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“I’m gonna fail the class.”
“You’re not going to fail the class.”
“I’m gonna fail and I’m gonna die. Good-bye, Jack Kelly. Gone for good.”
“You’re not going to fail the class.”
“I’m gonna fail the class.”
David lets out an exasperated sigh, shooting Jack an amused grin. They’re sitting on Jack’s bed right now; it’s a small thing, but, then again, all of the beds in the dorm buildings are small. At least he lucked out- he has a roommate, but there’s a small living room area separating the two bedrooms, so Jack at least has some sense of privacy.
Jack is pretty sure that’s why David likes it over here. David has three other roommates in his dorm room, two to a bedroom with a small seating area between the rooms, and it gets… crowded, especially since his roommates like to have their friends over.
Luckily, Jack doesn’t mind David’s company. He prefers it, actually- having his best friend here is better than being alone, at least.
Especially when he’s trying to procrastinate on work.
“You aren’t going to fail, okay? It’s just reading a few chapters,” David says with a reassuring smile. “It’s not that bad. It’s gonna be fine.”
“I can’t focus enough to read anything , though, Dave,” Jack responds, frowning. He reclines with his back against the wall, feet jutting off the edge of the bed. “I hate it. It ain’t… It’s not visual enough,” Jack admits with a huff, making a wide gesture with his hand, as if physically trying to push the thought of reading away.
There are a few moments of silence after that, and Jack thinks that David might be ignoring him- but when Jack glances over at his friend, David looks deep in thought. He looks gorgeous like that- furrowed brows, lip barely bitten, staring off into nothing as his mind works a mile a minute.
Just as Jack works up the nerve to say how pretty he looks under the teal lighting of Jack’s LEDs strung up along the ceiling, David looks at him and simply says, “Annotate.”
“Anna-what?” Jack asks, raising a brow as he pushes the thought of ‘I want to kiss him’ out of his head. “English, Davey. Speak English.”
David rolls his eyes. “Annotate the text. Underline, make notes in the margins, draw doodles to help you remember- we had to do it in Ms. Hannah’s class back in freshman year, remember?”
“The shit with the highlighters,” Jack says, frowning. “I don’t remember those words she wanted us to find, Dave. She was, like--”
“Okay, well, here’s the thing: you don’t need to know the words,” David grins. “She made us annotate specific parts of the work. Setting, plot, climax-- all of that was for her to see if we could identify it. Not all annotations have to be formal and academic.”
“I’m not following.”
Suddenly, David stands from the bed, rushing to his backpack against Jack’s wall. He unzips, rummages for a moment, and pulls out a book- a beat up copy of something, with post-it notes sticking out of the pages in every which way. David stares at it for a few moments, just slightly rocking on his heels, and after a temporary moment of push and pull, he walks back to the bed and sets the book in Jack’s lap.
“Flip through,” David says in a small voice.
Jack looks up at him. He sees that David is holding his wrist, but after a moment, he sees what he’s really doing: twisting his bracelet. A nervous habit of David’s, one that Jack is acutely aware of. He always does that; when he’s particularly anxious or stressed, David will shake his wrist (if he’s wearing a bracelet with charms), twist his watch, spin his rings on his fingers, or even twist his earrings. It’s a sensory thing, probably, or maybe a way to ground himself; David has never really talked about it, so Jack doesn’t ask questions.
Why he feels that way now, though, is something that Jack isn’t too sure of.
Nonetheless, Jack looks back down at the book in his lap. The Picture of Dorian Gray, by Oscar Wilde. Jack has heard of it before, but he has no idea what it’s about. The art on the cover is cool, though. It’s half of a face and a really nicely drawn eye; it looks like an oil painting, and the details are absolutely gorgeous. Jack almost lets himself get distracted, but then he sees David shift out of the corner of his eye.
With a gulp, Jack picks the book up and flips through the first few pages. There are a few notes here and there, a few color-coded highlighter/sticky note combinations, maybe even a doodle or two- but as Jack keeps turning the pages, everything suddenly explodes.
By page 38, there’s barely any blank space in the margins.
By page 54, there are shaky sketches made in ballpoint pen- nothing great, but all recognizable as objects. As tangible things, whatever those things may be.
By page 137, there are full paragraphs scribbled in the blank spaces between chapters. All personal.
All coming directly from David’s point of view.
Jack reads one of the paragraphs, just barely, and his breath hitches; it’s about relating to the character, or something. Hiding behind a mask. Only wanting to show your best self to the world while something ugly and horrifying rots away in the background. Being afraid that no one will like the real ‘you’.
Jack slowly looks up at David and gulps, but David doesn’t meet his eyes.
“If you can print off a physical copy of the readings,” David starts, his voice quiet, “then you can wreck them like that. Make it fun. Write down jokes about the text, do- do your doodles, whatever. It’ll help you stay focused and help you remember the material.”
Jack clears his throat and nods, shutting the book and handing it back to David. “Right. Of course. I-- yeah, that- that’ll be good. Thank you. That'll… I’ll try it out.”
David nods. “Glad to be of service.”
***
‘this whole paragraph is bullshit’
‘???’
‘dick joke’
Fifteen front-and-back pages stapled together. Four pages with notes and doodles, eleven that have yet to be read.
Unfortunately, David was right about the whole ‘annotating keeps your focus’ thing.
Jack has read and understood more in the last forty-five minutes than he has in the last year and a half. It’s honestly a tragedy that he didn’t know about this kind of thing in high school; distantly, he remembers seeing David writing in a few of his books, but they never really talked about it.
He thinks about that paragraph again. The one David had written in that book.
David has always likened reading to therapy, at least for himself. He once told Jack, “It’s an escape thing. When I read, I don’t have to think about the meaning of everything- I can make the meaning into something that works for me.”
Jack never understood it. Not until he flipped through the pages of that book.
Everything was so… Davey. All of the words written were personal; they were a window into David’s mind, the way he feels about himself, the thoughts he would never, ever say out loud. The things that make David himself.
Jack needs to know more.
With a sudden, abrupt thought, he stands and slams his binder shut. He glances around with wide eyes; he’s in one of the silent reading rooms on the third floor of the library, and the sound of his binder makes more than a few people turn to look at him, but Jack flashes an apologetic smile and hurries to shove his things into the large pocket of his backpack, turning his music down as he does so. He hurries down the stairwell to the second floor, nearly running into some people as he does so, and with that, he shoots off into the second floor lobby.
Converse make a squeaking sound as he steps out of the carpeted room and into the tiled hallway, and everything comes to life again. Students furiously type on loud clicky keys at all of the computers, an elevator dings at the end of the hall, groups have gathered at some tables in the common area to talk about assignments and scribble formulas on the huge rolling whiteboards provided. The room smells like coffee.
He races down the grand staircase leading down to the first floor exits, bursting out into the cool air as fast as he can. He nearly trips, which would not have ended well considering he’s just a few feet away from the edge of the fountain outside the library, but it’s whatever, right?
Probably wouldn’t be the first time a stupid freshman with little-to-no attention span had a fountain-related mishap on campus. Probably wouldn’t be the last time, either.
He takes a deep breath as he walks down the sidewalk. Chilly air fills his lungs; it’s nice, being out here in September. The trees and the grass are still green as can be, but the air is nice and cool and he can finally wear his favorite denim jacket without absolutely boiling, so it’s a win-win in Jack’s mind.
As he dodges the hoards of other students walking down the brick pathway, Jack eyes a relatively open area and just subtly changes course. He reaches behind himself and pulls his skateboard out of his bag, and once he’s out of the crowd, he places it on the ground and pushes off.
Off, in the direction of David’s dorm building.
He weaves through other skaters and students, only mildly getting distracted by one of the campus therapy dogs being walked down the other side of the path, but within just a few moments, Jack is taking his phone out. He quickly holds it up to his face and smiles, and once it unlocks, Jack clicks on his contacts, finds the little icon of David’s smiling face at graduation, and holds his breath as the ringing sounds through his bluetooth headphones.
David picks up on the third ring. “Whatever dumb idea you have for tonight, I don’t want to know. I’m not interested.”
“Harsh,” Jack responds with a laugh. “Look, I’m on my way to your building right now. Meet me out front in, like, five minutes.”
“What? No. Dude, I’m doing calc homework right now, and I--”
“I just need you to bring me a copy of your favorite book.”
That shuts David up.
Jack gulps, and tilts his head to the side- though it’s not like David can see him. “Please? I just… I don’t know, I have somethin’ for you. It’s a trade, I guess. Temporary.”
“...Okay, fine, but this better be good.”
“As always. I’ll see you in a minute. Love you, Dave.”
Jack doesn’t give David any time to react before hanging up.
He gulps hard, but there’s a smile on his face. Is this an impulsive decision? Of course it is. Is he going to regret it? Absolutely.
But Jack’s spontaneity hasn’t ever let him down yet, so he has a pretty good chance of this working in his favor.
Just like Jack said, he’s stopping in front of David's dorm building about five minutes later. Jack glances around, then grins to himself when he sees David shuffle out of the front doors. He looks tired- his hair is messy, he’s wearing slightly mismatched socks and Nike slides, and his NYU sweatshirt has one small corner tucked into the waistband of his black basketball shorts. As Jack approaches, he can barely hold in a laugh. “Dude, you look like shit.”
“Your shirt is more paint than fabric,” David retorts with a smirk. “I’m already done with all of my classes today. I think I deserve to look rough. Don’t you think so?”
“You look straight, Dave.”
“Oh, okay , fuck you too. You just crossed a line.”
Jack tilts his head back and barks out a sharp laugh, and darts out of the way just before David has the chance to swat his side. He grins wildly as he looks back at the taller boy, taking him in for a moment; clothing aside, he looks great. Jack loves seeing this side of David- the comfy side, the side that doesn’t care about appearances. Ruffled hair, round glasses, sleepy eyes and that easy going grin on his face… He’s gorgeous.
After a moment, Jack blinks and holds up a finger. He slings his backpack around and rummages through for a second. “You brought the book, right?”
“Yep,” David responds, popping the ‘p’. He holds the book out- it’s that book from before, the Dorian Gray one, and Jack’s heart pounds in his chest when he sees it. “What do you need it for?”
Jack shrugs and pulls out a leather bound sketchbook. It’s an old one, started during the spring semester of junior year, and it’s Jack’s pride and joy. His usual sketches are great, and he loves working with them and working with other mediums, but this sketchbook has gotten him through so much.
It’s designated for the hard days and the days when Jack feels like he wants to lie in a hole and never climb out- and this is a known fact. In fact, whenever David sees the sketchbook, whether it be during class or when they’d be sitting in Jack’s room back home, he’d always ask Jack if he’s alright. Ask if he needed to talk.
Jack takes the book out of David’s hand, and replaces it with the sketchbook.
David stares at it for a few moments, then shakes his head. “Jack, I… I can’t take this,” He insists.
Jack rocks on his heels for a moment, sighing. “Davey, I want you to look through it. I… I jus’ figured it’d be okay. ‘Specially since you gave me this,” Jack raises the book in his hand. “Call it a bonding exercise or somethin’, but you… You let me read your stuff. That’s personal, Dave. I don’t want this to be a one-way street.”
“Jackie,” David whispers, looking into his eyes, before he carefully runs his hands along the beaten spine of the sketchbook. In one way or another, it looks more like a scrapbook than anything- there are sticky notes, black paper, and napkins shoved between the already-existing pages, not to mention a wide array of colored paper folded or glued to the book. “Are… Are you sure about this?”
“Davey, I’m sure,” Jack grins, and takes a step forward. For a moment, he feels hesitant; that sketchbook is the only thing Jack has that’s even remotely close to an outlet for his inner feelings, and he doesn’t want David’s perspective of him to change… but then again, David bared his soul within the pages of that book. David practically wrote an entire essay about his life, his feelings, his inner turmoil and emotions, and Jack trusts David.
Just like David trusts Jack.
“You don’t have to look through it if you really don’t want to,” Jack reasons, “but keep it ‘til Friday. Okay? And I’ll give this back to ya then, too,” Jack gestures to the book. “Just for fun.”
“Yeah,” David breathes out, staring back at Jack with an unreadable expression, “just for fun.”
***
“I wonder what it’s like to be seen like this. Dorian is described as handsome and charming and pretty, maybe not with those words but def. with the connotations. I wonder if that would be such a bad thing. I wonder if I’ve ever been seen like that.
Probably not. But a guy can dream.”
***
“We tell ourselves that we show the real us to everyone, but do we? Do we really? I don’t. I don’t think anyone does. We wear our smiles like armor and hide everything else. We don’t let anyone see the truth rotting behind ourselves. We don’t want anyone to see how truly ugly humanity can be. Is it even worth it to hide, though? Shouldn’t we want to be our true selves? Shouldn’t we want to scream it from the rooftops? Hiding is a sad life, isn’t it? All for our own sake. All for our own image. Why does it matter? Why SHOULD it matter?”
***
“‘I am tired of myself tonight. I should like to be someone else.’
I’ve never understood the feeling but this put it into words. I want to reinvent myself. I want to be better and do better, and be my own person again. My family wants me to be a doctor or a lawyer or something. I really don’t see the appeal. (I’m majoring in political science pre-law right now.) I want to be able to be creative and fun and funny and not just the ‘smart guy’ or the ‘nerd’ or the ‘mouth’. (They call me mouth because I talk and I have facts. I can’t help it. I like knowing stuff. Doesn’t everyone?) I want to be spontaneous and I want to dance in the rain and hang out on rooftops. (Jack likes rooftops. I don’t even like being above the third floor in a building.) I want to have my moment where the world stops and all I can think about is how good I feel. How happy I am. Is that too much to ask for? I want my ‘running down the street at sunset’ moment. I want to yell and scream and jump off a ledge just to be caught by the water below. I want excitement.
I want to be like Jack, I think.
Or do I just want Jack to like me?”
***
Jack can’t put the book down.
That night, he stays up until three in the morning, because he can’t put the book down. At this point, he’s not even reading the book- he tried, he really did, but the words are too hard and the style is too messy and mad props to Oscar Wilde, but the man seemingly couldn’t write in a concise way. It’s okay, though, because Jack still has Davey’s words.
Davey’s words.
Jack stares at the ceiling, running circles in his mind as a heavy weight settles in his chest. The book is still in his hands. He can’t put it down. Not physically, not metaphorically.
When he wakes up that morning, around seven o’clock, the book is still on his chest.
***
Jack is sitting at a metal patio table in front of the Student Union when he suddenly hears the chair across from him being pulled out, and when he looks up, he’s met with David’s bright blue eyes. He blinks; honestly, Jack had been so engrossed in finishing a powerpoint for his freshman seminar class that he hadn’t even realized that David was around, let alone near him. Jack slowly pulls out his earbuds, pausing his music, before looking back at David.
“You’re supposed to have an 8:30 going on right now,” Jack says with a sad grin.
“Professor cancelled it a few hours ago,” David responds, gulping. “Family emergency or something.”
“Well, at least you’re free,” Jack lets a strained chuckle, lowering his gaze for a few moments. His heart is pounding in his chest. He’s exhausted and all he can think about is that goddamn book- those notes, the paragraphs scribbled down on the pages… He gnaws on the inside of his lip as he looks back up, meeting David’s gaze. It’s like a game of cat and mouse: as soon as Jack looks into his eyes, David looks away.
David also looks similarly nervous. He looks frazzled and confused, and his face is flushed… Jack is sure he knows why. Eventually, though, David nods his head. “Jack? The- uh...The sketchbook…”
“I know,” Jack says quickly, nodding his head and glancing down. “It’s- It’s a lot. I’m sorry, you didn’t need to--”
“No, no, don’t apologize,” David rushes out, then takes in a breath. “I just- I wasn’t expecting… Jack, there are- there are drawings of me in there.”
“And you talk about me in your notes.”
David looks like a deer in the headlights. His eyes widen just slightly, and his cheeks turn a rosy pink, but after a few moments he simply gives Jack a sharp nod. ”Guess we’ve both been hiding something.”
“Then I think we should talk,” Jack shrugs, focusing on the hem of his sweatshirt rather than the boy in front of him. “Y’know? Talk and stop hidin’ things. That feels like the best, uh- the best course of action. Don’t it?”
“I finished looking through your sketchbook,” David says in lieu of an answer. “All of it. I stayed up so late, Jack. Went over each page, like, five times, just to… just to see if I could get it. Get what you were trying to say.”
There are a few moments of silence after that, silence that stretches for longer than it should, until Jack sighs heavily, running a hand through his hair. “I draw you because I love you. Like, an embarrassing amount. You… You’re everything to me, Davey,” Jack says simply, nonchalant with the way he looks at the boy across from him, while David’s eyes widen and he sucks in a sharp breath.
“You- What?” David asks before he can stop himself.
“You’re the best thing that ever happened to me, actually. Ever, I think. And I know ya don’t see it in yourself,” Jack states matter-of-factly. “I ain’t good with words, you know that, but even I could tell by what you wrote. I just… I wanna show you how amazing you are,” He continues, and he knows he’s rambling now, but this shit has been bottled up since before freshman year and Jack will combust if it’s not said right this second.
“I wish you could see yourself through my eyes, Davey, ‘cause you’re… you’re everything. Your smile is… it lights up a room. You carry yourself with so much confidence, but you’re so humble. Too humble. You’ve never given yourself the credit you deserve, and you never let yourself have good things because you don’t think you’ve done nothin’ to deserve it, and you just--” Jack cuts himself off with a sigh, finally working up the nerve to look back up. Finally look into David’s eyes. “...I love you, Davey. And I know you probably weren’t expectin’ to hear that this early in the mornin’, but it’s the truth.”
David doesn’t speak, not for a long time, and Jack takes the opportunity to take everything in. His wide eyes and parted lips and flushed face. That shocked expression and rosy cheeks; messy hair and bags under his eyes from just how long he was awake last night, but he looks electrifying, and Jack can see that he’s shaking. Jack can hear the telltale jingle of the bracelet on David’s left wrist, hidden below the table.
Slowly, David stands, and at first Jack thinks he’s going to run off, but then David is walking to Jack’s side, bracing one hand on the table, roughly grabbing Jack’s collar with the other and pulling him into an absolutely bruising kiss.
Jack is pretty sure his brain short circuits there for a minute.
Once he’s gathered his bearings, Jack abruptly stands, sending the metal chair flying back behind him. The clang of metal against brick sounds off throughout the plaza, but Jack couldn’t care less right now. His hands find David’s hair as he kisses back, pulling him closer, closer, closer, until Jack feels like he can’t breathe.
David is the one to pull away, though. He takes in a ragged breath and looks into Jack’s eyes, his hand coming up to Jack's cheek. “I love you, dumbass,” He whispers, grinning wide- that grin that Jack has tried for so long to get down on paper, but he’s never been successful. David’s eyes get all squinty when he grins like this, and his nose scrunches up in the most beautiful way, and Jack’s knees feel weak when he realizes that he’s the one who made David feel like this.
“You do?” Jack asks with a matching smirk, a playful gleam in his eyes.
David kisses him again. Soft, sweet, slow- it’s everything and more. This one is only a few seconds, though, because soon David is moving back and nodding, one hand staying on Jack’s cheek while his free arm wraps around his waist. “I’ve loved you for years, Jack. I never… I never thought you’d like me back like that, so I- I never said anything, but… I guess I just missed it.”
“You’re oblivious. I made it kinda obvious, Davey.”
“You call me ‘dude’ and ‘bro’! How was I supposed to know you were into me?!”
Jack laughs softly, and leans up to press their lips together in another short kiss. He then looks into David’s eyes, tilting his head as he gently places his hand over David’s, still against his cheek. “Guess we better make up for lost time then, huh?”
David grins. “Are you asking me on a date?”
“So what if I am?” Jack asks, raising a brow. “What d’ya say, hm? You wanna go out with me?”
David thinks for a few moments, then wraps both arms around Jack’s waist. “I think we can manage that.”