Gonna carry that weight a long time. [AU for Peter]

[no_voice]

Jason works harder than most of the rest of Saint Cecilia's campus. He knows this for a fact. Coming as he does from a poor family, he nearly broke himself just trying to secure the scholarship money to be able to attend such a prestigious institution. Not to mention his parents, working tooth and nail just to keep the roof over their humble abode back in Maine. So Jason works, and he works hard. He stays in when the rest of the student body parties; he pours himself into his homework and into his appearance, working to give himself the same appearance of the students born into Saint Cecilia's legacy.

Nadia coming out just before they returned to school for their senior year has done nothing for Jason's courage. Even as understanding as his parents had been towards Nadia, he knows he can't expect that same treatment for his own sexuality. Not when Nadia is the golden daughter, and every time Jason takes a step out of line, he brings down fire and brimstone upon himself.

He grits his teeth, trying to concentrate on his history paper. His parents expect more from him, when they take the time to remember that he exists. They would never understand how they could possibly have two gay children. The perfect daughter, they can make allowances for, even as strict Catholics. The invisible son, well. He only has so much room that they can spare for him.

He sighs as his head falls in frustration on top of his essay. He's been in love with Peter ever since they'd moved in together as roommates. He just wishes he had the nerve to tell him.

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[paper_courage]

God damn it, Nadia.

Peter and she had a perfect cover story for years. The second they met they knew the truth about the other. They spent a lot of time together, as kindred tended to, and around the age of 16, they began their "relationship." It was a clever ruse. A perfect excuse. A means to an end for each of their social suffering. As long as Peter and Nadia were Peter-and-Nadia, no one could ever know they were damned.

When Nadia lost weight, she got brave. By the time school had started, Nadia was out, not just to her parents, her brother, but everyone. In the change of a little detail on Facebook, Peter's privacy, every bit of his comfort in secrecy, was gone. Why couldn't she have just told people she was bi?

It was nearly 11:30 when Peter schlepped through the doorway to their shared dorm, his guitar case hitting the frame as he tugged his bag in. Outside, he'd been afraid he'd wake his sleeping roommate, but Jason was perched at his desk as usual. Peter laughed.

"I'd hoped you'd be sleeping," Peter said, empathetic in exhaustion. Things weren't as hard for Peter as they were for Jason. Maybe it was that struggle that made Peter so weak to him. At home, Peter got what he wanted. At St. Cecilia's, what he wanted was too precious (and probably straight) to touch.

[no_voice]

Jason's squinting at the words he's just written, unsure that he even wrote them in English. A sign that he should be in bed, already. But he wanted to get this essay completed early, so he wouldn't have to worry about it later. He should have known; the extra credit math and physics assignments already sucked most of his academic energy out of him.

He barely hears the sounds of Peter's guitar case hitting the door frame, he's so caught up in trying to bring his focus back to where it belongs.

"I'll sleep eventually," Jason replies, eyes still glued to his essay even as he rubs at them. "It always comes for me sooner or later." If he brings himself to look at Peter, he can't be sure he won't suddenly blurt out all of his feelings.

[paper_courage]

Poor Jason. By the deep curvature of his spine, the circles under his eyes, and the way his adorable mop of hair has sunk down in defeat, Peter can tell he's been at that desk for hours. Maybe since school ended.

"Hey," Peter said, laying a hand gently on Jason's shoulder once his guitar was safely stowed in the corner of their shared closet of a dorm. "Break time, okay?" Peter's best friend, this perfect boy with that brilliant brain and his glorious slope of a mouth and shoulders that made Peter want to fucking die, needed to be reminded of these things. Often, he straight-up needed to be coaxed. Peter hoped that wasn't the case tonight. He was low on energy, himself.

"I've got a pizza coming. We don't even have to leave our room. We'll watch a movie on my laptop and eat some pizza and then we can tackle Calculus together." Peter's hand was on the back of his neck, nearly, and God, he would have given anything to slip it up into his hair. He did not. For all of the tenderness Peter had, it was not something he was accustomed to getting back. After a while, it was better to expect nothing at all.

"Come on, Jason. You can even pick the movie." He met his best friend's eyes. He smiled. A six-year-long fire burned ever-strong in his chest. It was hopeless. Peter was.

[no_voice]

Jason feels Peter's hand on his shoulder all the way through his skin and into his bones, warm and supportive, filled with the sort of light he's been missing from his life for years, now. He lets out a breath, trying not to shiver. He's tired and he doesn't have the energy to fight Peter's suggestion, though his contrary nature might want to.

"Okay," he agrees, letting his pencil fall against his essay, which he's going to have to rewrite anyway, he thinks. That can wait until tomorrow morning.

His stomach grumbles at the mention of pizza, and he looks at Peter, awed. Peter's hand is so close to the bare skin of his neck; Jason can't help but lean into said touch, savoring it. "Pizza, really? God, you're a saint, Peter."

"And you're even letting me pick the movie?" He lifts an eyebrow, a half a smirk on his face. God but he could lose himself forever in those green eyes; mentally, he's already tracing patterns in those freckles.

[paper_courage]

Whenever they touched it was more than warm; a hot, fiery need ripped through him, from his fingertips to his heart and all the way down to his toes. In the name of self-preservation, Peter ended the touch there. He turned to set his bag down so that Jason couldn't see the flush of his cheeks, the widening of his eyes when he thought about how close he was to touching that perfect boy's skin.

"I'm no saint," Peter reminded him, not facing him because God, he loved that Jason thought that. In fact, it was fear of shattering that delicate illusion that kept Peter from telling Jason how he felt -- how he'd felt since the moment they met. It's complicated for a lot of reasons. Namely: Nadia. He was pretty sure she'd never told Jason that their relationship was a ruse. There was also the Fathers and Sisters' watchful eyes, the fear of student speculation. The discomfort in knowing it would never be.

Even though sometimes -- God, sometimes, Peter swore Jason felt it, too.

Wishful thinking, he told himself for the millionth time. Finally, he stood up, having produced his laptop from his bag. He crawled onto his bed and tugged the thing open. There was plenty of room for Jason to sit beside him.

"So?" His smile was back, bright and dumb and fuck, he loved this boy so much. "What are we going to watch?"

[no_voice]

"Sure you are," Jason replies, smiling crookedly and wishing Peter were facing him again, wanting and needing to see more of that face; wanting to memorize the placement of each freckle all across Peter's skin. Though, he doesn't hate this view, either. In profile, Peter is just as handsome to Jason as he is whenever they are both facing each other fully. "You've got the patience of one, at least."

God, he wishes he could just say something to Peter. The way he makes butterflies gather in his chest; the way his laughter shoots through his skin like a drug. He wishes he could just come out (ha) and admit that Peter makes his whole world turn. Jason wishes so much that he could be as brave as Peter makes him feel.

He grins as he watches Peter gather his laptop, sit on the bed. He moves to join him a moment later, sitting closer than is strictly necessary, unable to help himself. At least he might be able to 'accidentally' brush against Peter's shoulder every now and again.

"Hmmm, what to watch?" He tilts his head, considering. "How about The Breakfast Club?"

[paper_courage]

Peter's skin tingled. He loved that Jason thought that he was a saint, loved how often he said it and how clear it was that he meant it. Peter's parents didn't give a rat's ass what he did, how well he succeeded, what he cared about. This was a weight Peter carried with him. Did Jason know that his faith in Peter was what kept Peter alive? Some days, it was the only thing doing so.

What he wouldn't give to tell Jason that, to tell him how he felt: that Jason was a burning constant in his chest. That he was the most welcome pain Peter had ever felt.

"Excellent choice," Peter said, a smile attacking his face. It was one of his favorites; it was one of their favorites to watch together. Two St. Cecilia's misfits, one hiding away under academia and the other hiding in plain sight. If they got Lucas, Tanya, and Ivy in on it, they could do a full reenactment with total emotional honesty.

Unfortunately, there was no such thing at St. Cecilia's as any kind of honesty. Peter had learned that real quick.

Quickly, Peter pulled up the file. The movie started and they were close and Peter wanted so, so much to lay his head on Jason's shoulder. When was the last time anyone had touched him? Furthermore, when was the last time any touch had mattered, had made him feel anything?

"Relax," Peter said gently, watching the line of Jason's shoulders and how it didn't slacken. "You're off duty for now, overachiever." He smiled. It always surprised him how easy it was to smile at him.

[no_voice]

Peter smiles like that, and the sun itself might be rising, bright and burning, in the middle of their dorm room. Jason's heart leaps to his throat, as though trying to throw itself right into the middle of Peter's light. Truthfully, he couldn't care less about what movie they wound up watching, even though the Breakfast Club is genuinely one of Jason's favorite movies. All he cares about is getting to sit close to Peter, and pretend he has the courage to simply reach out and take his hand.

Jason watches Peter pull up the file on his laptop, savoring the way the light of the laptop plays across his marvelously crooked face.

He doesn't realize how tense he still is until Peter, of course, points it out to him. He smiles sheepishly. "Sorry. Bad habit," he jokes. And, God, Peter is still smiling at him like that. Jason feels his breath catching in his throat, his gaze seemingly stuck on Peter's mouth. And then, before he can think about it too much, he's leaning in and pressing a desperate, searing kiss to Peter's lips.

[paper_courage]

Oh my God. Oh my God. Oh my God.

Over and over and over went the words in Peter's brain, like a news ticker with one bizarre update. Two seconds ago, they were roommates, friends that lived together under ancient ceiling tiles in a tiny compartment of a room. All of a sudden, Peter wondered if that was what they'd ever been. Hindsight choked him so hard that he nearly forgot to kiss him back.

His brain rebooted and importance returned to him. With little regard for anything else, including the computer in his lap, Peter angled his legs toward Jason. A hand found the side of his neck and he kissed. They were kissing. For years this kiss had lived in his belly, in his chest and now it was on his lips, hard and sudden and burning.

He shuffled his legs out the rest of the way from under the laptop and let it land on its side against the mattress. He inhaled sharply as he twisted toward Jason, hitching himself up to get as close as possible. Oh God, how he'd wanted this. Some nights it was all he could think of. Now he knew why: it wasn't just him. For the first time, he thought that maybe Jason had been awake those nights, too.

[no_voice]

It takes a moment before Jason feels Peter kissing him back, and for that one moment, his stomach drops out and his chest tightens. He wonders if he made a mistake. But all thoughts of that fly out the second Peter responds, just as hungry and just as desperate.

Jason barely acknowledges even the laptop as he tugs Peter closer to him, shifting so that Peter sits in his lap as he wraps his arms around him, tight and unwilling to let go of the soul that so mirrors his own.

He moans into the kiss, feeling it all the way down in his toes. He's waited so long for this moment, and there is so much he wants to say. Right now, he can only speak the language of pressing tongues and grasping hands. He loves Peter so much; it burns within him like a drug.

[paper_courage]

Peter slipped into Jason's lap with an agonizing ease. Hindsight punched him in the chest now that he was there, a leg on either side of Jason's. There wasn't enough time for Peter to tell himself not to press his hips forward because Jason did it for him. His arms were a vice around Peter's waist. He hitched in to get as close as possible. The movie was now a dull murmur against muffling sheets.

"Jason," came Peter's voice against the other boy's lips, astounded and grateful and floored. There was nothing else to say. Lips wanted to do what hands had never dared to. Peter cupped Jason's face and kissed him like his world would end if he didn't. He was sure it would. He barely dared to breathe.