Jett doesn't show up for their date, which is funny because even though Jett hates his guts, he's never lied before. And he'd never miss out on a chance to bitch at Gally over a free meal at a nice resturant.
And fuck, was it nice. Gally wouldn't admit it, but he'd wanted to take Jett someplace that had class, on a proper date. So he'd made reservations months in advance, even though he'd only gotten around to asking about it a week ago. He'd planned on doing it sooner, but the words always seemed to get caught in his throat before ever breaching the air. For the life of him, Gally couldn't understand why it was so hard to be civil. Insults and slander came easy, but asking Jett on a date? Jesus. He'd told the boy to dress nice and gave him an address. That was it. But Jett had said he'd be there.
And he'd failed to show.
Needless to say, Galileo was motherfucking furious. He arrived thirty minutes early, dressed in a tux that was stupidly uncomfortably and outrageously expensive. Gally spent every ounce of cash he had in his savings. He worked two jobs, a lumberjack through the week and a carpenter on weekends. It hardly paid the bills some weeks, and whatever extra he had went into those savings. The restaurant was elegant with high arching walls and delicately painted ceilings, crystal chandeliers hanging in every room. A salad was thirty five dollars, so Gally was drinking water. He'd saved up enough to buy Jett whatever he might want though. He was actually excited. Sure, they'd spend the entire time arguing but it would still be nice. And it would count as their first real date.
Gally was still hopeful when another thirty minutes passed and Jett wasn't there. Looking back he guessed it was the excitement that had clouded his judgement. After an hour the waiter was throwing him sad glances. Hour and thirty minutes the bastard was 'subtly' pointing Gally out to his coworkers. Two hours of sitting alone at that table and listening to the kitchen staff whisper and giggle, Gally finally left. He wanted to be hateful and he was, but he was also burning with shame as he stalked out of the restaurant, pulling off his tie and throwing it into the street. He obviously didn't belong at a place like this. He was a dirt poor southern hood, anyone could see that. No matter how dressed up he was, or how he tried to pretend. It was in his blood. Jett must know it, too.
Gally goes to the bar alone, and orders whisky on the rocks. He's in a bad place, and his mood is near damn poisonous but he tries smiling at the waitress who brings his drink anyways. He was raised to be a gentlemen, even though there was nothing gentle about him.
The women sauntered over, wearing a too-tight mini skirt accented by winged eyeliner that was uneven on each side.
"Not in a million years sweetie, sorry."
Gally sneers.
"Darlin' please, don't fucking flatter yourself."
She puts his drink down with unnecessary force as though she expects him to flinch but he doesn't.
"Got a temper on 'em, these days." He said to his whisky. It doesn't make a very good conversationalist, but soon its got him slurring over his words anyways.
Someone stumbles into the bar. They sink down into the seat next to Galileo, but he doesn't turn. Hopefully they'll get the hint and go the fuck on. He's not in the mood to make nice tonight, and he wont mind saying so if they take too long to disappear.
"A double vodka on the rocks, please.' The voice is exhausted and warbling, makes Gally stiffen in his seat.
There are three things immediately wrong with this situation.
Number one: That's a very strong drink, one that Gally only buys when he's looking to get blitzed out of his fucking mind.
Number two: He'd recognize that voice anywhere. Dripping - at least whenever addressing him- with a certain arrogance that makes Gally want to slug him over the face, a little dreamy and a little hopeful and always, always aggressive. Its a voice Gally had been hoping to hear hours before, while waiting hopelessly in that restaurant.
Number three: Jett is looking straight at him.
Gally is dumbstruck for a moment, a great feat considering how he was seething only moments before. Only Jett could ever have that effect on him.
It wasn't long lived though.
Gally slams his glass down onto the table, it shakes and the wood creaks under such blunt force.
And yet Jett hardly seems to notice.
"Jones"
"Leo."
The bartender has taken notice of them, narrowing her eyes and beginning to make her way over in long strides.
Well, shit.
'Is there a problem, sir?" The woman's voice is laced with rage. Gally shakes his head, but he isn't looking at her. His eyes are tracing the haggard outlines of Jett's face. The boy looks like absolute shit. He looks like he's been crying for years, deep bags under bloodshot eyes attesting his grief.
Something hurts behind Galileo's rig cage. This is something he hasn't felt in ages, something sharp and shooting. Pin pricks of pain. It makes it fingers curl, and uncurl.
"Why in the fucking fuck didn't you show up for our date today?"
Jett doesn't seem to be hearing him. Gally throws the shot back and closes his eyes. It goes down like water.
Water. Whenever Jett looks at him, it fills his lungs. Sometimes Gally believes he's drowning
"Jones-"
"Listen dammit," Jett is growling, snapping his head up to glare almost hatefully at Gally.
Almost.
"J-Just lay off my fucking case, alright?
Its the second time today Jett had shocked him into silence. Only Jett fucking Jones could ever hope to render him completely speechless. He finds himself struggling for something to say, reaching into the dark recesses of his mind for a witty retort, some cruel come back that would drive Jett mad or break his spirit.
But Gally cant set his heart to it. Jett really does look like he's been through hell, and did he fucking stutter? It's so bizarre and unheard of that Gally can do nothing but lapse back into silence.
The silence feels damning. Gally can't sort through his thoughts, and he's distressed by these new feelings. Everything is in disarray. Gally can't breathe, can't see. He wants to reach out. He doesn't know how.
".......Sorry."
Gally doesn't think he heard, or maybe he didn't understand. He blinks and for a moment wonders if he may be dreaming.
"Excuse me, what in the hell did you just say?"
"I'm sorry. For snapping at you."
Gally is once again, struck dumb. Jett has said some harsh and terrible things to him. Sometimes the boy is ruthless, down right cruel. He never apologizes for it.
Gally doesn't know whether to hit the boy or try and give him a hug.
"And for bailing on our date." Jett's voice is warbling again, and it sets Gally's pulse to racing.
"Holy hell, what in god's name is this? Is something wrong with you?"
Gally is living in this moment but its bleary, dream like. Its not like he means it. He never means it. Never means anything.
Except he does.
And Jett fucking snaps. He starts throwing shots back, one after another, and then to Gally's greatest horror - tears start rolling down his face and onto a nice suit Gally just now noticed he was wearing.
It seems as though Jett had planned on coming to that date after all
"My god, don't - sweet jesus. Don't cry. People are gonn' think I hit you."
Jett doesn't seem to hear him, struggling to swallow down a sob. He's got his head buried in his hands, and something fucking lifts inside Gally's ribcage. He reaches out instinctively. It was a stupid move and he should have know better. His fingers thread through Jett's hair. Its silky and soft, and Jett jerks away almost as soon as his skin makes contact. Skin will remember skin.
He's read that somewhere before, in some nameless medical journal.
Skin always remembers skin.
"Jones-"
"Boyd almost fucking died." Jett says it between stuttering gasps and heaving sobs. Gally isn't shocked by the news.
"That fucking idiot! What was he thinking? Why wasn't I there-" And it fades into jumbled cries as Jett buries his head in his hands again. His entire body is quivering. The bar has gone silent, Gally notices. It seems as though everyone is watching them, waiting for the scene to unfold. That damn bartender is hovering, glaring at Gally as though it's his fault there's a boy having a traumatic break in her booth. Again, he knows its something he shouldn't do but he does it anyways. Jett has a way of bringing out the worst in him.
He wraps an arm around Jett, prepared for the boy to struggle or yell, but instead he only shudders.
Good god.
Is this real? This feels real.
"Come on Jett, ah think we better get ya home before you get us banned for life."
Jett, for the first time since Gally has known him, does not argue. He lets Gally yank his sobbing ass out of the bar and sit him down on a bench. He thought that maybe Jett would sit up like a normal mother fucking human being, but instead the boy flops over, as though he's gone completely spineless. Gally grimaces at the sight.
This must be real. It cant be real.
"Well, are ya gonn' calm the fuck down or what?"
Jett seems to disappear for a moment, the word shifts and everything is blurry, just blobs of color and swirls of movement. Gally rubs at his eyes, pinches the bridge of his nose. It doesn't work. It's never worked. He can only give it a minute, wait for his surroundings to refocus. He supposes this is what happens after a bullet tears through your brain. He lived but things have never been the same.
He has never been the same.
And Jett is constantly changing the game on him. He waits, and repeats his question. It seems stupid that he's even asking, Jett's obviously not going to answer. He'll have to get them home himself.
"Boyd." It's all Jett can say. Just that name, over and over.
"Would ya fuckin' cut that shit out? He ain't dead. Ya said almost, fucking
almost damnit! So lay off with the water works. Be grateful the dumb bastard ain't layin in the morgue."
For a moment Gally thought he'd found some magic words to snap Jett out of it. The boy looked up at him at least.
But then his bottom lip was quivering,
and
holy fucking hell, he was bawling again.
"Jesus." The migraine is fucking with his head. Things were blurry a minute ago, so he isn't sure that everything he sees is real anymore. Maybe Jett's not even here. Maybe he's still back at that restaurant waiting on a date that never happened.
Ah, he just cant seem to let that go.
And maybe this was his reality now, standing like an idiot in the street while Jett sniffles and sobs on a bench outside some seedy bar.
He's going to roll with it. He's tired of the struggle for one night.
Gally carefully moves to sit beside Jett, slowing reaching out and taking the boys hand. It's warm, and there's a faster than normal pulse thrumming through it. He feels something stir in his belly, and with a ferocity pushes back the swell of emotion that arises when skin meets skin. Gally squeezes Jett's trembling fingers, and tries again.
"Listen, hey. Things are gon be just fine....probably."
He is nothing if not honest. People die. They disappear.
"I love him so fucking much." Jett whispers.
Gally pretends not to feel the strain on his heart.
He doesn't know what he's doing anymore. Jett is ruining him. He pulls the boy closer, and holy fuck some idiot whistles on the opposite street as they walk by. Jett cries harder and Gally has an almost irresistible urge to whoop someones ass.
He doesn't.
Jett curls up against him, and another wave of
what the fuck is this hit him. He doesn't know how to handle this. He just swallows, breathes in, breathes out, repeats. Jett's head is on his shoulder. He can smell the boys shampoo.
"Does your daddy dearest know you're out here?" Its dumb to ask. Of course Eustass knows where they are. The alpha always knows where his favorite beta is, especially when Jett's as distraught as he is now.
"You're pretty fucking drunk. We ain't gon have ya tryin to drive home. Why in the fuck would you think it was a good idea to get like this alone?"
"I'm not alone." Jett's voice is hoarse and ragged, a whisper in the night. "You're a bastard Gally, but even bastards like you have hearts." He slurs his words, but still seems to believe them true.
Gally knows its wrong to think so, but Jetts really fucking pretty when he cries.
It makes Gally want to punch him in the face.
He knows he shouldn't do this to himself. If he was smart he'd leave Jett in the bar and have Eustass come get him. But he's obviously some sort of fool, because he finds himself seized by the sudden and terrible impulse to do something kind.
Something like help Jett home. Something like maybe getting his drunk ass to bed before he embarasses himself infront of the pack. Jett's too sloshed and devastated to care now, but it would bother him later if anyone else saw him crying.
He claims he doesn't give two shits what Gally thinks of him, so that must be why Jett sought him out.
He's still in the middle of debating with himself when Jett finally speaks up. He'd stopped crying. Gally failed to notice.
"Be a damn southern gentleman or some shit and take me the fuck home. I-i wanna go home."
And that settled it.
"Well, ah reckon ah could. since you asked so nicely and shit."
Gally hadn't expected Jett to laugh, but he did. It was a beautiful sound, and a beautiful sight. The boy still had tears drying on his cheeks, caught in his lashes.
Gally catches himself thinking these things. Gally hates himself for it.
Gally hates Jett for it, too.
"Well, we'd best get gone then, or i'm gonna freeze my ass off. " He forces himself to believe that he's doing this reluctantly. There's a gentle brush against his shoulder. Jett was nodding his agreement.
Galileo tries to stand, and once again realizes that there are three important things to take into consideration.
One: He's drunk off his ass. He'd been at that bar for a few hours before Jett decided to show his face, spending all the money he would have put into their dinner on shots instead. Gally handles his alcohol well, having built an endurance after years of heavy drinking. He could make it home.
But could he do it with a drunk Jett weighing him down? He'd already seen that standing was now impossible for the boy. He'd had to drag him from the bar to the bench. Jett tried only once to stand for himself, and it had ended with his crashing into Galileo's shoulder. He would've thrown them both to the ground had Gally not been so solid and prepared to catch him. It would be a shame to make him stand again and run the risk of his bursting into tears. Gally was too emotionally stunted to handle the water works.
Two: Jett smells really fucking good. Like fuck him for showing up looking like shit and still smelling so good. It's a kind of good that makes Gally shudder, remember all the times he's been close enough to smell Jett like this before. Jett smells amazing and Gally hates him for that, too.
Sweet Jesus. Gally is fucked.
Three: If he is drunk, then Jett is also very, very drunk. He may have been at the bar longer, but Jett downed more shots of straight vodka in a lesser time. Gally has no idea how many he'd had. More than enough to knock him off his pretty little ass.
This can't be real. This is too real.
Jett tries to move. Galileo does not. He stays there for a moment, holding onto Jett's warm body that he was so certain he wanted to take apart.
He's not so sure about that anymore.
This is a body he owns.
Owns him.
Jett settles down, and doesn't threaten to try and leave him. Not yet, anyways.
He ends up carrying Jett home.
Gally spent a good ten minutes fighting himself, counting all the reasons he shouldn't bother himself with Jett's making it home safely, just to toss them all aside in favor of getting them both out of the cold. It surely wasn't because he cared. Caring was lethal.
They must have looked fucking ridiculous. Gally was staggering through the streets, struggling to balance his weight and Jetts despite his total inebriation. And what was Jett doing to help? Not a damn thing. The obviously drunk bastard had lapsed back into crying- Sometimes silent. Sometimes not- in the arms of a cold and obviously drunk Galileo. No one passed without noticing. Some stopped to stare. Some giggled.
Gally hated them all.
Jett is no heavier than he was a few days ago, but Gally is stumbling instead of walking. He nearly trips a dozen times, but always manages to right himself before disturbing Jett. He's huffing by the time he sees their home come into view.
Gally doesn't realize Jett has fallen asleep until he's reaching down for his keys. For a moment he's swallowed by terror, certain Jett will wake and immediately go back to crying. Instead the boys head falls gently against his shoulder and he nuzzles in there, completely oblivious to Gally's soft sigh of relief.
"Holy shit, man."
He shifts Jett's weight again, holding his breath as he tries not to jostle the boy too much. Gally fumbled the keys out of his pocket, and quietly into the lock. Or as quietly as possible. He was so drunk that it took him several tries to slide his key into the lock. It takes an embarrassing amount of time to even open the front door. Gally is frustrated when he finally gets into the home. He expects Eustass to be standing there, waiting for them.
But the house is empty.
And then he remembers; Boyd. Eustass would have gone to be with Vitaly, as would have everyone else.
They would have the house alone.
Galileo locks the door behind them, and then drops Jett into his bed as soon as he manages to stagger his way up the stairs and into the boys room.
"Boyd." Jett whispers, and Gally immediately stiffens.
It shouldn't bother him, but it does.
This was a really fucking bad idea.
Gally leaves Jett with that realization, stumbling down the hall into his own bedroom. He strips away the stupidly uncomfortable tux he'd bought onto the floor, forgotten and thrown away. He goes to take a shower.
The water is cold and soothing to his searing skin but Gally is numb to it. His pulse is racing, heart beating into his ribcage. He can't remember the last time it's ever beat this hard, this fast. Or if it ever has. He closes his eyes and thinks of dying.
He doesn't get out of the spray until he notices his skin has taken on a pale and almost bluish pallor. He knows that if he wasn't so numb he'd feel the sharp pin pricks that came with being chilled to the bone.
Gally emerges from the shower and instantly regrets it. Jett is lying slumped over on his bed, and suddenly his body is all fire and brimstone again.
He wants to do the rude thing and shake Jett awake, demand he get the fuck out and lock the door behind him.
Instead Gally does another thing he hates himself for. He merely rolls Jett over, with the intention of moving the boy out of his way so he'd have room for himself. But he feels something when his fingertips graze the boys shoulder.
Skin remembers skin. It sends sparks up his arms. Its one thing he isn't numb to.
Jett's hair is splayed out over Gally's pillows. He's still wearing a suit, laying on his tie in a way that makes it seem he should be choking.
Gally should let him suffocate.
He doesn't. Carefully his fingers tug at the tie, loosening it enough to eventually undo it completely. Gently he pulls it away and leaves Jett's throat bare. If the boy was awake, all his movements would be rough and callus. But Jett's sleeping, and Gally is indulging himself.
Jett is pretty, even in this haggard state. The creamy skin of his neck is framed by a crumpled collar. Gally has the sudden urge to bite into it.
Holy fuck, he hates himself.
"What in god's name am I gonn do with you. You're a piece of shit, you know it?" The words are insulting, but they're said so softly that no one would know. Gally surprises himself. He doesn't understand when he became this weak person. He doesn't want to be this person.
It's all Jett's fucking fault.
Gally tosses the tie onto the floor to join the scattered pieces of his suit. Jett stirs but doesn't wake, and Gally takes a moment to trace the outline of his face. He doesn't touch, but he sees clearly every indication of exhaustion, every sign of grief.
He was clearly devastated, and Boyd had done this. That stupid bastard liked to talk big about never hurting Jett, but here they were.
"I guess i'm stuck with you now, ain't I?" Gally doesn't know why he's still talking. No one was listening. It must be the remaining alcohol in his system, had to be. That damned poison. His head aches. His heart aches. Behind his eyes and down to his core. He doesn't want to be conscious anymore.
So he lifts Jett enough so that he can crawl into bed and hold the boy in his arms. They would never have to speak of it. Jett would never have to know how soft he truly is. Gally presses a kiss to the boys burning forehead and curls up next to him, laying awake to the sound of a heartbeat that is not his own.
Its just the alcohol, he says.
Gally is very good at lying to himself.
Gally wakes up to cold bedsheets. It isn't surprising. Jett never stays and Gally never asks him to. The bedside clock reads 6:25 AM.
He gets up and feels a deep ache behind his eyes, knows its the hangover pounding through his head. His movements are exhausted and sluggish, but he keeps moving anyways. He can hear Jetts heart beat, so he follows it into the kitchen. He stops. He stares.
Jett isn't looking at him. He's standing near the counter, fiddling with the coffee machine and muttering softly to himself. There is a broad ray of sunlight filtering through the windows, bright and unwelcome to his aching eyes. It bathes Jett in brightness, and he's beautiful.
Gally loathes him.
He doesn't seem to notice Gally standing there. Probably thinking about Boyd again. Gally scowls with resentment as he watches the boy rub at the back of his head, lips moving again but without sound.
Gally doesn't move.
"Well top of the mother fuckin' morning to ya. I see you finally found your damn marbles. About fucking time."
Jett jerks, startled, and suddenly snaps awake. Gally regrets it the moment he sees sleep melt away, replaced by the feral and dangerous expression Jett always wore when looking in his direction.
Maybe last night wasn't real. Maybe he'd dreamed it.
Jett had seemed so much smaller then. Now the boy was bowing up as though preparing for a fight, moving away from the counter - from Gally-
And Gally hates this, too.
"I-"
"Just leave me the hell alone, Galileo. Im not in the mood for your bullshit today." He is pretty like this too, all hatred and contempt.
Gally has the urge to swing at him. Doesn't.
"That's fucking fine by me. I have no interest in you, Jones. I was jus gonn get me some coffee. That aint no crime, now is it?"
Jett is still glaring at him, dark intelligent eyes sharp with suspicion. Gally almost expects another insult, but instead Jett merely waves a hand at him.
"Whatever. I'll get you a fucking cup. Then you go the hell away."
Gally doesn't understand immediately. He had never imagined that Jett would offer to make the coffee for him. He distantly wondered if it was because of last night.
If last night even happened. He can't trust his brain anymore.
He realizes then that Jett is staring at him. His eyes are still bloodshot, so Gally doubts he slept for very long. Red rimmed. He's already cried sometime this morning.
He was alone for that. Gally doesn't like that he was alone. Gally doesn't like that he cares.
Gally was crossing the room then, without much thought. Jett doesn't try to flee, he never does. He always fights everything head on. His shoulders are drawn and tense, almost like a bow string, on which deadly arrows are drawn.
Gally doesn't think. He reaches out and puts his hands on them.
Its a miracle he isn't killed, touching a loaded weapon so boldly.
Jett jerks as though he's been struck. In his eyes Gally can see shock, a flash of disbelief, and then smoldering anger. He almost takes his hands away, but doesn't. Gally will stand his ground here, letting his fingers rest. Another moment passes. Jett hasn't knocked him away yet, so Gally moves to brush his finger tips over pale collarbones. The skin is warm under his touch.
"What in the fuck do you think you're doing, Leo?"
Gally doesn't know what he's doing anymore. He never does.
"Just damn relax, would ya? Im not gonn bite, y'know." Gally finds himself massaging gently, can hear Jett hiss when he hits a knot. He works it until the muscle beneath his fingertips loosens, and eventually soothes away completely.
Gally doesn't know how to talk to Jett, not about anything important anyways.
So he says stupid shit.
"So, how about that coffee ya promised me Darlin'"
Jett is silent for a moment, staring at him. Its short lived. Gally should have appreciated it more.
"You're a complete bastard."
Jett moves anyways, tinkering with the coffee maker again, and maybe his shoulders relax under Gally's fingertips.
Or maybe that's just Gally's imagination again.
It didn't matter. Jett was allowing this so Gally was going to spend whatever the fuck this moment is actually savoring it. The sunshine is warm on his face. Jett is warm under his hands.
Gally thinks of dying. Is happy for once that he isn't dead.
The is a beep to signal the coffee was made. Jett reaches for one cup, hesitates, and picks up two. He pours their coffee and doesn't look at Gally when he finally offers him a cup.
Gally makes sure their hands touch when he takes it, inhales deeply before taking a sip.
"I surely do appreciate it."
Jett almost seems to miss it. Gally is watching him the entire time, sees the moment those words register. He is surprised. Gally is too.
Jett's hair is really soft looking in the sunlight. He has turned away from Gally now, as though if he can't see him then Gally will suddenly disappear.
He won't. Gally just stands there, quietly admiring the morning mess that was Jett's curls. Gally bites down on the sudden urge to run his fingers through it.
He notices that Jett is still wearing that damned suit from last night. It's instinct to land so snarky comment about it, but Gally comes up blank.
"Anytime." Jett says, and for a moment Gally doesn't understand. His brain isn't as fast as it used to be. He remembers shit he wants to forget, and forgets everything he hopes to remember.
Oh yeah, the coffee.
He has proof that was real, a warm cup in his hands.
Gally has the sudden urge to ruin things and ask about Boyd. This feels too close to happiness. He has to make it stop.
He wonders how one person could ruin Jett in such a way, is jealous because it isn't him that has this power.
How could someone take apart Jett Jones and not even stick around to bare witness to it, revel in their victory.
Gally wants to ask about Boyd. He opens his mouth and looks at Jett, sees the deadened look in his eyes and the way his hands tremble around his coffee mug. He closes his mouth.
"Eustass called me this morning."
Maybe Jett is a mind reader of some kind. Gally sure as fuck hopes not.
"He wanted to know why I wasn't at the hospital with everyone else. Said Boyd woke up and asked about me." Gally is watching him closely, catches the subtle tightening of slender fingers. Jett is distraught, but at least he isn't crying again, even if he looks like he might want to. His smooth lips twitch, curl and then go slack. He is too exhausted to physically express himself anymore, everything hurts.
"I don't really know what in gods name im supposed to say to some heavy shit like that. I'm sorry I guess? You're stuck between a rock and a hard spot and it's a shitty ass situation."
His words feel empty. They always do these days. Normally he wouldn't even bother, but Jett is staring at him and he feels a prick of something. A needle pressing into his heart.
He hates this.
"I don't think I can go up there. I can't see him like this. I don't want to."
Why is Jett telling him this? Is he really saying this shit out loud? Gally wishes he could be certain, loathes that he doubts his own mind and perceptions.
He doesn't know what is real anymore. So he just stops thinking. Gally steps forward, moving into Jett's space and letting their hips brush. Jett's gaze snaps up to meet him, started. For a second the grief was gone.
But then there was anger, fury and fire flashing across the boys face.
Gally prepares to be struck, but Jett makes no move against him. Instead he only snarls.
"Fuck off Leo. I'm not doing this shit with you right now. Can't you see the sky is falling?"
Galileo shifts to look out the window, waits a moment, seemingly gazing at the clouds before turning back to smirk at Jett.
"Sounds fake but okay."
"Go to hell, Leo. It was a mistake to ever think I could talk to you. You're nothing but an asshole. You know, why don't you do me a favor and fucking get lost?"
Gally has heard worse. He ate a bullet and didn't flinch.
So he doesn't understand why Jett's words sting all of a sudden. A somehow unexpected slap across the face. He is used to this, but the last twenty four hours had given him the illusion that things were shifting. He blinked and it was over. Jett moved away.
"You fucking hate me, remember? And I hate you. No, that's not even a strong enough word. I fucking loathe you, with every part of my being. We have sex. It is nothing. It's a relationship built on fuck-you-forever. In every way. So why in the holy fuck are you pushing the boundaries now, huh? Are you actually trying to help me or something? Is this somehow funny to you?"
Once his father had taken him to the ocean when he was ten. He let Gally swim while he made a 'business' transaction. Galileo had swam out until he couldn't clearly see his father anymore, just a speck on the horizon. He'd been hoping a shark would come along. He loved sharks. The ocean was calm though, and instead Gally held his breath and went under. Eventually the waves washed him home, but he remembers what it was like to think he might drown in the surf. That is what it feels like to have Jett stand and talk about their mutual hate. He can only describe it as that sensation of floating in the sea, suffocating. He does hate Jett, he really does.
Mostly.
But there is a part of him that hurts when Jett is harsh, aches with jealousy whenever Boyd's name comes up. There is a part of him that wants something different with Jett
Gally wishes he could cut that part out of himself.
"Look Jones, I still fuckin' hate your guts. I'm not a complete dick though, despite whatever the fuck you seem to think. I have some human decency. Stop trying so damn hard to piss me off."
Gally steadies himself, readying for a fight only to find Jett slumping against the counter in defeat. Every trace of anger had vanished, leaving nothing but tired grief in its wake.
Galileo feels as though he's been stabbed as he takes in the sight. It would have been less painful if Jett had actually swung on him.
"I know im a prick. I get that. But I'm not trying to hurt you here. I was only trying to help your bull headed ass. Same as last night when I carried you home. I didn't care to see you freeze to death. And god knows Eustass would blame me if his favorite pet went amiss."
Jett scowls at him.
"I didn't realize you cared."
Gally grins, one dimple appearing in his right cheek. Jett doesn't smile back. It slips away. Gally almost feels guilty for having done it in the first place.
"I don't. I fucking hate you, remember? And you...What was it? Loathe my guts?" Gally finishes his coffee and crosses the room towards Jett. The boy tenses, but Gally only pushes the coffee mug into his hands.
"Since I was such a gentlemen last night, the least you could do is be a dear and wash our cups whenever ya get done, don'cha think?" Gally winks at him, and stalks away back towards his bedroom.
Gally went to work as though it were a normal day, even though it wasn't. Thoughts of Jett seemed to plague him, obviously another side effect of his ever failing brain. Its a nice day, warm but not muggy. The pines offer shade as he works with his crew. It would be perfect, if he could just stop wondering what Jett was doing, all alone at the house.
When his shift ends, Gally has the urge to speed back home. It's promptly followed by the urge to smack himself.
He goes to a bar instead. Not the one he and Jett met at the night before. Gally has a feeling he might not be welcome back there anymore. He got off work at 6:30.
He supposes he spent around two hours drinking. His watch is blinking 8:44 when he finally pays his uber and stumbles into the home.
Gally had expected there to be lights on. Maybe even more of the pack lounging about inside. Instead everything was dark, and the only heartbeat he detected was Jett's.
"You're home late, dickwad. What took you so long?"
Gally had known he was there, had just been struggling to make his brain hone in on the boys heart beat. And yet, it still startled the hell out of him.
"Holy mother fucking hell! Cut a damn light on in this bitch. You nearly made me shit myself Jones."
Gally can hear the boy shifting around in the dark. And then finally, a click.
He'd wanted the light on, but he hadn't been prepared for how blinding it would be to his sensitive eyes. His head couldn't take it. Gally pitches forward, knees suddenly weak as the ache returns. It's behind his eyes, pounding his temples.
Jett makes no move to help him. Gally didn't expect him to. He caught himself on the arm of a couch, using it to steady himself before slumping over onto its cushions. His eyes are adjusting now. He can see Jett, sitting across from him on the smaller sofa. His body is rigid, and he isn't looking at Gally. He's just staring off into space, into the nothingness that had been complete darkness only moments before. It terrifies the hell out of Gally. There was a time when he would have wanted Jett to be this miserable. But now that it's finally happened, Gally finds he cannot bare it. This boy wasn't made to be so sad. He is cutting words and steel strength.
"Jones....is this what you've been up to all day?" His words slur, he cant control them. If he could, he'd have stopped himself from sounding so pathetically worried.
Gally doesn't realize Jett is finally looking at him until the boy speaks.
"You're pretty sloshed. You've gotta be to stumble in here and start asking about shit that doesn't concern you."
Gally's upper lip curls into a snarl. He imagines himself sinking his fangs into Jett's neck. His gaze hovers over the boys jugular. They're so close he can see the boys racing pulse. It's soothing.
And he's too drunk to fight anyhow.
"I'd be a whole hell of a lot happier if you were only saying that I was pretty, sloshed."
Jett looks disgusted, so Gally flips him off. He knows that he's threatening to start the very fight he was trying to avoid. He doesn't care. Gally can take a beating just as good as he can give one.
"Look, im gonn' go hop in the shower. Im deadass tired. I'll come out when i'm finished and we can figure out a bite to eat. Until then though, don't come'a knocking. Unless you somehow manage to start a fire."
Jett almost smiles at him.
Almost.
"Now why would I knock if there was fire?"
Gally smiled back. Really and genuinely smiled. It was that damned devil juice again. He swears its all the liquors doing.
"Funny. Real funny."
Gally stays in the shower until he's so numbed by the cold he can no longer feel his head aching. He feels exhaustion in his bones. All he wants is sleep.
But he steps out of the bathroom and is met by the acrid smell of something burning.
"What in the name of-" Galileo curses, running out of the room with only a towel wrapped around his waist. The smell is drifting from the kitchen.
Gally rounds the corner and almost barrels into Jett. The boy ignores him completely, frantically darting around him in order to reach the oven. He acts as though he's already on fire.
For a moment Gally simply stands there, blinking as he watches Jett yank the oven door open and reach into it with ungloved hands-
"Wait just a goddamn minute, Jones!" Gally is beside him then. He doesn't remember moving, he's just suddenly there, grasping into Jett's arm so tightly his knuckles have gone white. Slowly, he pulls the boy's hand away.
"Jesus christ, what were you thinkin?" Gally reaches just to the side of the oven, where Eustass hangs pot warmers and oven mitts. He pulls away two cloth gloves, shoving them into Jett's chest with more force than necessary. He can't help himself, he's fucking livid. The boy almost gave him a heart attack.
"Don't you ever fuckin' do no dumb shit like that again, ya hear? You ain't got a lick of sense. Tryin' to not only burn the damn house down but also lose your fuckin' butter fingers too."
Jett is just staring at him, clueless, lost.
Gally steps back. He realizes now that he's suddenly naked, his towel having been abandoned the very second Jett went to sticking his hands into burning ovens. His brain must have a special connection with the number three. All of his thoughts seemed to come that way.
One: Gally hates this. He didn't think it was possible to hate so much but he hates this.
Two: Gally wants to break Jett's nose.
Three: Gally never wants to see Jett being so careless with his safety ever again.
He doesn't know how to voice any of this. Jett would probably laugh if he tried.
"Did ya hear me Jones? Nod or some shit to let me know you fucking understand."
That seems to finally snap the boy out of it, because Jett finally meets his gaze with anger smoldering behind dark intelligent eyes.
"Go put some fucking pants on Leo. I don't need or want your damn help." Jett says, even while sliding the oven mitts over his palms.
Gally has the urge to strike him again. But he watches the gloves cover Jett's fingers and suddenly loses it. This boy isn't in the right mindset for a real fight and neither is he. Not now.
Maybe later, always later.
"Fine, i'll go. Make yourself useful and don't let the kitchen burn to ash while i'm gone."
Gally is tired. He is so fucking tired. He takes his time getting dressed, and when he's finished he just stands in the middle of his room, gazing longingly at his bed. He could go to sleep, lay down on his mattress and leave Jett alone with whatever he'd almost set fire to.
Gally loathes himself because he doesn't. Instead he walks back into the kitchen.
Jett's back is turned to him again. He's just pulled something from the oven, Gally can hear him huff as though frustrated before dropping a tray onto the counter.
"Stop being a fucking creep and come on in. Don't just hover. I hate that shit." Jett still wasn't looking at him. Gally absently wondered if the boy had heard him, or if maybe Jett sometimes listenes for his heartbeat, too.
Gally steps forward, chooses to ignore Jett's rudeness.
"So, what in god's grace were you tryin to do before almost burning the house down?"
Jett finally turns to face him, lips drawn into a tired scowl. He is always ready for a fight, Gally knows. He is also grief stricken and weighed down by exhaustion. Gally knows there will be no battle.
"Stress baking, I guess."
Gally is at a loss. The boy moves aside and motions to a tray of steaming cupcakes. One half is badly charred, and they remind Gally of hockey pucks. He tries not to smile but feels his lips twitching anyways.
"Is that right? Stress baking?"
Jett doesn't smile back. "Did I fucking stutter?"
His brain must really be going, because instead of taking a swing at the boy Gally just laughs. It sounds wrecked, like something he hasn't done in so long he forgot how. It bubbles out of him and holy fuck, he actually sounds happy for a second. He still wants to knock Jett the fuck out, but at least he isn't alone. And now he has burnt cupcakes. The world seems a little brighter in these moments.
Jett is just glaring at him, as though he suspects Gally is up to something awful. He isn't. He wishes he was.
"Don't just fucking stand there giggling like some lunatic. Help me with these damn cupcakes. The icing is over there."
Gally knows he should leave. It's foolish to stay and spend anymore time here, like this. He's ruining himself if he stays, he knows.
He goes to the pantry where Jett has pointed, and pulls out two packages of icing.
Together it doesn't take them long to frost the cupcakes. Jett doesn't seem interested in them once finished, merely watching as Gally licked a bit of chocolate icing from his fingertip.
"What? Do I have something' on my face?" Gally catches him staring, quotes the stupid drag show he always finds Jett watching.
His brain is a peice of shit. He can quote that show but sometimes he forgets what his mother looked like.
Jett doesn't laugh, but he almost looks like he wanted to. Gally counts it as a win and reaches for a cupcake.
"What the hell, Gally? I didn't offer you any."
Gally wonders if Jett could bare to stop fighting him long enough for them to have a civil conversation. He doubts it.
The cupcake is great though. Frosting covers most of the burnt places, so they aren't half as bad as he'd expected them to be. If you ignored the few parts that tasted like ash they were nearly impeccable.
"Stop bein' a sour puss. There ain't no one else here to eat 'em, and you sure as shit won't finish 'em all alone." He waves the cupcake around with every motion of his hand. Jett's scowl has lessened. Not by much, that's for damn sure, but Gally doesn't feel as though the boys trying to burn a hole through him anymore. It's progress.
"I usually give half of them to Boyd. He loves chocolate."
the words seem so simple and harmless, but an acrid taste fills Gallys mouth and he highly doubts that its from the cupcake. His stupid brain had forgotten about Boyd, the entire reason that Jett was even spending time with him, the reason he'd been stress baking in the first place.
Gally hates Boyd now more than ever, but a part of him is thankful the boy hadn't actually kicked the bucket. Jett would be ruined over something like that.
Jett is staring off into nothingness again, and Gally has nothing else to say so they stand in silence for a while. Gally finishes his cupcake, even though it now feels like the sweetness is rising up in his throat, threatening to suffocate him.
He is looking at Jett, knows the boy has someone else on his mind. He's also still wearing that mother fucking suit. Had he forgotten how to shower? Was it just too much of a hassle for right now?
"I'll do ya a favor and take care of the clean up and all that good stuff. You need to take your ass to a shower and hop in it. Get out of that crusty ass suit." He sees Jett bristle, visibly gearing up for an argument that Gally is in no mood for.
Jett opens his lips to speak but Gally pushes the words back into his mouth, a palm resting firmly over the lower half of the boy's face.
"Jesus Christ, you're a pain. Go take a shower right damn now. I don't give two shits how depressed you are about Boyd. Get the hell out of here and wash your ass." He almost shoves Jett down the hallway, towards a bathroom. Jett stands for a moment, shoulders bowed as though he considered fighting Gally on this. In the end he doesn't. The boy leaves, but not before throwing a hateful scowl over his shoulder. The door slammed closed behind him. Gally listens for a moment, waiting until he can hear clothes ruffling and falling to the floor before allowing himself a moment of relief. Running water follows a moment later, and Gally counts this as another win.
He puts the cupcakes into the refrigerator, but not before stealing one more to munch on while Jett's gone.
"I fucking hate him." Gally tells the empty kitchen, almost as though he expects it to have an opinion. Thank god it doesn't answer. His brain is failing but at least he's still got his sanity. Then again, with Jett in just the next room in varying states of distress that may not be true for much longer. This boy would take everything from him if Gally allowed it.
He might not be able to stop it.
Gally is laying in bed when Jett appears in his doorway. His eyes are closed but he knows the boys is there, hoving just as he himself had done earlier. It seems neither of them understand how to trust each other, push past the hatred. These past few days had been an anomaly. Jett is too sad to put up a real fight, and Gally is tired, always so, so fucking tired.
He opens his eyes. There is only the low light of a night side lamp illuminating the room. Bright lights are hazardous nowadays.
Gally can only make out a shadow, but knows its bare. Without saying anything he pushes himself off the mattress and goes to one of his dressers, reaching into the top drawer and producing one of his ratty old T-shirts and a pair of boxers.
Jett is staring at him, confused. He looks as though he doesn't know why he's even here. Maybe he'd gotten lost again.
"Here, put these on. They're a few sizes too big, but they should do." Gally takes a step forward, and Jett moves back.
They stand like that for a moment. Gally doesn't like it.
"Just take the damned clothes, Jones."
"No. I don't want-"
He's cut off by the soft cotton of a t-shirt flying into his face, followed soon after by the pair of boxers.
"I don't give a damn what you want. If it's pity you're worried about then stop. I don't have any pity left. And even if I did, I wouldn't waste it on your scrawny hide." Gally gets back into his bed, exhausted with this thing between them. Jett could leave or he could stay. It doesn't matter.
It does.
Gally closes his eyes. His head is aching again. He can see colors behind his eyelids.
When he opens them again, Jett is dressed and standing just inside his doorway. The T-shirt swallows him entirely, hanging off of one shoulder and exposing the boy's collar bone. Even the boxers were too big, just barely hanging onto Jett's hips.
"Looks damn right comfortable if you ask me."
Jett still doesn't smile, but he doesn't scowl either.
"I didn't. And you're like, three sizes too big. I don't understand how you're so fucking short but somehow so...built."
Gally rolls onto his side, lying with his back against the wall. He doesn't say so, but he's made room for Jett.
"Shut the hell up, Jones. You ain't got no room to talk. Tall as a damn beanstalk but ya ain't hardly got a lick of muscle on ya." It wasn't a bad thing. Gally liked climbing the boy on nights when rage spilled over to passion.
Jett looks as though he is going to shy away from this, but instead he surprised the hell out of Gally and slides onto the mattress next to him.
"Just to be clear, i'm not looking to fuck or anything."
Gally snorts at him, pretends not to be bothered by the ideas that Jett only ever thinks of him in relation to hatred and sex.
"I'd hope not. If you were you'd be sorely disappointed. My ass is going to sleep."
Jett doesn't say anything in return.
Gally closes his eyes and thinks about floating in the ocean. There aren't any sharks this time. He's just adrift in the tides.
The next morning Jett is gone again. Gally takes some aspirin for his headache and starts getting ready for the day.
He can hear Jett walking down the hallway, his feet making soft thumps as he moves closer. The boy is always so light footed around him, doesn't ever like to stay too close for too long.
Gally is dressed in a long sleeve flannel shirt, complete with shoulder protectors and a pair of well work blue jeans. He is sitting on the bed, sliding on his boots when the boy steps into his bedroom.
"Gally."
He doesn't look up. He thinks of sharks and drowning and dying.
"Jones." And a moment later, "What is it you want this time?"
"Eustass is home right now. He says he's going back to the hospital soon, and im going to go with him. Im going to see Boyd."
Gally sets his jaw, swallows back the bitterness rising in his throat. Why would Jett tell him this? Why would he care?
"What are you tellin' me for? It ain't like I give a damn what you do with him. Go, don't go. It don't matter as far as im concerned." He yanks a boot on harder than necessary, tying the strings so fast he makes an unforgiving knott that he'll have to struggle with later. Fucking wonderful.
"Fuck off Leo, fuck all the way off." Jett looks defeated for a moment, and Gally thinks that maybe Jett himself isn't sure why he keeps coming back. They just cant seem to stay away from each other.
He dosen't know if its a blessing or a curse.
"I'm just telling you because I didn't want you to come home to an empty house and wonder where the fuck everyone was. But you know what? I don't give a damn. An asshole like you deserves to be alone." Jett is trembling, all his pent up grief being released in a show of hatred for Gally.
Gally doesn't know. He thinks it's just hate. Jett has always been like this with him.
His brain must be malfunctioning again. He is watching Jett, and the boy is saying all these things but he cant bring himself to care. Gally is focused on Jett's bottom lip, eyes drawn to the way he is tugging it between pink lips. He has a sudden and overwhelming need to kiss it until its raw.
Yeah, his mind is going faster than he thought. Gally bites down on the inside of his cheek, repulsed by his desire. They hate each other. It's not wise to let himself indulge in these needs.
"You're probably right about that. At any rate, thanks I guess, for telling me and shit. Ill be here with the burned oven whenever you guys get back. It can keep me company."
Jett stares at him strangely, as if he can't comprehend Gally doing anything other than cursing at him and starting a fight. He isn't prepared for this shift in their relationship.
"Actually thatcher will be home tonight sometime, so if i'm not back by then you'll have him. I know how much you love mommy dearest."
Gally opens his mouth, wants to rise to the bait. There is a part of him immature enough to get pissed about Jett having to add a comment on his relationship with Thatcher. His brain is a peice of shit though, focusing on three things about this situation.
One: Jett is dressed to go out but he looks as though a strong wind might blow him over. His shoulders slope. He is holding his entire world together with two hands. And he's so fucking tall, but somehow he seems tiny.
Two: How can Gally hate him? Jett is a complete asshole, sure. But he's an asshole who crawls into Gally's bed at night when everything becomes too much, an asshole who came into this room despite obviously not wanting to just so he could let Gally know Thatcher would be home.
Three: How can Gally love him? Is there any way to make it stop?
Does he really want to stop it?
Jett clears his throat then, turning on his heel to leave. Gally can't explain why he does it, but he lurches forward to stop the boy, catching one of Jett's thin wrists in a warm callused hand. He is strong enough to break bones, but his grip is feather light, just enough to hold Jett in place. If he touches the boy too roughly in this state, Gally fears he might shatter.
There is only a sliver of empty space between them, teasing. Gally's skin aches to remember skin. Instead there is a moment where Gally's mind skips back to a bright summer day, before sunlight was such a burden. It was raining. There had been puddles. His mother's hair was wet and she was dancing with him. Rain drops got caught in his eyelashes, at the time he'd thought the same of his mother but now he knows she had been crying, crying, crying.
Gally takes a moment to hate himself, hate Jett. He wants to let this go. Maybe it makes him a coward, he doesn't care. He needs to get the fuck out of here.
But he cant. His hold on Jett wont loosen. He's just stuck in this spot, grasping.
And there is only Jett. The world around him distorts, shapes and colors blurring into blobs, but Jett's face remains clear. He doesn't look capable of warmth but god, he is warm. Gally's hands don't feel much anymore, numbed from years of never ending work. He felt this though, Jett's wrist pressed into his palm, shooting sparks up his arm and down his spine.
He isn't consciously aware of movement, but his shoulders are rolling forward. Jett doesn't shy away, only hesitates a moment before erasing the space between them. Gally wonders if maybe there was universe where things weren't so damn hard all the time. His brain wants to believe in an instance of reality where he can let himself touch Jett, where he can let Jett touch him, and that can be enough. This is just the wrong universe. There has to be at least one where he's so damaged he doesn't know how to love, one where Jett is in love with the wrong person. This just happens to be it.
Jett is leaning into him fully now, head resting in the nook between Gally's neck and ear. It seems to fit there with a strange familiarity. Maybe they come from the same star. It's a ridiculous thing to be thinking, but Gally can't control his unstable mind.
Jett is so warm. Gally can feel the boy's heart beating against his chest. It's more intimacy than he knows what to do with. He breathes, helpless.
Jett is still, frozen in place.
If Gally was a braver man, he'd kiss Jett then. Maybe he would, if only he had the courage to. He'd run a finger down the curve of Jett's cheek, memorize the soft skin there. He'd crook his finger underneath the boys chin and pull him close despite all the bullshit between them.
Gally isn't as brave as he'd like to think. Jett is by far much braver. He proves so by surging forward and taking the thing Gally wanted but was too afraid to go for.
Gally is not brave, but he kisses back anyways.
It doesn't go any further than that. Jett kisses him and leaves like there's fire licking at his heels. Gally gets ready for the day.
The house is dark when Gally comes home. Thatcher's suitcase is by the door but no one is here. Gally figures that if Eustass is at the hospital again then Thatcher went with him. They are having a family crisis, after all
Gally doesn't bother turning on the lights. His head is already throbbing, and he's learned the layout well enough now to get around without it.
Thatcher had made him dinner. It was in the oven with his name on it. Gally doesn't know though, bypassing the kitchen completely and shuffling instead to his room. He should have stopped to eat, but exhaustion has stolen away his will to do so. Gally just wants to sleep. It's the closest to death he can get without actually crossing over.
He can hear music ringing in his ears, another product of his aching brain. Gally doesn't mind this side effect though. It's a sweet melody, sad but soothing. It doesn't feel so lonely with the sound inside his head.
Gally's body is moving on its own accord. He has memorized the motions he must go through to live, reaching blindly into drawers and pulling out fresh clothes. His legs lead him into the bathroom, and without any thought his hands pull away the days worn wardrobe. Gally lets his eyes slide closed. It's so dark, his vision doesn't make any difference. Gally doesn't remember getting into the shower, just knows that eventually he's standing naked under a bone chilling spray.
His mind falls away with the water.
Gally thinks of sharks and what it would be like to have a monster tear him apart. He thinks of Jett, and its like he already knows. Gally doesn't think Jett is a monster anymore, but the boy is still ripping away pieces of him. Gally can't blame him though, because Gally is a monster, too. He wants to tear Jett limb from limb, maul him and leave him defeated.
Except he isn't sure about that anymore. Defeat doesn't look as good on Jett as Gally had hoped. As it turns out, the bastard is much prettier when he's smiling, victorious.
Gally hates him for it. He has no control over his mind anymore, cant seem to cut out the part of him that harbors more complicated feelings.
He doesn't know how long he was in the shower. His mind took on autopilot. Gally finds himself sitting on his bed, wearing only a pair of boxers with no idea how he got there. He understands its because of his stupid fucking brain though. The things obviously broken.
Gally doesn't bother moving from that spot. He has a bottle of whisky tucked away under his bed. It's good for nights like this, when everything is dark and he's tired of being alone with his thoughts.
Gally drinks from the bottle. He doesn't let himself think about Jett.
Or he does, but he refuses to admit it.
He sees things behind his eyelids, pictures and memories. No one will ever know, but he sees Jett's eyes, a light grey that seems as though it wants to be more. He has lost his ability to see certain shades of color. He once heard Eustass mention that Jett's had blue eyes, pretty like Thatchers. Gally wouldn't know. Blue is lost to him, mostly. He can see a few hue's, only darker shades. He guesses Jett's eyes are a bright blue, like he remembers the ocean to have been. He wishes he could see them once, clearly. If there's a reason to regret blowing a bullet through his brain, its this. He'll never know the exact shade of blue that is always glaring down at him, no matter how badly he wants to.
Jett doesn't know this. Gally imagines him now, how he'd sneer or maybe laugh. Jett can think up words so powerful and cutting they draw blood with only a flick of his tongue. He never has to raise his voice. The words can be spoken feather soft, and still be so deadly as to pierce a heart.
He drinks every time Jett is on his mind, and soon all his thoughts are slurring into nothingness. Gally is too drunk to make out whats real anymore, some memories feeling altered and some he knows never happened at all. He thinks of how Jett kissed him earlier, warm and fast and fucking hard.
Gally thinks of how Jett hates him, how he hates Jett.
God, does he hate the boy. Hates his stupid fucking perfect mouth.
Hates his stupid fucking devotion to Boyd.
Gally thinks of Jett, slumping into his booth, drunk and crying and devastated.
Gally hates him. He hates Jett Jones
But how can he?
Gally drifts in and out of consciousness. Time ceases to hold meaning in the darkness. He remembers things though, just glimpses, pieces of what his mind could salvage.
There were fingers threading through his hair, warm and trembling. Someone brushing it back and away from his face as gently as a lover might. His eyes are sticky, he has to struggle in order to peer through them. There is no light, but the fingers find their way to his face, skimming over his cheeks and tracing his jawline.
He reaches out and touches a familiar chest, attached to lanky shoulders and a long body. It's Jett. he knows it's Jett. The boy is shaking, and Gally is overcome by an emotion he hasn't ever felt before, not like this.
He can hear breathing just inches from his face, short and sharp and stuttering. It drives something straight through Galileo's chest. There is more breathing then, its louder and it comes in bursts, explosions like the ones trapped inside his ribcage. It's gasping,
he is gasping. And he's clawing, desperately, at arms that are not his own. He remembers his fingers going slack, tightening, going slack, tightening.
Eventually it passes. Gally's brain cant find the word for what it had been, some kind of panic that had overwhelmed him because fuck, fuck fuck, these feelings are too much.
It's dark so Jett couldn't see him crying. Gally hopes the boy couldn't hear his sad pathetic sniffles. He probably did though, because Gally also remembers the sensation of something warm, someone warm. A body that is not his, a body he has no control over, climbing into bed with him.
He wont admit it in the light of day, but Gally reaches out and tugs the body closer.
Galileo Gray is not someone known for unnecessary sentiment. He hasn't ever had anything worth holding on to. But he is hit hard in the chest the next morning, when he wakes, eyes still sticky with tears stains drying on his burning skin, and realizes It was Jett, the warm body curled up against his chest-
And that he wants more than anything for Jett Jones to stay.
He doesn't.
Gally wakes alone and cold, arms reaching towards the empty spot where Jett had lain. His head aches already. That's nothing new, either. Gally gets ready for the day and pointedly ignores the dull throb in his ribcage.
He spends the day looking at trees that blur in and out of focus. He hauls logs and takes inventory, but his mind isn't into it. Instead he thinks of last night, wonders if it was a dream but hopes it wasn't.
FocusGally pulls through, but just barely. He is late clocking out, and itching for a drink.
He drives all the way to the bar, but never actually gets out. Instead he sits in his truck, just watching other people wander in. Jett might be home. He might not be. Either way, Gally doesn't think he's ready for it.
It's dark out when he finally heads home.
