Shades of Gray

It is Valentine's Day, and it is snowing.

I am so excited for this, even though I shouldn't be, not really. I've always refused to indulge in childish and marketed holidays with no absolute meaning, but because of my, as Josh would say, "recent and wonderful recovery," I looking at everything anew. This means I am excited that it is Valentine's Day and it is snowing on the same day.

I nearly fall out of bed trying to get my pants on, but John catches me, eyes half open, sleepy smile setting on his face.

"Why're you awake so early, baby?" he asks.

I glance at my clock. It is 6:13 AM and I have slept four hours in total.

John pulls me back all the way up, my pants sliding off in the process. He throws the blanket back over us, bare legs rubbing against mine. I am mildly uncomfortable, but I don't say much.

This is how our mornings typically go.

I am sweating with so much body heat, despite it feeling below freezing otherwise. John holds me tight, mouth brushing my shoulders with an occasional murmur of something incoherent. I never know what to think of moments like this.

Eventually, he lets me go, and I slide my clothes on hastily, slipping a watch over my wrist and a beanie over my head. My heart is thumping hard.

***

Not surprisingly, I find Jack laying in a bed of snow, eyes closed. For a second I wonder if he's asleep, but when I near him, his eyes open up and a smile crosses his face.

It's 7:01 AM.

I am cold, fingers stinging and neck tickling, but a surge of warmth flows through my veins. I take a ball of snow in my bare hands and throw it at Jack, hitting him square in the chest.

He regards me nonchalantly, simply rolling off his snow-bed and preparing a snowball of his own, a whole new level of cold taking my face by surprise. This launches a full-blown snowball fight. We are at this until the sun appears through the clouds, and once again despite the cold, Jack and I are both sweating, removing our jackets to lay on the ground.

Jack takes my arm and stares at my watch. It is 8:16 AM. We are both out of breath, cheeks flushed, and for a second I imagine myself in a bed next to him. The image quickly dissolves, a slight feeling of disgust falling over me as I imagine things that a bed entails. I am not so disinterested, however.

There are droplets of water on Jack's eyelashes, and he grants me another big smile before sitting up, head nodding in the direction of the dormitories.

"Your boyfriend's here," he tells me, and I realize these are the first words he has said to me all morning, the first noise besides a laugh.

John is bounding over, followed by Josh, who looks annoyed to be up so early in the morning.

"Happy Valentine's Day, baby," John says to me, pulling me up and kissing me on the forehead. I begin to wonder when we started being so touchy in public.

"You too," I reply half-heartedly. This is an appropriate Alex response. For some reason, all my excitement has faded away.

Josh steps forward, handing me a scarf and some gloves, even though it's clearly fucking hot.

"Did you take your meds?" he asks, fixing my beanie for me.

"Yeah," I tell him absentmindedly. We have this same redundancy of words every morning. In reality, I have not taken my meds, dosage now up to 1.8tsp, or a whopping 9g, but it doesn't seem like too big of a deal. I'll be back to take them anyway.

Josh sighs, stepping back and looking at me, as if he's honestly done all he's been able to and can only hope I don't end up somewhere in prison or anything. "I've got to meet Dan and Abigail today, you alright on your own?"

I give him a look. "Why in the hell are you meeting them both on Valentine's Day?"

He shoots me one back, giving John a 'bro five' and Jack a quick nod, turning around and walking direction opposite. I am suddenly increasingly alert of John's presence, the sound of his feet pushing down the snow as he leans close to me.

"I've got my annual date with Mom," he says, leaning in and kissing me square on the mouth.

Kissing usually takes on different meanings. Depending on the situation, John's kisses feel needy, hungry, and those are ones I typically dismiss. This time, however, it's a different kind of needy and hungry, like I've been owing him more than just his dick in my ass.

"Meet you tonight for a super romantic date?" he asks, smiling into my hair.

"Only if it's complete with candles and moonlight."

"Count on it. I'll be missing you." He doesn't even give Jack a second look as he walks away.

We are again left to ourselves, but the lighter mood is gone.

"He's in love with you," Jack mentions suddenly, pulling me out of my thoughts.

"Who?"

Jack is pulling gloves out of his pocket and putting them on, slipping on his jacket. "O' Callaghan. It's pretty obvious. The head tilt, the soft voice, the relaxed shoulders. Don't even get me started on the smile."

"It's only been a month and a half, two, tops. What possible normal human being-"

"It's probably because you don't have sex," he interrupts, checking his phone. He sounds so nonchalant about it.

"What the fuck does sex have to do with this?" I ask, genuinely, actually curious. John has told me multiple times that he is, in fact, fine without it.

"It's a subconscious thing," Jack explains, drawing a heart with his feet in the snow. "Maybe he's anticipating buildup, or he sees you in a more pure light since you don't fuck. People are drawn more emotionally to innocence. People are also more inclined with the need to take away innocence when they see it. Like you don't want anyone else to take it. Just you."

I kick snow at him. "Does this have anything to do with the poor kid you liked last year? You want to fuck him because he's innocent? Is he a virgin?"

Jack looks at me for a minute. The wind howls, and a small smirk appears on his face.

"Trust me," he says softly, "he's far from innocent."

***

I eat mashed potatoes for breakfast.

When I ask our waiter to bring strawberry syrup, she brings them straight to Jack, who only curiously stares up at her, warm maple already on his waffle, which is halfway into his mouth. I explain to her that the syrup is yes, for me, and yes, for my mashed potatoes.

"You're odd," Jack comments as she walks away, eyeing the mess on my plate.

"You're the one who enjoys cold pizza and ice cream," I point out. Jack looks back up at me, then shakes his head.

"I wasn't talking about the food," he says, "but I suppose that's a reason."

He pulls out a manila folder with a big black paper sticking out of it. It takes me a second to realize that he's got a copy of my fucking brain.

"Your symptoms don't really add up." His voice has changed, something deeper. I recognize this from every encounter with the psych professor. His shoulders square up, too.

"We know you have chronic insomnia," he alludes, writing something down. He has pushed his plate of waffles to the other end of the table, so I reach across and steal a bite.

"I did have chronic insomnia," I remind him. "All better now."

"Sure," he allows. "You had chronic insomnia, which was originally triggered by your sleep paralysis, right? You said it started in the tenth grade?"

This is not something I want to talk about anymore. I glance at my watch- 10:14 AM- and wonder if it's too late to be Josh's valentine for the day instead.

Jack doesn't even wait for my answer, just sifts through some more papers. "I've noticed that you also show signs of severe OCD."

"I do not," I defend, pushing my own plate away. I drink from my glass of orange juice a little too aggressively.

"You have a thing for the time."

He's staring right into my fucking soul.

"I have a thing for clocks."

Jack shrugs, taking a packet of sugar and mixing it into his already-cold coffee.

"You're always counting the hour and the minute. What're you taking note of?"

I roll my eyes. "I'm counting the time I've been awake."

He leans in, voice dropping. "You're counting the time it's been since you've slept."

What's his deal? He's overstepping, and with the smug fucking look on his face, I know he knows it. He knows I know he knows it. All I wanted was a damn breakfast in a damn good place decorated with a shitload of gay ass hearts with the one fucking person who didn't look at me like a ticking time-bomb.

I want to cry.

"You're not my fucking doctor," I tell him, despite all of this. "Stay out of my head."

He looks hurt for a second, but it dissipates quickly. "I'm only trying to help."

"This isn't a fucking THERAPY SESSION!" I shout. The diner falls quiet. My heart is beating fast.

Jack sips his coffee.