It doesn't take six years of a relationship for Peter to know Jason wants to do something more artistic than he's doing. It's the aggression on the various fields he's played on that was the giveaway, for Peter. Gentle, loving Jason with his teeth gritted dangerously, brows drawn down in a concentration that has too much effort in it to be the look of a person enjoying himself. He knows why he does it, though, and the information is something he's kept to himself, like the cause of those welts and bruises that others sometimes notice after breaks in the school year. Once the games and matches are over, Jason turns on that McConnell charm (the one that Nadia possesses and fights, sometimes unsuccessfully) and everyone can't stop talking about what a natural athlete Jason is. And sure, Peter can attest to the shape he's in and much better than the gym teachers that do his fitness tests, but it's not where Jason's heart is.
He remembers seeing him passionate, though. It's usually in an English class. When a person is forced to read a passage aloud, no one is more captivating than Jason. Sure, Peter is biased as hell, and maybe everyone else is under the same spell he is, but Jason's eyes sparkle in that way only Peter gets to see when he's in a discussion about literature. Maybe he's a writer, Peter thinks, but his knack for public speaking shouldn't be totally wasted. That's why, last year this time, Peter mustered the courage up to ask him to go out for the musical, which was (unsurprisingly) Jesus Christ Superstar -- one of Sister Chantelle's favorites. Jason had rebuffed him quickly, and Peter stuffed the script back into his backpack with the rest of his repressed feelings and disappointments. He's just afraid Jason will never discover it on his own.
"If I'm so good, how come I'm always cast as the best friend or the brother?" Peter asks, averting his eyes so he doesn't have to admit to his shame and so that Jason doesn't see the hope deflate behind his best intentions. He'd considered going out for a conservatory, but Peter's father had managed to find it in his busy schedule to pick up the phone then and tell Peter how much it costs to take out a student loan and how Peter would get no help from him if it wasn't Notre Dame. Peter thinks that he and Jason really are cut from the same cloth for so many reasons.
"It's really hard to sing with a hard-on," Peter informs Jason, chuckling a bit. His hand moves from the crook of his neck, slowly down his chest, and he barely even notices he's doing it. "I think you improved my concentration." And ruined it all at the same time.
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He remembers seeing him passionate, though. It's usually in an English class. When a person is forced to read a passage aloud, no one is more captivating than Jason. Sure, Peter is biased as hell, and maybe everyone else is under the same spell he is, but Jason's eyes sparkle in that way only Peter gets to see when he's in a discussion about literature. Maybe he's a writer, Peter thinks, but his knack for public speaking shouldn't be totally wasted. That's why, last year this time, Peter mustered the courage up to ask him to go out for the musical, which was (unsurprisingly) Jesus Christ Superstar -- one of Sister Chantelle's favorites. Jason had rebuffed him quickly, and Peter stuffed the script back into his backpack with the rest of his repressed feelings and disappointments. He's just afraid Jason will never discover it on his own.
"If I'm so good, how come I'm always cast as the best friend or the brother?" Peter asks, averting his eyes so he doesn't have to admit to his shame and so that Jason doesn't see the hope deflate behind his best intentions. He'd considered going out for a conservatory, but Peter's father had managed to find it in his busy schedule to pick up the phone then and tell Peter how much it costs to take out a student loan and how Peter would get no help from him if it wasn't Notre Dame. Peter thinks that he and Jason really are cut from the same cloth for so many reasons.
"It's really hard to sing with a hard-on," Peter informs Jason, chuckling a bit. His hand moves from the crook of his neck, slowly down his chest, and he barely even notices he's doing it. "I think you improved my concentration." And ruined it all at the same time.