mitsubishievo | the silence is ringing [4/21]

In the aftermath of poor decisions, Kavinsky was trying to be better. He didn't really know what better looked like. At the moment, it looked like the studio and his house, his husband and the cats, and giving two of the people that meant the most in the world to him the space they deserved to deal with what he had done.

Peter was a nebulous concept to him at this point. He didn't know what to do about that whole situation, and so he wasn't thinking about it. But after the botched attempt at reaching out to Jack, he'd been giving everything the space and quiet that it needed.

He couldn't fix this by trying. All he had to give right now was his patience, and since he'd been in Darrow, that patience had become infinite.

So, he worked. He spent time with Newt in the last planning stages of their party to celebrate their marriage. He went to church on Sundays, but it felt raw and unreal.

And, today, he was meeting with Jack. Kavinsky didn't think he'd been this anxious about seeing him for months. But there it was: fingers jittering with his keys, knee bouncing sporadically as he waited for him. Part of him thought that maybe Jack would blow him off, decide he wasn't worth it. Kavinsky would understand. He felt, largely, the same way.

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"I didn't think it was going to be," Kavinsky said, because that seemed a tactful way of approaching it. He said nothing on forgiving or forgetting; those were two sides of the same coin, and even if he was forgiven, or if it was forgotten, those things weren't the same at all times for all people.

He was a creature of guilt.

He turned his wedding band and wished that his stomach would stop turning over. "Newt did too, so--so yeah."

"So we've got to figure out what we're going to be now," he says, turning his head to look at Kavinsky, studying his profile. "How we're going to be."

"Friends," Kavinsky said, half a question, as if that was a given. He'd been hopeless about Jack for months, absolutely stupid about it. Looking back on it, he blamed himself for all of this. If he'd just behaved, if he'd been good, then none of this would have happened.

He looked up at Jack, settled and easy. He shrugged. "Whenever you figure out what that looks like, I guess. You know?"

"You're my best friend," says Jack, ruffling one hand through his hair. "Other than Jillie and Poison. I don't want to lose that, K."

I didn't go anywhere, Kavinsky wanted to say, but that wasn't entirely true. And even if it were true, there was the nuance to it. He'd done something that had put a distance between them. He had to be the one to fix that.

"So, what do I do to fix this?" he asked, because it needed to be on Jack's terms. "More distance until things settle out? Only public hang-outs? Scheduled custodial visits--every other weekend and holidays?"

The last came out more bitterly than he meant. Kavinsky shifted from turning his ring to fidgeting with his necklace. He tapped his tongue ring against his teeth. "I don't want to have to be penciled into your life, man. I know we're doing cosmic reset and ignoring me being stupid into you, but I--I wanna be able to swing by. I want you to feel comfortable hanging out at the studio while Poison works. I...I want to be friends."

Jack snorts at that, a painfully little kernel of a laugh somewhere in his chest. He nods, scrubbing one hand back through his hair again, all of this nervous energy with nowhere to go.

"I want that too," he says, nodding again. "Don't want to pencil you in. That's..." He nods. "I know I'm the one who told you to fuck off, but I miss you, man."

"I deserved to be told to fuck off," Kavisnky said, an allowance that just felt very true and neutral.

Softly, he said, "Poison told me that that guy you work with made you feel sort of sleazy for the way you were handling this, but I don't think you have been. You had to protect yourself first."

"Not sleazy," he says, shaking his head. "Not exactly. Just...made me see it a different way. Like, if I'm willing to work it out with Poison and not with you then maybe I just...maybe it was just fucking with us, and I know I said I wasn't in love with you, K, I know that, but it was still more than fucking for me."

Kavinsky rubbed at the back of his neck, flush and miserable for a second, trying to not let the sudden burn in his eyes spill over. How stupid. He grabbed the threads of all those sudden, overwhelming things and dragged them back, tied them down before he could float away.

He wasn't fucked up enough for this. He should have gotten high before he came.

He breathed a laugh. "I don't know what to do here, man," he breathed. "Uh. Like, I don't know how I work this out--and I know, I know, I've gotta be the one putting that effort in right now, because I was the one that fucked it up, so just. Tell me what I do to make this...better, I guess. To make this manageable."

"Fuck it," says Jack, scrubbing both hands over his face. He lifts his head. "Do you have anywhere to be. Could we just...go and see a movie or something?"

Kavinsky fished out his phone, an automatic. Newt had told him to hang out with Jack and Peter, to still be friends, but that was different from it actually happening. That was different from being alone with either of them. So he just wanted to check in and make sure it was still okay.

"I mean, no plans," he said, sending off the text. "I don't even know what's showing."

"I don't even care," says Jack, pulling out his own phone to text Newt and check in. "I just want to do something with you that's easy. Something friends do. I want that back."

Kavinsky nodded and got up. He reached a hand for Jack. Jack wouldn't need help off the bench, but it was a comfort for touch; Kavinsky relished touch, now that he allowed himself, and there was no reason he couldn't help Jack to his feet and bump shoulders with him and be companionable.

He looked up if there was anything interesting showing in theaters. Like Jack said, it didn't matter, but it would help to pick one before they got to the theater.

"Newt and I are having our reception party in May," he said softly. "I told Dee and Poison, but like. I dunno if you wanna be there, but I'd like you there, if you wanna. So. Ball's in your court, man."

Jack takes Kavinsky's hand, ignoring the soft shiver that goes through him at the touch of skin on skin. He hesitates, for just a second, before he nods.

"Yeah," he says. "I'll be there." Whatever else is happening between them, he figures that he can do that, at least.

Kavinsky nodded. When Jack was on his feet, Kavinsky didn't let his touch linger too long. He tucked his hands into his pockets and started walking. He was pretty sure the ache was the worst because they'd just gotten back to fooling around, and now it was gone.

He pushed the thought away. No sense in dwelling.

"Looks like there's a bunch of things in the theaters," he said casually. "So we'll have our pick."

"Sounds good to me," says Jack, nodding, his hands in the pockets of his leather jacket. He honestly doesn't care what they see, just as long as they're doing it together, just as long as they can start to pull themselves back in the direction of being friends again. "I'll even let you pick."

the silence is ringing [4/21]

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