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Jason awoke on a hard, unfamiliar surface, disorientated and uncomfortable. Looking around, he realised he wasn't in his room (their room) but in fact in the one his sister shared with Ivy. Of course, the stupid party. He probably shouldn't have just blown Peter off like that, but it wasn't like the rave and practically everyone had been there, and they can't come out to this school, nor to his parents. He knows that Peter wants to tell his own mother at least, but while he honestly hates seeing Peter upset, he knows he can't risk it. He's got his own future to consider. If they told Peter's mother, she'd tell his parents, who'd probably rush down to conference with Father. He'd be put aside for extra mass or extra confession, separated from Peter at all times, and probably surrounded by girls in a vain attempt to cure him. Hadn't he tried that himself, back when he'd first realised? They might even kick him out of the school altogether, and then it'll be total goodbye to Notre Dame or even Berkeley. Then again, his mother would probably just die on the spot of horror and shame and his dad would just beat the crap out of him. Or out of Peter, which would be so much worse, because then it'd all be Jason's fault, all because of Jason's sins, his weakness. Peter's blood on Jason's hands, like it might literally stain his father's. Peter might be hurt. God, Peter…
So they can't know, no matter how much happier Peter would be, however much Jason himself could really use a break from all the constant spinning of lies like a spider's web, engulfing them deeper and deeper. Sometimes, he has nightmares where he wakes up and all he knows are lies, and they are all he can say. Knowing it's all a dream doesn't help at all, because the lying is ever so slowly becoming almost a habit.
But he has Peter and that has to be enough, for now at least.
It is enough, isn't it? It should be.
And most of the time it is.
He could easily blame crashing over at Ivy's (and Nadia's, says that voice in his head that keeps up the golden boy façade; it's still her room even if she wasn't there for at least half the night) on being tired, or not wanting to get caught drunk by ay of the teachers, because then they'd call his parents, or give him the ultimate time-wasting lecture of all time, which Lucas would benefit from much more than him, and Peter would understand, even if he wouldn't be entirely happy. But there's nothing to blame kissing Ivy on, not even alcohol because Jason simply doesn't ever get that drunk. And Peter knows that, because he knows Jason entirely too well, sometimes.
Mostly, he just loves it.
He doesn't have time to go back to his own dorm room to get changed before rehearsal, so he only roughly combs through his hair using Nadia's brush and rushes downstairs, thankful that it's Saturday and no uniform applies. Everyone else is already there, and Sister Chantelle is discussing something with his sister, who seems to be protesting. Jason moves to slip next to Peter, who's standing somewhat to the side, just staring off into space and ignoring the world, but Ivy intercepts him.
"Will I see you later?" she asks, but all he can do is shrug, because Peter is there, and they haven't even talked so far today and at that moment he can't quite bring himself to care about Ivy.
"Yeah, I think so," he answers, knowing that they'll have to see each other at dinner and in the common year room anyway, no matter what he says, or wants.
"Try again," she says, and Jason sighs, because this isn't a video game and he can't just change the settings.
"Yes, you'll see me later," he promises, because they're sure to see each other, just not in the way that Ivy so obviously wants.
"Okay, I won't ask you when," she says, and there's a hint of mild distaste mixed with resignment in her tone, like she's become so used to boys falling all over her that she doesn't know what to do with one that she wants who doesn't want her. "But I'm free tonight, so you know…" she trails off, suggestively. But Jason hadn't even wanted to know, because privately he's hoping that he himself won't be free, like Peter wouldn't, and they could spend tonight together. But before he can answer, say anything at all in an attempt to let her down gently, she slinks away, and Jason slips instead into his rightful place at Peter' side, and mutters a low "Hey."
Peter turns towards him, and there's a painful hybrid of messed-up emotions painted across his face, and Jason thinks he could spend forever learning how to decipher every single shadow and every single gleam, every line and expression painted on Peter's face.
And that thought fucking terrifies him.
Because he shouldn't want that much, care that much, not for another boy, not when it's such a terrible sin to be having those thoughts, those feelings at all.
"Where were you last night? I waited up." Peter whispered, and Jason had to try so hard to repress the feelings of guilt that kept resurfacing.
"I crashed at Ivy's," is all he says.
"Oh, really?" Peter replies, and Jason almost tells him that nothing happened, but remembers that stupid, unimportant kiss and knows that even that statement would be somewhat a lie, so he doesn't, because he could never stand lying to Peter.
But he wants to tell him that, even as he's scared of doing so at the same time. Peter's facial expression is a mixture of apprehension and want, envy and joy, hurt and something that's almost puzzlement, like he'd been promised something that they've now decided to withhold, and he can't quite figure out why; and all Jason can think is that, for all of Ivy's artistic talent, she could spend several lifetimes drawing Peter and never be able to capture the emotions of that moment. God, he doubts that even any of the great artists Sister Claudia valiantly tried to teach them about could, not when Peter looks like that. He opens his mouth to say something, not even knowing what it'll turn out to be, but he doesn't manage to, because at that moment Sister Chantelle's voice interrupts the quiet chatter throughout the room and the moment is gone, and Jason doesn't even know what he would've said, nor what he should've.
"Alright people, lets get this show started. Peter, honey, you've been looking at me all day," she sighed theatrically. "I hate to break it to you: I'm off the market." They all laugh at that, even Jason, although inside he's thinking how much easier, how much more normal it would be if Peter did indeed like Sister Chantelle in that way, if Jason's own breath didn't catch every time he so much as looked at the other boy. Sure, the others would have laughed and ridiculed, but it wouldn't be the righteous disdain and utter disgust they'd get if they came out.
"Places for the fight scene!" Sister Chantelle calls, and they move slowly into positions, early Saturday morning drowsiness spread around like a suffocating blanket, and Jason is next to Peter again, and can already feel the heat in the air between them, like frizzed electricity. That's what it always feels like in public, a jolt of surprise and careful looks around to check whether anyone had noticed, mixed in with the pure ecstasy of simply touching Peter.
"Romeo, the love I bear the can afford no better term than this: thou art a villain." Matt says, and surely he has no idea of how true that is, because he would mean it only in terms of Ivy's interest in him, not in him being an abomination in God's eyes.
But he's calm when he answers, repeating lines practiced with Peter in their room, breathlessly in-between kisses.
"Tybalt, the reason that I have to love thee doth much excuse the appertaining rage to such a greeting. Villain, am I none. Therefore farewell, I see thou knowest me not." Peter is right, he thinks. The play really does seem more like a romance between Tybalt and Romeo, than between Juliet and the latter. Then again, it's not like Shakespeare could've written a gay romance, even one ending it tragedy, especially not in Elizabethan times.
"Oh calm, dishonourable, vile submission." Peter says, and isn't this about their relationship, really? So vile to the rest of the world, such submission to the Devil, a dishonour to God, thought that was so far from what they really wanted. Oh, but there was nothing calm about it at all…
He steps towards Peter, laying one hand on is his upper arm, and hoping that he'll understand what Jason cannot show, that this is more than the play, this is them, in some way. Best friends, defending each other. Poetic, Peter's mother had called it. He wonders whether there were any lines that implied any attraction between Romeo and Mercutio and makes a mental note to ask Peter about it. He'd always been better at subtler interpretations.
"Gentle Mercutio, put thy rapier up" he says, as Peter lunges forward towards Matt, who pretends to hit him with the fake sword. Peter falls back, clutching at his side, and although Jason knows that it'll all just an act, he can't quite restrain the flash of worry and pain that momentarily flashes across his face. He doesn't realise that Nadia's observing him carefully, nor that she had in fact noticed, because for a minute all he can see is Peter falling, Peter dying, and imagines never being able to see Peter again. And he knows in that moment that he would do anything, be anything, come out to the whole world, no matter the consequences, to have Peter alive and well. And with him, because frankly, he's miserable without Peter there. Summer break had stopped being fun a couple of years ago, coinciding perfectly with their first meeting. Even before this thing, their secret relationship started, Peter was changing his life.
"Courage, the man, the hurt can't be too much." He says, as his sister protests against something Sister Chantelle is saying in the far corner. It's almost a nod to their secret, because it's Peter who the lying hurts more.
"Why the devil came you between us? I was slain under your arm," Peter answers, word perfect, but Jason knows that it's not just an act, that Peter wouldn't have to lie, something he hated doing, if it wasn't for Jason. And sometimes he thinks he should end it, put Peter out of his misery; but all it takes is seeing Peter again, or even just hearing his voice, and he knows that he can't, because it would tear him apart. But all the same, he can't quite help but feel a little guilty, even though he knows that those are not Peter's words, they're a dying and bitter Mercutio's, put into their mouths by a long dead man who may not even have been who called himself, at least according to their conspiracy-loving English teacher, a squat priest called Benedict.
"I thought for all the best," Jason answers, and there's a plea, an excuse and something that sounds almost like a broken promise in his tone, it feels like he's defending himself, and it suddenly occurs to him that in some way he is. In some way, this would have been part of his defense about kissing Ivy.
But he's supposed to be acting, so he lunges towards Matt and they parry for a minute. But Jason is momentarily distracted by a movement just to the edge of his eyesight, and looks over to see Peter there, watching him. He shoots him a quick smile, and is too preoccupied to notice Matt's fake sword hitting his own, only seeing it go flying off to the side when it's far too late. He expects Matt to stop, Sister Chantelle to yell at him to be more careful and make them re-run the whole scene, but the nun is at the other side of the room, ensuring that Ivy and Nadia remain civil while running their next scene, and Matt makes for him again, fists raised, and it suddenly hits Jason that this too is more than just acting.
"FAGGOT!" He yells, and the world seems to freeze around him. Jason barely feels Matt's fist collide with his jaw, although he is half-aware that he reels back, mouth stinging, to find Peter suddenly at his side. But for once his lover's presence is no comfort, because his all he can hear is an endless litany of "they found out, they found out, oh god, what will I do?" running on endless playback inside his mind. He leaps forward after Matt, because maybe if he acts well enough, nobody will believe the other boy.
"What the fuck did you call me?" he shouts, and thinks that perhaps the others were right about him being a good actor, because his voice sounds almost affronted, not betraying any of the fear he's really feeling. It should run in the family, after all Nadia's one hell of a mimic and his mum was the lead in three consecutive plays at Notre Dame.
"You heard me!" Matt yells back, and struggles vainly in an attempt to push Jason away, but being on the football team really has its advantages and he punches Matt again, feeling the hard skin under his fist and the way there's an all too audible crunch, that seems to almost echo around the room. He'd probably broken Matt's nose. Well, it'd serve the bastard right. Matt tries to retaliate, but Sister Chantelle takes that moment to shove them apart, with more strength than he would've supposed a school nun like her would have, indignation evident on her face.
"Hey you two! Where do you think you are? Public school? Matt, follow me. Everyone else out." The others move slowly, eager to stick around and see at least part of the aftermath, but Sister Chantelle shoos them away, and eventually they all stream out, whispering amongst each other in voices that aren't quiet enough, and Jason's heard his name mentioned too many times.
He's left there with only Peter by his side, but it's not in the pleasant way he's so gotten used to. Instead there's an underlining of tension there, of worry, stress that's not supposed to show, because anyone could come back at any minute.
"What was that all about?" Peter asks, and his voice is soft, like he doesn't quite trust himself to speak.
"I don't know." He answers, because he sincerely doesn't have a clue how Matt could've found out. It was probably something ridiculous, a simple misunderstanding, like Matt thinking that just because Ivy was his type, and well, a hell of a lot of people's type, she had to be his as well, when even if he was straight, it might not have been the case at all. That's probably the most likely explanation because after all, he'd been so careful, and he didn't think Peter would've told anyone without telling him first, or at the very least straight afterwards, so he'd at least know.
Then again, reminded a cruel voice in his head, he hadn't exactly told Peter about the kiss with Ivy, had he? Even though it had been just a kiss, he knew Peter would want to know, should know. But even if he hadn't had the right to, Jason knows he would've felt the need to tell him anyway. Peter was the one person he'd always found it so difficult to hold secrets back from. That was how their entire relationship had started, after all.
Peter himself seems to be working up the courage to say something, so Jason only waits for it, but the words, when they do come, make him feel almost like he'd just been doused with a bucket of cold barely-melted water, nearly as much of a shock as Matt's outburst a few minutes earlier.
"Jason, I… Last night, I didn't mean to, I swear I didn't mean to, but… Jason, I told him about us. Just him, and that's all he knows, but Jase, I swear to God it wasn't intentional." Jason just looks at him, and despite everything he's still spellbound, because Peter's eyes are shining with unshed tears, and he can see a blurry reflection of himself in them; and in that moment, all he wants to do is just take Peter in his arms and tell him that it'll be alright, that they'll get through this, because as long as they're together nothing else matters as much as it probably should.
But his jaw still stings with the imprint of Matt' fist, and he thinks that come morning, it'll probably have bruised. Matt would probably look even worse, and feel much worse, because for all of the time he's spent trailing after Ivy, she's still far more likely to take Jason's side over his. And he realizes that although he himself has fighting expertise, not to mention immense athletic abilities, Peter has none of that. He'd be practically helpless against Jason's intolerant, dim-witted teammates, and it could only get worse. And so Jason knows what he must do to save him, however much it would hurt Peter, and himself doubly so because it hurt him doubly when Peter hurt.
So he says, voice as flat and emotionless as he can make it, because Peter's always been able to influence him too much, and he has to pretend not to care, "Look, this, us, whatever, it has to stop, okay," even though it's not okay, because he can still remember that long, bleak, desolate-seeming time, when he only had Peter as a friend and wanted more. The prospect of re-living that nearly kills him. The image of Peter beaten up and bloody is even worse.
Peter protests, but he ignores it, because if he lets himself listen he'll back down, and he's doing this all for Peter's wellbeing, even if he can't do it for his happiness. Instead, he only brushes his right hand through his hair and turns away.
"Jason, you're all I have, don't you get that?" Peter shouts after him, and the grief and heartbreak are so evident in his voice that it's all Jason can do not to turn around. But he reminds himself firmly that he's doing this all for Peter, and bites his lower lip harshly to keep the sobs at bay. He can't break down, even as he feels his heart literally fracture into a million tiny segments, even as he walks away from the boy who he's pretty sure is the one, the love of his goddamn life, no matter how wrong it might be. So he walks away mindlessly, leaving Peter behind in the empty practice room, fully aware that he's making the biggest mistake of his whole fucking life; because no matter how necessary he might deem it, he's already regretting his own decision.