Chapter Text
Jesse’s at a party; the kind of party he would’ve died to go to in high school but doesn’t find impressive anymore. It's still fun, though, and he knows a lot of people, and the beer is cheap and ever-flowing. The party doesn’t matter though. It’s one of many; a way to spend a Saturday night.
What matters is that Jesse has to pee and the door to the bathroom is closed. He knocks and gets no response. Knocks again; nothing. He never understands why people close bathroom doors behind them. He has been made practical by seven siblings, two showers, and three toilets: In his house you leave the door open when a bathroom’s free so that no one has to waste time checking.
He decides enough is enough and feels like an idiot for standing around in front of what is clearly an empty bathroom, so he opens the door and goes in.
It’s not empty, though: John’s in there making out with someone.
And if John was with one of the girls he normally makes out with, Jesse would’ve laughed, apologized, and left. Or if it was John’s ex-girlfriend that he keeps accidentally hooking up with, or that random girl at the party that no one really likes, or even if it was one of Jesse’s ex-girlfriends, except Sarah because he’s still sort of cut up about her, Jesse would’ve done that: just laughed and left. Maybe given John a thumbs up or something.
It’s not one of the girls he normally makes out with. It’s not one of the girls he abnormally makes out with. It’s not a girl at all. It’s a boy, a tall, broad-shouldered boy who was apparently wearing lip gloss because it’s now smudged across John’s mouth.
So Jesse doesn’t apologize and he certainly doesn’t laugh; he scowls and turns around and leaves; leaves the whole damn house; fuck it, fuck him, fuck everything.
He’s walked about two houses away when he remembers that John drove him here. He knows if he would just go back he could bum a ride off someone, but then he might see John and he definitely doesn’t want to see John. So fine; he’ll just walk. It’s not even that cold; it’ll be fine. His house is about a fifteen minute drive from here locally, so that’s…shit. That’s far to walk. But he doesn’t care.
“Jesse!”
He sort of half-knew this would happen, and he sort of half-wants it to, but he keeps walking.
“Jesse! Stop!”
John’s got to be crazy if he thinks that’s going to work. Oh, you want me to stop? Why didn’t you say so earlier? I thought you were just calling out my name for your own enjoyment.
Jesse hears the sound of feet slapping concrete behind him and knows John is running to catch up. He also knows that he could probably outrun John, but he keeps walking, because this whole thing is stupid enough already without a chase scene.
When John reaches Jesse he shoves him in the back a little, and Jesse turns around, because John earned it, at least. He’s doubled over, out of breath.
“Fuck!” he says. “I’m out of shape.”
“Maybe you should quit smoking,” Jesse says irritably. He loves John but he will always resent him for smoking when John knows how scared Jesse is that his emphysemic grandfather is going to die.
Usually John gives him the finger when Jesse says stuff like this, but this time he doesn’t. “Jesse,” he wheezes, “I’m sorry. I know you’re mad at me –”
“I’m not mad at you,” says Jesse. Mostly he’s mad at himself.
“Yes you are,” says John. “Don’t lie. I’m sorry, okay? I’m sorry. I know you must hate me; I get it; I’m sorry, but please don’t, please don’t stop being friends with me, please…”
“Why would I stop being friends with you?” Jesse mutters. He kicks a bit of gravel into the strip of grass that separates the curb and the street from the sidewalk.
John is staring at him and even in the dimness of night Jesse can see that his face is genuinely pained. “Because – because you hate me. Because you think I’m disgusting. Because you think I’m a fag. Because you don’t want me to kiss guys. Because it’s gross. Because you think I’m going to hell.”
“Shut up, John,” Jesse sighs. “You know I don’t think that.”
“Yes you do.”
“No, I don’t.”
“Then why are you mad? Why did you leave?”
Jesse scratches the back of his neck and avoids eye contact. “Come on, dude; don’t make me say it.”
“Say it,” John commands. “Please, please, just say it.”
“Because –” They are alone in this patch of suburbia. “Because I don’t want you to kiss other guys.”
John smiles and then does something Jesse knows he wouldn’t do (here, at least) if it was light out or if there was anyone nearby or if he hadn’t been drinking for approximately the last four hours: He kisses Jesse on the lips. Just briefly, like the first time. For a split-second Jesse wants to cry, but then he feels better.
They walk back to John’s car together and argue over whether John’s sober enough to drive. Jesse wins. He starts the car up and then they argue over where to go.
“My parents’ll flip if I come home this drunk.”
“Yeah, and mine are going to give you a medal?”
“They’ll be asleep.”
“So will yours!”
“But if mine wake up they’ll flip and if yours wake up they won’t because it’s not you who’s this drunk, so they won’t. They’ll just be a little mad at me. Please, Jesse. Please just let me come home with you.”
So he does. Jamey is in the living room when they come in, and he looks up right as Jesse has to catch John to keep him from falling into the hall table, and Jesse just shrugs at his brother and helps John to his room.
Jesse’s bed is twin-size and John sprawls onto it, apparently uninterested in sleeping on the floor. Jesse helps him get his shoes and socks off but stops there. John can sleep in his clothes for one night. He goes to the bathroom and pees because he never got to do that and he really, really had to, and then he goes to the hall closet and gets a blanket and some sheets and an extra pillow to make up a bed for himself on the floor, since Jamey’s on the couch, but when he comes back in John sits up and asks what he’s doing. “Sleep in the bed with me,” he says.
“It’s too small,” says Jesse.
“No it isn’t. What, you have a problem with touching me, now?”
“John,” says Jesse. “You’re drunk.”
Jesse and John have been behaving as average heterosexual boys for nearly three years now. Mostly. Jesse thinks about John but nothing happens between them. Jesse just dates girls. There were a few boys he thought were cute but he didn’t do anything about it, even though some of them maybe thought Jesse was kind of cute, too. He really only thought that because they reminded him of John, anyway. And John doesn’t want this. Didn’t, at least. Jesse is sort of angry at him – angry that he’s been hooking up with boys but not Jesse. But he’s still mostly angry at himself, for not being good enough.
Sometimes in the past when John’s been drunk he would do something just slightly inappropriate with Jesse. Once they were sitting in the backseat of someone’s car and John put his hand on Jesse’s inner thigh, and Jesse had to physically move him so no one would see, because he knew he’d catch shit from John if someone saw even though it was all John’s doing. The other times it was more innocent, less noticeable: hugging when there was nothing to hug about or sitting too close. It’s sort of a joke among their friends, how affectionate John gets when he’s drunk.
“It would be…it would be taking advantage,” Jesse says now.
“We won’t do anything,” John says. “Just sleep. Please?”
And Jesse climbs into bed with him, because he can’t look at John and not want to give him everything he’s ever asked for.