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If asked how long his wrist had bothered him Jay wouldn’t be able to say.
A while. A few years. A decade. Maybe more, maybe less. He’d never bothered to think about it. Why would he? It was unchanging, like the rising of the sun or the musty odor of cigarettes that now clung to practically everything he owned. He had been shot and his side hurt and his stamina had been completely eradicated by years of fevers and his wrist clicked like a broken hinge more often than not. These were the simple facts of life, things that even Jay wasn’t inclined to question.
That didn’t mean it didn’t hurt like hell whenever it decided to flare up.
“Shit.” The curse slips past his lips before he even registers he’s speaking, an unintentional admittance of pain. But who wouldn’t curse at a sudden lightning bolt of pain traveling down from one’s wrist into their fingers. It wouldn’t even be a problem if it wasn’t for the man sitting next to him.
“What?”
God damn it. Somethings changed, but Tim’s near perpetual anxiety about Jay getting back into trouble never did. “Nothing.”
It’s not exactly a convincing argument. Jay doesn’t need to look up to tell that Tim was already riling himself up like he always did at the first sign of trouble. Did he really expect today to be any different? Being stuck together in their tiny, God-awful apartment always did seem to lead to some sort of argument. With 600 square feet to call their own and about a single square footage of that being devoted to walkable floor space Calling their apartment cramped would be an understatement. When they were both home they had no choice but to practically sit on top of each other like they were now, two peas in a mildly unpleasant pod.
No amount of hard work and scrounging for pennies seemed to be able to get them anything better. Tim went to his awful shifts at Walmart and Jay Experienced ever humiliation known to mankind at the front desk. Maybe he should have asked for another shift Jay thinks to himself as Tim shifts closer, peering at his laptop screen.
“What are you watching?”
“YouTube Tim, what else would I be watching? I’m using my computer not the television.”
“Yeah, what type of YouTube.”
“I don’t know.” The bed creaks as Tim gets up. That part’s fine. It’s when he sits back down that Jay is jostled, His hand immediately letting him know that any movement was unacceptable. “careful! What are you doing Tim!”
Tim’s eyes widen then flicker down toward his side, not bothering to answer Jay’s question. “Shit. Are you OK?”
The Jay of a couple months ago would have responded by hissing at him, pushing Tim away as hard and fast as he could. The Jay of now just shrugs, carefully maneuvering his arm so that he could cradle it against his chest. As annoying as all of this was he’d have to offer up some sort of explanation unless he wanted the one day they had off together this month to be spent in miserable arguments. Besides, it wasn’t like he could shove him right now without hurting himself more. “It’s nothing. My wrist hurts.”
“Your wrist hurts?”
“Yes Tim, my wrist hurts.” There. Conversation done.
“Since when did you have problems with your hand?”
Jay grimaces, using his good hand to close the laptop. Conversation not done. Whatever. Tim was very particular in what he decided to be stubborn about. Granted, he usually allowed Jay a fairly free reign. Jay had been the one to choose their apartment, their appliances, hell, even the bedspread they were sitting on. It was surprising what he cared about now that he wasn’t actively running from his ex-best friend and the eldritch abomination intent on ruining his life. Tim had nodded along to all of it, for the most part. There were sticking points. He had opinions about the kitchen, not that he should given how bad he was at cooking, and insisted on a routine that would infuriate Jay if a small part of him didn’t relish in the newfound order of their lives.
All of that was to say he had gotten very adept at learning when Tim was going to double down. His eyebrows creased and his mouth closed, a subtle shift that signified that Tim was going to get what he wanted come hell or high water. Most of the time Jay fought back. If Tim was stubborn then Jay always rode the border of obstinance, but living with Tim had taught him when to bend. Sometimes. Occasionally.
“I don’t know. Sometime in college, maybe?”
“What did you do to it?”
“I just said I don’t know.” Jay angles his arm just so, staring down at it. There were no visible blemishes, no scars. Certainly nothing to indicate whatever was making it throb. “I used to do a lot of editing.”
“Editing hurt you so bad your hand’s been fucked for years?” If it weren’t for the fact that Tim was the most important person in his life Jay would beat him over the head with the laptop. “All right, all right. I guess that makes sense. I just don’t remember you hurting it.”
Jay opens his mouth then closes it. It wasn’t like he remembered either. That wasn’t good, was it? Already he could feel his brain plucking and prodding at the question, trying and failing to unfurl the tangled web that was his past. It happened in college. Why he was so sure of that he could not say, but he felt the certainty of it ache deep in his chest. It was the only thing that made sense. It wasn’t like he remembered anything from college. He could only recall bits and blips, most of it bad. Dr. Stevens was talking about specific therapies to help him cope with suppressed traumas now that he was mostly stable. It made him feel young and small and inclined to pick the laptop up and smash it against the wall instead of Tim’s head.
Alex hurt him. Jay could admit that. How had he done it? Had it been a dare gone wrong, something relatively innocent? Or maybe it had been when he helped Alex pack, his wrist snapping like dried kindling as soon as he hit the ground, Alex’s shoe against his ribs or perhaps coming down on top of his hand and-
“Hey, hey. Stay with me buddy.” Jay blinks. Right. Tim was here. One of his friend’s hands is resting against Jay’s good arm, the other hovering near his face as if Tim was unsure if he was allowed to touch him. “There we go.”
“I’m fine.” Jay says automatically, not bothering to make it sound convincing. They knew each other too well for that and Tim’s face showed real concern, lips pulled back into a tight frown. He should demand Tim back off. He doesn’t. Another development that wasn’t necessarily new, although it was worrying. No matter how many casual little touches they shared Jay couldn’t stop himself from craving them. What was more pathetic: Completely spacing out mid conversation due to buried trauma, or whatever gay bullshit was flitting through his head? Probably the latter.
“No, you’re not. I’m getting you an ibuprofen.”
“I can’t take that Tim.” For a man so dedicated to butting in on Jay’s health care it was amazing what he managed to forget. “Besides. It doesn’t help.”
“Damn.” Tim considers this. “Advil wouldn’t help either then.”
Why was Tim treating this like it was a big deal? “No, and I can’t take it anyways. It’ll go away in a few days if I leave it alone.”
“A few days- Jay what about work?”
“My job is to stand around and greet people, it’s not like I use my hands.”
“You’re calling out if it’s still bad tomorrow.” And, OK, that wasn’t going to fly. But before Jay can open his mouth and tell him off for being a controlling, presumptive asshole he’s cut off by the sheer absurdity of Tim’s next sentence. “Would a massage help?”
Was Tim fucking with him? “What? I’m pretty sure it broke and healed wrong or something. I don’t need to go to a spa.”
“Yeah, yeah I know that but” Tim gestures to his leg, his own beast of burden. Soon it would be summer and that would mean shorts and the perpetual reminder of what had been done to him etched into Tim’s skin. “My physical therapist did that and it helped.”
“You went to physical therapy?”
“For a little bit. Insurance only approved a couple sessions. Apparently that was enough to fix me.”
“I’m –
“Don’t.”
“OK.” Reluctantly Jay uncurls his arm from his chest, inspecting his wrist. His own injuries weren’t as obvious as Tim’s, no purply scars or divots carved into his skin. But it was still there. Yes. Definitely Alex. Why hadn’t he bothered to think about this before? More importantly, what was he going to do about it now?
Tim’s face is completely earnest like it always was when he wanted to help. And he was trying to be better about offering rather than demanding, letting Jay choose for himself what he wanted now that he was capable of wanting things that weren’t harmful to himself and everyone around him. Why not, right? It wasn’t like Tim would ever consciously hurt him.
“OK. I guess. Did it help?”
“No Jay, it made everything worse. Of course it helped, why would I offer if it didn’t?”
“I don’t know. Revenge for breaking the washing machine?”
“That would be kind of a dog shit plan considering you’re listed on the lease. How am I going to pay the rent without you?” Slowly, gently, and reverently if Jay was inclined to fool himself, Tim takes Jay’s hand into his own.
“I didn’t say It was a good plan.”
“Asshole.” There’s no real malice in his voice or in his movements, and Jay prays his cheeks aren’t already flushed. Here was the real danger in doing whatever the hell this was. Not actively losing his mind 24/7 meant more moments of humiliation as he realized just how easy he had become to fluster. What was he, 16? The humiliation of it all didn’t change the fact that it was happening, much like his awareness of his immaturity didn’t change the way his heartbeat started to race at the feeling of Tim’s knuckles brushing the back of his hand.
In some ways Tim stupid idea was already working. It was hard to focus on how much pain you were in when you were having the horrifying realization that you’d been pavloved into finding the smell of cigarettes and hairspray attractive. Gross.
Jay didn’t even really have the usual distraction of fear that came with being so close to another man, a residual fear leftover from college and the few scant encounters he’d had afterwards. But this was Tim. Tim would be safe even if they didn’t share the same disinterest in anything remotely sexual. Shit. How did he know that? Why was he so sure that they were completely on the same page? Maybe it was the way Tim looked at him, fond, yes, but with nothing more behind his eyes. Maybe it was in the way Tim flinched just like he did. In all likelihood they’d had a conversation that had since been stripped from both their memories. Well, stripped from Jays at least.
He should be used to forgetting by now. He wasn’t.
Tim’s thumb rubs circles on the base of Jay’s wrist, nail polish already chipped. Masky would have to redo it soon. Unlike Jay Tim never bit his nails, but with days spent lifting boxes and ringing in customers it didn’t take long to ruin his hard work. It struck Jay as an awful shame. He always thought Tim’s hands were beautiful.
They made a funny pair, didn’t they?
Tim pushes down harder, digging into the meat of Jay’s palm. How does he know where the pain is? Had they done this before? No. Before Jay would have been convinced Tim only meant to hurt him. Hell. Maybe the Jay of the past was right. The whole thing felt a little slapdash.
“Do you know what you’re doing?”
“Nope.” Tim hums, not bothering to look up.
“What?” Jay squawks, glaring up at Tim. He at least thought Tim had watched a YouTube video or something like that. Given his confusion about what the Internet even was this shouldn’t come as a surprise. “Then why did you offer?”
“Seriously Jay?” Tim says as if and Jay was the crazy one for getting offended. “I’m not a physical therapist. I told you, I know what helped me.”
“Great Tim. What are we going to do if you make things worse?”
“Do you want me to stop?”
“No!” Shit. His answer comes far too quickly, and if Tim wasn’t so distracted play-acting Dr he might have noticed. Was this helping? Probably not. Neither of them were doctors, and this was an old wound. Rationally he knew they should call this whole thing quits and give the ibuprofen a try. Why didn’t he?
The answer, for once in his life, comes easily. It was nice to be so close to Tim.
Jay winces. Tim mutters a soft soothing noise and lightens up the pressure. Jay should feel irritated at that. He wasn’t a baby.
“Were you still in college for a film?” He blurts out.
“What?”
“When we first met backup up you said you were in college. Were you still studying film?” The words feel awkward, stilted. Alex was right. He was a moron.
“Oh. Yeah. I was, kinda. I could only do it part time. On the weekends and nights, you know? Would have taken me a couple of years to even get my associates but I was still trying.” He shrugs. “I wasn’t interested in film any more though.”
That made sense. “What were you studying?”
“History.”
“Wait. Seriously? History?”
“Yep.”
History. Jay turns the idea over in his mind. It made sense. Tim always liked to watch stupid documentaries, eyes lighting up at narration that could and often would put Jay to sleep. Was there a common theme in what Tim watched, something that could tell him his friend’s specification? Probably not World War I or two. The Civil War maybe? He’d definitely be studying something American. Jay would have noticed if Tim had some sort of fixation on another country.
“The Revolutionary War Tim, really?”
“Hey. I didn’t say that I made a great decision.” There’s a small smile on Tim’s face, self-depreciating and sweet. “How did you know?”
“I don’t know Tim, probably the library books you check out or the fact that you were googling musket ball gunshot wounds a couple weeks ago. It’s pretty obvious in retrospect.”
“You don’t know that. Maybe I was just planning a very antiquated murder.”
“Do you want to go back and finish your degree?”
“no. No money in it unless I try and be a professor or something.”
Jay couldn’t refute that. It was laughable to imagine Tim standing up there in front of a classroom of idiot freshmen. Most of his class would probably fail, distracted by his snippy little quips and likely complete inability to do anything academic. Not that Jay would be able to do any better but… He considers it, gritting his teeth at the pulling on his tendons. Professor Wright. He’d probably wear a nice little suit, black or blue. Maybe he’d even have glasses and tie back his hair. That would surely distract any of his students attracted to men. It certainly distracted Jay.
Good Lord. Being convinced that he was about to get murdered whenever they got close might be preferable to whatever this was. Tims palms are rough where Jay’s are smooth, Tim’s fingers blunt and calloused where Jays and long and spindly. This was nice Jay realizes, as if it was a surprise that most things with Tim were better than everything else in his life. But this is something slightly new. It feels wonderful to finally have Tim pulled back on the caretaking just a bit, to be treated as a flesh and blood man not a teacup that was liable to break.
If Jay leaned forward he could kiss him. He doesn’t. There’s a lot of other things he would rather fantasize about. Sitting in bed all day and watching terrible TV. Taking Tim out to a nice restaurant and seeing him eat until he was full. Living someplace nice and warm where the aches in their bones wouldn’t hurt them anymore. It’s over sooner than he would like. The pressure suddenly eases up and Jay comes back into focus to see Tim looking at him expectantly, waiting to be told job well done. This, at least, Jay can give him.
“Thanks.” Jay flexes his fingers, feeling a tingling numbness shoot down into his pinky and side of his ring finger. Nope. Definitely didn’t help. But it feels looser, and when he rotates it there isn’t the usual accompanying crack.
Across from him Tim raises his eyebrows.
Did he feel the same way? Jay scours his face for any sign of emotion. Maybe he didn’t. Maybe all of this was a one-sided crush like every other man Jay had set his eyes on. Maybe it wasn’t. Tim always was a good liar. Either way it didn’t matter. They were together in a way that made romance seem like a paltry participation trophy. Dr Stevens might call it horrifically codependent, but it was hard to care about that when Tim’s face breaks, lips crooking into a mischievous little smile that seemed dedicated to him and him alone.
“What do you say? Should I switch and go into physical therapy?”
“Tim anything would be preferable to history there’s no way you’d be able to get tenure but… I don’t know. Would you be able to with your leg?”
“Maybe. Get me a chair I can scoot around on while I tell people to do their exercises and I think I’m good to go. Not like I have to kick them or anything.”
“I think if you kicked one of your patients you’d get arrested.”
“Yeah. Probably. Scoot over, It’s nearly 12 right? You still want to watch House Hunters?”
Jackass. What follows is a decent bit of maneuvering as they cram themselves together like sardines. As they settle Tim lets out his own tiny little noise of pain, stretching out his bad leg. What a pair they made. Between the two of them they might be able to make a functional man.
“Do you want me to-”
“Nope.”
“OK.” Whatever. If Tim wanted to be stubborn and refuse Jay’s help he could suffer. Jay rotates his wrist again, Marveling at the sudden smoothness. He’d make a decent physical therapist Jay decides, working leg or not.
“You can pass me the TV remote though.
“What? It’s my turn to hold the remote.”
“I’m the one who just had to play a physical therapist. By the way you should probably go see a physical therapist. The joints of your wrist felt fucked.”
Jay fumbles for the remote. “It’s been years Tim, I doubt they ‘d be able to help me.”
“I literally just helped you.”
“Shut up.” His hands close around the remote and he contemplates going and swinging it down on Tim’s stupid, handsome, laughing head. It would serve the smug bastard right. There’s a soft warm fuzzy feeling burrowing its way through his chest as he hands over the remote that's far too distracting however. It had never felt like this before with Alex. Maybe he was being juvenile but when Tim shifts, wrapping one arm around his shoulder and pulling him closer, eyes resolutely glued to the screen Jay can’t help but call it what it was. Love.
He marvels in it for all of about 5 seconds before turning his detention back towards House Hunters.