#doollins

So, Jeremy knows he doesn't have it the worst. He's seen the burns on Gavin’s wrist, red and angry and so unlike Michael who put them there, Michael, who just got too excited too quickly and didn't even realize. But he realizes now, and so does Gavin, and Jeremy can feel the new way Michael tempers excitement with guilt, and how Gavin hesitates sometimes, remembers how much it fucking hurt, before he touches Michael.

He's seen Trevor, too, Trevor, who doesn't realize things are moving until someone tells him and he groans and focuses on getting it to stop. And sometimes it does stop, just like that, and he can go back to what he's doing. But sometimes it takes too long and he gets frustrated which means his focus gets clouded and things are moving faster and hitting walls harder and he's yelling at himself and only stops when something thwacks into someone and they yelp and everything drains out of him. Everything falls to the floor and he starts throwing away the broken things and putting away the okay things and he's cold and tired and guilty.

So yeah. Jeremy doesn't have it the worst, but it is a lot sometimes. He can't be faulted for saying that. There are just so many people feeling so many things all the time. He can narrow it down sometimes, sure. He can focus on one person and let them drown everything out, but even then it's weird trying to pick apart what's his and what's theirs while still being an active participant in their conversation. But most of the time, that's not even what happens. Most of the time, he feels like an Easter egg that's been dunked into every cup of dye there is, colors like grey blue worry and neon orange excitement and lily purple sadness soaking into his pores and cracks until he's a dark muddy something, an ugly indecipherable amalgamation of everything. But it's getting better. He's getting better. They all are.

Trevor’s a big part of that. Well. Trevor’s a big part of it and Jeremy getting better. He's a smaller cog in the they, just because they is a lot of them and Ray still has a tendency to flicker out of view while Gavin still accidentally goes places he shouldn't, Lindsay’s headaches are still persistent and Trevor himself struggles more than he’ll tell anyone and Michael-Michael still slips up and there are still red welts on his friends. But on an individual level, a Jeremy level, Trevor’s helping.

Not that he'd tell Trevor that. Not that Jeremy tells anyone much of anything about anything that has to do with his...thing. It's not that he doesn't want to, it's just that he can't.

He feels like he runs out of words a lot. He read somewhere that the average person knows twenty thousand words, but he feels like he's just working with twenty. No thousand. Maybe twenty five, if he's lucky. It's hard to explain anything, to lay out intangible concepts mixed with more intangible concepts and make them understandable, but he's figuring out how to explain it to himself. Colors are turning out to be a pretty reliable system. Color coding emotions makes them easier to recognize for whatever reason, helps Jeremy find the line where his own navy blue calm is trying to mix with someone else's old banana yellow tired to make a new jarring puke green of confusion as Jeremy tries to balance what he's feeling. Colors let him compartmentalize and separate.

Happiness is brown. Not a murky, seven-paintbrushes-one-cup-of-water brown that comes out looking like shit, but a warm brown where you can feel the oranges and yellows underneath it, the brightness and warmth, even if they're not so easy to see. Jeremy thinks it's-it might be the same brown of Trevor’s eyes. Which is, come on. He literally feels people's emotions. He's gone to a wedding and almost passed out when he walked past the groom, and even he has to admit that happy being the color of Trevor is a bit much. He wants to kick his own ass, but the colors are what they are, so he accepts it and keeps quiet-partly because he doesn't feel like he has the words to explain everything correctly, partly because the words he does have are about how Trevor’s the color of his happiness. Fucking hell.

He's keeping quiet about a lot of things. That's only one of about a thousand conversations he doesn't know how to have with Trevor, up there with “how much narration of your feelings are you okay with before it gets weird because it's hard not to say things when I'm picking up on things and want to know what's going on because you're my friend” and “I feel like I'm invading your privacy because I'm pretty sure there are some feelings you don't want me to know about and here I am, picking them up”, or “Your feelings slot into mine and make nicer colors and don't make my brain feel like it's being hijacked”, to name a few. It's amazing the two of them talk at all, with everything Jeremy has to remember not to say.

But they do talk, because of course they do, because they're damn near inseparable. They both have other friends, sure, have no problem hanging out in a big group-well, they have no problem with it in theory. In practice, Jeremy gets hit with waves of everything, because everyone is annoyed with someone or nervous around someone or likes someone and Jesus it's a room full of teenagers, this is the definition of over stimulation, and Jeremy can't think until he’s sorted through everything to find the hum that's Trevor, letting his quiet hum and its different pulsing shades wash out the roar of everything else.

The point is, they're functional. Not codependent. They have other friends they love, they just also choose to sit together close enough to bump knees and get pointed looks from Lindsay. They're close. It happens. What also happens: Jeremy is something akin to head over heels.

It's not like he did it on purpose. Trevor’s always there, and even when he's in a mood that drastically opposes Jeremy’s, it doesn't feel entirely wrong. It just… Slots in, and Jeremy gets it, and he can help. He does help. Trevor being angry doesn't make Jeremy involuntarily grit his teeth like he does when everyone else is pissed, he just recognizes it and tucks it away and helps in a way only he can, which is. It's actually kind of incredible. It feels like he has an almost complete manual to Trevor Collins, cross referenced between what Jeremy, Trevor’s friend, knows and what Jeremy, the empath who's getting every feeling pinged to him, knows. It's great, except. Except the manual is missing a couple of pages and sometimes Jeremy’s stomach swoops and he can't tell if it's him or Trevor. Sometimes they'll be looking at each other and there's a thrill that works its way through Jeremy-no, Trevor-no, both of them, and Jeremy thinks something is going to happen, knows something is going to happen, but then Trevor breaks their gaze.

It's… A thing. What he feels for Trevor is a thing. What Trevor feels is also a thing, but a more confusing, probably Jeremy getting his wires crossed thing. Because what are the odds? Trevor gets...weird, sometimes, when they're too close together or looking too long, and there's always a spike of agitation that scares Jeremy back into reality where it's not something, it's just coincidence and that spike is Trevor being uncomfortable with how Jeremy’s not even fucking trying to hide his thing he has for Trevor. He is trying, though. It's just hard sometimes, because sometimes, he thinks maybe the way Trevor looks at him is what he hopes it is and not what he's sure it is. But the spikes keep happening, and Jeremy keeps shoving everything down-his nervousness, Trevor's, his butterflies, Trevor’s, which are probably from someone he's thinking about who's not Jeremy, and it occurs to Jeremy at some point that they can't keep doing this. That one of them is going to say something about what's right in front of them.

It's Trevor.

They're hanging out, just the two of them, and Trevor is restless. Antsy. Which is making Jeremy nervous in turn, but he's not saying anything, just keeps casting looks over at Trevor.

Trevor’s antsiness keeps growing, and Jeremy keeps looking but not saying anything until Trevor snaps at him.

“What, do you feel sorry for me?”

Not rage, but something close. Trevor's pissed and it's slotting in but Jeremy doesn't know what to do with it.

“Why would I feel sorry for you?”

Trevor laughs, but it's not a good laugh, and Jeremy feels more nauseous than Trevor already does.

“Can we not do this?”

“Sure?”

“No, not this. Not the conversation. Just the part where you pretend you have no clue what's going on like you've been pretending for-I don't even know how long for. Maybe you picked it up before me.”

Jeremy's heart falls through the floor.

“Look, man, I'm sorry, I wasn't trying to make you uncomfortable-”

“Why the hell are you like this?” Trevor's frustrated and Jeremy’s dimly aware that this is how he loses his best friend.

“Seriously, why? I'm the one who's been beaming out how much I like you into your head, and you're apologizing for making me uncomfortable. Fuck.”

Jeremy takes an amazingly short amount of time to process this before he's clarifying, because he has to clarify, he needs to know that he heard what he heard.

“What?”

Trevor's irritation becomes more palpable.

“Come on. You're gonna make me do the whole repeating it thing?”

“You like me.”

Jeremy's speaking slow, so there's no mistaking what he said, and Trevor rolls his eyes.

“Yes, I like you, let's move on to how you-”

“Shut up for two seconds, okay?”

Trevor frowns and Jeremy gets a surge of anger pinged at him, but he stops talking.

“I...Look, there’s a possibility I have feelings for you? And that I thought this fight was about how you had picked up on that and hated that and I’m just now finding out that it’s because you think the exact opposite happened.”

Trevor's eyes widen and everything has less of an edge, his expression, his flares of irritation. Agitation slips into surprise which is slowly, very slowly, building into something better. Something that may or may not end up being glee.

“You asshole. You had a thing for me and knew how I felt-I’m not buying the claim that you didn’t-and didn't say anything. What the fuck, man?”

“I didn't know how you felt. How was I supposed to know!”

“Because you already knew! Because you probably knew before I did and you definitely knew when I had like, like, all the stereotypical cliche shit going on in my head that is definitely, unmistakably, a crush!”

“It's not like that!”

“Really. How do I feel right now?”

And Jeremy knows, could probably give a psychic a run for their money with how precisely he can pin down what Trevor’s feeling and why and how that relates to Trevor’s thoughts.

“You're not as pissed as you sound. You're not pissed at all, actually, it's more… Annoyed. And exasperated. But you're glad too, and a little relieved, and happy, definitely happy, and-there's exasperation again.”

“You can basically read my mind and you're telling me you had no fucking clue about how I felt. Feel.”

“It wasn't like that,” Jeremy protests, only partially out of stubbornness.

“I mean, I haven't always been able to do that. Pick apart everything and figure out where it came from. Plus, these emotions all make sense! I get these! You're annoyed this conversation took this long, exasperated because you think I'm lying. When Ryan says something nice to Ray and he's suddenly invisible and it feels like he's having a heart attack in his stomach, that makes sense! I connected dot one to dot two! It's not like you, like having to connect two hundred dots blindfolded.”

Trevor's expression softens, or maybe only he softens. Whatever. Jeremy feels it. He shifts his feet and stares at the floor.

“That didn't make sense to you? Me getting nervous and excited and basically pining over you didn't make sense even though you were feeling it from me all the time, especially when it was just us. What, did you not believe it?”

Jeremy shifts on his feet again and doesn't say anything. Trevor sighs, but he's not sad. Fond.

“I can't believe I'm the brains in this relationship when you can damn near read minds.”

And Trevor’s not wrong on either account, because Jeremy knows he's excited, enough to cover the jangle of his nerves, and that he's determined, and he's taking enough steps across the room to be half an inch away from Jeremy.

“We have to work on that. Seriously.”

And if Jeremy didn't understand what was going on before, the way Trevor is pressed up against him and his heart is pounding too quickly gives him about a two second warning before Trevor removes any semblance of space between them and puts his hands on Jeremy’s shoulders and all Jeremy sees is brown brown brown with its orange and yellow swirling underneath it and it's all he feels, too, Trevor’s happiness and his own forming one solid mass that doesn't seem like it'll ever go away before Trevor leans in and does what he should have done ages ago.

It's a little hard, with everything, to notice something that's not Trevor, but when they break apart the room’s a mess and Jeremy laughs and grabs Trevor’s hand that's still blue enough to be weird.

“What? What?”

Trevor asks, more curious than anything, but there's worry creeping into his tone, blue the color of his hands at the edges of his happiness.

“Nothing. You didn't do anything. I mean, you did something, but your kissing was up to par.”

“Up to par?”

“Uh, you have a problem.” Ray says as soon as Jeremy picks up the phone. Jeremy doesn't correct it to “we” like he used to, just sighs and tries to smile in a way that makes Trevor less nervous.

“What kind of problem?”

“You both look suspicious and coplike and suspect uno is gonna round the corner on you in roughly 30 seconds problem.”

Jeremy swears and hangs up, and Trevor’s definitely nervous now.

“What? What’s going on?”

“Our guy’s gonna be here pretty soon. Like, in seconds soon.”

Trevor’s eyes widen, and Jeremy keeps swearing under his breath. Goddammit. What were they gonna do? Okay, thinking on the spot. Surroundings. Check those. Oh, thank fuck. An alley. He turns, is ready to pull Trevor into said alley when Trevor shakes his head and grabs Jeremy, what the fuck is he doing, and kisses him. Full on closes his eyes and pulls Jeremy in close, rests a hand on the back of his neck, kisses him. Jeremy’s heart stops, and Trevor pulls away and wipes his mouth on his arm, looking down the street and grinning like he’s a genius.

“So that was smart, right?”

“What the fuck.”

The grin fades for a moment before it’s back in full force.

“I mean, it worked. Guy didn’t give us a second glance.”

“Did you even go to the academy? What the fuck, rookie? Did you learn everything you know about police officers from cop shows and romcoms?”

His heart has started back up again, is trying to thump thump thump its way out of his chest because Trevor just kissed him. Stupid Trevor, who’s only been at the station for about six months and is still incredibly optimistic about everything, stupid Trevor who high fived the first criminal he arrested, stupid Trevor who singlehandedly caused Jeremy’s sexuality crisis at 24 (which is way too old to have one, if you ask Jeremy), stupid Trevor who is proud of his solution.

“Sorry, I missed what you said, I was too busy thinking about how my idea worked and we were completely undetected and how I’m now officially submitting a list of police drama movies for training.”

Jeremy sighs and his phone rings again. Ray laughs as soon as he picks up, and Jeremy has no doubt that the entire station, including Lindsay-especially Lindsay-has already found out.

“Dude, who knew that rookie has more guts than you. Mazel tov.”

Jeremy flips off the van half a block away, the one that’s nondescript where Ray and Michael and Gavin are keeping tabs on things and waiting in the wings.

“Rude. Your guy’s headed to a restaurant to meet his girlfriend. It’s fancy as shit, too. I hate to say it, but your best bet is to keep pretending to be lovebirds that just have to have a table.”

A pause.

“I don’t hate to say it, actually. It’s funny as hell. Also, super meta. You’re going to pretend to be in love with Trevor when you’re actually in love with him. I cannot wait for this shitshow.”

Jeremy kind of wants to die, but instead he throws his phone back in his pocket and grabs Trevor’s hand. Trevor gives him a look. Jeremy grits his teeth.

“Our guy is getting dinner. Ray thinks we can get in if-um-if we go through with your idea.”

Trevor’s preening and I-told-you-so looks the entire way to the restaurant? Unbearable.

---

Jeremy’s quite honestly shocked by not only how easy it is to pretend to be a couple, but by how easy that makes… everything.

They walk in and Trevor leans on him, whispers into his ear in a way Jeremy’s sure looks suggestive enough to make everyone think they’re a thing. Which is technically good, but it also makes Jeremy’s lungs just fucking stop working, so. Pros and cons.

“Hi!”, Trevor says to the server, still all over Jeremy, hand around his waist, pressed to his side.

“So. Man, I feel bad even asking. But is there anyway you could get us a table? I know this is super last minute, and I am absolutely the kind of person who makes reservations 99% of the time, I swear. But-”

This is when he manages to get closer to Jeremy somehow, smiles at him in a way that he always does, but it's different now because his hand is around Jeremy’s waist and he's trying to convince the server they're dating.

“-he proposed tonight, spur of the moment, you know? And-This is going to sound so sappy, sorry-this is where we came for our first date. I totally understand if it's impossible to get us a table but it never hurts to try, right?”

Trevor’s blushing. One hand on Jeremy’s hip, the other rubbing at the back of his neck the way he always does when he's embarrassed and under the whirlwind of everything else he's feeling, Jeremy is shocked and impressed by what a good actor he is.

The server is smiling at them, looks between them and her computer while she taps away.

“I can't make any promises,” she says, “but if you'll wait here I'll see what I can do.”

Ten minutes of sitting in the lobby joking around like they're not aware this can make or break their entire investigation, like they're not aware the way Jeremy’s rubbing circles into Trevor’s knee is weird, like they don't know the way this seems natural and normal is weirder, and it turns out what the server can do is squeeze them in at a table directly next to Travis Rowe, guy one of two they’ve been trying to catch for fucking ever.

Jeremy’s heart is in his throat, and he can only half attribute that to how fucking close they are to finishing this operation. The other half? Has black hair and a smile that refuses to leave his face, is shifting in a chair across from Jeremy and accidentally bumping their knees together.

It seems like it's only been a couple of seconds before a waiter comes over and sets a bottle of champagne neither of them can afford in between them.

“For the happy couple. Congratulations.”

Jeremy’s grin feels weak, but Trevor is beaming, so it’s probably convincing.

“Oh my god,” says Rowe’s girlfriend, looking ecstatic, “Are you two engaged?”

“Um,” says Jeremy, at the same time Trevor goes “Yes,” and slides their hands together.

She smiles and elbows her date, and he gives them a brief grin as he raises his glass.

“Congratulations. Here’s hoping you don't split over wedding planning.”

Girlfriend laughs and smacks his hand, looks back to them and starts chattering.

This is, by far, the weirdest situation Jeremy’s ever been in. He's sitting two inches away from a suspect, who is cheering his engagement that doesn't exist. His engagement to a man he kissed for the first time an hour ago to avoid detection. And now he’s being asked how long they’ve been together, and when the wedding is, and how they met. He has an answer for how they met, but he has a feeling, somehow, that’s not the story Trevor’s going to tell.

Lindsay was cross legged on her desk with a nervous looking guy next to her, had yelled “Hey! Dooley! Get your sweet ass over here!”, and Dooley got his sweet ass over there. She pointed to the nervous guy.

“This is Gay Trevor.”

“Uh, I’m the only Trevor in the precinct.”

“Yeah. This is Gay Trevor. He’s new and a terrible dancer. Can’t grind for shit. But I will say that it seems like his kissing is up to par.”

“We’ve never met.”

“No, but me and Drunk Gay Trevor have met. He was an experience. Jeremy, do you want to hear about what an experience DGT was?”

And then Trevor had turned an incredible shade of pink and stammered something about needing to leave, and Lindsay had caught Jeremy’s eyes and winked.

Trevor says something about having a mutual friend who introduced them. Nothing about Lindsay. Jeremy grins a little, and, begrudgingly, he admits Lindsay was right. Trevor's kissing was up to par. That was-yeah. That was a way to describe it. Something he'd been thinking about doing since Trevor walked into the station? Also a way to describe it. The thing his brain is looping over and over in his head making it impossible to speak? Way number 3, if you wanted some variety. But yeah. Up to par. Kissing. Trevor.

“Hey, I know you,” says Mob Boss Travis Rowe, Bane Of the LSPD, suspected business partner of Lela Marsh, and that's more than enough to snap Jeremy out of his temporary reverie.

“Uh, I don't think you do,” Jeremy says, and he can feel Trevor’s grip tighten on his hand.

“No, yeah, I've definitely seen you before.”

He's frowning while he looks at both of them, munching on a bite of salad for what seems far too long, and Jeremy looks at Trevor and Trevor looks at Jeremy and they come to a silent agreement to pull out cuffs and guns in 3…2…

“You're that couple I saw on my way here!”

Jeremy’s relief is so palpable, he's surprised Rowe doesn't pick up on it.

“That might have been us, yeah.”

Trevor cuts in then, thankfully.

“Oh, geez. That's embarrassing. Sorry. He'd just proposed, and we were both so caught up in everything, you know?”

That gets waved off by suspect and date, and Rowe grunts.

“No, no. It's very sweet.”

“Can I ask you something?” The girlfriend’s looking at Trevor, and Jeremy’s trying and failing to not be nervous.

“Of course,” he says, that bright grin that's all Trevor.

“Why do you love him?”

Jeremy’s watching Trevor close enough to see his smile falter for half a second, but no one else seems to notice.

“I...there are a lot of reasons, you know? He’s my best friend, but it’s more than that. It’s…” He pauses and shoots a glance at Jeremy before laughing.

“It’s not really a question I’ve been asked. It’s not something I have to think about, I just know I do.”

He shrugs.

“I know that’s not really an answer. Probably sounds like a copout. But he’s funny. He can make me laugh even when I don’t think I can, if that makes sense. And like I said. Best friend. He’s been there for me since we met.”

She nods knowingly, then leans over and locks eyes with Jeremy.

“You're not a big talker, huh? Your boyfriend-fiancé, oh, isn't that exciting-has answered everything while you look love struck. But give me one thing? Please? How'd you know?”

“How'd I know?” Jeremy echoes, at a complete loss.

“Yeah. How'd you know you wanted to be with him? And then how'd you know he was the one? Like, the ‘till death do us part’ one.”

Jeremy’s downed an entire glass of water while they've been sitting there, but his mouth is drier than it's ever been.

“Um,” he starts out, swallowing down panic and a dozen other things, “God, this is going to sound so stupid. But, uh. I knew he was hot on day one. I mean, he walked in and I was definitely aware of that. But….” He pauses, unsure of what the hell he’s going to make up.

“It took a week to figure out he'd be my best friend. A month to figure out I might love him. And a lot of months before I made a move.”

She coos appropriately before she gets a call and apologizes for having to leave. Jeremy tries not to fidget. His story about being in love with Trevor was a hell of a lot less off the cuff than he had meant to go, but he panicked. Besides. It's fine, right? None of this is real. It's a ploy to keep eyes on the guy. Trevor’s not going to know that the fake story about Jeremy being in love with Trevor is, surprise, the actual story about Jeremy being in love with Trevor.

Trevor’s staring at him, unreadable. Jeremy is hyperaware of everything he's doing.

“I didn't know that.”

His voice is mirroring his face, something Jeremy can't quite figure out, something he really doesn't want to look into, for his own sake. For their sake.

“The more you know?”

Trevor’s going to say something, something Jeremy absolutely does not need to hear, but then Rowe stands and looks at both of them.

“You’ll have to excuse me. I’ll be back in a minute.”

They both nod and smile at him until he rounds a corner, and then they both jump up and follow. He had headed to the back, and Jeremy’s sending off a frantic text about covering the exit while he and Trevor speedwalk across a gourmet restaurant. They get to the same corner they lost Rowe at, and they look at each other for a second before Trevor heads to the bathrooms and Jeremy heads toward the kitchen.

The kitchen, unsurprisingly, holds stoves and ovens and sinks and a lot of employees who either side eye Jeremy or flat out tell him to get the fuck out. When he’s satisfied Rowe’s not hiding anywhere, he busts back through the swinging doors face to face with Trevor.

“Not in the kitchen?”

“Not in the bathrooms?”

Trevor’s eyebrows furrow and he opens his mouth but Jeremy hears a door slam open, hears Rowe making polite chatter with another man and he panics and pulls Trevor in by his shirt, shaking his head minutely when Trevor’s eyes widen. Rowe walks past them without a second glance and Jeremy counts onetwothree until he lets go.

“You didn't check the bathrooms?” He hisses, stalking after Rowe at a respectable distance while Trevor snaps back at him. No time to think about kissing Trevor. Work was happening. Work was walking out the front door.

“There aren't any back alleys for him to escape out of in the bathroom!”

Jeremy doesn't want to admit he has a point, so he keeps grumbling and staring at the back of Rowe’s head. They tail him like this for a few blocks until he gets to a park and pulls something out of his jacket and leaves it on a bench. Jeremy fires off a text to Ray about what direction he's headed in and not 30 seconds later he gets confirmation the van is on him. Now all that's left is waiting for Marsh to show up, to prove the connection between her and Rowe to cement the charges and put two of the worst people in the city behind bars.

They find a conveniently placed tree near the bench, skulk around while trying to not look like they're skulking, and wait. They joke around. It's a nice interjection of normal, fucking around behind a tree, a distraction from this case that's huge and the way he's kissed Trevor twice tonight, holy shit, there are people who know him and Trevor as people who are engaged. So. Yeah. It's a nice distraction.

Jeremy only shushes him when a woman sits next to the thing on the bench, and both of them peer at her from behind the tree. It's not the stealthiest thing. When she stands, eyes narrowed, looking ready to sprint away into the night not to be seen for the next six months, both of them go for it, making it kiss number three, which is no less enjoyable and does no less to fuck Jeremy up than kiss one and two. After a couple of seconds, Jeremy cracks an eye open and sees her grab the package and shove it in her coat and he pulls out his pistol and aims it at her. Behind him, Trevor does the same.

“Freeze! You're under arrest!”

She runs, but Jeremy’s faster. It's not long before she's in handcuffs looking furious and higher ups are stepping in, but before she gets led away, she looks at Jeremy and Trevor.

“I can’t believe I got arrested by two cops on a date! What kind of shit luck is that?”

“We’re not, uh, actually dating. You know. Clever undercover ploy. Worked really well and super platonically.”

Her eyebrows disappear into the top of her hairline, and she laughs.

“Oh, man. You two have some shit to work out. Trust me.”

Trevor looks like he’s about to ask what the hell that means, but Jeremy elbows him and he goes silent. FBI’s stepping in now, leading Marsh off to god knows where, they’ve already got the call about Rowe being in custody, there’s paperwork that needs done that they’re both going to put off till Monday. They're done. They finished the job.

They ride back to the station in the van with everyone else, and, not for the first time, Jeremy wishes Ray knew how to drive. This time, it's because he has nothing to do except lob questions at the both of them.

“So how much tongue got used? You were pretending to be engaged and wanted to make people uncomfortable enough to look away, so you can't tell me there wasn't any.”

They're at a red light. Michael butts in.

“Ray, c’mon. Leave them alone. After all, they just broke off their engagement. Give em some time. That's hard to process.”

Then Ray looks at him and they both laugh while Jeremy and Trevor continue their new favorite habit of not looking at each other.

The ride back seems exceedingly long in comparison to the ride to the restaurant, which absolutely comes down to the way Ray keeps prodding at the both of them. Jeremy thinks he can joke about it, maybe. He sure as fuck can't joke about it today, but eventually. In a week or so. Still. Knowing it'll pass and be alright doesn't stop him from shooting out of the van when it pulls into a spot.

He waves it off as a long day and wanting to get home, and he likes to think Michael almost believes it. When he gets his bag and his keys he walks out the door and almost directly into Trevor. He smiles, thinner than usual, but still a smile. Even just this, being around Trevor without Ray asking if they were going to give each other blowjobs for a case next, this is easier. Nicer.

Neither of them say much, basking in a job well done, a case completed. Jeremy’s the one who eventually clears his throat awkwardly and stops walking, turning towards Trevor.

“Good job,” Jeremy says, clapping his hand down on Trevor’s shoulder, “Tonight. With the case and chase and arrest. These guys have been a pain in the ass since before you started here. It’s good to know we caught them. And you helped with that.”

Trevor smiles the way he does when Sorola says his report is “passable”, the same smile that Jeremy’s seen in his pictures from his graduation from the academy. He's glad it's just them. His heart stumbles a little bit.

“You’re a good-”

“Hey!” Ray waves at both of them as he walks towards his ride, cups his hand around his mouth to make sure both of them can hear.

“You two kicked ass tonight! Criminal ass! Next case we have that requires super gay homos? I’m recommending both of you. You earned it.”

Then he gets in his car, oh so courteously leaving behind his awkward silence.

“You actually were pretty good at that,” Jeremy says, just to push off the quiet, “Acting. Was high school you a theater kid? Come on, Collins, we’re close enough to tell each other about embarrassing teenage phases. You should talk to Haywood. You could put on a two man play of...some play.”

“I never took theater.”

“Natural actor, then.”

Trevor’s silent. Jeremy doesn’t trust himself to speak.

They stand there, almost talking, waiting for the moment for one of them to say what needs said, but then their phones go off. They both jump, whatever was building in the quiet shattered and gone.

“I'm gonna head home,” Jeremy says, and Trevor nods and starts walking off.

He's not exactly surprised when he actually looks at his phone and he has a dozen texts from Lindsay, more surprised it took her this long to say something.

ARE YOU DONE WITH YOUR STUPID STING YET MICHAEL SAID I HAD TO WAIT TILL YOU WERE DONE TO BERATE YOU

YOU ARE. JEREMY NICHOLAS DOOLEY. WHAT THE FUCK IS WRONG WITH YOU

YOUR MOUTH WAS ON HIS MOUTH. AND YET. AND FUCKING YET I WILL PUT A THOUSAND DOLLARS ON YOU WRITING IT OFF AS “””JUST FOR THE CASE”””. YOU MORON

YOU COULD BE DOING THAT AGAIN. RIGHT NOW. YOU COULD BE KISSING TREVOR AND YOU'RE NOT BECAUSE YOU'RE AN IDIOT

DO YOU KNOW HOW TRANSPARENT THAT WAS??????? VERY. NO ONE’S FIRST THOUGHT WHEN THEY NEED TO AVOID DETECTION IS “LET ME MAKE OUT WITH THIS GUY RIGHT NEXT TO ME I HAVE NO INTEREST IN”

I HATE YOU. I HATE YOU. YOU COULD BE DOING GAY SHIT WITH TREVOR BUT INSTEAD YOU'RE PROBABLY SITTING IN YOUR CAR READING THESE AND SHAKING YOUR HEAD AND GOING “NAH, LINDSAY’S WRONG.”

NEWSFLASH, DOOLEY: LINDSAY IS NEVER WRONG. YOU JUST BECOME INCAPABLE OF PERCEPTION WHEN IT HAS ANYTHING TO DO WITH TREVOR

REST ASSURED I AM YELLING AT TREVOR’S EQUALLY AS GAY AND EQUALLY AS STUPID SELF. MORE THAN I’M YELLING AT YOU, EVEN.

YOU KNOW WHY?

BECAUSE HE KISSED YOU AND ACTED LIKE YOUR FIANCÉ! YOUR FIANCÉ! NOT YOUR BOYFRIEND YOU’VE DATED A COUPLE OF WEEKS, YOUR FIANCÉ! READY FOR MARRIAGE! AND THEN HE DIDN’T SAY ANYTHING ABOUT HOW THAT WAS AN OUTLET FOR HOW! HE! HAS! LIKED! YOU! SINCE! DAY! ONE!

I LEGITIMATELY CANNOT BELIEVE YOU ARE BOTH THIS STUPID. ABOUT EACH OTHER. IT DOESN’T SEEM POSSIBLE, HONESTLY. AND YET HERE WE ARE.

DO YOU FEEL YELLED AT AND SHAMED? YOU SHOULD. I HAVE TO TURN MY ATTENTION TO YOUR FIANCÉ NOW. I HOPE YOU DREAM ABOUT HIM AND THAT MAKES YOU GET YOUR SHIT TOGETHER.

I LOVE YOU. AND YOU KNOW AS MUCH AS I DO THAT THIS ISN’T ABOUT YOU TAKING YOUR TIME. TAKE YOUR SHIRT OFF AND ASK HIM TO GET DINNER.

And it’s not that Jeremy wants her to be wrong-he really, really, doesn’t-it’s that it’s easier to brush her off as wrong than to do anything about it. Which is weird. Jeremy’s never had any problem with being forward, ever. If he likes someone, he tells them, and he either moves on from the rejection or they’re a thing for awhile.

But when he thinks about telling Trevor, his brain refuses to consider the possibility. He knows it’s something he wants, but probing further than that, trying to figure out how to tell Trevor it’s what he wants is a dead end. It usually is, at least. Then again, usually was before Trevor had kissed him-Jesus, three times. Trevor had kissed him three times tonight. And, you know, Jeremy could even compartmentalize that, if he tried really hard. Kissing wasn’t difficult. Kissing was something you were entirely capable of doing without feelings being tied up in it. He’d seen Geoff kiss dozens of their friends almost purely to fuck with them, and Jeremy himself had lost a bet awhile back and hauled Matt into one as a result. So Jeremy can write off the kisses. Jeremy’s ready to write off the kisses, honestly, if only so he doesn’t lose his damn mind. But.

But that’s not all it was. It was the way Trevor had looked so damn sincere when he was talking about Jeremy, the way neither of them had to think about being casually affectionate, it just happened. And that’s-that’s something that’s harder to fake. Not impossible, but harder. And thinking about things rationally, it makes sense, the way they’ve both been slightly off kilter afterwards if there’s something between them. It’s weird, going from wanting to be able to touch Trevor casually to being expected to, and it’s weirder going back to wanting after he’s already done it. Trevor only compounds that feeling-not uneasy, but not normal, either-with the way he’s been oddly quiet. Fewer jokes, fewer grins, way more not meeting Jeremy’s eyes. And maybe it’s nothing. Maybe Monday will come and Trevor will say hi and actually look at him. Or maybe it’s something, the way Trevor should be goddamn ecstatic about getting this done, but instead just seems muted. He knows Trevor well enough to tell normal from not normal, and maybe. Maybe this is Lindsay and Lela Marsh, Mob Boss, and fate telling him it’s about goddamn time.

He looks at his phone one last time before taking a deep breath, sprinting over to where he thinks Trevor’s parked. He’s hoping fate isn’t about to fuck him over, that he finds Trevor’s stupid car in one of the rows, that Trevor hasn’t taken off yet. Jeremy can’t help but be relieved when he sees him leaning against his car. He’s also, you know, a little winded from sprinting a parking lot, but Trevor. Trevor’s on the phone, gesturing in short, snappy motions to whoever’s on the other end, and Jeremy can tell he’s annoyed while he’s still 20 feet away in the post dusk light. He waves, and Trevor waves back. As Jeremy gets closer, Trevor mumbles something into his phone before he heaves a sigh and hangs up.

“What’s up?”

Trevor, to his credit, only looks slightly confused that Jeremy’s hauled ass to see him for seemingly no reason.

“I wanted to talk to you,” Jeremy says, and Trevor gives him a bemused look before holding up the phone still in his hand.

Jeremy shakes his head.

“This is easier.”

“Sprinting to my car in the dark was easier than calling me once you got home?”

“Yeah.”

Trevor actually looks surprised at that, and he shifts where he’s standing before extending his arms out sideways.

“Here I am. Talk my ear off.”

Incredibly belatedly, Jeremy realizes he doesn’t know what he wants to say. He’d thought it would come naturally, the way everything does with Trevor, but every word he knows seems out of his reach.

“I didn’t want to talk,” Jeremy starts out, and Trevor frowns, and he immediately backtracks.

“I mean, I did. I do? But I sort of want to kiss you, too. Really want to, actually. And I wanted to talk to you. About that. Kissing. We did that!”

He laughs, slightly overwhelmed and trying to find a train of thought that's not he's pretty and my best friend and I love him.

“And that doesn’t have to mean anything. I know it doesn’t. It’s part of being undercover. I get it.”

He takes a breath, slightly unnerved by how Trevor hasn’t said anything.

“But it did, didn’t it. It did to me, at least. This isn’t ‘hot damn, I just came to the realization I want to make out with Trevor,’ this is ‘I’m kind of freaking out because I’ve wanted to kiss Trevor for fucking ever and now I have and I’m gonna lose my damn mind if I could do it again but never did because I never asked.’”

He pauses, not long enough for Trevor to get a word in, but a pause nonetheless.

“So this is me telling you I’m in love with you.”

He clasps his hands together and waits.

“So. You know. There’s that. It’s not like it’s a new thing, but it’s a new thing for you to know, I guess.”

His stomach drops a little bit. He doesn’t know why he thought this might go well and not terribly, but here he is. Standing in a parking lot with his best friend who isn’t fucking saying anything, who’s convincing Jeremy more and more this was a mistake by just looking at him. Alright. Fine. Whatever. It’s whatever. He told him, which was more than he thought he was gonna do. It’s a personal victory, even if it’s one that’s going to come at the expense of his and Trevor’s friendship for the next few awkward days. That’s what Jeremy’s telling himself, at least, clinging to a bright side of something that’s pretty shitty. He doesn’t know what else to say, doesn’t know how to explain himself or make things less… the way they are. There’s not anything to say, he doesn’t think. All he can really do is leave and hope they’re solid enough that this isn’t a permanent bump in the road. He’s pretty sure they are. He sure fucking hopes they are. He taps Trevor’s shoulder lightly with his fist.

“We’re still us. A few hours of pretending to date and an unrequited crush or not, okay?”

Trevor nods, then shakes his head.

“Yeah. No.”

Jeremy’s heart shoots up into his throat in a way that's distinctively awful. He has no idea where to even start processing that statement, doesn't want to because of the slow roil of disappointment and shock and unease working its way through him. While he's thinking about that, how he's done the impossible, how he's managed to screw up Trevor, of all things, Trevor takes a step towards him and hesitates half a second before angling his head. Then there's a hand on Jeremy’s waist and an arm looped around his neck and Trevor’s pulling him in close, too close, nowhere near close enough, and they're kissing. Fourth time’s the charm. Jeremy’s heart is threatening to thump all the way out of his chest, which is honestly a terrible image to be thinking about while he's kissing Trevor. It's not long. They pull away from each other a little bit, but don't leave each other’s space. Trevor’s rubbing circles into the back of Jeremy’s neck.

“I think we should say fuck it to being us-current us, the us from 5 minutes ago who were gonna dance around each other for the rest of our lives-and date.”

Jeremy thinks about how easy it was to get used to the solid weight of Trevor’s hand in his, how this doesn’t feel like something new, just like something that they should have been doing for awhile.

“I think you’re right.” he says, unable to keep the grin off his face. Trevor grins back and leans in again. When they separate a second time, Trevor pulls an odd expression.

“What?

“Which one counts as our first kiss? The one Travis saw in the street, or this one? It’s a really important question, you know. There are probably a whole two people who care about the answer.”

Jeremy shakes his head.

“I have no idea. None. It’s tonight, if you’re trying to keep track of the date. For anniversary purposes or something.”

Trevor shrugs, pretends to look nonchalant.

“Something like that. Maybe.”

Jeremy’s in love with the false casualness in Trevor’s tone, the way he looks so goddamn happy and it’s because of him. He is so, so fucked, but the good news is that Trevor’s fucked with him. He ducks out of Trevor’s hold, makes the hand on his neck the hand in his hand.

“Hey.”

Trevor still looks ridiculous. Jeremy still loves him.

“We never really ate, did we? We took off before salads even showed up. I don’t know about you, but trailing and catching people worked up my appetite. Not eating helped with that too. I could go for a bite.”

Trevor’s eyebrows raise, but he’s still quirked up in a grin.

“Like a date?”

“Like dinner. Because it’s been a long night and we’re both hungry. And like a date, because…”

Jeremy gestures vaguely to the small space between them and Trevor snorts.

“Alright. Dinner.”

“You want to just stop at Subway, don’t you?”

Trevor makes a vague noise of protest.

“Look, I stand by the fact that there is literally nothing more comforting than a good sandwich. And I don’t have time to keep everything that makes a good sandwich in stock at my place. Subway is a gift from god.”

Jeremy pats his shoulder.

“Didn’t say we couldn’t go there.”

Trevor gasps in mock shock.

“You mean you’re willing to give up your lukewarm gas station pizza for me?”

“Nah. I’m gonna grab some after Subway.”

Trevor rolls his eyes and pulls Jeremy toward him for one last kiss.

“You know, to say goodbye,” he says, squeezing Jeremy’s hand before he walks back to his own car.

“Yeah, because it’s gonna be so long before I see you.”

“Also making up for lost time.”

He remembers nimble fingers which slid across frets and pressed down gently on the keys of a piano, delicately, as if Trevor was afraid to wake someone.

He remembers an ache in his chest. He doesn’t remember if it was from the music or from the other set of fingers, the ones clenched around his heart. Squeezing, reminding, never letting go.

This is the part where Jeremy remembers early mornings.

 He remembers peaches and golds and soft sheets. He remembers the gentle thud of a heartbeat next to his ear, the feeling of a chest rising up and down to a rhythm he couldn't remember the tune to beneath his head. Tangled legs and light sighs.

He remembers the hand around his heart digging its nails in. Squeezing, reminding, never letting go.

This is the part where Jeremy remembers the sound of dirty canvas sneakers splashing into puddles. 

He remembers the glow of neon signs illuminating Trevor’s face, dowsing him in a riot of colour. He remembers the sound of laughter; long, high, almost breathless. As if Trevor couldn't get it out of his throat quick enough. He remembers tinny carnival music, the creak of the Ferris wheel, resting his head on Trevor’s shoulder and watching Los Santos glitter beneath them, in all its broken, tacky glory. The sound of waves crashing against the shore.

He remembers knuckles going white. Squeezing, reminding, never letting go.

This is the part where Jeremy remembers longing. 

He remembers hands in his hair and lips against his, the hitch of breath in his throat, the taste of pink lemonade and cigarettes and God, he didn’t want this to end, he -

He remembers the fingernails drawing blood. Squeezing, reminding, never letting go.

He remembers his heart screaming in pain.

Squeezing, reminding, never letting go.

He remembers eyes like chocolate. Wanting to melt.

Squeezing, reminding, never letting go.

He remembers his heart bleeding out.

Squeezing, reminding, never letting go.

He remembers --

He remembers a confession.

Squeezing.

He remembers exactly how long the silence lasted. Thirty-seven seconds.

Reminding.

He remembers the slam of a door. How it shook his house like thunder. The sound of his breathing, heavy, shuddering.