There's a shoebox under Peter's bed. It isn't big or fancy – it's just a box that once held the brand new shoes his mom bought him when he made it into the football team. Now, it no longer holds shoes, but a collection of random items, seemingly unrelated to each other.
There are some things that are simply there for nostalgia purposes. They don't hold great sentimental value, and he probably wouldn't mourn their loss for very long – but he likes looking at them, every once in a while. Likes knowing they're there, knowing he still has them - like the tickets to his senior prom, for example, or his acceptance letter to college. Like a copy of his parents' wedding photo that he decorated for a crafts class in middle-school, or the menu of a pizza place two blocks away from his childhood home, that he once vowed to his mom is and will always be the best pizza ever.
There are some things, however, that Peter would risk a lot to save. They're things he held onto for years because they mean something, things that hold memories that are greater than just that – things that form the turning-points of his life - like a copy of the settling-agreement from their first case against the theme-park management, or the first key they were handed to the Cave, before they duplicated it. There's a flyer from the first concert he ever went to, just him and Jared when he was fourteen, the show that made him swear to Jared that he'd learn to play the guitar one day. There's the ball they eventually caught from when they first met, still dirty with a few strands of grass of the lawn it landed on, and a picture of the two of them goofing around before the Infeld-Daniels sign at the entrance of the building, on their very first day of work.
On top of all those things, tucked away in the corner of the box and almost untouched, there are two tiny velvet jewelry bags. One of them holds a thin ring, made of gold – a small white gem sparkling in the middle of it, matching the delicateness of the piece.
That ring is the one thing in the box Peter ever thought about ridding of. When Janie handed it back to him, back straight and eyes cold, he thought about throwing it away. He thinks that same thing again, nearly every time he opens the box – because that ring doesn't belong there, along all the memories he's made and the pieces that make who he is.
The problem is that the story of that ring is part of who he is. It's changed him, left its marks on him – it shaped his life and guided him down a certain path, and for that, he thinks it fits in with the rest of the items. He always questions himself when he stumbles across the box, but at the end of the day, the ring stays there. It doesn't hurt anymore, not really - he doesn't mind to have it back now, the pain a mere itch compared to that night. He's just unsure if he wants to keep it, sometimes – if he wants to preserve a memory he's not proud of for many reasons.
And the last item in the box – the other bag – is something Peter avoids thinking of. He never touches it, never looks at it, never allows himself to linger on it for more than a second.
It's a ring, just like the other, and yet nothing like it at all. It's thick and made of silver, a big stone shaping it and initials curved into the surface. It's not an engagement ring but a class one, and that would be fine except it isn't his own, its initials of a private high-school he never went to, the letters J.F. on the inside not of his own name.
Peter refuses to think of that ring because if he does, it would force him to make the logical conclusion – force him to acknowledge that he has two rings inside the box, and while one of them used to belong to his ex-fiancée, the second belonged to his best friend.
Peter doesn't think of that second ring. The comparison it brings and the resolutions it would force aren't things he's willing or ready to be faced with.
The thing is, Jared knows everything there is to know about Peter. The thing is, he knows every small detail and is familiar with every story, has met everyone that has ever mattered in Peter's life and was there to every important moment. The thing is, he knows about that time Peter managed to crash three tables into the ground at his cousin's wedding, knows that he cried when his first goldfish died, knows he took ten ballet lessons to impress a girl he had a crush on in the seventh grade. He knows the tiny things, like what pizza-toppings Peter likes best and what songs he can't stand listening to, knows what kind of toothpaste he uses and what cereals he actually likes to eat, which aren't the same as the ones he buys in claims of becoming healthier. He knows about every hook-up Peter's had, knows the important details to most of them, has met every girlfriend ever and was there, unfailingly, when it fell apart. He knows the dark family secrets, like the affair his aunt had with his cousin from the other side of the family, and knows every single one of Peter's fears, especially the ones he hates talking about like the way he's terrified he's going to end up like his mom, drifting and lonely and unable to take care of himself.
The thing is, Peter doesn't know if he could lie to Jared even if he tried – not because he thinks Jared wouldn't judge him, because he most definitely would, or because Jared is so good with listening, because he mostly isn't. It's because Jared's a part of Peter, because lying to Jared is like lying to himself – only worse, because himself he can fool, but Jared knows him better than that, would throw things at him until he told him the truth because Jared always knows, even when Peter pretends he doesn't.
The thing is, this terrifies Peter – because one day, Jared is going to ask, and Peter would have to answer. One day, Jared would stop respectfully ignoring the way Peter never told him the whole story, would probably be a little drunk on beer and would make fun of him for yet another trial in a case against Janie and he'd ask, and Peter would have to answer.
The thing is, Jared knows everything there is to know about Peter except the reason Janie broke up with him – and Peter is terrified of the day he'll find out to his very core.
She was wearing her formal clothing, is what Peter remembers most. She was wearing her formal clothing and he hasn't seen her since two days prior, which wasn't out of the ordinary for them – something that should really have raised his concerns, but didn't, and that was exactly the problem. It was evening and he was working on some papers for their ongoing case because Jared's always been helpless when it came to paperwork, and no one told him she even came in the Cave because it wasn't unusual for her to just come over every once in a while.
But she was wearing her formal clothing when she walked in, pencil-skirt and button-down shirt and her bag on her shoulder, her face blank and emotionless and her lips pursed slightly, and she looked like she did when she went to court, and right then and then he knew it was over.
He stood up, the wheel-chair rolling backwards when he did, and he said, "Janie –" but she cut him off, one palm raised and her eyes closing momentarily as if it was too difficult for her to look at him and said, "Don't."
He swallowed. All he can remember from that moment is the beat of his heart, fast and loud, the clench of his fingers around the edge of the desk and the way her hand fisted around the strap of her bag tightly, her ring-finger bare, while her other hand reached into the bag and pulled out the same red box he gave her five weeks before then.
"I can't be someone's second choice, Peter," she said, quietly, as she set the box on the desk, on top of a pile of papers from previous cases that they never cleared away. She was avoiding his eyes, and he was desperate to catch them, desperate to see if she was looking for a way out or getting cold feet or actually believing that he –
"I didn't cheat on you!" he argued. It sounded weak, even to his own ears – even when he had no idea what she was talking about, because deep down, some part of him recognized what she was saying as truth. "I swear to whatever you want, Janie, I didn't even consider another girl since –"
She shook her head, once. It was enough to make him swallow his words, his throat starting to throb painfully as if his heart was trying to claw its way out. Later, much later, he realized that maybe it was doing its best to escape Peter's body and into Janie's hands, desperate to give her his entire heart because right then, at that moment, they both realized she wasn't really in full possession of it.
"It isn't about a girl," she said, and he had no idea what she was talking about, and yet at the same time, he knew exactly. "And I know you didn't cheat on me. I don't doubt your loyalty, Peter," she paused, then, huffing out a laugh that was much more bitter than it was amused and looked away. "I mean, if anything, your loyalty is kind of the problem."
He didn't know what to say, didn't have time to question her, didn't manage to force her to explain. Instead, she took a few steps back, her heel clacking on the floor, and her hair fell from behind her ear into her face as she scanned the room, the untidy desk and the racket in the corner and the leftovers from the Chinese they ordered earlier. Finally, she met his eyes. They were cold and she had a single tear in the corner of her eye, but she didn't let it fall. Instead, she said, "I never really fit in this, you know? I think it was always meant to happen. I'm sorry it took me so long to face it."
And then she was gone, leaving him with the rush of blood in his head and his parted mouth and without any words, just staring at the door for what felt like hours after she walked out.
When Jared came home, grin on his face and carrying a six-pack and declaring that Peter had definitely worked for too long, Peter was sitting on the armchair by the pool-table, staring unseeingly at some part of the wall.
Peter told him, right away, watched the grin disappear from his face and his forehead wrinkle, because this was Jared and Jared knew everything and Peter couldn't lie to him, not really.
Later, though, on the couch after too much vodka and a game playing in the background so the silence wouldn't be so loud, Jared looked like he wanted to ask. He stared at Peter's face, steadily, didn't even look away when Peter caught his gaze and held it. They just sat there, their bare feet pressed together in the middle of the small couch, and they looked at each other and Jared looked like he wanted to ask.
He didn't, and Peter was grateful. He didn't know what to say if he did.
Now, almost two years later, he still doesn't know.
There are moments, sometimes, when Peter gets unexpected flashbacks of Janie's words at unpredictable times. It's been so long and he still doesn't truly understand what she meant, doesn't know what she was really trying to say when she said someone's second choice. He's smart enough, knows enough, has seen enough squabbles between Jared and her to understand what she said must be about Jared, which is why he's so damned scared of Jared asking. But he doesn't really get it.
What did she mean, second choice? How can she be second after Jared, when they're not even competing for the same title?
And yet, despite this, there are moments. Moments like them sitting on the deck in Malibu, and Jared saying no, it should be me about who of them should die first, and Peter frowning and saying, I was talking about me and my wife, only to realize a few minutes too late that he wasn't really; moments like when he's watching Jared questioning a witness and calling Peter his partner, than realizing a beat too late that the raised eyebrow on the witness' face is because he forgot to add the law part; moments like when their friends or their co-workers or their clients or even strangers they only just met refer to them as if they're involved, whether they're joking or not, or when Rachel feels like she needs to put a wall between them so they'd work properly even though they all know it won't stop them, or when Peter feels like that one damned wall is the worst thing that has happened to him in a very long time, even though Jared is literally one door to the left.
It's those moments when he remembers Janie's words. It's unintentional and he would very much like it to stop, but it doesn't, it keeps happening and he still can't figure out why and it becomes clearer each time that he's being oblivious and stupid and missing something very simple, but he just can't.
He can't. All those moments add up perfectly, all have the same conclusion, but because he can't or maybe because he doesn't want to, Peter doesn't reach that conclusion, doesn't find the common factor.
He wishes, a little, that he could ask Janie, once and for all. But when she sees him she's either busy trading passive-aggressive words with Jared or trying to beat him in a case, or he's busy proving that he's over her and not really resisting too hard when Jared rolls his eyes and declares him liar.
(But maybe, maybe he's actually trying to figure out why it's too easy, why when he says he's over her entirely he feels like he actually means it – why it doesn't hurt to think about her, hasn't in a very long time, even though he knows it should.)
The idea of a proposal, one that he hadn't really considered before that, came up directly after and resulting from a case they won.
It wasn't an easy one, but it was a classic Franklin and Bash, and they had a good time doing it. A stripper named Bonnie demanded her job back from her employer – who fired her because of, as he put it, breaking the club's rules and beginning a romantic relationship with a client.
The case involved multiple visits to the strip-club and bringing in several witnesses whose fashion style didn't include much fabric, both of which they considered perks of the job, and was also won by a lap-dance held right in the middle of court, demonstrating that whatever contact Bonnie had with her to-be boyfriend while inside the club, it wasn't breaking the rules.
They cleared the room, after. The defense stared at them with disdain and annoyance and grudge, and the two of them simply grinned back, because this was who they were, probably who they'd always be – they were unorthodox and peculiar and they were more about the show than they were about pointing at laws, other than when they bent them to fit their needs – but they got the job done, because they cared, because for them, this wasn't about getting the paycheck but about making sure that the big foot of the justice system didn't crash the little man under it.
They were almost out the door when a man rushed towards them from where he was sitting on the last row, and Peter might have been a little intimidated if he didn't know better, because the man was a head and a half taller than him and had the shoulders of a weight-lifter – but he did know better, knew this was Lionel, and he was sweet and a little crazy and desperately in love with Bonnie.
He moved right passed them, not sparing them a single look. Jared grinned as Bonnie shrieked with joy and threw her arms around his neck, and Jared turned to Peter and shrugged one shoulder and his eyes looked brighter than usual, his smile lighting up his face when he said, "Love, what can you do?", making Peter grin as well.
"We're getting married," Bonnie announced to them a moment later, when the couple finally managed to separate for a moment, even though Lionel's buffed arm was still wrapped tightly around Bonnie's shoulder. "Like, in two months. We've been together for a year and I mean, why wait, right? If it's really true love than it isn't going to be any realer tomorrow."
Jared whooped and exclaimed, "Alright!", leaning up (and upper still) to high-five Lionel, congratulating the happy couple. Next to him, Peter widened his smile and offered his best wishes and hoped he looked sincere, because on the inside, what Bonnie said began to eat at him.
He and Janie had been together for more than a year, by that point, and was it normal that he hadn't even considered marriage, did it say anything about him and what did that mean for Janie and him?
And eventually – eventually, admitting to himself that he and Janie might not be true love after all was harder than convincing himself that he was being silly. And eventually, overthinking things turned out to be, once again, a mistake – and eventually, Peter made himself fear change so much, made him become so intimidated by shaking the base of what he then knew to be his life, that there was just no way back.
And eventually, two days after that, Peter was on his way to pick up Jared's favorite fast-food when he walked past a jewelry store, and the little voice in his head said if you don't go in now, it means you don't really want to marry her, and so he walked in.
Eventually, a week later, they were engaged and Jared's huge smile was somehow tinted when he told him and Peter pretended that this was exactly the way things were meant to be and pretended even harder than he wasn't pretending.
The final confrontation finds him at the diner late at night on the two years anniversary of their break-up, a date he only remembers because it was the last day of the month, and you don't really forget those things.
It's strange, sitting there without Jared. The stool next to him feels uncomfortably empty and the window seems too big and Patty, the woman behind the counter who's been working there since they were children, keeps sending him worried glances and probably wondering why he's alone. It's strange and it's making him feel unease and he half considers calling Jared, only for a moment, to ask him to join – but he doesn't, because he specifically told him that he wanted to be alone for the night and Jared nodded and clapped him on the shoulder and looked as if he understood completely.
He regrets that now, a little – but not enough to actually make the call, so Patty is still glancing at him and the window remains too big and the stool remains empty, until it's not empty, not anymore.
Janie doesn't say hello when she makes her way towards him, and he doesn't notice her approaching, too busy staring out the window and drowning in something that is getting dangerously close to self-pitying. Instead, she swings her bag on the table where Jared usually sits and climbs on the stool and brushes her hair away from her face so she could look at him and says, "You two aren't getting divorced, are you? Because deciding who's taking custody of Pindar's going to be difficult."
He stares at her for a moment, brows furrowing, before he asks, "What are you doing here?" and means it with all his heart, because she never liked the diner and always refused to join Jared and him when they went there, much to Jared's barely hidden contentment.
"I saw Jared walking around harassing random women after your trial ended," she answers, looking away from him and waving smilingly to Patty, who politely smiles back and throws her a menu over the counter. "He seemed kind of lost without you, to be honest. Not that I'm surprised. So I figured you wouldn't go home or to your office if you don't want to be with him, and this was the default option."
He shakes his head, crossing his arms on the table and leaning down to rest his head on them. "That's nice, but it doesn't answer why you're here, looking for me."
There's silence as she looks over the menu, pretending to think about it even though he knows she's a food snob and would end up ordering coffee and nothing else. He doesn't say anything because he doesn't really feel like talking, otherwise he'd be home with Jared, and she doesn't say anything for reasons he doesn't understand and can't be particularly bothered with. But then she does as he thought and orders coffee and turns around, eyes focused on something out the window, and says quietly, "It's been two years."
He nods, as best as he can with his head on his arms. "I know."
"I sort of figured," she continues, not paying him any mind and accepting gratefully the coffee Patty offers her. "By the way Jared was hitting on some court-reporter who was way out of his league, that you two still haven't figured things out. And that…" she takes a deep breath, letting it out slowly, "Pisses me off, to be honest."
He rolls his eyes, straightening up to give her a pointed look. "There's nothing to figure out, Janie."
"You think I threw away our relationship so you'd continue to live in denial for the next twenty years?" she asks, and she sounds more demanding and accusing than she does looking for an actual answer, so he doesn't give her one, just sighs deeply and hopes she doesn't think it's because he's confirming what she says. "Seriously, Peter. This is getting to be ridicules. You really haven't taken to what I said yet?"
At this, he throws his arms up and flails them hopelessly, staring at her with wide eyes and exclaiming, "Maybe I would have if I understood what you said!", ignoring the way Patty stares at them in surprise because this has been something he thought about way too many times in the past two years, and the way she throws it in his face is just a little too much, a shove just a little too strong, throwing him off the edge. "I mean, I thought about it countless times since you said it, whether it was willingly or not, and believe me, I tried everything to figure out what you meant, but it doesn't even make sense, okay? It's not like you were in any way in a competition with Jared, because you're not even in the same zone, it's not like there's a risk I'd be marrying him –"
"No, of course not," she cuts him off. She's not looking at him, and that reminds him of that night, and he's not sure what he thinks of that. "It's because you already have, long before I showed up."
He inhales with difficulty, shaking his head slightly and turning away from her. "That makes no sense. See, there you go again, saying things that only make sense in your head. I'm not married to Jared. The only reason I'm not married to you right now is because you broke it up, because of you."
It's a cheap shot and he knows it, is almost ready to apologize, but for some reason, she doesn't seem to mind.
"Peter," she begins, before she stops and pulls back her shoulders, straightening her back and breathing deeply. "Do you know what marriage is really about?"
"Love," he answers shortly. It's a dumb answer, but he doesn't feel like playing along with her too much.
She laughs breathily. He remembers that night, again, the way her laugh sounded almost like it does now – except then it was bitter and angry and biting, and now, she seems genuinely amused by him.
"Marriage isn't about love," she argues, and doesn't let him interrupt when he opens his mouth. "Relationships are about love. Dating, seriously and for a long term, is about finding someone you love. When it comes to marriage, love just isn't enough. Marriage isn't love, Peter, it's priorities. We love many people during our lives, but that doesn't mean we marry all of them, right?"
He shrugs, helplessly. She seems to be getting somewhere and she has that determined look on her face that she has when she's just about to reach her point in court, and he has nowhere to go anyway and years of unanswered questions to solve, so he doesn't argue, doesn't question, just says, "I guess."
"Marriage," she pauses, eyes flicking down to the untouched mug in her hands. "Is about finding the person that always comes first. You can love ten people, twenty, fifty – but one of them will always be the most important, and that person will be the one you marry. The thing that makes marriage different from dating is that it isn't about the actions, not about candle-lit dinners or writing someone a song," she looks up to him again, eyes almost judging, and he can't hold back a tiny smug smile that he immediately bites back. "It's about the thought, about who you put before everything else, everyone else."
Finally, for the first time in what seems forever, he feels like he know what she's talking about, and it's like he had a stone crashing his lungs for two years and now he can finally breath, finally sees clearly.
"You were always a priority," he counters nonetheless, mostly because he can, because he's not sure he wants to keep moving down the road she's leading them, isn't sure he can handle what's waiting at the end of it.
"But I was never the priority," she argues, and he doesn't have to think about it to know that if he denies, he'd be lying. "If you need a ride somewhere, if you're drunk in the middle of the night and need to call someone, if you have an extra ticket somewhere – it's not me you'd call. If you want to hang out with someone because you need some fun company after a bad day, or I need you somewhere but so does Jared, you'd make up some excuse I'm not even sure you're aware you're making to choose him. You loved me, I never said or thought you didn't – but the thing is… you just loved him more."
"But not in the same way," he tries. It sounds desperate even to his own ears, and probably pathetic to Janie's.
She rolls her eyes, sighing deeply and pushing the coffee away, leaving a bill on the table and climbing off the stool. "That's up to you. I can't make the big decisions for you, even though sometimes I wish I could so you'd stop being such an idiot. I'm done here. I just came over to make sure my message was loud and clear."
"It really wasn't," he informs her, shoulders sagging and avoiding looking at her as she shoulders her bag.
"Well, now it is," she states, beginning to walk away. She's almost out the diner when she calls over her shoulder, "Go home, Peter! Talk to him!", and he stares at her, glaring at her retreating back.
"You really should, honey," Patty adds her own thought, wiping a glass clean and looking at him helpfully, and he groans and buries his head in his arms and refuses to think of the way everyone has his life figured out except him.
He doesn't go home, not straight away.
It's not because he doesn't want to see Jared, because he does – it's because there's too much on his mind, too much to process, too much information that's been handed to him in the span of fifteen minutes after two years of not really knowing anything at all, and suddenly it all sinks it at once and he can't breathe, has to walk outside and inhale air and try to make the dizziness go away.
He doesn't want to go home for several reasons, like the way he's still terrified of telling Jared about the reason for the break-up and the inevitable fear of rejection and the terror that's cursing through his body at everything being so unpredictable. But those aren't what's stopping him – what's stopping him is that he doesn't find himself shocked at realizing he might actually be in love with Jared, and that's causing him to panic.
Because he couldn't have known, right? There's no way he knew, knew without knowing, no way he realized how he felt before his mind did, no way that the relief he feels at slowly coming to terms with it is because his heart already knew, way before he did. That's cliché and illogical and improbable, and it couldn't be, there's just no way.
And yet. And yet he feels like a weight's been lifted, and yet he's not shocked, not at all, and yet he's not even panicking about the love part but more about the way he's not panicking enough, which is puzzling and confusing and causing him a headache. And yet all he wants is to go home and riddle Jared with this or that questions, and yet everything on the street reminds him of Jared or something he's done with Jared or something he wants to tell Jared about, and yet the fact that he might have actually been in love with his best friend for at least the past decade feels like a well-known truth, like coming home to relax after a long day at work.
And yet he finds that his fear is no longer stronger than his need to tell Jared everything, and he wonders if maybe this is one of the things Jared knew about him before he knew it about himself.
Jared's sitting at the bar with a bottle of beer and his phone when Peter gets home. He turns around at the sound of the door, grin splitting his face as he greets, "Hey, buddy! How'd your mystery night been?"
Peter shrugs off his jacket and throws it on the floor as he walks towards Jared, begins loosening his tie and opening the top buttons in his shirt until he can feel like he can breathe again, properly. Jared's still smiling when he sits down next to him, accepting a beer of his own gratefully, toeing off his dress-shoes and getting out his socks and feeling like himself, like Peter who walks around with bare feet and makes up songs on his guitar and falls in love with his best friend without noticing.
"Seriously, how'd it been?" Jared asks again curiously, eyeing Peter's face and pocketing his phone. "'Cause my night's been awful boring, so I hope yours' been better."
"It was… fine," Peter answers, taking a swig from his beer and realizing quietly, inside his head, that he means what he's saying. "I sat at the diner, y'know. Nothing big. Just needed some quiet."
"Yeah, quiet," Jared repeats, and his mouth's quirked up and he doesn't seem like he believes him, not at all, but he doesn't look like he's in the mood for being an asshole so he doesn't even ask, just drinks his beer.
There's silence for a good few minutes. They drink, hunched over the bar and staring at nothing in particular, just enjoying the company, and Peter thinks that maybe he should tell him, maybe he should confess, because he knows now that what he feels won't change tomorrow or in a year or in ten, so he doesn't really know what he's waiting for and a time when Pindar and Carmen are gone and they don't have work to do and there's general peacefulness around them is rare to nonexistent.
But he doesn't. Doesn't say anything and doesn't confess, and he's fine with it because it's not because he's afraid but because he doesn't need to, doesn't need to fill the air between them with words that he knows are there anyway, the only difference that he can see them now.
So instead, he nudges Jared's shoulder and asks, "So you get to spend Christmas with the December girl from Harvey's calendar, but, Harvey's himself in the room watching. You go for it?"
And they spend the night like that, laughing and talking and side by side, and neither say anything of significance and Jared doesn't ask and Peter doesn't share, and that's okay, more than okay, because – because this who they are, and this is what was meant to be.
fin.
because i wanted to write a story about how it's not and never was about janie, in which the story itself actually is about janie.