He hesitates in front of the building, gloved hand hovering uncertainly over the handle, and wonders if Peter will even recognize him now.
It's been five years, and Jason is well aware that he's changed. He'd made that choice, specifically – to throw it all away, to run, as though his life depended on it. To cut all his ties. Every single one, except for Nadia, whom he occasionally called from the payphone outside of the bar he worked at, just to make absolutely sure she wouldn't trace him.
In hindsight, it had been a reckless move. But he hadn't known what else to do.
Ivy's baby was healthy as could be, according to Nadia. Everyone was still in contact, everyone was happy. It was Jason who had imagined some disaster after graduation.
He could still probably go back, get his diploma, return to his life – but he was a different person now. He had piercings, he had stories… he had freedom.
He couldn't go back to who he'd been.
But he could go back to Peter.
Peter had deserved better than him, and he'd known it. That was probably the biggest reason he'd had for leaving – shame. He'd had his life all planned out for him and he'd still fucked it all up; he'd had a boyfriend who loved him, wanted him, despite all the odds, and a group of good friends, and a sister he could confide in, and potentially a family – a family with Peter.
He'd thrown it all away. He'd been careless. Selfish.
He could have just been honest, bu
He hadn't forgiven himself yet. He couldn't stop thinking of Peter.
It had taken him this long to break down and finally ask Nadia, who told him (in an incredibly smug, knowing tone of voice) where Peter worked, the building of the agency he might find him at on a Friday evening.
The air is bitterly cold in New York. He thinks it's ironic that both of them had ended up here, just across a city from one another, so far from home – and Peter had gotten exactly what he'd wanted, sans Jason. It's ironic
Jason – stupid, straight-A, perfectionist Jason – had gone off on a year-long drug binge and never bothered to call to inform his friends, much less his parents, that he was still alive and kicking; Peter – sweet, confused, eternally guilty Peter – had gotten a scholarship to NYU, of all places, and ended up on fucking Broadway.
Talk about role reversal.
Jason glances up again nervously through his fringe, flicking it out of his eyes. Maybe that had been just what they'd needed? An end to the endless reprisal.
He didn't want to be that boy.
He was certain that Peter wouldn't go back if he could, either.
As he takes the first deliberate step inside, he wonders suddenly again if Peter will recognize him. He looks like a punk, not a valedictorian. But Peter had known him beyond his uniform, his costume, his mask… He'd known him on lazy Saturday afternoons, half-clothed or unclothed in their dorm, trading languid kisses and laughing into each other's mouths like they had all the goddamn time in the world.
They could have, if only he hadn't been such a little fucking –
The feeling comes up on him again like bile and he swallows against it, lips twisting into a grimace.
Don't think about that. Smile for Peter.
But before he can school his expression, a familiar face comes leisurely striding around the corner, a disposable cup of coffee attached to his lips.
Jason freezes, and thanks God silently when Peter catches sight of him and slows, eyebrows drawing slowly together as he makes the connection.
He breaks their awkward stare to lunge for the foam cup that had fallen from his slack fingers, but he's not quite quick enough and an aromatic, tawny puddle spreads around Peter's sneakers. He doesn't even seem to notice. He's too busy staring in mild outrage at, Jason assumes, his scruffy appearance.
He puts on a brittle, nervous smile. "You look like you've seen a ghost, Pete."
"You – You," Peter starts, strangled and looking torn between – something and something, he couldn't tell, but he could guess that at least one of them was unpleasant. "You're here. You're alive? Nadia never said –"
"I asked her not to," he says quickly, straightening up and extending his hand to Peter, who takes it seemingly without even thinking about it. A warmth, not entirely unwelcome, starts to bloom deep in the center of his chest at the warmth of his hand.
God, I've missed you…
"I've missed you," he admits, sincerely, and doesn't look around anxiously like he might have when they were seventeen and so deep in the closet they probably could have died there and nobody would have found them. Peter notices; he swallows, the way he always used to when Jason surprised him with something romantic, and forces himself to meet his eyes.
Jason finds that he can't speak anymore, trying in vain to swallow past the lump growing in his throat. Jesus, he really had missed him. What had he done without Peter all these years? What was he thinking, just leaving him? All he has to do now is look at him and he's falling, all over again.
He doesn't care if he falls straight to hell. Damn the church. Damn his parents.
Even if Peter didn't want him back, he would be a part of his life – Jason would do anything just for that chance.
"You left," Peter accuses, but the indignation is weak in the face of his awe. He shifts awkwardly, still holding onto Jason's wrist tightly as though he might run away, and looks like he might be restraining tears himself. "I thought – I thought you wanted to –"
To start over.
He had said that. He'd meant it.
But then the show had begun, and he'd panicked, and it had seemed like the only option…
No more excuses.
"I know. I'm sorry." He lowers his voice, looking through his eyelashes at him in apology. "I really am, Peter. I'm here to make it up to you."
"Make it up to me?" Incredulous, Peter begins to loosen his grip, stepping back – and it's Jason's turn to grab for his wrist, holding it gently, sure the desperation is leaking onto his face. "How are you going to make it up to me, Jason? I waited for you. A whole year. Nadia kept telling me she was sure you'd come back, and I had to go to Ivy's baby shower and pretend everything was okay, and everyone just kept – looking at me with this unbearable sympathy."
He's choking on the words by the end of it, but Jason won't let him go. He bows his head and bears the first of what promises to be a dozen waves of unbearable, excruciating guilt, knowing he deserves it.
"I know. I'm sorry," he repeats, taking a breath. They're in public, and it's hardly the place to have this conversation – but they'd spent so long hiding because of him, and Peter deserves this, even if it is five years too late. "I'm sorry, Peter. It's just… I'm finally starting to feel better, and it's almost Christmas, and Nadia said… well, it doesn't matter."
He gives a tight smile and lets him go, awaiting his judgment. Peter eyes him warily. He doesn't really blame him.
How does he know I won't just disappear again?
How does he know I'm not just here to clear my conscience? Maybe I'm that selfish.
He has to admit – he might have done it, five years ago.
Not now, though. I've grown up.
He'd worked so hard to become who he is. He wants Peter to know that. He wants to have the opportunity to show him.
Not that he deserves it.
The silence stretches. The secretary is peering at them in a way she probably thinks is discreet, leaning slightly forward in her seat, not moving a muscle.
Jason begins the process of resigning himself to a well-deserved failure.
Finally, Peter swallows and speaks, hoarsely. "… What did you have in mind?"
Relief blooms alongside the heat building in his chest, and he wonders ecstatically if this is his own personal Christmas miracle. The giddy rush must show on his face, because Peter is smiling now too, just slightly but enough to make him flush with happiness.
Maybe it won't be what he really wants, after all, but it's something. Anything. He'll take what he can get, and it won't ever feel like settling.
Not as long as it's Peter.
He pulls at his earring, grinning shyly now. "If you're interested… Dinner's on me."