#swarson

Jeff threw himself onto Kent’s sofa, propping his feet up on the coffee table. “I ordered Chinese!” he called, assuming his voice would carry up the stairs. “And we’re watching 2 Fast 2 Furious!”

“No, dude! We talked about this! I don’t want to watch that shit!” Kent came down his stairs, rubbing at his damp hair with a towel. He was wearing that Samwell Hockey shirt that Jeff half wished he didn’t have and half wished he wore constantly because of how tight it was. “Pick something else, man. Anything.”

“Anything?” Jeff grinned.

“No,” said Kent, throwing his towel at Jeff’s face. “You know what I mean.” He ducked into the kitchen.

“So you want to watch The Great Mouse Detective again, eh?”

“I like The Great Mouse Detective,” Kent said, throwing himself down on the sofa next to Jeff. He leaned his head back against the cushions, closing his eyes and settling a cold can of sparkling water on them. They’d had a particularly tiring practice that day, and Kent always worked too hard as it was. “What did you order?”

“I picked stuff at random,” Jeff said, draping Kent’s towel back over his blond head.

Kent cracked an eye. “You did not.”

“Yeah, who knows what you’re gonna get? It could be anything!” Jeff stretched his arms up over his head. “Maybe I got you egg foo yung. Or those cream cheese crab things. You like those, right?”

Kent turned his head to look at Jeff.

“Fine,” Jeff said, letting his arm rest across the back of the sofa. “I got General Tso’s chicken. And some fried rice. And lo mein.”

“Was that so hard?” Kent asked.

“I’m turning on 2 Fast 2 Furious,” Jeff said.

“Don’t,” Kent said, and it was a bit of a whine.

They were halfway through The Great Mouse Detective when Kent’s weight sagged against Jeff’s side. His head was propped on Jeff’s shoulder and when Jeff turned to look at him, he sighed. Fast asleep, like usual. Kent’s eyelashes were dark gold against his skin. Jeff looked back at the TV.

Kent always fell asleep watching movies. He never intended to, but Jeff knew how this worked. There was a reason he had a spare toothbrush in Kent’s guest bathroom cabinet and a drawer in the guest room. Spending the night at Kent’s place just kind of seemed to… happen. It wasn’t unusual at all for him to stay over and wake up in the morning to go running with Kent before practice.

Shifting, he redistributed Kent’s weight a little, settling him against his side in a less neck-pain-inducing way. Dragging a blanket off the back of the sofa, he smoothed it over both their laps before switching the television over to American Pickers.

He was such an idiot.

There was a time when Jeff thought he was pining after straight golden-boy Parson, a time when he thought that he’d be lucky if he could just manage to actually be friends with him for real. That was before he’d realized that Kent was gay, and way before he’d watched Kent fall in love with someone else. It was hard not to wonder what could’ve happened if Jeff had just found the courage to say something. It was harder to watch the warm smiles Kent gave his phone when texting.

It was hardest when he was curled up on Kent’s sofa with the warm weight of him pressed against his side. It was only a ghost, Jeff imagined, of what actually being Kent’s boyfriend would feel like, of what an actual life with him would be.

It hurt.