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Cause he knows he's taking chances. [Test post for Peter]
Jason arrives to St. Cecilia's feeling both as though he's about to take flight and he's about to sink into empty air with only the cold, cruel autumn ground to break his fall. He breathes in the oppressive humidity of the late August day as though he might steal some of the summer sun to keep himself warm on the inside. His senior year, finally. Everything comes down to this. All of those 'encouraging' family talks and hollow laughter about how he'll make the family proud and burn brightly on at Notre Dame. All of those discussions about how he'll meet his future wife and provide his parents with grandchildren soon enough.
He shakes his head, taking a stuttering breath to calm himself. He's only just arrived. No need to let the pressure of everything build quite that high up just yet.
His parents offered to help him unpack; he waved them off with the smile he'd gotten so good at faking, gently hinting that perhaps their assistance would be better off with Nadia, who rolled her eyes, but offered him an actual smile all the same.
His family ought to have left by now. He hopes. Regardless, with one last exhale, he's on his way back to his room. He needs to see Peter more than anything. He's the only person Jason wants to see in this moment; he's the only one who will understand.
But of course, he's Jason McConnell, and making his way back to his own room is never that simple. He winds up chatting with Matt for a few minutes, before gaggles of girls try and worm his number out of him. He endures about ten minute of it before excusing himself, nearly running to his room where, hopefully, he'll find Peter.
He shakes his head, taking a stuttering breath to calm himself. He's only just arrived. No need to let the pressure of everything build quite that high up just yet.
His parents offered to help him unpack; he waved them off with the smile he'd gotten so good at faking, gently hinting that perhaps their assistance would be better off with Nadia, who rolled her eyes, but offered him an actual smile all the same.
His family ought to have left by now. He hopes. Regardless, with one last exhale, he's on his way back to his room. He needs to see Peter more than anything. He's the only person Jason wants to see in this moment; he's the only one who will understand.
But of course, he's Jason McConnell, and making his way back to his own room is never that simple. He winds up chatting with Matt for a few minutes, before gaggles of girls try and worm his number out of him. He endures about ten minute of it before excusing himself, nearly running to his room where, hopefully, he'll find Peter.
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Peter continues to hug Nadia for a few moments, happy to see the only other person Peter feels he shares his St. Cecilia's experience with, since he can do so out in the open. When he pulls away, he lets his eyes dart to Jason's for a second before he answers.
"Actually, no, he was very accommodating," Peter says pleasantly, resting his leg against Jason's. His eyes tell the perfect lie of innocence, and since Jason is touching him, he can even trick himself into believe that he doesn't ache to talk to Nadia about it. To an extent. There are certain things he does not wish to share with his boyfriend's twin sister. Anyway, this is the part of the game that thrills him a bit, sort of like flirting with damnation.
Despite being in a relatively unpopulated cafeteria, sitting with what feels like his real family, Peter is feeling exposed. Lucas and Tanya are sucking face in the corner, he can see Matt hovering by the door, hoping Ivy will come a day early like she never, ever does. There are many times that Peter catches Nadia stealing glances at Matt; he wishes he could tell her that he knows exactly how she feels.
"Hey, come on," Peter says, bumping her to get her attention back. "Tell me all about your summer. Jason started filling me in." But he likes to hear them tell stories together. The way they weave in and about of each other's narratives seamlessly. Sometimes, they even pause a story completely to go off in their little McConnell world on a tangent that Peter can't usually follow but still gets lost in. The rhythm of having a sibling, something Peter doesn't know. It also doesn't hurt to be around another person that loves Jason as completely as he does, however different that love may be. And he loves Nadia like his own sister. He wishes one day she could be.
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Their eyes meet in a flash; a spark of light between two lovers dancing in the dark. Jason allows that spark to wash over him. He lets out a stuttering sigh he manages to disguise as a laugh at Peter's answer.
"See? I know you don't believe it, Nadia, but I can be generous," Jason replies airily, even as he moves one hand so that he's glancing the side of Peter's leg. He's losing more control of himself, even out in the open of prying eyes. That's what Peter does to him. Among so many other things. Things so sublime and transcendent that they steal Jason's breath away. And in a way, he, too, enjoys this game of disguising their words in front of his sister. There's a thrill to it like the thrill of the chase, even as part of Jason wants desperately to tell her.
"When it suits you," Nadia retorts with a roll of her eyes. "Pray tell, did he actually let you pick your bed first? Or was he just late from avoiding our parents. I'm charging interest based on how long I had to suffer them for you, by the way."
"Alright, alright," Jason waves his free hand and shakes his head, curls bouncing in time with his movements. "Duly noted, little sister."
"If you insist then," Nadia says, as if she weren't waiting for someone to pose that exact question to her. She offers Peter a beaming look; one that she shares with Jason and proves the truth of their relationship as brother and sister when they so otherwise look nothing alike. "Let's see, lots of attempts from mom to get me on a diet. Again."
"Don't forget Dad's helpful suggestions," Jason interrupts with a knowing grin, his expression turning a little dark. God, he hates summer vacation. Especially this past summer vacation.
"How could I? 'Maybe you should join the track team, like Jason,'" Nadia imitates in her best, gruff voice.
"Except I quit last semester," Jason says, innocently, as one of his fingers traces against the side of Peter's leg.
"But he doesn't know that," Nadia says.
"Thank God," Jason says, his tone light though his expression is obviously strained.
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Through the McConnell siblings' easy banter, Peter can't help but detect a note of darkness; he notices that it's weighing heavier on Jason than usual. This means that when Peter had nearly ripped Jason's clothes off a little over an hour ago, he'd missed the telltale signs of a tense summer break at McConnell Manor. He shifts his body so he is nearly leaned against Jason (he can use the excuse of it being a small bench at a small table) and he gives a gentle, soothing caress to the inside of Jason's knee. His fingertips pad over the denim in soft, loving little waves: a promise to hold him while he kisses the love he deserves into each careless bruise and welt.
When he catches up to the conversation from his compassionate trance, his head snaps to Jason. "You quit?" He's incredulous, since he's pretty sure track was one of Jason's strongest escapes from his feelings. Does this mean something? Or does this mean that he can't run fast enough to get ahead of his baggage and now it's time for another feat of strength?
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Jason and Nadia's banter endures throughout their recalling of summer vacation, flowing easily between them the way conversations flow easily between Jason and Peter. Nadia, of course, has her own burdens to deal with. Jason wishes he could do more for her; he knows the way his parents favor him. He knows how his mother constantly harps at Nadia over her appearance. Jason wishes he were strong enough to risk more of his father's wrath to defend her. Bt he's a coward, in so many ways.
He leans into Peter, entirely grateful for the closeness and how easy it is for them to get away with it so openly. He moves his hand to cover Peter's on his knee, letting their fingers entwine as he returns the gesture, moved by it, and answering, in his own way, how very much he can't wait to get back to their dorm room. Jason is so glad for Peter in that moment, he forgets, for a moment, to fear that feeling.
"Yeah, I thought I told you," Jason shrugs. Quitting track feels as weighty as quitting the golf team sophomore year. He knows he'll be in for one hell of a conversation with his father for it; one he'll most likely feel the morning after. "I quit track so I can focus on my schoolwork. Track and basketball were too much for me."
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Ashamed as he'd be to admit it, he's drifting in and out of their conversation, even as they weave their way through the summer's events. He comes too to offer support to Nadia, a quip for Jason, but more of his consciousness is sliding down to their hands. Whether he realizes it or not, Jason is holding his hand in the cafeteria. He knows no one can see it, but to him, this moment is precious and fragile and he's afraid that movement will shatter it; so he stays very still as he speaks.
"I told my mom I would look into the Young Republicans. I guess we're all liars," he says with a little laugh. Every lie shaves off a little more confidence in Peter's mortal soul; when he laughs, it's very forced.
"What has Catholic school done to us?" Nadia demands, and this time when Peter laughs, it's not fake at all.
By the time the laughter subsides, Peter's lost in the hard, warm shape of his boyfriend against him. They're making eye contact as Peter tries to read this new information in the tempestuous darkness of Jason's blue eyes. Either Jason is shutting Peter down, or whatever motivated this new development is foreign even to Jason. Touch wins out over getting answers again, so Peter breaks the eye contact before the need to kiss Jason makes him do something to demolish their all-important private world together.
"I'm glad you've decided to take it easy." And yet, Peter wonders if it's a coincidence that Jason's given up the activity that practices at the same time that theatre rehearsals take place. He's not sure he could take being shut down, so he lets the thought find its way down to that place where the secrets and questions do their haunting, dizzy dance.
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Jason pours himself into the balancing act between embellishing Nadia's tales with his own snark and letting thoughts and images of Peter and his freckles and those lips and eyes, God, wash over him. Peter, from his proximity, can probably catch the way Jason's blue eyes glaze into a soft shade like porcelain occasionally. Jason needs their held hands to steady him; to support him. He's beginning to become aware that there is only so long this balancing act can continue.
"The Young Republicans? Jesus," Jason replies, fondly rolling his eyes. "Speaks to your acting then, that she believed you." He waggles an eyebrow at Peter, which he can easily explain as a friendly jest to anyone else watching them but which also contains a message loaded with how likely he thinks it to be that Peter ever joins said group.
"Turned us all into a bunch of heathens," Jason proclaims, falling right in to Nadia's tone with a playful one of his own. "I'm sure our parents would be so proud."
"Some of us more than others," Nadia points out. Jason, while intelligent, harbors a tendency for obliviousness; he all but misses the knowing undertone to his sister's words. Most likely because he keeps making eye contact with Peter, and leaning further into him as much as he can get away with. At one point, his breath hitches, and he's certain Peter can feel it with how close they are.
"Me too," Jason replies, casually. He can hardly admit that the idea that he can now go out for drama appeals to him as much as finally quitting a sport upheld only for the approval of his parents; he still has to admit to himself that he much prefers acting to sports, first.
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That darkness creeps up so fast that Peter breaks eye contact, nearly unable to catch his breath for a moment. Recovery comes quickly, but he can still feel the panic tightening around his hammering heart. Too close. Not close enough. He'd almost choked on these divergent feelings.
"I'm gonna go get a drink," he says quickly. He's light-headed, a little, and thankful he'd forgotten to get water before he sat down. He needs to get away. He wants to be closer. This is killing him already.
"Do you guys want anything?" His hand drops from Jason's as he stands. Fuck, his brain replies, and he's being pulled in by the tide so quickly that he doesn't even have the time to feel guilty about it.
"Something diet," Nadia supplies. There's a note of darkness that isn't just from her newest blow to her self-worth. With all of his remaining might, he shoves down the knowledge that Nadia knows something is up and probably even knows what it is.
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Jason struggles to keep himself in check as Peter tugs his hand away. He knows its necessary; so very necessary. But it still feels like Peter takes a bit of his heart with him when he pulls back, anyway. God, Jason swallows. He's running out of strength for these sorts of prayers. Especially when Peter's touch is increasingly becoming the only balm his wounded soul requires.
"I'll take a lemonade, if you're offering," Jason says, keeping his gaze away from Peter. It's taking him longer than usual to hide the clouding desire in them.
But he's also nearly an expert at pulling back into his smooth features. He brings the hand previously holding Peter's to cradle his chin; he can both keep Peter's touch close and emphasize the lazy, unaffected darling expression on his face. Nadia rolls her eyes and snorts at the gesture.
"Just like a peacock, as usual," she points out, moving some of the food around on her plate. "I mean, all that's left for you to do is preen, so."
As usual, Jason misses the weight beneath his sister's words.
"Yeah, I'll save that for when dad visits," Jason rolls his eyes. He means it to come out as playful, but it comes out bitter, instead. Bitter enough that Nadia reaches over and briefly squeezes his shoulder.
"You do that, and I'll stuff an entire cake in my face in front of mom," she assures him.
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"Sure," Peter manages to choke out. A sharp left at the drink station puts Peter in the men's room. Here he is again, staring at himself in the mirror as the war wages within him -- a war with such casualties.
Peter finds himself looking up. Was there a point in trying to have this conversation again? Was he already so clutched after only a few hours that he's praying in the St. Cecilia's cafeteria bathroom? That can't bode well.
Anything but peacefully, Peter's eyes slip closed. His head tips back down, forehead resting against the cold mirror. He asks for strength but he never asks for distance from Jason. At best, he asks forgiveness for what he does to Jason; the way he makes Jason feel. The things that he makes him do. How Peter feels no actual guilt over the way that he feels. He knows he's not worthy of the things he begs for.
In a few moments' time, Peter is upright and adjusting his appearance -- hair, face, shirt. He looks like he does any other time to a layperson: composed, secretive Peter, studying too hard to think about girls, juggling clubs and rehearsals and honors classes. Peter, the golden boy's dorky-but-cute roommate that barely even registers on the high school radar. Attentive Peter, who still manages to bring back everyone's drinks despite the schism he fell into in the bathroom.
"Nadia, I got you Dr. Pepper," Peter says, plunking the drink in front of her as he swings his legs over the bench to sit back down next to Jason. He still dares not look at his best friend.
"Alright, but when this goes straight to my ass, I'm gonna tell my mom it's your fault," she intones in faux-disappointment. She gets to it on her drink while Peter sets Jason's lemonade in front of him. Bonus points for Peter as he manages to push out a little laugh at Nadia's Nadia-esque antics around a sip of his water.
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He's such a goddamn coward.
He recalls one moment this past summer; one he hasn't yet told Peter about. He's not sure he ever will. He'd been on the verge of saying...something. Not quite everything. But something, to Nadia. They'd been watching those shitty, daytime soap operas their mother loves, mocking the bad dialogue and even worse acting. One of the actors had looked remarkably like Peter, and Nadia had commented on it.
Jason remembers the bubbling in his chest; the way the words had been on the cusp of spilling out.
And then their father had walked in, swaggered in, really, with one of his drinking buddies from the club and they'd laughed and made a joke, using words Jason's felt digging into his skin ever since he realized his feelings for Peter.
Jason had buried everything he'd been about to say, and Nadia left to text a friend. Jason wound up stuck between the pair of them the rest of that afternoon, feeling their words crawl under his skin, like a disease.
He'd never needed to be so near Peter before. He'd never felt so keenly that he was gradually suffocating.
His appetite is entirely gone, and he shoves what remains on his tray towards the rest of the table.
"Here, you guys can eat the rest," he waves towards the cookies and fruit salad remaining on his plate. "I'm feeling pretty full."
"Jesus, Jason, it's like your encouraging my worst habits," Nadia replies, in a near-perfect imitation of their mother.
"I do my best," Jason replies in an almost sing-song voice he hardly feels.
Which is, of course, when Peter returns to the table and Jason feels his heartbeat stumble. Especially when Peter doesn't look at him.
"Hey, thanks man," Jason replies, nudging him gently with his shoulder. A friendly gesture. But he hopes Peter can feel the affection he puts into it. He manages a small sip from his drink, when Sister Rachel suddenly approaches their table.
"Jason? Your father's on the phone. Something about extracurricular activities?" She says, gesturing for Jason to follow her.
"Shit," Jason says, without thinking. "Er. God. I mean, sorry." He shoots Sister Rachel his trademark grin, which, thankfully, does its job and immediately makes her stern expression soften.
"Just make sure to recite an extra Hail Mary," she tells him. "Ready to go?"
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It's not Peter but the Institution of St. Cecilia's that bumps that fragile moment out of balance, and when Peter hears who's called, his stomach flips with alarming speed before it drops down into the center of him. Jesus. His hand flies back to Jason's leg where it had been before and he squeezes his support. He doesn't know what to do, and though he doesn't know exactly why Master McConnell is calling, he knows what the end result will be. Peter is not prepared to see his boyfriend's soul crushed tonight. Jason's impending need coats Peter's consciousness like armor and he springs to his feet.
"I'll go with you," he says quickly. Immediately, it makes no sense -- actually, he's not even sure if that's an option -- but he also knows that he has to do something because... He has to. Maybe in a moment he'll be sitting down with Nadia as they both freak the hell out as Jason reluctantly retreats with the Sister keeping apace. He knows he can't protect Jason. So, he has to believe that there's Someone who can.
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Jason's especially grateful when Peter's hand finds its way back to his leg; he leans into that squeezing, saying without speaking how much the gesture means to him. Even as he schools his features into a mask of pleasantness and a false bravado he can just barely manage to pretend to feel. So his father finally figured out he quit track. He supposes it was only a matter of time. He can't help the grimace that flashes across his face; across the table, he catches sight of Nadia's wince. She knows only too well their father's moods.
And Peter. God. Wonderful, sweet Peter who ought to be nominated for sainthood, at this point. He hopes Peter can see how much he wants to kiss him in this moment in his eyes.
"You wanted to call your mom too, didn't you?" Jason scrapes for the quickest excuse he can think of. He really needs Peter to come with him.
He doesn't want his soul to fall to pieces tonight. Again.
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"Yeah," Peter says quickly, holding eye contact and even being so bold as to touch his shoulder. The shoulder is safe, some very nervous experiments have shown. He sees (probably) straight guys do this all the time and no one questions it. If there’s already suspicion, it may give their game away, but Peter has to assume that their private world is still private. Going public means going their separate ways, and he can’t handle that, or he could and he refuses to entertain the idea.
Peter’s eyes dart to Nadia, who is wearing the most heartbreaking combination of knowing terror and deep empathy. How did two such incredible people end up with such awful parents? Peter often wonders what the hell they thought having kids would be like; from what he’s gathered, they certainly didn’t get what they bargained for. Most likely, they’re deranged. How could a couple of brilliant, hard-working, compassionate, forethinking children such as Jason and Nadia possibly be a disappointment to them? Jason works his ass off, and he certainly doesn’t do it for himself because he’s miserable. That much is clear in the way his shoulders slump, his skin bruises, and the way he treats himself after the smallest step backward. Poor Jason: he’s a prodigy being treated like a burnout.
“I’ll see you tomorrow, Nadia,” Peter promises. He lets his sharp focus linger on her for a few moments to prove he will touch base with her. Then, they’re off, Sister Rachel walking ahead of them while the boys follow side-by-side. He can find a reason to call his mom and he can probably even get her going on something long enough that he can listen to Jason’s conversation, as well. He needs to know what magnitude of crisis this is, so he can plan the corresponding course of action, if he can.
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Jason nods, meeting Peter's gaze with barely contained panic. Most people watching them will only see Jason endearingly accepting his best friend's offered help. Peter, close as he is, will be able to distinguish how scared Jason actually is without being able to show it. He's glad for his hand on his shoulder, too. He reaches up and places his hand on Peter's as well, in a gesture he's shared with various members of various sports' teams over the years. Only his hand on Peter's shoulder bears much more weight.
"I'm sure she must be worried about that class you were telling me about," and Jason is on the verge of babbling, but he just can't bring himself to care. He catches sight of Nadia out of the corner of his eyes. He's very glad he's in this position and not her. He can't stand when their mother calls for Nadia; his otherwise formidable sister reduced to a mess of insecurities with a few well chosen words. Neither of them are quite good at bucking the system of their family; they've always born the McConnell yoke with a grin, however shaky. It was the family way, even as his father pulled out his favorite belt to impart some more 'wisdom' into Jason.
He wants so badly to reach out and grab Peter's hand. His arm visibly twitches with the effort. Unfortunately, they're at the office sooner than Jason expects, and Sister Rachel is leading them both towards the phones. Jason heads towards the room where his father awaits, offering Peter an attempt at a smile that turns into a grimace.
"Shouldn't be long," he mutters. He hopes.
He moves to grab the phone awaiting him, inhaling a shuddering breath,
"Hey Dad," he says. Cold silence greets him for a solid minute; just enough time for his heart to drop into his stomach.
"So you quit track," he says, his tone as solid and as unforgiving as steel. "Care to explain why, after I spent thousands on a personal trainer?"
Jason flinches. "Dad, I just...I have so many other sports. I thought I could use the spare time to-"
"To what?" His father barks, and Jason can hear the eye roll from through the phone. He sinks into a nearby chair, feeling energy and life and optimism drain from him with each passing minute. "For homework? Kiddo, you already get straight A's. You haven't had to worry about grades since middle school." And a beating that had nearly kept him from returning from spring break.
"Dad, I -"
But Jason's father doesn't let him speak; he doesn't yell, either. He calmly informs him of how he told Father Flynn how he could expect Jason for track at Notre Dame. How much his mother loved being able to come and attend his meets. How utterly he'd disappointed the family name.
And, of course, emphasizing this all with various slurs and words that have haunted Jason since his first kiss with Peter. Just in case Jason's self-esteem wasn't too bruised already.
By the time the call ends, Jason's slumped over in the chair, trying to keep himself from crying.
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Their destination sneaks up on Peter, as well. Paused outside the building, Peter keeps his gaze: their only tool for translation, since they are not allowed to speak the truth. "I'll be here," he says softly, simply. Only this time, he has the luxury of meaning what he's said.
Several moments of watching Jason as he heads toward the phone pass before he sits down at another to call his mom. Peter can't hear Jason speaking yet, but Claire answers the phone, as usual, on the second ring.
"Hi, Mom."
"Peter!" She's so excited to hear from him that he can't help but smile. It slips away when he hears Jason's voice: he already sounds defeated. "Honey, how are you? Is everything okay?"
"Yeah," Peter is speaking lowly so he can better hear what's happening one room over. "I just wanted to say thanks for driving me all the way out here."
"Of course, Peter!" He can hear the smile in her voice just as he can hear Jason get shut down by his father. The juxtaposition is not lost on him. His heart aches with sympathy for Jason and hatred for Jason's father and wanting so, so badly to tell his mom any and all of this. "I'm going to send you some food later in the week."
"Thanks, Mom. Hey, did you make it to Grandma and Grandpa's okay?" Success; one simple question and Claire's off, babbling about traffic to New Jersey and her senile parents and Peter's excuse for a father. He tunes in and out, mostly listening for the telltale sound of the next phone's receiver hitting the base station. It comes and Peter's off the phone like a shot with an excuse about dinner, a couple of promises about being good. He's barely finished telling her he loves her before the phone's back in the cradle and Peter's up and by Jason's side. A tender hand falls very carefully on his shoulder, though he wants to be reckless as hell.
"Hey." He's gently calling his boyfriend back to Earth, not for the first time that evening. Once he has his gaze, he continues, voice overflowing with love. "Come on. Let's go back to the dorms." Their own dorm is only a few buildings over and there, he can wrap himself around Jason while he listens, soothes, and kisses him back to fighting shape. They always get there, and Peter takes such comfort in those moment where they're strong for each other.
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While on the phone with his father, Jason clings to the tendrils of Peter's voice that filter through the crack of the door between them. He clutches at the lightness and obvious affection he harbors for his mother, claiming them like strips of bandages to help cover his own gaping wounds. They make up for their minuscule size with the weight of their love, and ultimately, they are what keep Jason from breaking down completely in the middle of the office.
He thanks God when he hears Peter put the phone down nearly seconds after his father hangs up on him. He has to pause to take in several, shuddering breaths as he tries to focus on the hand on his shoulder and the voice from next to him. His heart misses a beat at all the love Peter bestows upon him with that gentle gaze and that sweet voice. Jason wants nothing more than to melt into him, so he readily agrees to head back to their dorm, where he already plans on pushing their mattresses together, curfew check be damned. He won't sleep tonight if he can't spend the night in his boyfriend's arms.
"Okay," Jason nods, without hiccuping, even. He glances up at Peter before quickly glancing around to find that, for the moment, they're alone, with Sister Rachel buried in paperwork. He reaches out and squeezes Peter's hand, clinging as though it were a life boat.
"Yeah, I...I just want to get back," he nods, standing up and following Peter, craving the inevitable closeness awaiting them once they return to their room.
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Before they set off for the dorms, Peter envelops Jason in a warm hug. No Sister or administrator could have a problem with comfort between friends, he figures, and he hopes the contact will serve as a salve for Peter's burning need to kiss his boyfriend. It works, thank God, and Peter opens the door for Jason.
They make quick work of getting out of the administration building and are at the dorms even quicker. Was Peter's pace more rapid than usual? Probably. He doesn't know how much longer Jason has before whatever his father has just said to him rips through his false-front persona, and Peter's tired of being just a friend for the evening. Forever, really, but he's willing to start with now.
A key in the door, the sound of them discarded on the desk, then Peter locks the door from the inside. This is something that is generally frowned upon after a certain time of day, but he's done playing by everyone else's rules. It's all only for tonight, anyway, and if Peter has this unfortunate opportunity to be the man he wants to be and to show Jason what that looks like, he's ready to take it. He sits down on one of the beds.
"What happened?" Peter asks. Carefully, he unlaces his shoes and sets them neatly in the corner. They're good at communicating in the confines of their dorm room -- in fact, Peter is constantly astounded by the other boy's intellect and forethought in those secret, real moments. He backs himself to the corner of the bed, leaving room should Jason want to take it.
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And then Peter pulls him in for a hug, and Jason almost inhales Peter as he returns the embrace, savoring every inch of Peter he feels against him and taking as much strength as he can. God, before Peter, Jason never knew how much warmth could be contained within a single hug. Or that it could be okay to want that from someone else not in his family. He feels temporarily fortified; enough so that he can make it back to their room without falling apart.
Jason is glad that Peter hurries his pace back to the dorm. Jason follows with just as quick a gait, his breathing coming in rapid as they walk up the stairs and towards that familiar door. His father's hateful words swirl like smoke around his thoughts, but Peter's vivid light helps to keep them at bay for the moment.
As Peter locks the key, Jason drags over one of his chests of clothes. Even if the chaperon does come to do a curfew check, they'll have fair warning. Jason doesn't want anything interrupting his time alone with Peter. Ever, really, but he'll settle for tonight.
Jason follows Peter to the bed; he sinks down onto it, instantly slouching onto Peter's shoulder. Gradually, his head sinks into Peter's lap. Again, he takes a deep, shuddering breath, as though he could breathe his boyfriend in. He basks in Peter's warmth and softness, letting one of his hands fall across Peter's lap, reaching for Peter. He wonders if Peter knows how much Jason needs him in his life. These moments between them are the true lights that keep Jason McConnell burning.
"He found out I quit track," he speaks, almost low enough to be a whisper. He shudders. "I'm glad he didn't find out until now, though."
There's so much more he wants to say right now, but he struggles to find the words to say.
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"I figured," Peter says gently. His wide mouth works into a frown, but his hands continue to rake delicate fingers through Jason's soft locks. "What did he say?" He knows this is the part that will make the bitter desire for revenge rise up in his gorge. Still, Peter needs the information as a diagnostic tool, like the old episodes of Star Trek Peter would watch with his own father before the man kicked rocks.
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He sighs, nearly mewls, again. He loves Peter's fingers in his hair, especially like this: all gentle and soothing, the touch of his own personal angel. Jason leans into the touch as best he can while also still pressing his face against Peter's lap. This, to him, is the definition of Paradise.
The sort of Paradise that will land him in Hell, according to his parents. Especially his dad, who'd littered their conversation with colorful language aplenty.
"Told me I was letting down the family with my selfishness," Jason says, voice softer now, though still fraught. "That he already told Father Flynn he could expect me for the track team at Notre Dame. And then he went right into a lecture about me turning soft, with a few of my favorite 'f' and 'q' words. Seems he's worried that me not wanting to run anymore is turning me into a Nancy boy." He chokes out hollow laughter that burns as it leaves his mouth.
"You know," he mumbles against Peter. "The usual, for him."
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The smile is gone by the time the inevitable bullshit hurtful words are out, hanging in the air even despite the fact that they'd gone relatively unsaid. That's the special brand of hurt words like the ones Jason's father hurls at his son like stones. They've done their job, and now Jason is a quivering mass in Peter's arms, which wrap even tighter around him. Tight enough that he is able to pull him up to kiss his temple. He's angry -- fucking furious, actually -- but he's doing what he needs to in order to slay Jason's giants the way Jason has slain his.
"Does that mean you're still in track, then?" It's a non-judgemental question for Peter's end; another attempt at understanding what it is that Jason's just been through. Not for the first time, Peter thanks God that his own bigot of a father is too much of a coward to say the things that Jason is forced to edure.
His ire rises further and he exhales it against Jason's skin, letting it go with another brush of a kiss against the side of Jason's face.
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Jason sighs again, breathing all stuttering and shaky, as Peter curls his arms around him more tightly. He can feel everything in those arms: love, adoration, support, kindness, generosity, and the simmering anger directed at his father. It warms him further, the way he's always read love is supposed to warm a person. He brings his own hands to wrap around what he can reach of Peter, clinging to him like an anchor.
And then Peter's pulling him up and kissing his temple, and Jason feels his father's influence ease further and further away. In this room, the two of them can hold each other and whisper and talk and kiss and it will be alright. Peter is guarding him with all the loyalty of a knight, and Jason knows that he needs no better security blanket than the promises he feels in his boyfriend's embrace.
"No, I'm not," Jason murmurs, glancing up and focusing his blue eyes on Peter above him. Even with his delicate features, Peter looks so strong and like he could rip the world in two if Jason asked that of him. His heart beat quickens and he feels himself flush, overwhelmed at the enormity of everything he finds in Peter's eyes. "I can't do it anymore, Peter. I'm so tired. And I am doing too many sports as it is." Too many sports and not enough fine arts, is what goes unspoken, but Jason's certain Peter can interpret the silent words just fine.
Peter exhales against his face before pressing another kiss there, and Jason manages a smile for the first time since his father called.
"Peter Simmonds, you really are a saint, you know."
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"He's wrong," Peter says. His mouth is very near to Jason's ear, so he doesn't speak up too much. Now, he presses a kiss just below Jason's earlobe. "You're going to get into Notre Dame with or without track. You're going to be St. Cecilia's Valedictorian and you'll captain the lacrosse team and tennis and whatever else you suffer through to make your asshole dad happy. You'll give a speech, your dad will pretend to be a human being for graduation day, and then we'll go off to Notre Dame and never look back. Fuck him." He's managed a soothing, gentle tone as he recites this fantasy, but he means the last two words too much for them to stay level. He wants to add that Jason will now be free to nab the lead in Romeo and Juliet since he's out of track -- he knows that's what he wants -- but there's no point in kicking Jason while he's down. He's that special kind of down that only his father can push him to, and Peter knows he's the only one that can bring him back. He's happy to help and relieved to be needed.
With all of the same care and warmth he's wrapped Jason up in until this point, he cups his cheek and turns his head a bit to kiss Jason's mouth, full-on and soft. He finds salvation. Only after the kiss lingers for so long and not nearly long enough does Peter address his statement. His cheeks burn hot at the high praise, but they're close enough that Peter figures Jason can feel it better than he can see it.
"No," he says, hand sliding down thin shirt fabric to feel the beat of Jason's racing heart. "But I'm yours." And he's proud to be, even if that's not allowed.
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Jason leans into Peter's mouth near his ear, clinging to him and listening as intently as he once did with sea shells on the Connecticut beaches as a young child. Peter's words wind through him like a spring breeze, warm and lilting; inspiring his heart to settle and his body to sink further into Peter's embrace. Those words make Jason feel new again; they make him feel invincible. No matter what, his father can never take this away from Jason. His father can never sever what Peter means to Jason, no matter how many ugly words he spews in the middle of his lectures.
"Can we slash his tires once we get to Notre Dame?" Jason nearly whispers, spellbound by the idea of Peter attending Notre Dame with him. It is the only idea capable of rendering Notre Dame palatable for him. His eyelids flutter, and he leans into nuzzle against the soft fuzz of Peter's chin. The words he says now are words he'll only ever admit to Peter; not even Nadia knows how much he can't take his father's burdens. "On his favorite car? And maybe toss his favorite golf clubs into the river."
And then Peter's kissing him, gentle and soothing in a way Jason feels down to his soul; he makes a low, appreciative noise, returning the kiss just as sweetly and gasping a bit in between the press of their lips. The only grace of God Jason needs is right there in Peter's kiss. Jason sways a bit when they finally break apart, though he delights all the same in the way he can feel Peter's flush against his own face.
He gasps again when Peter drags his hand down his chest, leaning into the touch. It's so gentle and sturdy; very much like Peter's presence, really.
"My own Saint Peter," Jason wonders aloud. He grins, genuine and full. "I like the sound of that."
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"I'm all for it," Peter laughs. He kisses Jason again before carefully depositing him on the bed. He tucks his legs under Jason's and props himself up on an elbow. Peter's arm is curled around Jason's torso, and he gives him another, unable-to-resist kiss. "I always imagined it would be something more like..." He appears to consider for a moment before he produces, "getting really trashed after a rave and feeling each other up in his favorite car." The hand that is not busy propping himself up finds the curls near Jason's ears; it makes him smile as he feels their softness against the pads of his fingers. "Or in his favorite car and then on his second favorite." He's obviously joking, as malice isn't really Peter's strongest suit, but it's fun to talk about a fantasy within a fantasy.
"You're the saint," Peter informs him, finger moving from those adorable curls to the shell of the ear that they surround. He kisses Jason's chin: a reminder that he is still all-in on the comfort. "You're built like a Greek statue." His nose wrinkles as he tries to cover the silly flushing at his cheeks.
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