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If Jake’s learned anything in the past months, it’s that things are expensive. Everything is. Ridiculously so. Sure, he’s learned other things ( like that the house feels bigger when the lights are on, intimidatingly so, or that no one asks about bags under your eyes if you change the subject fast enough), but the money issue is the main one.
It’s what he thinks about as he pulls at the sleeves of a suit from years ago. When his parents were home, they’d get him a new suit every year--he grew a lot, and he had lots of banquets and formal meetings to attend. He’s still growing, and he’s still going to those banquets, but he’s stopped buying new suits.
A small consolation, perhaps, is that he isn’t going to a banquet tonight. He’s going on a date--he pauses in his fidgeting to let the words roll around his head; he’s gone on dates before, but this one feels different, because it is different. He’s been trying to focus on that ever since he put on the too-small suit, and now he’s standing on Rich’s porch, casually leaning against a column while he waits for Rich to answer the door.
(His only suit is getting dirt all over it, but he needs to keep up that casual demeanor.)
Dates are expensive, too, especially with Jake’s perfectionism thereof. If his romantic endeavours are successful, people will think everything else is, too--this is a relationship-based culture, after all. He’d ended up (stupidly) going for a formal restaurant, which was a mess in itself. He’d had to put on this suit, and he’s fairly certain he’d only gotten the reservation because the hostess recognized the Dillinger name.
Rich swings the door open, catching Jake off-guard; to his credit, he hides how he’s been startled. He gives Rich a smooth once-over, his gaze lingering exactly where it’s supposed to. That motion is more staged than the Oscars, but the way his eyes light up as he smiles at the view is an entirely natural reaction.
He’s so entranced that he almost doesn’t catch Rich inviting him in. He picks up on context clues, though, and falters for a moment--this restaurant is too fancy to risk being late for their reservation, and honestly, he’s shocked they even let him make the reservation in the first place.
He shrugs and offers his hand, trying to ground himself as much as is trying to calm Rich’s nerves. “We’ve got a reservation. Afterwards, though?” Rich doesn’t respond, staring at Jake with a stricken look. Jake isn’t exactly used to this; it leaves him scrambling for a moment before trying to calm the tension between them again. “You should wear suits more often.”
He’s being serious, but it doesn’t have the effect he’s aiming for; Rich grabs his hand and pretty much drags him to the car, and he makes a mental note to tone down the compliments.
He isn’t going to, but he makes a mental note to do so.
The silence of the car ride that follows leaves him a bit uncomfortable, but he’s too stuck on Rich’s last reaction to change things. His entire life is just lonely silence with noisy interruptions (as many as possible, clubs and movies and parties), though, and he copes with it now by stealing glances at Rich (his date , they’re on a date! ).
By the time he pulls into the restaurant’s parking lot, he’s brought himself back to Earth. He unbuckles and jumps out, fully prepared to open Rich’s door with a flourish and an “after you.” These plans are quickly shot when he turns to see Rich shutting his own door. Like everything else so far, this leaves him fumbling; he’s scripted everything he does so meticulously that he can’t deal with new reactions.
“I thought--I figured I’d open the door for you.” He rubs the back of his neck, forcing a bashful laugh; anything to keep Rich from seeing how nervous he is. The look on Rich’s face shows that he’s perhaps doing that a bit too well; obviously, neither of them are doing all too well with this. It’s fine. He can fix this. “I’ll get your chair for you, at least.”
Rich hesitates, then grins, and things are back on track. Jake gestures for him to lead, using the short walk to the door as an opportunity to catch his breath. Things are going well, really, and he shouldn’t even really be stressing. Keep it together, Dillinger.
They’re led to their table without a lot of fanfare; honestly, Jake had been half concerned that it would turn out he’d never gotten a reservation at all, and he appreciates the monotony of the situation, the obvious boredom of the host for whom Jake’s name meant nothing more than a line to cross off on the night’s list of reservations.
He doesn’t have a chance to reach for a chair before Rich has already grabbed one, presenting it to Jake with the same flourish Jake would’ve used. It’s a pleasant surprise, really; this is the first time Jake’s been on the receiving end of such treatment, and he’d had no idea that he would appreciate it as much as he does.
He sits, unfolding his napkin and laying it across his lap--so maybe this is a little bit like formal banquets, with less boring speeches and stuffy conversation. A few moments later, he feels Rich tense up behind him before quickly moving to the other seat at the table. Not for the first time, Jake thinks about how cute Rich is, his cheeks flushed as he settles down and scoops up a menu, and the thought comes through in yet another smile.
“What are you getting?” Rich asks, meeting Jake’s eyes and then immediately turning his attention back to the menu. Before Jake can answer, Rich is flipping to a page and nodding. “I’m thinking the risotto.”
It’s only now that Jake picks up his own menu, squinting to see where Rich is turned to and making his way there himself. He asks Rich what risotto is even as he reads the description, then crinkles his nose. It isn’t that he doesn’t like fancy food--he loves it, really--but the picture the restaurant had gone with doesn’t look appealing, especially not with the price tag attached.
He acts as though he’s seriously considering the dish before shaking his head. “Nah, not for me. I’m like, a chicken strips kinda guy.”
It’s the only thing he’s said all night that actually manages to diffuse the tension in the air. Rich snorts, turning his menu over then reaching over to do the same to Jake’s. Jake follows his gestures to a child’s menu; despite his joking, this really does look like more his speed.
Jake purses his lips together to keep from laughing as he continues the schtick, pathetically glancing from the menu to Rich and back again. “I don’t know, man, I think they use real meat in these. I only eat the processed stuff.” The chuckle Rich responds with is nothing short of amazing, and Jake presses on, determined to get more of it. “Plus, this says you have to be ‘12 and under’ to order.”
He’s rewarded with a real laugh, one that makes him forget about money and suits and appearances entirely. Suddenly, he’s not maintaining his social status or dancing on the edge of embarrassment--he’s eating dinner with his best friend, the only person in the world that really gets him, and everything is actually, genuinely perfect for once.
“Hey, dude, if you wanna see me in suits more, you gotta take me to fancy places more often.” Rich’s comment is unprompted--in fact, it interrupts Jake entirely--but not at all unwelcome, because this flirty banter is the kind of thing he loves. He leans forward, bites his lip so subtly it’s hardly noticeable, smiles.
“I’d like that.”
Jake isn’t too keen on ending the date early; they’ve barely left the restaurant before he suggests an addition. “I mean, we didn’t get dessert, and ice cream sounds pretty killer right now.” Rich grins in response; this time, they walk to the car side by side.
Ice cream did, in fact, sound killer; they both get triple scoops before deciding to take advantage of the good weather by going on a walk. They aren’t the only ones with this idea, and Jake smiles at kids begging bedraggled parents for cones and at content couples who look at him and then at each other with adoring eyes.
Despite his rapport with those he passes, he is acutely aware that he’s elbowing Rich every so often in his attempts to eat his ice cream. He reasons that it’s probably no big deal; after all, it isn’t happening that often, and he’s happy to be this close to Rich.
Unfortunately, Rich seems to think otherwise; he shoves Jake, who doesn’t really know what’s happened until they’re both staring at his ice cream, which had been unceremoniously knocked onto the sidewalk beneath them.
He turns his gaze to Rich at the same moment Rich turns to him, and for a moment, the shock of the entire situation is shared between them, as if ice cream falling is the biggest catastrophe either of them have ever been through. Jake can only keep up the illusion for a moment before breaking and turning it into a joke, only slightly mourning the loss of his sweet, sweet butter pecan dessert.
They continue their walk, and Jake notes that the sun is setting, and he probably needs to shut things down soon. He ignores that part of his mind, and in fact goes against it completely. A few minutes go by where they walk in comfortable silence until Jake finally pumps himself up enough to reach for Rich’s hand.
When Rich doesn’t pull away, Jake leans in closer, putting half his weight on Rich, waiting for an indignant groan, or perhaps another shove. It never comes; the two walk back to the car like this, Jake gradually putting more of his weight until Rich, who never says a word about it.
At home, Jake changes into normal clothing and leaves his suit in a messy pile on an otherwise spotless floor. Irons exist for a reason, after all.