a single desk with an ancient-looking computer, one file cabinet, two chairs, and that was about all there was room for. There was a tiny kitchen in the back, even smaller than Justin's at home: enough space for a sink, a coffee machine, a little fridge and a microwave. Maybe two people could stand up in there, if they didn't mind getting in each other's way.
"You want something to drink?"
JC shook his head. His mouth was a little dry, but not from lack of water. He really had no idea what he was doing here. Twenty kids?
"All right – I've gotta check messages and mail." He checked his watch. JC checked his too, reflexively. 14:10. "Relax, man, we got about an hour."
JC took the seat that wasn't behind the desk. Justin booted up the computer, and sat for a while flipping through mail and scrawling notes with the phone to his ear. The sky outside the office's small window was clear and blue; it looked like there would be good weather for the coaching session.
While Justin worked, JC looked out the window and thought.
So here he was. A week ago – well, a week ago, he'd been dozing on Justin's battered couch, doing something he hadn't imagined even twelve hours before. A week before that – twenty-four hours before that, even – he wouldn't have dreamed of breaking up his little routine like this, of sitting in a cramped office, only feet away from a guy he barely knew and liked a lot. A whole lot. He sure as hell wouldn't have been considering doing something about it, no matter how vaguely, with no matter how little intention of actually following through.
Funny to think that a week ago he'd seen Justin stand in front of him in nothing but a towel, and it was only now that he was starting to wonder how his lips might taste.
"What?" Justin said.
"Huh?"
"You're staring at me, dude."
"I am?" He honestly hadn't noticed. "Sorry. Miles away."
Justin smiled. "I can see," he said softly. Then he stood up. "Okay, I'm done here. Wanna go shoot some hoops before the kids arrive?"
JC couldn't actually shoot a basket for shit, but he said, "Sure."
Justin swung his sports bag onto the chair, unselfconsciously shimmied out of his sweatpants, and pulled on a pair of khaki shorts. JC couldn't get much of a view of Justin's legs from behind the desk – just enough to see that they were long and surprisingly skinny, disproportionate with his gigantic feet.
When Justin had his shorts on, he dug in his sports bag and produced another pair. These ones were black. Justin tossed them over the desk to JC. "I figured you might actually fit into a pair of mine. I'm so skinny, most people don't." He smiled. "You don't wanna play ball in those pants, man."
JC picked up the shorts and turned them over in his hand. Justin frowned at him, just a little, confused.
"I have a scar," JC said eventually.
"On your leg?" Justin nodded slowly. "I figured." There was a long silence. JC looked down at the shorts, fingered the soft fabric, and thought about it. "I don't care about that. And the kids won't, either."
JC looked up at him.
"Okay, they might ask about it. But they're not gonna, like, run away screaming. Like I said, a lot of 'em, they've seen this shit already."
"Okay," JC said.
He stood up, and felt very exposed as he unbuttoned his pants, even with Justin pointedly looking the other way. It seemed to take forever to change clothes, stepping on the shorts awkwardly before getting his foot through one leg, but finally he said, "There."
Justin had been facing the door. He turned around, looked JC up and down, and turned his head to look at the scar on JC's leg. JC guessed it wasn't so bad, now that the stitches were gone and it was just a ten-inch red line on the inside of his calf, a metal pin holding the bone together that no one but a metal detector even saw.
"See," Justin said, "I'd barely even notice if I wasn't looking for it." He pulled open the door and held it open with his hip while he grabbed a ball from the top of the file cabinet. "C'mon, dude."
***
JC really couldn't shoot baskets for shit. He figured Justin was bound to notice after he missed his fifteenth shot or so. At least the last one had bounced precariously on the rim for a moment instead of missing the hoop entirely. Justin laughed, hands on his hips, shaking his head. "You want another free shot?"
JC grinned back. "This really isn't my game."
"Okay, lemme show you how this goes." Justin darted forward, caught the ball under his foot, kicked it up deftly and caught it with both hands. He walked up to JC, offered him the ball. "C'mon."
JC shook his head and took the ball.
"Okay, turn around, face the basket." JC turned. Justin was right behind him, now. "Okay, bend your knees a little. No, just a little. Okay, good. Now take the ball in both hands."
JC did. Justin's hands appeared suddenly on his shoulders, carefully angling and positioning his arms, and JC tried to let him do it without dropping the ball. Justin's hands felt great moving over his body, and this totally wasn't the time to be thinking about that.
"Cool," Justin said at last. "Now, okay, hold onto the ball with just your fingertips, right?"
JC complied. Justin's hands settled on the tops of JC's hips, holding him in place. "Now, you wanna just launch your whole body up," Justin jerked his hands up slightly, "and forward, and let go of the ball at the same time. Got it?"
"Got it." It was going to be sort of distracting to try, though, with Justin's hands on him like this. He kept imagining them sliding over his belly; Justin pulling him close, kissing his neck.
Yeah. Distracting.
"Okay, let's give it a shot."
Justin's hands squeezed. JC launched up and forward, but let the ball go way too soon, and the ball went in the right direction but aimed way too low, bouncing off the pole way, way below the basket. JC laughed and shook his head.
Justin laughed too, taking his hands from JC's waist. "Shit," he said. "Well, I tried, man."
JC grinned, still shaking his head, and went forward to retrieve the ball.
"Oh," Justin said, looking the other way all of a sudden. "Here we go."
JC turned his head to follow Justin's gaze. Five – no, six – teenagers were making their way across the court towards them, chatting quietly to each other. Justin called, "Hey, guys!"
There was a general chorus of greeting. One of them – a black kid almost as tall as Justin – said, "Who's your friend?"
"This is JC," Justin said, clapping him on the back. JC weakly raised one hand. "He's gonna be helping me out today."
"Cool," the kid said.
"'Kay," Justin said, "I gotta get something from my car. Don't maul him or anything, I'll be right back."
Nobody mauled him while Justin was gone. The kid who'd asked who he was introduced himself – Joe – and shook JC's hand. A couple of the other kids said, "Hey." JC asked them how they were doing, they said they were good. After that, Justin was back, a box full of basketballs under one arm, and another group of kids was coming from the other direction.
"Okay," Justin called, "let's get started."
***
The session turned out a lot better than JC had dared hope. Some of the kids – mostly the newer ones – were almost as hopeless as him, and Justin was a good coach. Somehow he managed to never make anyone feel bad, no matter their level of ability, no matter how hard they found something. The kids liked him, and trusted him, and because of that they seemed to like and trust JC. A couple of them asked how he knew Justin, but no one mentioned the scar on his leg.
They had two hours scheduled from three-fifteen. At five, Justin blew his whistle to stop them practising their passing and said, "Okay. We're gonna have a quick game to finish off. If you're an A, top of the court. If you're a B, bottom of the court. Fifteen minutes, most baskets wins."
JC was a B. The kids seemed to know the drill, tossing their balls back into the box until the only one left on the court was the one Justin was holding. They formed up into their teams and Justin threw in. The Bs got the ball.
The kids were pretty generous with JC, but then at least – after all the practice – he could pass, even if he couldn't shoot. All the running and dribbling made his leg throb faintly, but it was mostly okay. Exercise was good for him, as his physio kept telling him. All he did was catch the ball, pass it on, dart to the other side of the court. It was pretty evenly matched, but the B team seemed to have the edge.
Ten minutes in, JC caught the ball awkwardly as he was staggering backwards, stumbled, and cramp shot up his leg unexpectedly hard. He dropped the ball as he fell, letting out a sharp cry of pain, and the next thing he heard among the kids' shouts was the sharp blare of Justin's whistle. There were kids everywhere, and then Justin was at his side. His leg throbbed angrily as Justin helped him to sit.
"You okay?" Justin asked.
"Yeah." JC reached down to massage over the scar. "Overstretched the leg, I think. I better sit the rest of this out."
"Sure. Hold up, guys." Justin helped JC to his feet, and JC leaned heavily on Justin's shoulder as they walked over to the office. His leg wasn't quite obeying him just now.
Justin helped JC lower himself into the chair behind the desk. "Take it easy," Justin said. "Back in five."
"Okay."
Justin patted JC's shoulder briefly and darted back out to the kids. After a second, the whistle blew, and then JC was listening to the sound of the game outside, the kids shouting and cheering. He leaned down to massage his leg, but didn't manage to make a great impression on the pain before he heard the long whistle that signified the end of the game.
A couple of minutes after that, Justin was back. "How's the leg?" he said as he shut the door.
"Not so bad," JC said. Then, when Justin looked at him seriously, he admitted, "Still hurts a bit." He was still rubbing his leg, firmly as he could, but his arms were starting to burn with the effort and the odd angle.
"C'mere." Justin sank to one knee in front of JC, carefully lifted JC's hands away, and put his own hands around JC's calf. He started to rub, long, slow strokes, gentle but firm, his hands very warm.
JC closed his eyes. "Wow. Where'd you learn to do that?"
"I majored in sports science," Justin said. His voice was low and soothing. "Only two years of college, in the end, but I did a class on sports massage. And, you know, I try to keep in practice."
"You're good."
"Thanks."
JC stopped talking after that, letting Justin's hands perform their magic, working slowly up and down JC's calf, soothing the pain away until it was just a dull ache that Justin's hands couldn't do much more about. JC didn't say anything, let it go on even after that, because Justin's skin still felt warm and glorious against his, and if he wasn't going to go for what he wanted, he might as well take what he could get.
He'd only just managed friendship; his first friendship in months. He wasn't sure he could could get to romance, not in one giant leap from here.
Eventually, Justin slowed to a stop. "How's that?"
"Mmm. Much better."
"Cool."
Justin stood, and JC opened his eyes The room, and Justin, took a moment to swim back into focus. "Thanks," JC said.
"My pleasure," Justin said with a grin. He leaned against the filing cabinet. "So. Assuming I didn't cause you permanent damage, there. Are you coming back next week?"
"Next week?" JC felt a bit amazed. He was terrible at basketball.
"Yeah. Like, the kids kept asking me if you were coming back. I said I'd ask you to. So what do you say?" He made an apologetic face. "I guess you'd be, like, a volunteer helper. We got nothin' to pay you with."
"That's." JC smiled and shook his head. "That's okay. I, um, sure, if you'd like me to."
"I'd love it," Justin said, beaming, and JC couldn't help but grin back. Justin made an abortive gesture, like he wanted to punch the air, and said, "That's awesome."
"Yeah," JC said. It sort of was. He had a friend, and a crush, and a volunteer thing. His therapist was going to be so impressed.
Hell, he was pretty impressed.
Justin came to perch on the desk. "So, probably you're gonna need to come down to the office some time and meet the boss. I mean, I recruited you, that's fine, he won't interview you or anything. But there's like, forms and stuff to fill in, if you're gonna do this regular. That okay?"
"Sure."
"It's a pretty good place," Justin said. "I started here as a volunteer, way back when. That was like..." Justin glanced up at the door, counting. "God. Seven years ago?"
"So I guess you like it here," JC said.
"Love it." Justin was grinning at him again. "I really love it."
JC grinned back, not sure what to say, because Justin was looking down at him and their faces were only a few inches apart. Justin was grinning and grinning, and then his smile faded and his eyes searched JC's face for what seemed like a long, long moment.
JC tried to say, What?, but the word stuck in his throat. Then, all of a sudden, Justin ducked his head and kissed JC.
It was a tiny kiss, brief and delicious, and then Justin was straightening again. JC's body responded before his mind could: his lips parted slightly, and he leaned up desperately into the contact. Afterwards, while Justin was looking at him seriously, all JC could think was, He kissed me, he kissed me.
His heart was thundering in his chest.
"Um," Justin said. "It'd kind of help if you said something."
JC opened his mouth to oblige, then closed it again. He needed to ask about a million and one questions. And decide whether to kiss Justin decisively back or run screaming from the room. He was about fifty-fifty on the last one.
When he opened his mouth again, what actually came out was, "How did. How did you even know I was gay?"
"Oh, thank God," Justin said, suddenly beginning to laugh. "I was starting to think I'd gone insane."
JC laughed too. "No. No, you're not insane."
"Awesome." Justin's grin faded back to uncertainty; he bit his lip briefly before saying, "So?"
"So." JC took a breath. Honesty was the best policy, he figured. "I like you. A lot. But I think, I maybe need some time to think about it. This," he said, gesturing between himself and Justin, "it's a lot, all at once."
"I think I'd be good for you," Justin said softly.
"I. Yeah. You already have been, Justin." Honesty again. "You've been such a good friend to me this week."
"I won't stop being your friend just because we're dating," Justin said. "I mean, I can't tell the future, but, you already know all that stuff."
"I do, yeah."
"So it's... It's take a chance or don't. I don't think time's gonna help you make the choice, I honestly don't." He paused. "I mean. Take the time you need, this isn't like, now or never. But I don't think a time out's gonna help you very much."
JC looked at him, earnest and beautiful, his eyes dark blue and intense. It was a lot; Justin was a lot, a lot of energy, a lot of sweetness, a lot of affection. A lot to take on, so much more to get back in return.
He wondered how long he'd been wanting this, in some deep-down place he hadn't been able to hear, and what it had cost him not to be paying attention. Justin's mouth was full, kissable, and JC didn't want to stop here. Didn't want to stand still, not ever again.
He opened his mouth. "I," he said, and that took him down the wrong road. He started again. "Kiss me."
Justin did.
***
That first real kiss was wonderful, lingering and sweet and soft. Afterwards, Justin seemed reluctant to pull away, keeping one hand resting lightly on the back of JC's neck as they talked, his fingers playing delicately in JC's hair.
JC felt the need to stay close, too, and after a while he slipped an arm around Justin's waist. They talked about the evening to come, and the next few days, and then, in vague and careful terms, the future. Later still, JC's head lolled against Justin's chest. JC didn't feel like making the effort to right himself.
Eventually, Justin sighed and stood up, because he had to do some actual work before they could go. After asking a couple of times if he could help, JC sat back in his chair and watched Justin sort papers into the filing cabinet. When he was done, he pushed the top drawer shut with a victorious grin.
"I'll train you up on all of this sometime," Justin said, gesturing around the office. "Right now I just want to get out of here." As JC got to his feet, Justin bent down to grab his sports bag from the floor and swung in onto his shoulder as he straightened up again.
"Good call," JC said, and took the half-step forward that got him close enough to kiss Justin. Justin made a small noise of surprise and kissed back, his arms sliding around JC's waist.
They held each other briefly before heading out to Justin's car, grinning like a couple of schoolkids. JC almost didn't want to let go of Justin at all, except that they were leaving now, going back somewhere, and Justin had suggested curling up on the couch with takeout and DVDs.
It sounded like a pretty good first date.
"So," Justin said, grinning as he started the car, "your place or mine?" It was the one thing they hadn't quite come to a decision on. JC's apartment was closer; Justin's had the better takeout places.
JC's call, apparently.
"Let's go to my place," he said. He didn't have a whole bunch of DVDs, but they could rent something. Or find a movie on cable. Whatever. After months of doing everything by strict routine, it felt pretty nice to be winging it a little.
"Works for me," said Justin.
When they hit the highway, he slipped a possessive hand onto Justin's knee, well below the cuff of the khaki shorts. The bare skin felt good underneath his hand. Justin glanced at him, smiling, and JC brushed his thumb against Justin's skin lightly, smiling back.
Come Friday, his therapist was going to ask about Justin, and he was going to talk and talk and talk. Hell; he'd talk about Justin even if she didn't ask. He'd tell his physio. This was news. They'd be pleased for him.
Actually. Tomorrow, after he'd gone with Justin back to Sports First, talked to the boss, filled out all the forms, he was going to call his folks and tell them all about his new boyfriend. The story of how they'd met, and drawn closer, what they'd come to mean to each other.
Justin stopped at a red light five minutes from JC's house, and leaned over, hooked his arm around JC's shoulders, kissed his cheek, his ear. Before JC had time to respond, the light was green and both Justin's hands were on the wheel.
Halfway up the stairs to the apartment, Justin reached for JC's hand. JC took it, smiling, and threaded their fingers together after a moment. When, as they turned onto the last flight, Justin stopped and let go of his hand, JC felt disappointed for just a second, until Justin's arm came around his waist, pulling him close.
There was space on the narrow stairwell for two if they snuggled right up, so JC put his arm around Justin and they climbed the rest of the way like that, slowly, step by careful step so they didn't trip over each other.
They were laughing a little by the time they reached JC's door. "Number nineteen," Justin said happily.
"That's me."
His hand trembled a little around the key as he unlocked the door and slowly pushed it open. Justin hovered behind him, smiling but tense with nerves.
"So this is your place," Justin said.
"Yeah." It was so different from Justin's place: neat because he didn't have much stuff, not because it was carefully kept that way. Bare and empty, like his life, half-lived.
He was going to change all that.
JC turned in the doorway, pocketed his keys, and after a second, held out his hand to Justin. Justin took it, his nervous smile blossoming into a grin. Grinning like that, he seemed to glow.
"Come inside," JC said, and he tugged Justin over the threshold and into his arms.
Summary: Summary: When Justin gets into trouble in a diner parking lot, JC's there to help... but JC's the one who really needs saving.
Warnings: Boybands, RPF.
Parts 1 and 2
Flaming Ninja Waffles
Part 3: In The Open
Justin worked the night shift on Mondays and didn't start until six. In the morning, JC ran all the errands he could think of – laundry, cleaning, finally changing the blown lightbulb in his desk lamp – twitchily, feeling like he didn't have enough to do. Therapy was at three, and he behaved himself again. Even her questions about Justin didn't put him in a bad mood.
After that, he had two more hours to kill. He drove home and did the usual: showered and changed clothes, fixed a sandwich, ate it over the international news section of the paper. When he'd done the dishes and it was finally time to leave, he felt weirdly nervous again. His hands were balled into fists in his pockets right up until he needed his car keys.
He reached the diner a few minutes before six and drove around the block three times before parking. It wasn't until he was out of the car and shoving his keys in his pocket that he realized that was kind of a strange thing to do: circling the block to avoid showing up before a waiter whose name he hadn't even known a week ago. Was it really that long since he'd made a friend?
JC shook his head as he walked to the diner. He really needed to learn how to do this better.
"Hey, yo! JC!"
JC turned. Justin was running across the lot to catch up with him, backpack slapping against his hip as he ran. "Hi," JC said.
Justin's stubble was a beard now, really; JC couldn't make out the bruises at all underneath it. "Hey." Justin was barely out of breath, falling into step with JC instantly. He slung one arm around JC's shoulders, squeezed lightly, let go, like it was nothing. JC stiffened a little, torn between leaning into the contact and shrugging Justin off, and ended up doing neither; Justin didn't seem to notice. "How's it going?"
"Good," JC said, a totally automatic response. He really had no idea how to figure out how he felt right now.
"Cool." Justin's fingers brushed the back of JC's elbow, and JC turned to look up at him. Justin looked wide-eyed and serious. "Listen - I really wanna talk to you about your poem, but I'm kinda running late. Can we catch up later?"
"Sure we can."
"Awesome," Justin said, grinning suddenly. "Grab a seat," he went on, "I'll bring you some coffee in a few." And he slipped into the diner, holding the door open behind him. JC took hold of the door and followed Justin, and he caught an exclamation from Blonde Starlet that might have been, Finally!, followed by Justin's, "Sorry, sorry, sorry."
Justin went into the kitchen and disappeared from sight. JC found an empty booth towards the back of the diner, one that had a view of the street instead of the parking lot. It still wasn't the most interesting view ever, but moving cars beat stationary ones, when it came to entertainment. Still. He pulled out his notebook and started to write. Nothing big, just a few tentative notes here and there: the difference between moving and standing still.
He didn't look up until a shadow fell across his notebook, startling him. Justin was hovering over him, coffee mug in hand. "Here," Justin said, smiling, and put the mug down by JC's hand.
"Thank you."
"Not a problem, you know that. Get you anything else?"
"No, thanks."
"Not even ninja waffles?"
JC grinned at that. "Maybe later?"
"Fine," Justin said, hands on hips, grinning back, "don't give me an excuse to come back, I don't care."
Suddenly, he wasn't quite sure why, JC was quivering with suppressed laughter, closing his mouth firmly to stop it from spilling out. Justin caught his eye, folded his arms across his chest, then looked at the floor, pressing his twitching lips together, and for some reason that was it. JC snorted, and the laughter pushed its way up his throat and out of his mouth. Justin seemed to buckle, and he ended up perched on the table, holding firmly onto JC's shoulder as JC bent over the table.
Together, they laughed and laughed. Justin leaned forward until his forehead was resting against the top of JC's head, and the hard-and-sweet sound of his laughter flowed right through JC, making his insides tickle with amusement. Yeah; way back in the distant past, but he remembered friendship being like this.
Eventually, the moment passed, and Justin sucked in a wheezing breath to stop himself. JC's own laughter bubbled to a stop, but Justin didn't lift his head for a moment. Into the silence he whispered, "You know I'm coming back anyway, right?" and his voice was soft and intimate. The shiver it sent through JC was almost enough to set him off laughing again, and definitely enough to keep the grin plastered on his face.
Justin straightened slowly and then stood, saying, "Catch you later," in a far more normal voice. He was still grinning as he brushed himself down and took off.
"Get back to work," JC said, swiping playfully at Justin's side as he went by. Justin gasped and jumped aside to avoid JC's hand, just late enough that JC's fingers brushed the top of his hip.
Justin let out a brief laugh. "You won't get me next time!" he called, backing away.
JC crossed his arms on the table and, a second later, dropped his head onto them. He started to laugh again, almost silently this time, and the feeling that went with it, shaky and amused and excited and disturbed, was unfamiliar and beautiful and very, very strange.
***
During the dinner rush, JC wrote and wrote and wrote. Justin was busy, of course, but every so often he stopped by with fresh coffee for JC and a friendly word or two. In between, JC had somehow gotten into something that was more narrative than poem, something long and flowing that seemed to want to pour out of him all in a rush. He felt almost flooded with it.
It was almost a nasty shock when, after the rush was over, someone tapped him on the shoulder; but then he looked up and it was Justin and that was fine. Justin said, "I'm just about to go on break. You hungry?"
"Um, yeah."
"Ninja waffles?"
JC smiled. "Could I get extra syrup, too?"
"You want flaming ninja waffles?" Justin gave JC his goofy grin, and JC grinned back. Justin shook his head a little. "Comin' right up."
Five minutes later, Justin was back with waffles and coffee for JC, pancakes and Coke for himself. He slid himself into the seat opposite JC without more than a, "Hey," cracked open the Coke, dug for painkillers, and downed two pills with one swallow of Coke.
"How's the head?" JC asked. Justin waggled his hand in the air – so-so – and delved into his pancakes. JC took a forkful of waffles. The extra syrup was really good. Although, hell, if the waffles he'd been eating before weren't fattening, these sure were. He washed the waffles down with a swallow of coffee.
"So," Justin said when his mouthful was done. "Your poem, man."
JC looked up. "Mmm?"
"I'm not much of a... I don't know much about poetry. I really don't. But it was just so. I don't know, so real, does that sound dumb?"
It didn't. JC swallowed and shook his head. "Real?"
"Yeah. Like. Like, I know what you mean." Justin put down his fork carefully and bit his lip, looked away briefly, then down at his plate. "It's like, last week. When those guys went for me..."
Justin fell silent for what felt like a very long time, staring down at his pancakes. JC looked at him, trying to figure it all out. There was a question his therapist kept asking, whenever he went quiet during a session: What's happening now? He wanted to ask that of Justin.
Then Justin said, "It was, it was like that."
JC nodded, unsure how to respond to that.
"The way you wrote it," Justin said, "it's like, in that moment, when it's happening... you're almost, yeah, you're more alive than you've ever been. And that feels. It sounds so fucked-up. But it feels good. And at the same time you're hurting and you're terrified. You know?" He looked up at JC, searching his face, and JC met his eyes. Felt the connection, just for a moment, before Justin's eyes flicked away. "You wrote it, man, so I guess you do."
JC nodded again. "I do." Justin had stopped eating and was looking out the window at the empty street. It was dark outside, and there were no cars driving past, no lights at all until the bright neon sign of a Best Western a few hundred yards over.
Tentatively, JC reached out and touched Justin's wrist. Justin's head snapped up and their eyes met again. "Justin," JC said, "I do."
"Yeah. I know. It's." Justin paused, his eyes back to searching JC's face. "I'm glad, you know? That you get it."
"Me, too," JC said, and meant it.
He took his hand from Justin's wrist, carefully, like it might hurt him. Justin watched the hand move, kept his eyes on it until JC picked up his coffee mug again. Then he glanced down at his plate and started to eat. JC sipped at his coffee and was quiet while Justin chewed.
After a little while, Justin said, "Were you in Iraq?"
"Yes," JC said, and Justin nodded.
"You were injured out there?"
"Yeah."
Justin looked out the window for a long moment, then back at JC. "How?"
"It was a car bomb," JC said. Justin kept looking at him, looking and looking with those dark blue eyes. JC swallowed air and said, "Three people died."
"Shit," Justin said.
"Yeah."
"I'm really sorry."
JC shook his head, then looked down at the table. He hadn't talked about this, really talked, in a couple of months, not since the day he broke down on the phone to his mom, and he'd really thought he'd gotten it under control. It was disconcerting to find that the old emotions were still there, lurking under the surface. Grief, pain, fear; the friends he missed. "Sorry," he said, though he wasn't sure what he was supposed to be sorry for.
"Hey," Justin said, and it was his turn to reach out for JC's hand. "It's okay. You've been through a lot, man."
JC nodded. Justin's big hand covered his, easily. When he didn't say anything more, Justin squeezed his hand once and then withdrew.
"I guess," Justin said, "I guess I can't really get it. It was so much bigger than what happened to me. But I... if you ever need someone to talk to. Someone that's just a friend, I mean, not a therapist or a doctor or whatever. I'm here."
"Thanks," JC said, looking at him again. He couldn't interpret the expression on Justin's face, except that there was sadness there, and he wasn't sure he wanted to be the cause of that. "I appreciate it."
"You're welcome," Justin said.
JC glanced at Justin one more time, dropped his eyes, and started to eat.
***
"You know," Justin said as he was clearing their plates at the end of his break, "I'm really glad I met you. Not just because you saved my ass."
JC threw back the last of his coffee. "I'm glad I met you, too," he said. He smiled; Justin snatched the cup from his hand.
"Later, dude," Justin said, balancing the plates in the crook of one elbow so he could pat JC's shoulder with the other hand.
JC spent the rest of the night writing, the same piece. It wasn't running as fast as it had been earlier in the evening, but he kept pushing at it, nudging it when it dried, and it slowly trickled out onto the page, word by word sometimes, but it came. The night felt cozy and companionable: there was no one else in the place by just after twelve, and Justin was moving about in the background, stacking the dishwasher, fixing coffee, singing along to the radio. When Blonde Starlet's shift ended at eleven, Justin had switched off the TV.
Every so often, Justin would prod JC in the shoulder and trade JC's empty coffee mug for a full one, but he otherwise didn't disturb JC's writing until the end of the night.
Two o'clock seemed to roll around faster than normal. JC was vaguely aware that, behind him, Justin was going through the motions of closing up for the night, but he was so absorbed in his narrative that he didn't pay much attention until Justin's voice was right by his ear. "Hey, can you hear me in there?"
"Wha'?"
"Time to go home, dude."
JC blinked, put his pen and notebook away in the inside pocket of his jacket, and stood up. They walked out of the diner together, walking side by side down the aisle, close enough that they almost touched. Justin held the door for JC again, and JC ducked out into the cool night air and waited while Justin locked the door.
"So," Justin said when he was done. "I've been thinking."
"Yeah?"
"Yeah. I wondered what you were doing Wednesday." Justin stuck his hands in his pockets as they started to walk across the parking lot.
"Wednesday?" JC asked. "Don't you work?"
Justin nodded. "Yeah. I coach basketball in the afternoon." He took a deep breath and went on, "I wondered if you would maybe wanna come down. Meet the kids, shoot a few hoops, have some fun."
JC swallowed. "Justin, I don't..."
"C'mon," Justin said, stopping so he could turn to look at JC. JC stopped too. "It'd be good for you. And good for the kids, too, I think."
JC thought about it. "How many kids?"
"About twenty, most weeks."
"That's a lot."
Justin pursed his lips. "Yeah, maybe it is. Look... will you at least think about it? Let me know tomorrow for sure?"
"Yeah," JC said. "I will."
"Great."
Justin leaned forward and hugged JC. Not the casual, one-armed squeeze he'd greeted JC with, but a real hug, wrapping his arms around JC tight and pressing their bodies together. JC lifted one hand to pat Justin's back, awkwardly, and Justin let go and stepped back.
"I'll see you tomorrow, man."
"Yeah, for sure." JC sort of wanted to hug Justin again, properly this time, and for longer, but he repressed the urge. He wasn't sure he was quite there yet. "Have a good night."
"Will do. Drive safe, okay?"
With that, they parted ways, and made for their separate cars.
***
JC wasn't done writing. When he got home, he sat right down at the kitchen table and wrote until after four. He only noticed how long he'd been doing it because his hand was cramping up, his eyes gritty, his leg aching mildly from sitting, driving, and then sitting some more. Four-thirty, he finally made it to bed.
Tuesday was groceries day. He woke up much later than usual, still yawning in the shower, and drank his morning coffee with his pen in his hand, flicking through the pages he'd written last night. Pages and pages, almost to the end of the notebook. Most of it wasn't bad, even. Before long, he'd looked up at the clock and it was almost three, and he'd better get going if he was going to be in and out of the grocery store and all the way over to the diner by the time Justin got to work at six.
Justin. Next time his therapist said it sounded like he'd made a friend, JC was going to smile and say, Yes, I did. He was oddly proud of himself.
After he'd shopped and unpacked and eaten, he got right in the car; this time, he wasn't going to wait around for Justin to be there already. By the time six o'clock rolled around, he was sitting in the same booth he'd been in the day before, sipping a cup of Egghead's coffee and making notes on his long piece in the new notebook he'd picked up that afternoon. This book was bigger and thicker, heavier, more expensive. He was going to keep writing. Maybe show a couple more things to Justin.
He had his back to the counter, so he only noticed that Justin had gotten in from the sound of his voice, greeting his co-workers cheerily. The kitchen doors swung as Justin disappeared through them, and swung again as he emerged without his backpack, rubbing his hands together. He caught JC's eye as he ducked behind the counter, raising one hand briefly – just a sec – before moving over to help a pretty girl carrying a squalling baby.
They got busy early. JC was finding it hard to concentrate on his writing, glancing up every time Justin hurried by, and Justin seemed to notice every single time, grinning at him, detouring to clap JC on the shoulder when he could. The dinner rush seemed to crawl, on and on, and as much as JC tried to bury himself in his writing, it just didn't work. It probably didn't help that he was powering through the coffees as he wrote, enough buzz from the caffeine to make his head ache.
Finally, ten o'clock came around, and the last of the dinner customers were finally trickling out. Justin was behind the counter with Egghead, taking glasses out of the dishwasher and stacking them on the shelf, half an eye on some reality show on TV. Now it was quiet – just JC and a couple of guys sharing a basket of fries near the door – JC felt less wired and restless. Maybe it had been all the people that had bothered him and not Justin constantly rushing past.
After a few minutes, Justin emerged from behind the counter and hooked his elbow around JC's neck, pressing JC's head briefly against his chest. "Food?"
"Uh... sure," JC said. Justin's hand rubbed briefly against JC's neck before he vanished into the kitchen.
"You got a new book," Justin said when he came back. He sat down, sliding the waffles across to JC, keeping pancakes for himself.
"Yeah," he said. It had felt like a big decision at the time, picking it out and buying it, like he'd decided to keep trying. To keep living, almost. "I'm gonna keep writing." Justin grinned around his mouthful of pancakes.
"That's awesome," Justin said when his mouth wasn't full any more.
They ate together for a couple of minutes, saying nothing, friendly silence. After a little while, Justin said, "Did you think about it?"
"The basketball thing?"
"Yeah."
"And?"
JC shook his head, and Justin looked so disappointed he could hardly bear to follow it up with a no. Instead he said, "I don't know. Convince me."
Justin's grin came back.
"You'll love it," he said. "Fresh air, a little exercise, and there's nothing like working with these kids to get your spirits up. You ever work with kids before?"
"No."
"It's like nothin' else."
Justin sure could wax lyrical about the joys of youth work when given the chance. JC sat back, sipping the last of his coffee while Justin talked, but mostly it was Justin's enthusiasm that he let wash over him, not the words. Justin could have been talking about life on the moon, for all JC knew.
"Plus," Justin said eventually, getting serious again, "I think it'd be good for the kids to meet you. Some of them know a lot about violence, you know, from the inside. The way I never can."
"My experience isn't like theirs," JC said.
"No, it's not. But... You might get it. Or get bits of it that I don't get. And that might help some of 'em."
JC nodded.
"Willing to try?"
JC took a deep breath and said, "Okay."
"Awesome," Justin said, grinning, and JC couldn't help but grin too.
***
After two, when Justin had shut the place down and locked the door, JC walked him partway to his car. Halfway across the lot, Justin stopped in his tracks, looked around him, glanced back at the spot near the diner door where he'd been beaten up. "I just realized," he said to JC. "It's been a week. I made it through a week."
"You did," JC said. He put a gentle hand on the back of Justin's arm, just above his elbow. Proud of him.
"That's stupid, maybe," Justin said.
"No," JC said, "it isn't at all."
Justin looked down at him, his eyes seeming very big in his face. JC stood there for a second, rigid with indecision, then reached up and put his arms around Justin's neck. Justin hugged him back, hard and gratefully, clinging around JC's waist and pressing his face into JC's shoulder. They seemed to stay like that for a long time, crushed together, not saying anything. Then, at last, Justin loosened his grip and drew slowly back.
"You're doing great, Justin," JC said. They were still holding each other loosely; Justin was warm and very solid in his arms.
"Thanks, man." Justin let go all the way and, a little reluctantly, JC dropped his arms back to his sides. "I'll pick you up at two tomorrow, okay?"
"It's a date," JC said, and Justin grinned and reached out for him again. JC leaned into the hug, and Justin's body felt like a wall of muscle against his. The hug was over almost as soon as it had begun, Justin still grinning at him as he stepped back.
"See you then," Justin said.
"You still have my address?"
Justin tapped his pants pocket where he'd put the page from JC's notebook that had JC's address and phone number. "Apartment nineteen, right?"
JC nodded. "Right. Goodnight."
"Night, man."
Justin waved as he backed toward his car, then turned and ran across the parking lot. JC watched him go, get into the car, drive away.
Once he hit the highway, he switched on the radio. The easy listening station he'd liked so much on Saturday night was bugging him now, and he spent half of the drive turning the dial until finally he hit on a station playing Bon Jovi, and sang along, all about how some girl gave love a bad name. He stayed with the old-school rock until he drew up into the parking garage near his apartment with Paul Weller blaring. The neighbourhood was totally silent, and it suddenly felt like he was pulling up outside his parents' place in the middle of the night, music blasting, high on excitement, aged seventeen. He let the song play out before switching off the engine, then went upstairs.
He felt so damn good.
He took the last flight of stairs two at a time, not caring if it hurt his leg, like there was something fizzy and light buzzing through him to counteract the pain. He'd started on the Paul Weller song again, and that song bubbled right up through him until he felt high on it, lost in it, his voice ringing up and down the stairwell until he didn't even really care who he woke. Yeah.
He'd felt like this before. Way back when. Half-stumbling out of his dad's car and collapsing against the garage door, not yet daring to step through into the house, the taste of his very first kiss still warming his lips. He smiled to himself as he turned the key in his front door.
...Oh, wait. Back up a second.
He had the door half-open, one foot inside his apartment, and he was suddenly stopped in his tracks, remembering how Justin's arms had felt around him, firm and comforting. The way Justin's voice could sometimes make him shiver deep inside. Justin's eyes, sparkling with laughter.
He forced himself through the door and shut it behind him with a thump. Then he sank back against it and let it hold him up while he laughed at himself, and at the universe, and at his mother who'd once said to him, These things always happen when you least expect them.
Yeah. He'd felt this way before, all right.
Part 4: No More Standing Still
JC felt good when he woke the next morning. Ridiculously good, something like delight sparking right through him, making him grin against the pillow before he'd even opened his eyes. He'd slept better last night than he had done for weeks, and he didn't remember his dreams. That was a good sign, these days.
After breakfast, he pulled out his notebook and started work on the long narrative thing. He fixed three coffees during the morning, but was so absorbed in his writing that he didn't manage more than a couple of sips out of any of them. When one-thirty rolled around he stirred himself to fix lunch and put the writing aside while he ate it. Justin would be here soon.
He only ate about half of his sandwich, stomach twisted up with nerves, and almost jumped out of his chair when the doorbell buzzed ten minutes early.
Justin was bracing his hands on the doorframe on either side of him when JC opened the door. He grinned and held out his arms to hug JC, and JC hugged back, feeling the pleasure of being squeezed close. Justin's arms tight around his waist, his broad back under JC's hands. "Hey," Justin said.
"Hey yourself."
When they broke apart, JC was grinning too. Justin had shaved, first time since the attack as far as JC could tell, and the bruising around his mouth was slowly fading out, the sickly yellow-green bruises turned when they were finally starting to go. Despite the bruises, he looked sort of great: he was wearing a sleeveless white T-shirt and grey sweatpants, and JC had the opportunity to admire Justin's muscular arms, almost all the way up to his shoulders. JC could probably have looked at him all day.
"Let's go," Justin said. JC grabbed his keys and wallet from the shelf by the door and followed Justin down the three flights of stairs to street level. Justin had parked on the street, and he bounded across to his car, then turned to wait for JC, who was jogging a little to catch up. Not the best for his leg, but never mind. Justin waited for JC before getting into the driver's seat.
JC folded himself into the passenger seat. Justin's car was as neat and clean as his apartment; no surprise there.
"Nice neighbourhood," Justin said as he pulled out onto the street.
"Yeah, it's not bad."
Sports First was a small, grey, single-storey building about twenty minutes from JC's place. Justin parked right by the front door and got a sports bag out of the trunk before showing JC inside.
"So," Justin said, gesturing around the small office, "this is it. Not much, but it's home, so to speak. Have a seat." There was a single desk with an ancient-looking computer, one file cabinet, two chairs, and that was about all there was room for. There was a tiny kitchen in the back, even smaller than Justin's at home: enough space for a sink, a coffee machine, a little fridge and a microwave. Maybe two people could stand up in there, if they didn't mind getting in each other's way.
"You want something to drink?"
JC shook his head. His mouth was a little dry, but not from lack of water. He really had no idea what he was doing here. Twenty kids?
"All right – I've gotta check messages and mail." He checked his watch. JC checked his too, reflexively. 14:10. "Relax, man, we got about an hour."
JC took the seat that wasn't behind the desk. Justin booted up the computer, and sat for a while flipping through mail and scrawling notes with the phone to his ear. The sky outside the office's small window was clear and blue; it looked like there would be good weather for the coaching session.
While Justin worked, JC looked out the window and thought.
So here he was. A week ago – well, a week ago, he'd been dozing on Justin's battered couch, doing something he hadn't imagined even twelve hours before. A week before that – twenty-four hours before that, even – he wouldn't have dreamed of breaking up his little routine like this, of sitting in a cramped office, only feet away from a guy he barely knew and liked a lot. A whole lot. He sure as hell wouldn't have been considering doing something about it, no matter how vaguely, with no matter how little intention of actually following through.
Funny to think that a week ago he'd seen Justin stand in front of him in nothing but a towel, and it was only now that he was starting to wonder how his lips might taste.
"What?" Justin said.
"Huh?"
"You're staring at me, dude."
"I am?" He honestly hadn't noticed. "Sorry. Miles away."
Justin smiled. "I can see," he said softly. Then he stood up. "Okay, I'm done here. Wanna go shoot some hoops before the kids arrive?"
JC couldn't actually shoot a basket for shit, but he said, "Sure."
Justin swung his sports bag onto the chair, unselfconsciously shimmied out of his sweatpants, and pulled on a pair of khaki shorts. JC couldn't get much of a view of Justin's legs from behind the desk – just enough to see that they were long and surprisingly skinny, disproportionate with his gigantic feet.
When Justin had his shorts on, he dug in his sports bag and produced another pair. These ones were black. Justin tossed them over the desk to JC. "I figured you might actually fit into a pair of mine. I'm so skinny, most people don't." He smiled. "You don't wanna play ball in those pants, man."
JC picked up the shorts and turned them over in his hand. Justin frowned at him, just a little, confused.
"I have a scar," JC said eventually.
"On your leg?" Justin nodded slowly. "I figured." There was a long silence. JC looked down at the shorts, fingered the soft fabric, and thought about it. "I don't care about that. And the kids won't, either."
JC looked up at him.
"Okay, they might ask about it. But they're not gonna, like, run away screaming. Like I said, a lot of 'em, they've seen this shit already."
"Okay," JC said.
He stood up, and felt very exposed as he unbuttoned his pants, even with Justin pointedly looking the other way. It seemed to take forever to change clothes, stepping on the shorts awkwardly before getting his foot through one leg, but finally he said, "There."
Justin had been facing the door. He turned around, looked JC up and down, and turned his head to look at the scar on JC's leg. JC guessed it wasn't so bad, now that the stitches were gone and it was just a ten-inch red line on the inside of his calf, a metal pin holding the bone together that no one but a metal detector even saw.
"See," Justin said, "I'd barely even notice if I wasn't looking for it." He pulled open the door and held it open with his hip while he grabbed a ball from the top of the file cabinet. "C'mon, dude."
***
JC really couldn't shoot baskets for shit. He figured Justin was bound to notice after he missed his fifteenth shot or so. At least the last one had bounced precariously on the rim for a moment instead of missing the hoop entirely. Justin laughed, hands on his hips, shaking his head. "You want another free shot?"
JC grinned back. "This really isn't my game."
"Okay, lemme show you how this goes." Justin darted forward, caught the ball under his foot, kicked it up deftly and caught it with both hands. He walked up to JC, offered him the ball. "C'mon."
JC shook his head and took the ball.
"Okay, turn around, face the basket." JC turned. Justin was right behind him, now. "Okay, bend your knees a little. No, just a little. Okay, good. Now take the ball in both hands."
JC did. Justin's hands appeared suddenly on his shoulders, carefully angling and positioning his arms, and JC tried to let him do it without dropping the ball. Justin's hands felt great moving over his body, and this totally wasn't the time to be thinking about that.
"Cool," Justin said at last. "Now, okay, hold onto the ball with just your fingertips, right?"
JC complied. Justin's hands settled on the tops of JC's hips, holding him in place. "Now, you wanna just launch your whole body up," Justin jerked his hands up slightly, "and forward, and let go of the ball at the same time. Got it?"
"Got it." It was going to be sort of distracting to try, though, with Justin's hands on him like this. He kept imagining them sliding over his belly; Justin pulling him close, kissing his neck.
Yeah. Distracting.
"Okay, let's give it a shot."
Justin's hands squeezed. JC launched up and forward, but let the ball go way too soon, and the ball went in the right direction but aimed way too low, bouncing off the pole way, way below the basket. JC laughed and shook his head.
Justin laughed too, taking his hands from JC's waist. "Shit," he said. "Well, I tried, man."
JC grinned, still shaking his head, and went forward to retrieve the ball.
"Oh," Justin said, looking the other way all of a sudden. "Here we go."
JC turned his head to follow Justin's gaze. Five – no, six – teenagers were making their way across the court towards them, chatting quietly to each other. Justin called, "Hey, guys!"
There was a general chorus of greeting. One of them – a black kid almost as tall as Justin – said, "Who's your friend?"
"This is JC," Justin said, clapping him on the back. JC weakly raised one hand. "He's gonna be helping me out today."
"Cool," the kid said.
"'Kay," Justin said, "I gotta get something from my car. Don't maul him or anything, I'll be right back."
Nobody mauled him while Justin was gone. The kid who'd asked who he was introduced himself – Joe – and shook JC's hand. A couple of the other kids said, "Hey." JC asked them how they were doing, they said they were good. After that, Justin was back, a box full of basketballs under one arm, and another group of kids was coming from the other direction.
"Okay," Justin called, "let's get started."
***
The session turned out a lot better than JC had dared hope. Some of the kids – mostly the newer ones – were almost as hopeless as him, and Justin was a good coach. Somehow he managed to never make anyone feel bad, no matter their level of ability, no matter how hard they found something. The kids liked him, and trusted him, and because of that they seemed to like and trust JC. A couple of them asked how he knew Justin, but no one mentioned the scar on his leg.
They had two hours scheduled from three-fifteen. At five, Justin blew his whistle to stop them practising their passing and said, "Okay. We're gonna have a quick game to finish off. If you're an A, top of the court. If you're a B, bottom of the court. Fifteen minutes, most baskets wins."
JC was a B. The kids seemed to know the drill, tossing their balls back into the box until the only one left on the court was the one Justin was holding. They formed up into their teams and Justin threw in. The Bs got the ball.
The kids were pretty generous with JC, but then at least – after all the practice – he could pass, even if he couldn't shoot. All the running and dribbling made his leg throb faintly, but it was mostly okay. Exercise was good for him, as his physio kept telling him. All he did was catch the ball, pass it on, dart to the other side of the court. It was pretty evenly matched, but the B team seemed to have the edge.
Ten minutes in, JC caught the ball awkwardly as he was staggering backwards, stumbled, and cramp shot up his leg unexpectedly hard. He dropped the ball as he fell, letting out a sharp cry of pain, and the next thing he heard among the kids' shouts was the sharp blare of Justin's whistle. There were kids everywhere, and then Justin was at his side. His leg throbbed angrily as Justin helped him to sit.
"You okay?" Justin asked.
"Yeah." JC reached down to massage over the scar. "Overstretched the leg, I think. I better sit the rest of this out."
"Sure. Hold up, guys." Justin helped JC to his feet, and JC leaned heavily on Justin's shoulder as they walked over to the office. His leg wasn't quite obeying him just now.
Justin helped JC lower himself into the chair behind the desk. "Take it easy," Justin said. "Back in five."
"Okay."
Justin patted JC's shoulder briefly and darted back out to the kids. After a second, the whistle blew, and then JC was listening to the sound of the game outside, the kids shouting and cheering. He leaned down to massage his leg, but didn't manage to make a great impression on the pain before he heard the long whistle that signified the end of the game.
A couple of minutes after that, Justin was back. "How's the leg?" he said as he shut the door.
"Not so bad," JC said. Then, when Justin looked at him seriously, he admitted, "Still hurts a bit." He was still rubbing his leg, firmly as he could, but his arms were starting to burn with the effort and the odd angle.
"C'mere." Justin sank to one knee in front of JC, carefully lifted JC's hands away, and put his own hands around JC's calf. He started to rub, long, slow strokes, gentle but firm, his hands very warm.
JC closed his eyes. "Wow. Where'd you learn to do that?"
"I majored in sports science," Justin said. His voice was low and soothing. "Only two years of college, in the end, but I did a class on sports massage. And, you know, I try to keep in practice."
"You're good."
"Thanks."
JC stopped talking after that, letting Justin's hands perform their magic, working slowly up and down JC's calf, soothing the pain away until it was just a dull ache that Justin's hands couldn't do much more about. JC didn't say anything, let it go on even after that, because Justin's skin still felt warm and glorious against his, and if he wasn't going to go for what he wanted, he might as well take what he could get.
He'd only just managed friendship; his first friendship in months. He wasn't sure he could could get to romance, not in one giant leap from here.
Eventually, Justin slowed to a stop. "How's that?"
"Mmm. Much better."
"Cool."
Justin stood, and JC opened his eyes The room, and Justin, took a moment to swim back into focus. "Thanks," JC said.
"My pleasure," Justin said with a grin. He leaned against the filing cabinet. "So. Assuming I didn't cause you permanent damage, there. Are you coming back next week?"
"Next week?" JC felt a bit amazed. He was terrible at basketball.
"Yeah. Like, the kids kept asking me if you were coming back. I said I'd ask you to. So what do you say?" He made an apologetic face. "I guess you'd be, like, a volunteer helper. We got nothin' to pay you with."
"That's." JC smiled and shook his head. "That's okay. I, um, sure, if you'd like me to."
"I'd love it," Justin said, beaming, and JC couldn't help but grin back. Justin made an abortive gesture, like he wanted to punch the air, and said, "That's awesome."
"Yeah," JC said. It sort of was. He had a friend, and a crush, and a volunteer thing. His therapist was going to be so impressed.
Hell, he was pretty impressed.
Justin came to perch on the desk. "So, probably you're gonna need to come down to the office some time and meet the boss. I mean, I recruited you, that's fine, he won't interview you or anything. But there's like, forms and stuff to fill in, if you're gonna do this regular. That okay?"
"Sure."
"It's a pretty good place," Justin said. "I started here as a volunteer, way back when. That was like..." Justin glanced up at the door, counting. "God. Seven years ago?"
"So I guess you like it here," JC said.
"Love it." Justin was grinning at him again. "I really love it."
JC grinned back, not sure what to say, because Justin was looking down at him and their faces were only a few inches apart. Justin was grinning and grinning, and then his smile faded and his eyes searched JC's face for what seemed like a long, long moment.
JC tried to say, What?, but the word stuck in his throat. Then, all of a sudden, Justin ducked his head and kissed JC.
It was a tiny kiss, brief and delicious, and then Justin was straightening again. JC's body responded before his mind could: his lips parted slightly, and he leaned up desperately into the contact. Afterwards, while Justin was looking at him seriously, all JC could think was, He kissed me, he kissed me.
His heart was thundering in his chest.
"Um," Justin said. "It'd kind of help if you said something."
JC opened his mouth to oblige, then closed it again. He needed to ask about a million and one questions. And decide whether to kiss Justin decisively back or run screaming from the room. He was about fifty-fifty on the last one.
When he opened his mouth again, what actually came out was, "How did. How did you even know I was gay?"
"Oh, thank God," Justin said, suddenly beginning to laugh. "I was starting to think I'd gone insane."
JC laughed too. "No. No, you're not insane."
"Awesome." Justin's grin faded back to uncertainty; he bit his lip briefly before saying, "So?"
"So." JC took a breath. Honesty was the best policy, he figured. "I like you. A lot. But I think, I maybe need some time to think about it. This," he said, gesturing between himself and Justin, "it's a lot, all at once."
"I think I'd be good for you," Justin said softly.
"I. Yeah. You already have been, Justin." Honesty again. "You've been such a good friend to me this week."
"I won't stop being your friend just because we're dating," Justin said. "I mean, I can't tell the future, but, you already know all that stuff."
"I do, yeah."
"So it's... It's take a chance or don't. I don't think time's gonna help you make the choice, I honestly don't." He paused. "I mean. Take the time you need, this isn't like, now or never. But I don't think a time out's gonna help you very much."
JC looked at him, earnest and beautiful, his eyes dark blue and intense. It was a lot; Justin was a lot, a lot of energy, a lot of sweetness, a lot of affection. A lot to take on, so much more to get back in return.
He wondered how long he'd been wanting this, in some deep-down place he hadn't been able to hear, and what it had cost him not to be paying attention. Justin's mouth was full, kissable, and JC didn't want to stop here. Didn't want to stand still, not ever again.
He opened his mouth. "I," he said, and that took him down the wrong road. He started again. "Kiss me."
Justin did.
***
That first real kiss was wonderful, lingering and sweet and soft. Afterwards, Justin seemed reluctant to pull away, keeping one hand resting lightly on the back of JC's neck as they talked, his fingers playing delicately in JC's hair.
JC felt the need to stay close, too, and after a while he slipped an arm around Justin's waist. They talked about the evening to come, and the next few days, and then, in vague and careful terms, the future. Later still, JC's head lolled against Justin's chest. JC didn't feel like making the effort to right himself.
Eventually, Justin sighed and stood up, because he had to do some actual work before they could go. After asking a couple of times if he could help, JC sat back in his chair and watched Justin sort papers into the filing cabinet. When he was done, he pushed the top drawer shut with a victorious grin.
"I'll train you up on all of this sometime," Justin said, gesturing around the office. "Right now I just want to get out of here." As JC got to his feet, Justin bent down to grab his sports bag from the floor and swung in onto his shoulder as he straightened up again.
"Good call," JC said, and took the half-step forward that got him close enough to kiss Justin. Justin made a small noise of surprise and kissed back, his arms sliding around JC's waist.
They held each other briefly before heading out to Justin's car, grinning like a couple of schoolkids. JC almost didn't want to let go of Justin at all, except that they were leaving now, going back somewhere, and Justin had suggested curling up on the couch with takeout and DVDs.
It sounded like a pretty good first date.
"So," Justin said, grinning as he started the car, "your place or mine?" It was the one thing they hadn't quite come to a decision on. JC's apartment was closer; Justin's had the better takeout places.
JC's call, apparently.
"Let's go to my place," he said. He didn't have a whole bunch of DVDs, but they could rent something. Or find a movie on cable. Whatever. After months of doing everything by strict routine, it felt pretty nice to be winging it a little.
"Works for me," said Justin.
When they hit the highway, he slipped a possessive hand onto Justin's knee, well below the cuff of the khaki shorts. The bare skin felt good underneath his hand. Justin glanced at him, smiling, and JC brushed his thumb against Justin's skin lightly, smiling back.
Come Friday, his therapist was going to ask about Justin, and he was going to talk and talk and talk. Hell; he'd talk about Justin even if she didn't ask. He'd tell his physio. This was news. They'd be pleased for him.
Actually. Tomorrow, after he'd gone with Justin back to Sports First, talked to the boss, filled out all the forms, he was going to call his folks and tell them all about his new boyfriend. The story of how they'd met, and drawn closer, what they'd come to mean to each other.
Justin stopped at a red light five minutes from JC's house, and leaned over, hooked his arm around JC's shoulders, kissed his cheek, his ear. Before JC had time to respond, the light was green and both Justin's hands were on the wheel.
Halfway up the stairs to the apartment, Justin reached for JC's hand. JC took it, smiling, and threaded their fingers together after a moment. When, as they turned onto the last flight, Justin stopped and let go of his hand, JC felt disappointed for just a second, until Justin's arm came around his waist, pulling him close.
There was space on the narrow stairwell for two if they snuggled right up, so JC put his arm around Justin and they climbed the rest of the way like that, slowly, step by careful step so they didn't trip over each other.
They were laughing a little by the time they reached JC's door. "Number nineteen," Justin said happily.
"That's me."
His hand trembled a little around the key as he unlocked the door and slowly pushed it open. Justin hovered behind him, smiling but tense with nerves.
"So this is your place," Justin said.
"Yeah." It was so different from Justin's place: neat because he didn't have much stuff, not because it was carefully kept that way. Bare and empty, like his life, half-lived.
He was going to change all that.
JC turned in the doorway, pocketed his keys, and after a second, held out his hand to Justin. Justin took it, his nervous smile blossoming into a grin. Grinning like that, he seemed to glow.
"Come inside," JC said, and he tugged Justin over the threshold and into his arms.
