Far From Home - Chapter 18: Chapter 18

The Day After Halloween
Jake was grossly underprepared to tackle the concept of gender in one night.
He was glad Andre wasn't home to watch it all dawn on his face as he figured out new tid-bits of information like neo-pronouns and gender dysphoria. It all made sense, but there was so much he hadn't known, and to have come this far without running into a single trans person in his life until last night, he was a bit disappointed by his own ignorance. Re-learning something as simple as gender made him feel like Aaron in high school trying to figure out what the fuck an amendment was and why the hell there were so many of them in the Constitution.
A YouTube video had led him down a rabbit-hole to an LGBTQ+ resource page, and now he was scrolling through the section on ace-spec identities wondering why demisexuality seemed to strike a little too close to home. He didn't have the mental willpower to question the difference between sexual and romantic identities with all the information he was trying to absorb all at once. All he seemed completely sure of at the moment was that he used he/him pronouns and definitely liked dudes. The rest was up for debate at some later date that would not be anytime in the next twenty-four hours. It had taken him this long to be comfortable with labelling himself gay, he wasn't looking forward to throwing any more confusion into the mix even if it seemed to make a little too much sense.
The room had turned dark from the time Jake started his research to the point where he was at now. Andre's desk light had been left on from when he left an hour ago to go to his girlfriend's place, which had been a sort of norm for the weekends. Very rarely did Andre ever spend the weekend in the dorm room anymore, and whenever he did he was quick to finish whatever he set out to do—whether homework or packing—and get back to his girlfriend. Jake wouldn't lie and say he didn't enjoy the downtime, but sometimes he got lost by himself between minutes and hours and ended up spiraling to places he didn't know how he got to.
It was for that very reason he almost thought he had hallucinated when he heard the knock on the door.
He stumbled out of bed, leaving his laptop out on the unmade comforter he had been curled up into, walking over to his door with the chilling feeling of laminate floor tiles underneath his bare feet. Jake's first thought was that Andre forgot his keys, but his roommate's desk was empty of all his essential things, and he hadn't texted to say he would be coming back. That left his mind drifting to Ricky—probably wondering if Jake had eaten yet, or if he had some oddly specific thing that he always seemed to run out of at the weirdest times. Last week he had asked for miniature staples and Jake had to tilt his head and ask where the hell he got a miniature stapler in the first place.
But when he opened the door, Connor's eyes met his with disinterested impatience.
"Hi?" Jake squinted curiously.
Connor's face was blank, but his eyes were assessing Jake in an all-too-familiar way. It reminded him of their first detention together and the painfully awkward drive home that left Jake with only an inkling of an understanding of Connor's personality to come. Cold, careful, calculative glares that always left Jake trying to see behind them.
When he finally spoke, he sounded quite certain of the words that came out of his mouth—slow and steady, delivered with the precision needed to let Jake know he had spent time thinking them over.
"I hate you."
Jake sealed his lips together in contemplation, but then allowed himself a response once he had taken a moment to think about it. "Good to know."
Despite what Jake should have done to anyone else that showed up at his door claiming to hate him, he opened the door up to Connor, and without a second thought, Connor stepped through the threshold into his room like it was his intention the entire time.
A simple "yep" fell from his lips as Jake closed the door behind him, but the way he popped the 'p' at the end, Jake could tell something was faintly off. Connor was pissy, but he wasn't theatrical like that. He preferred simple conversation and snarky well thought out one-liners to bitchy one-word answers.
"Are you drunk?" Jake mumbled as he walked into the room to stand closer to his desk than the doorway.
He leaned against the desk, rooting his feet into the floor in front of him as he sat back on it with the rest of his weight. His fingers curled into the edge of the wooden top as he watched Connor with a careful eye—noticing the way he stood with his typical confidence, although a bit more unsure than usual. Jake could see his own confusion in his eyes, as if Connor himself didn't know what he was doing here, yet here they were in Jake's room staring at each other like it meant anything.
"Mmm..." Connor took a deep breath, but his stance didn't falter. "More or less."
Jake leaned his head over to observe him. "Well, which is it? More or less?"
A smirk broke out across his face, but his answer came more in the form of a whisper. "Probably more."
His words sounded sober, but Jake knew better than that. Although Connor wasn't one for lying, his face and his words said two different things and Jake could read them both like the back of his hand. He'd spent enough time studying every curve of Connor's expressions to know what every little crinkle meant—which ones were adoration, which ones were fear, which ones wanted to cut him down, and which ones wanted to wrap him in warmth. This new smile read something closer to nostalgia.
Jake tapped his fingers out along the side of his desk, but it didn't offer him any comfort. The wood felt familiar under his skin, but the repetition made him more numb than anything. He brought his activity to a stop as he forced himself to look Connor in the eye.
"Why are you here, Connor?"
That oddly melancholy smile faded back into a blank stare.
His eyes searched Jake's side of the room like he was preoccupied somewhere else, but his legs carried him another step towards Jake.
"Mm... because..."
And then another.
Jake tightened his grip on the desk. Connor's eyes drifted back to him and Jake saw them go for his hands—a curious glare that Jake felt in the pit of his stomach. He couldn't bring himself to loosen his hold on the wood as Connor got closer, but Jake watched him carefully bring a hand closer to where one of his own sat on the desk and stop, just far enough away for Jake to pull back before he touched him.
But he didn't.
Connor took ahold of his wrist in almost identical fashion to how he had held on to Connor's the night before and something about it made Jake's heart flutter in his chest. Connor's thumb traced over his palm until it reached its stopping point right underneath where the base of his thumb met his wrist and pressed into where Jake's pulse would echo underneath his fingertip. He knew Connor was trying to feel how fast his heart was beating, but despite his own self-interest, Jake couldn't do anything to calm it.
It made him feel just like how Connor had last night. Caught. But, unlike Jake's had then, Connor's face didn't hold malice now. His expression was soft and his hand was steady. He always had been so gentle and calm with Jake in the toughest moments, and even under a layer of alcohol, Connor had held some semblance of that sentiment together. Jake forced himself to uncurl the fingers he had subconsciously dug into his own palm and let his fear of controlling his own reaction go.
Connor lowered his eyes from their hands into Jake's.
"I didn't like what you did last night."
"So you've come to bitch at me?" Jake mumbled without meaning to.
Connor smiled. "If the occasion arises."
Goddamnit Connor. Jake smiled back and he hated how warm it felt. He hated his unsettled feelings from the nerves in his stomach. He hated his fluttering heart for giving into such a simple touch. He hated his eyes for searching for answers behind those dark green glares. He hated his body for betraying him by leaning closer to Connor, and he hated himself most of all for wanting all of the above.
They were too close. Jake knew they were too close. He could smell the liquor on Connor's breath that was way too much for his own comfort, he could feel the heat between them that clouded him with too much warmth to think, he could see through the dark shadows of his room Connor's eyes looking back into his, yet he couldn't move. His eyes closed to the thought that this was all just some far off fantasy that he would wake up from, and when he opened his eyes Connor would hate him just as much as he said he did.
But one of Connor's hands was wrapped around his wrist, and the other had stopped somewhere close to his face, his thumb tracing along the smile on Jake's lips.
Fuck.
He pulled along his bottom lip and stole his breath away before it could escape.
Fuck. Don't do this.
"Connor..." Jake felt his graze move over his mouth as he tried his best to work words into audible sounds.
Connor hummed in question, his touch stilling against Jake's skin.
Fuck, fuck, fuck.
He's drunk. God, he's fucking drunk. He doesn't know what the fuck he's doing.
Damnit, Connor.
Jake opened his eyes slowly to hold onto the dream that this was all real for one more millisecond before he had to let it go.
Their eyes met and it was like breaking his own heart all over again. "You don't want this."
Connor's eyes read a warning.
"You should know better than to tell me what I want by now."
Yes. Jake knew... of course, he knew. But this wasn't want. This was some ill-advised decision that a bender had left him with, and Jake wasn't going to take that to mean anything more than what it was: lust drowned in alcohol until it became too intolerable to ignore.
"But I don't." He settled with instead, playing innocent to Connor's obvious dissatisfaction.
"You and I both know you aren't that stupid."
How dare he call his bluff when Jake was trying to save Connor's own ass from doing something he would regret. Jake shook his head away from Connor with a sigh that hurt as much as it did the first time he had to pull away from Connor. He knew Connor wasn't going to listen unless it came out of his mouth. Even drunk, Connor had boundaries within himself he would never cross—if Jake told him no, that meant no, he would never push it. Knowing it would work didn't make it any easier to do.
"Then I don't want this." He pushed his hand into Connor's chest to allow them a bit of space.
Connor took his hands away as soon as the words sank in. The loss of his touch left the air of the dorm room too cool on Jake's skin as he realized he hadn't only imagined Connor letting go. Something about it felt eerily reminiscent of the summer, the night where Jake had pushed him away by accident when his fear of being outed to Aaron became too stifling to handle. Connor wore the same look on his face now—the same passive confusion from a reaction he wouldn't dare to question, but couldn't bring himself to understand.
He stepped back and Jake watched him carefully with gentle eyes. The pain in his eyes looked far too close to the morning they broke it off, and some part of Jake's heart stuck in the past felt oddly apologetic for making this call, just as he had made a call that day as well. Connor took a deep breath, but his eyebrows furrowed in some lost frustration that Jake wasn't sure he knew how to place.
"I'm sorry. Fuck, sorry. I just–" He mumbled his confusion, staring into Jake's eyes like they held his answer. "God, what's so wrong with me that no one fucking stays?"
Jake shook his head as his own expression dawned something concerning. Don't think like that. Please, don't think like that.
"Nothing, Connor."
Connor smiled, but it was more in self-ridicule than any genuine emotion. "My dad... my aunt... Kaylee... you... do you see the pattern? I let someone in, and then... they leave. Every. Fucking. Time."
Is this where your mind goes when you're drunk? To find the cause of your abandonment?
"That's not your fault."
"It was with you."
His eyes shot daggers that Jake didn't know how to deflect. He thought at this point of dealing with Connor's flux of hating him and tolerating him he would know how to read his anger before it came, but this one threw him off-guard.
"What are you talking about?"
"You told me you regretted me." Connor's voice wavered into darker territory, a grudge held for far too long.
That was an accident.
It was just an accident, and it was the one thing that stuck out in Connor's mind. It made sense now why he had been acting so hesitant around any of Jake's acts of kindness or attempts to remain civil instead of at each other's throats all the time. Jake had broken the fundamental root of Connor's trust with the words he knew would cut the deepest. How Jake had forgotten he said something so damaging was beyond him, but he could see it now clear as day, and somehow it sent his heart aching to correct it. Not like this. He deserves an explanation, but not like this.
"It fucking destroyed me." Connor added.
It was an accident.
"I'm sorry."
When he had said it for the first time, Connor told him not to say anything he didn't mean. He meant it then, and he meant it now, but it didn't seem to faze Connor in the slightest. Connor wouldn't know the difference between what it really meant and what his own mind told him it meant, especially not tangled up in the strongest liquor the weekend had to offer him.
He scoffed with that ridiculous smile. "I don't care."
He wanted to look unbothered, he wanted to seem stronger than he felt, but somehow it pissed Jake off that he would try to hide from him knowing he could see right through him.
"You obviously do or you wouldn't be here." He shot back.
"Fuck you..."
Connor shook his head with a smile, but it was laced in such a deep pain that Jake wasn't even sure he could feel. Maybe once alcohol had finally worked in someone's favor and the day-drinking had numbed his emotions instead of turning up the intensity to some unbearable range he couldn't fathom. Jake prayed that was the case. He hoped that whatever Connor was feeling, it was inconsequential enough that he wouldn't remember the sensation in the morning.
"God, fuck you."
"I'm sorry." Jake repeated, but this time it felt angry.
Connor's smile was long gone, but his head still shook as something else replaced his features. "I don't believe you."
I wouldn't either.
"You don't have to, but at least let me say it."
"What so you can feel better about yourself?" He shrugged. "Heaven forbid you be anything but perfect Jake Holmes."
Jake's eyes wandered over to the door as he mumbled under his breath. "You seemed to like me when I was perfect."
"No." Connor scoffed. "I loved you because I knew you weren't, you fucking asshole."
Jake's heart was racing, but suddenly he couldn't hear it pounding in his skull anymore. His eyes met Connor's, but he didn't seem to notice what he had said.
You loved me?
It shouldn't have come as a surprise, but it did.
He loved me.
It held him still as the words ran circles in his mind.
He loved me, and I ruined it.
Jake didn't mean to stare, but Connor had given him something so precious, he didn't know how to take it without breaking it. He felt the adoration deep in his heart as he watched Connor's mind work to explain, but Connor was too drunk to notice he said it, or the fact that Jake was subsequently fumbling to catch his breath as it caught in his throat. Connor was talking—Jake could see his lips moving, but the words weren't registering in his head behind his spinning thoughts.
He swallowed down the lump in his throat and tried to focus on why Connor looked so upset.
"...because I'm fucked up, and you didn't care." He was watching Jake so carefully it broke his heart. "You were so fucking nice to me, and I didn't deserve that..."
Why didn't you deserve it? Jake didn't know what he was saying, but he had to find something to say back. You deserved everything.
"I'm fucked up too." He said with a broken smile.
"Ironic, isn't it?"
No... not really, Jake thought, but he knew better to correct intoxicated logic.
"I am sorry Connor."
He had to mention it again in case it hadn't sunk in the first two times. Connor shook it off once more. His words meant nothing.
"I am." Jake watched Connor writhe in his own anger. "You don't have to believe me... but when you're sober we can talk about it. I mean it."
Enough back and forth. Just let me apologize.
"I can't." He whispered as his eyes found a spot on the floor next to Jake's bed.
"Then don't. Let me do the talking, just listen."
"I listened the last time and look where that got me."
"I'm not going to turn it into a fight, Connor." Jake pleaded. "Despite what you think, I don't want to hurt you."
Connor swallowed down whatever snarky comment he meant to say and nodded. His face was torn in the state between apprehension and rage—it looked painful to say the least, and Jake loathed every minute of watching him turn over his emotions in his head. I'm not trying to hurt you Connor. I'm sorry you ever felt that I was.
"I know this sounds a lot like telling you what to do... but I think you should go."
Connor's eyes drifted back up to Jake with the same disinterested look he walked in with.
"At this rate we're not doing anything but digging each other's graves." Jake added.
Connor raised an eyebrow in speculation. "You need to catch up then. I've already finished yours, I'm just waiting for the right time to push you in."
Jake shouldn't have laughed, but he found one creeping out of his throat before he could catch it.
"I expect nothing less from you."
"Don't be a procrastinator, Jake." He sighed, angling himself towards the door. "I gave you the damn shovel, the least you could do is fucking use it."
"Whatever you say, Connor." Jake tilted his head in approval.
He pointed a warning finger back at him from where he had his other hand on the door handle.
"Don't flirt with me."
"Don't take everything I say so personally then." Jake smirked—he knew he shouldn't have, but he couldn't stop himself.
Connor's nose wrinkled in dissatisfaction. "Fuck you."
"Goodnight, Connor."
"I hate you, Jake."
Connor opened the door and in came the flood of fluorescent lights from the hallway that burned Jake's eyes from a night spent in the shadows.
For some odd reason, he found himself calling after Connor still. "Not even a goodnight? That's cold."
Connor's face whipped around to face him, but his smile wasn't as vicious as he would have liked it to have been. "I hope you have a very bad night."
"Thank you," Jake nodded with a smile. "That's better."
"Fuck off." Connor grumbled and closed the door behind him.
Despite the fact that Connor seemed pissed to be in his presence, Jake couldn't shake the feeling that something had just changed. His smile didn't fade after Connor closed the door on him and neither did the dangerous flutter of hope that lived on in his chest like a second heartbeat. Whatever had just happened, Connor came into his room with one intention and left with another. Jake knew he was bound to pay if he got caught up in what a drunken Connor said and did, but some part of him wanted to believe that it only echoed what he thought while sober and that his stunt at the party had absolutely set Connor off to the point of no return.
Jake had once thought that Rose and Camilla weren't able to tell the difference between love and hate, but now he wasn't so convinced that Connor could either. Connor's first instinct was to hate everything and everyone that showed any sign of concern, and now Jake fell onto his list of dangers that he couldn't control. He hated it—Jake knew he loathed it—but maybe a part of him wanted to be convinced he had no reason to. Maybe he was teetering that line between love and hate like walking the tracks in his backyard with each carefully balanced step, waiting for Jake to pull him off again and tell him what to feel.
Jake wanted to, but he needed to figure it out for himself first.