Wes's hands grip the steering wheel tightly, and he doesn't look at Jackson. His face grows paler as they continue to drive. Jackson doesn't know what to say.
But that's not really his fault. Jackson's never met the parents before, let alone when the parents are really just the mother because the father was an asshole who kicked his only son out because he was gay and the mother now has Alzheimer's and cannot remember her son.
And Jackson thought his family life was less than ideal...
Just thinking about what Wes must have gone through makes Jackson feel a rush of gratitude towards his parents, who embrace him for who he is totally and completely (although Elena would have something to say about his lack of help in doing the dishes). He even feels grateful that his parents were able to divorce as smoothly as possible, and that Jackson has a great relationship with both of them.
Wes didn't really want Jackson to come along and see his mother, but Jackson insisted. Clearly Wes struggled to see her, to say her name and be looked on as a stranger. Jackson isn't sure how Wes and his mother reunited later in his life, and how Wes managed to forgive her. He knows in time Wes will be able to talk about it, that sometimes it's difficult to share a deep pain with another person, especially a person you love, if you can't even acknowledge it yourself.
While Jackson definitely wants to be a shoulder for Wes to lean on, he's partly tagging along for his own admittedly selfish reason; he wants to spend as much time with Wes before leaving for Winter Break.
The last few weeks have been incredible, and Jackson doesn't want them to end. He's spent so much time with Wes and he's now great friends with Hunter again and his team got to the quarterfinals and lost in a close but well played game. It's been almost too good to be true.
While he's always excited to return home, where his family and friends live and where the weather is always sunny, Jackson doesn't want to part from Wes for those long three weeks.
"We're here," Wes says, so quiet that Jackson isn't sure he heard correctly. They pull into what looks like a gated community. A security guard nods at Wes like he knows him, and they pass through to a well groomed parking lot lined with rose bushes and tall trees. Wes must be paying a fortune to have his mom cared for here, and it warms Jackson's heart to think that Wes never even mentions it.
They walk up a sidewalk and into a lobby, where Wes nods to the receptionist, who smiles not unsympathetically, but with a mystical calmness that suggests everything will be alright even when it's not.
She says to Wes as they pass by, "She's in the courtyard."
The entire care facility is one floor for easier access and transportation. One end of the building houses those who are still mostly physically and mentally able. The other end houses those with extreme dementia and other handicaps that demand around the clock care. Both ends act as housing facilities as well as hospitals if needed.
In the middle connecting both sides is a beautiful courtyard with flowers and trees lining the perimeters and a bubbling fountain in the center. A few benches scatter the flattened grass along gentle pathways, and Wes leads Jackson to one situated in front of the fountain, where an elderly woman with thick grey hair pulled back in a ponytail sits with a vague smile, an embroidered white blanket pulled up over her waist.
Wes sits down next to her, and Jackson stands beside him, unsure what to do.
"Hey mom," Wes says softly, taking his mother's hand. She turns to him slowly, and her eyes linger on his face. Her expression does not change. Jackson didn't realize how far along she would be.
Wes takes out a velvet blue box. "I brought you something for Christmas." He opens it. Inside is a necklace with a simple sapphire pendant. She looks down at the necklace, and Jackson swears she takes a quick breath. Her finger tenderly brushes the jewel. A nurse comes by to check on them and helps Wes put the necklace on.
When the nurse leaves with that same serene smile, Wes motions for Jackson to sit down on the other side with his mom.
"Mom, this is Jackson, my boyfriend," Wes says firmly. Too firmly. Jackson has the sudden urge to hold Wes's hand. "I love him. And I know you will too." She turns to Jackson slowly, not acknowledging him with her eyes, but reaching out and taking his hand steadily. Somehow, Jackson can feel her heart say what she can't anymore.
They sit there, both holding one of her hands, the fountain bubbling behind them, a gentle breeze lifting the leaves of the trees eastward, and Jackson feels the fragility of life in his hands, not like the heavy weight of gravity that hunches a man's back, but rather the lightness of a feather as it's tossed about in the wind, lost from sight at the moment you find it.
He feels her pulse like the words in a song. Wes kisses her hand. They wait until a nurse comes for her meal, and rolls her away on a wheelchair.
Jackson takes Wes's hand.
☆★☆
Jackson leaves tomorrow. He's dreading the packing, dreading the flight, dreading the distance. This is the first time he's ever not wanted to go on break, and Jackson wonders if he's gone insane.
He looks at Wes, who has spread himself out across Jackson's bed naturally like it's his own. If he's gone insane, Jackson doesn't mind at all.
"I think you should go first," Wes drawls, meaning he's up to no good. And he definitely must be, if they are about to exchange gifts and Wes does not have a single present with him. In his defense, neither does Jackson.
"Okay fine, but just lower your expectations now so I blow your mind," Jackson says, then he stands up and starts towards the door, his hands shaking in a fit of nerves.
"Where are you going?" Wes asks.
"Just don't ask questions and follow me," Jackson says impatiently. He can barely breathe at this point. Wes raises an eyebrow but doesn't protest, getting off the bed smoothly and following Jackson. They walk outside of the apartment, and Jackson hears Wes make a sound but does what Jackson told him to and doesn't ask questions.
They walk down the block, and around a corner. Jackson stops and turns.
"Merry Christmas," Jackson says, and gestures to a black motorcycle parked at the curb. Wes's face morphs from an amused confusion to frozen shock and finally settling somewhere between unbidden excitement and absolute denial.
"You bought this?" Wes asks, his voice carefully level. Jackson nods his head, and pulls out a key. He tosses it to Wes who catches it midair. "How?"
He walks over slowly, and with a hesitant hand runs his palm along the black leather seat, the sleek engine, and drinks in every inch of the compact vehicle.
"It was one of the cheapest ones I could find that's still good quality. It's called a Yamaha Star something something I forget and two-fifty," Jackson says, trying to act casual while desperately assessing every twitch on Wes's face to see how much he likes it. In fact, he actually does know the name of the bike by heart but didn't want to sound like he had researched weeks ahead of time with careful calculation of his funds and possibly a bit of help from both his parents.
"I can't believe it," Wes says, stroking the seat again, then moving to the handle bars, and noticing two twin black helmets. "This is...I don't know what to say." He stares at Jackson like he has offered him something he could never possibly have and yet there it is.
"Just say you like it."
"Like it?" Wes shakes his head, smiling without restraint for the first time and it's dazzling and Jackson's heart pounds joyously like he won the lottery. "I'm in love with it. But I'm in shock. How did you manage this?"
Jackson shrugs. "I've saved up a lot."
"I must pay you back," Wes says passionately. He strides over to Jackson and kisses him before drawing his eyes back to the motorcycle. "I don't deserve this."
"Don't you dare pay me back." Jackson would be mortified if he did, especially after all that effort making sure he could afford it. "It's done and it's a gift. Take it."
"You are just crazy," Wes whispers, folding the key over in his hand. "Crazy."
"Now your gift," Jackson says, even though he would gladly listen to Wes call him crazy and look at him like that, like Jackson has just handed him the moon and then walked away.
"My gift?" Wes repeats, still dazed. Then a smirk suddenly forms on his face, and he gives Jackson a sidelong look. "I guess we take this." He walks over to the bike and swings a leg over the side. Wes takes the helmets, putting one on and handing Jackson the other.
"What? Where is it?" Jackson asks. He can barely process what Wes said now that he's leaning over the bike and looking like a debauched artist straight out of Italy.
"Get on and I'll show you," Wes says with a grin when he revs up the engine.
Jackson stares for a moment longer, drinking up the sight of Wes's arms flexing as he grips the wheel, his blue eyes flashing at Jackson, and the shiny motorcycle pressed between his strong legs, and decides every penny was worth it, just for this.
Then he does what Wes told him to and grabs the helmet and gets on the bike behind Wes, wrapping his arms around Wes's waist and pressing his cheek against his back, whose muscles ripple and shift as he adjusts the gear.
Without warning, Wes drives off and the apartment whips past them. Jackson hugs Wes tighter, feeling the wind fly into his face, the opposing traffic rushes behind them along with the road beneath them and the trees around them. Even the sky turns faster above the earth, bending under Wes's command.
The motorcycle slows down as they exit the highway and drive down a long, winding road, with fewer cars passing by and what feels like a forest encompassing them all around. A few minutes later and Wes pulls into a driveway that snakes up a densely wooded hill, and parks in front of a quant house with white wood paneling and a broad porch. Jackson doesn't understand.
After they park the bike and get off, Wes silently walks towards the house. He pulls out a key and opens the front door.
"Coming?" Wes asks when Jackson doesn't make any move to follow. "Don't worry, we're not breaking in." He looks amused but also apprehensive. Jackson doesn't know what to make of it.
"Whose house is this?" Jackson asks after walking inside. Inside feels much larger than the outside suggests, and across a wide living space are a pair of sliding glass doors that display a patio and green hills dotted with dark trees behind it.
"It's mine," Wes says. "And yours. I bought it for us."
"You bought a...house?" Jackson looks at Wes, who shrugs and nods despite the anxious flicker of his eyes towards Jackson's face to see his reaction.
"A place we could go to and relax. Together." Wes hands Jackson a spare key, and he grips onto it until the cold edges dig into his skin. When Jackson doesn't speak, Wes continues, "To be fair, I had already planned to buy a house outside of Portland. It just never felt like...the right time." Until now.
"You're crazy," Jackson says, echoing what Wes had said just an hour before. "I thought I was crazy, but you're even more crazy." He walks up to Wes, resting his hands on Wes's chest as if to make sure he's solid, to make sure he's not dreaming this all up.
"I'm in love with you, so I must be absolutely insane," Wes jokes, but his voice goes soft and he looks at Jackson with a graveness that feels like a steady ground beneath his feet while still soaring into the air.
It feels like coming home, somehow, and Jackson just knows. He just knows, though he could never explain it if someone asked what exactly he knows. The knowledge isn't a thought or a reason but an emotion, an intuition, knowledge from intimacy, and he doesn't know how he ever doubted this before, how he ever doubted himself before.
When you know, the feeling roots into the soul, and grows around the heart. Love is not just caring, or giving, or receiving. Jackson kisses Wes and love is in his breath, in his lungs, keeping him alive. How could something you never had before be the only thing that's keeping you alive?
"I think we should break this place in," Jackson says in Wes's ear, smiling slyly. Wes smirks, and grabs Jackson's hand, leading him to the bedroom, not bothering to turn the lights on and closing the door behind them.
And right above the bed is the painting Wes did of Jackson, all those weeks ago. Blue on dark blue on even darker blue, the shades of their love hugging the curve of his hip, bruising his mouth, honing every feature with pure sensuality. Jackson never noticed it before, but he looks madly in love. It reminds him of a song he used to never understand until now.
I don't want to wonder if this is a blunder.
"Lay down." Jackson points to the bed, and Wes obeys, gracefully leaning back with his head amongst the pillows.
I don't want to worry whether we're going to stay together till we die.
Jackson climbs onto the bed, straddling his waist. He leans down and inches his fingers underneath Wes's shirt, then pulls it off. Wes's hair splays out and Jackson tangles his fingers in the dark strands.
I want to love you madly.
Jackson leans down and kisses the hollow above Wes's collarbone. The music and their breaths fill the silence. Wes grabs Jackson by the waist and Jackson shifts his hips down, gasping into another kiss.
I want to love you now.
They quickly undress, their hands grasping at skin, holding onto limbs in motion, their lips give way under tongue, and Jackson just wants Wes everywhere at once, pinning him down, undoing him with his mouth, with his body bending and twisting around him.
I don't want to think about it, I don't want to talk about.
Jackson wants him now. He wants him in a way he never has before and yet always has, a sweet, burning insistence that cries out in every pulse of blood that rushes through him. He wants Wes in his mouth, he wants him tensing under his hands, he wants him to resist, to resist, to resist, and then yield like a pearl revealing itself after prying open its shell.
When I kiss your lips I want to sink down to the bottom of the sea.
His lungs are aflame like he's drowning. Wes flips them over and Jackson clenches the sheets in his fists, thinks he might tear them apart, his eyes shutting and then flying open when his legs tremble.
I don't want to hold back, I don't want to slip down.
Jackson feels the world slipping, the ceiling rushing at him, Wes's voice heard underwater, his mouth falls open, he stretches, he resists, he resists, he resists, and then Wes says his name and he yields like snow melting, like a flame doused in water, like an exhale hot against a pillow.
I want to love you, love you, love you madly.
Wes holds Jackson in his arms, his chest rising and falling right alongside Jackson's. A chill settles on his skin as the heat in his body recedes. For a moment he imagines that Wes's arms around his waist are really a part of him, that they could never separate, and where Jackson's body presses against the soft and sharp tenderness of Wes's body they will forever stay connected.
Jackson listens to Wes breathing, to the sharp inhale, the soft exhale. He listens and knows the beat of his heart, the heat of his skin, the tenderness of his lips as they lose themselves to a wholeness, a unity, a song that winds itself around Jackson's hips, up his chest, and under the nape of his neck. He knows this song and this touch and this body, and so he knows life underneath the tangled speech, within the hazy crowds of people, beyond the broken horizon.
Jackson knows love.
Fin