Put Your Flowers Down

"Fuck me," Alex breathes, looking down at his computer screen like it's personally offended him. Jack shifts next to him in bed and Alex frowns, wincing a bit. "Sorry, sorry, didn't mean to wake you."

"Was already awake," Jack says, but Alex knows he wasn't from the way he's rubbing at his eyes. He's got the worst bedhead in the world, always has, and god, Alex loves him. When he sits up, the gray sheets he was underneath slide down to his waist, and even after five years, his smooth pale skin is still enough to distract Alex momentarily from Jack's question of, "Is something wrong?"

Alex shakes his head quickly, clearing his throat. "Um, not like, seriously wrong, but. We have to go to some sort of suit fitting with Flyzik this afternoon. I just got the email? I don't know, apparently he doesn't trust us to dress ourselves now."

"Zack does have really bad taste," Jack concedes.

"A fair point," Alex agrees with a sigh. "That blue suit he wore to Keller's New Year's Eve party was horrendous."

"It really was," Jack says, thoughtful, and they're both silent for almost a minute, apparently reliving the memories of dumb things Zack has worn over the years, or something like that. Alex will admit it's kind of...cathartic.

Jack puts on his glasses from their bedside table, the ones he only wears in the morning, that he specifically bought for the trip from their bedroom to the bathroom to put in his contacts, and Alex kind of loses his train of thought again. Patience is right, he really fucking is whipped, because there is no other reason he would find Jack's stupid frat boy American Apparel glasses to be, like, sexy or something. They actually kind of look like they belong to a pedophile, or maybe like aviators without being sunglasses. Either way, they're hideous.

"I still can't believe you own a prescription pair of those," Alex says, but it comes out sounding less annoyed and more grossly love-struck.

Jack snorts, and pushes them up on his nose unattractively. Somehow, Alex still wants to push him down into the pillows and kiss him for hours, afternoon suit fitting be damned. Maybe I'm more than whipped, he thinks, maybe I have actually gone insane.

"I can't believe you're trying to insult my glasses when you wear your stupid thick-framed monstrosities," Jack huffs, dramatically indignant.

Alex laughs, closes his laptop, and pulls Jack into him by his waist. "They're Armani, asshole. Adult glasses."

"And you're an adult now?" Jack asks, raising a skeptical eyebrow.

"I've always been the adult in this relationship," Alex says. "I didn't think that needed clarifying."

Jack snorts. "That why you're freaking the fuck out over the stupid auction? Because it's a real adult thing to do?"

"It just sets me on edge." Alex frowns, and he's only half-lying, more of an omission of the truth than anything else, but he still feels a bit guilty about it. It's not like he can tell Jack that the reason he hates the auction is because hey, sorry, I'm a possessive asshole who can't stand the idea of watching you go on a date with anyone except me, and I don't really wanna muddle through an awkward dinner and a movie with anyone who isn't you.

They've been dating for what feels like his whole life-- Alex can hardly remember what it's like to date someone that isn't Jack, because it didn't feel as important-- and yet it still feels like a lot to say what he thinks, that he could keep doing this for what is... potentially terrifying forever.

For all Alex is freaking out, Jack seems perfectly unaffected by everything as normal, getting out of bed and stretching his arms. "You wanna leave in 20?"

"Yeah, sure," Alex says, pulling a hand through his hair and sighing.

--

Jack won't admit it, but he's kind of panicking, too.

It's not that he thinks that the auction is going to go terribly, or that he's going to be bid on by some crazy woman who'll like, murder him, or steal his car, or something, but. Regardless, he's fucking nervous.

So he does what he always does when he's panicking-- he skypes Keller.

She answers on the third ring. Her Skype name is "Your Favorite Manic Pixie Dream Girl", and the photo she has up is one of her in a black bra, laughing with her hand held up to her nose, which is bleeding. It's a real model-y pic, Jack has always thought, right down to the cocaine implications.

He explains to Keller his predicament-- mostly, that it's just weird, and he doesn't know what to do about it-- and Keller seems to think that the distance between him in Baltimore and Keller in NYC for some sort of photo shoot makes it acceptable for her to laugh at him for about 2 minutes.

"I'm sorry, I'm sorry, you're right, it's not funny," she says, laughing.

"Seriously, it's not," Jack says, glaring at her from his computer screen, which she just laughs more at.

"This is the best thing ever, though," Keller says, vehement, grinning widely. "You and Alex are fucking crazy."

Jack folds his arms over his chest and frowns. "This is what happens when you have a job in the public eye," he says. "I know, because I have one too, and clearly it turns you into a rotten, horrible person unable to empathize with your best friend--"

"Okay, okay, Meryl Streep, cut the fucking drama," Keller says, still cracking up.

"Can we please be serious, though?" Jack pleads, and Keller seems to notice something in his expression that makes her collect herself at least somewhat.

"Yeah," she sighs. "Yeah, we're being serious. What's up? You worried no one's gonna bid on you? Because, I hate to break it to you, but you're kind of famous."

Jack rolls his eyes. "No, I'm worried that people are going to bid on me--"

"Wow, full of yourself much?"

"You said you were being serious!"

"Sorry, sorry, couldn't resist," Keller says. "I'm seriously being serious right now. I am Captain Serious, Jonathan Toews-style."

"Ugh, please don't talk to me about hockey," Jack groans.

Keller shrugs. "I grew up in Canada," she says, "what else is there to talk about?"

"Wait," Jack grins. "Say 'about' again."

Keller rolls her eyes so hard Jack thinks they might actually stick like that. "Ugh, fuck you. Back to the subject-- you're worried people are going to bid on you. And they are, obviously, and then you'll go on the date, it's whatever. It's for charity. You'll just have a nice conversation over dinner with some lady who obviously wants to jump your bones, and then you can go home to your stupid boyfriend and--"

"Don't finish that sentence," Jack warns.

Keller just laughs. "I was just going to say you could jump his bones--"

Jack ends the skype call. Keller immediately calls back. Jack immediately declines, so she resorts to chat, because she's nothing if not persistent. It's one of the things Jack likes best about her, when it's not driving him up the fucking wall.

Your Favorite Manic Pixie Dream Girl: Jack barakat u did NOT just hnag up on me
Your Favorite Manic Pixie Dream Girl: WTF stop ignoring my calls!!!
Your Favorite Manic Pixie Dream Girl: ur the worst bff ever i hope u know
Your Favorite Manic Pixie Dream Girl: ASSHOLE!!!!!!!!!!!!!

Jack logs off of Skype, and backs away from his computer carefully.