A/N: Ah, yes, I know I suck… But, as always, I blame school! SCHOOL sucks! Anyway, here's just another thing I pulled out of nowhere… And guess what, we're closing in on the end! YARG! It's going fast, isn't it? Anyway, enjoy!

10: Stupidity Is Freedom

Adam chuckles and spins around in front of the mirror in the fitting room. Jake smiles contently and slowly strokes his shoulders, feels the almost chemically clean material under his hands.

Adam doesn't see himself in the mirror anymore. It's like someone made a clone of the Adam Faulkner he's seen in the mirror every day for twenty-nine years, the Adam he's stared firmly in the eye and slowly and methodically explained to how fucking useless he is, and then changed those small things he was so displeased with.

Now, he's another Adam, a new Adam, with the same face and the same unmanageable hair, but with a completely different body, just as skinny but now swept into black, soft Calvin Klein-fabric, with a tie that shaves against his throat but that he's more comfortable in than any of his washed-down t-shirts.

"Are you feeling hot now?" Jake asks with a warm smile and meets Adam's happy eyes through the mirror.

"Hell yeah," Adam says, without dropping the smile.

It's like he's completely forgotten why he's buying the suit. Jake laughs.

"Now we just have to do something about the hair," he says and ruffles Adam's already messy hair. "I don't know if the church would even let you in if you look like Harry Potter on the head."

Adam's smile fades a little, and he rakes a doubtful hand through his hair, too.

Pretends not to notice the electric jolt that shoots through him when his hand grazes over Jake's.

"Fuck if I'm going to look like you," he says and gives Jake a venomous look through the mirror.

Jake laughs again and moves his hands back down.

"Adam, honey, I'd never want you to look like me," he says and squeezes his shoulders. "You are indeed a very strange young man, and yet a perfect version of what you are."

Adam nods improvingly and puts his hands into the pockets of the jacket.

"Right now, that feels kind of nice," he says truthfully and looks Jake into the eye again.

Presses a little closer to him without even noticing it.

Jake looks back at him. Serious now.

"Tomorrow," is all he says.

Nothing more is needed. Adam nods.

"Yeah."

Jake nods, too. He's not going to ask Adam if he's sure that he wants to go, and is neither going to ask if he wants Jake to come with him, because he still knows all too well what the answer's going to be. He's asked both those questions so many times over these past few days, and Adam's always answered with a firm yes on the first one and a polite no on the second, and neither of those times has Jake been able to keep himself from feeling left out.

"Adam," Jake instead says and tightens his grip on Adam's shoulders once again. "Can't you even tell me what you're going to say to him?"

Adam shakes his head. Serious. Serious in the way he only is when he talks about Lawrence.

"Not to you."

Silence. Then, Adam's gaze sort of bores itself into Jake's, firmly, with a teenager's stubbornness, his eyes are buried in Jake's head like a solid, quiet silver drill.

"I love you, Jake," Adam says sternly, almost harshly. "But this is something I can't tell you."

Jake nods again.

He doesn't know why he keeps asking these stuff. He already knows that Lawrence and him always floats together in Adam's head, that they have the joint role of The One That Comforts Me.

It's when Adam has to treat them as individuals that he caves. And he has more things to deal with than he can handle already.

Jake smooths it over by moving his hands down to Adam's waist. Slowly. The warmth from him streams into Adam's frozen body, defrosts him, inside out, his very core almost gets too hot, throbbing and burning. Adam closes his eyes for a brief second.

"Are you going to buy this?" Jake asks.

Adam clears his throat, feels Jake moving even closer to him, his breath on his neck.

"Mm," he replies.

It sounds like a croak. He has to nod to establish that it actually was an answer to the question. God, God, it's almost too much already. Jake's always defrosted him, always attracted him, but now, when the day where all of his grieves are supposed to go away, his open, oozing wounds are supposed to be stitched, his thrashed heart is supposed to be patched together and he's supposed to move on, the day when he's supposed to say those damn words to Lawrence is so close, it's like all of his emotions are tightened violin strings, and Jake's compassion, his kindness, his warmth through the suit is the bow, caresses, eases, strains so unbearably much.

There's just something about his delicateness. His gentleness. The way he treats Adam like he matters, like he's actually a person, as common and fragile as anyone else, that does it. His light hands on Adam's waist, his lips so close, so close to his ear.

It's something. And Adam doesn't bother questioning it, just gives in, turns around, takes his face between his hands, fumblingly and insecurely, hotly and steaming, warm and soft, longingly damp, Jake presses him up against the wall in the fitting room, gently as always and aggressive at the same time.

And in some way, it's more real, more desperate than any of the previous times.

The previous times, Adam always knew that it wouldn't go further than kisses. That Jake's tongue of a certain amount inside his mouth was all he could handle before the guilt, the cold and sharp, got past all the rest. All that was good, all that was soft and sweet.

And it's not like that now. Not one bit.

Adam slowly brings his hand to Jake's neck, under the collar of his shirt, but still pulls away from his face, since there is some part of him that still thinks clearly, that hasn't melted and started to boil and wants Jake, right here, right now, who the hell cares that they're in the fitting room of Calvin Klein.

"Jake…" He gasps in a raspy voice and without opening his eyes. "Not here… It's…"

Jake's forehead his pressed against him, just like the rest of his body, so Adam can feel his nod without looking.

"But… When we get home…" Adam continues, and nods, too, as if to confirm himself. "Then I'll… I'll…"

He can't even finish the sentence. Maybe because he's not even sure what he wants to do.

xxxxxxxxxxx

All shyness has flown out the window.

All the other times they've kissed, the barricade has always been there. Adam has always been uncertain and Jake has always been scared, scared of crossing the line, to enter that bitterness that always lies as the bottom of his love, that thought about being the second best.

And as Adam's already established, he doesn't know what it is. Maybe it's the fact that they have to control themselves until they actually get back home, maybe it's the fact that the moment of Adam's liberation of his guilt is closing in on him, but either way, when they get back home, he barely has time to close the door behind him.

Then, Jake has grabbed his shoulders with more force than Adam would ever thought him capable of, and kisses him hungrily, his breath dribbles down Adam's throat, his tongue is in Adam's mouth and erases the rest of the world, gives him warmth, gives him life, and Adam responds by letting go of the plastic drape that his suit is packed in, doesn't even think about the fact that it's the most expensive thing he's ever bought in his life, and brings his hand to Jake's chest, paws impatiently at the buttons of his shirt, fucking annoyed on the stupid fucking material, desperate for the soft skin beneath it.

The wood in the door presses against Adam's back. He's trapped between The Dangerous, that-thing-outside and Jake's body heat, his lips and his tongue and his hands, Christ, his hands…

His hands are way too gentle, way too calm and collected on Adam's hips, so awfully close to that place where Adam so badly wants them, and in the meantime, way, way too far away.

That's the difference between them in these situations. Adam's aggressive, Jake's careful. Adam would say that's what makes it so damn good.

Adam makes a sound that almost seems like a growl and that even surprises himself, and finally manages to unfasten the first button of Jake's shirt with his jittery fingers, almost tears the rest of them off in his eager, bares the strong shoulders, tastes the hot skin on Jake's neck, listens to his coughed-out moan.

"Adam…" Jake mumbles and rakes his gentle hand through Adam's hair. "Are you sure you… You want to…"

"Do I seem doubtful?" Adam says, almost annoyed, and takes his mouth away from Jake's neck to kiss him again.

Jake only responds to the kiss for a few seconds before he pulls away again.

"You've never… Done… You know…"

Adam wants to punch him and kiss him again, so he tries to lean forward, greedy for his lips, but Jake maintains their distance with a hand on Adam's chest. He won't do anything until they've talked this through, that's obvious. Adam shakes his head impatiently.

"No."

"Okay," Jake says, and his voice is throaty. "It… It will hurt… Are you sure…"

But no matter how much Adam usually loves Jake's Lawrence-esque behavior, he hates it now. Because he's so not in the mood to discuss this, so not in the mood to be rational, because he knows Jake won't get a sensible word out of him, anyway.

Because the hell is he supposed to think clearly when every hollowness in his body feels so dreadfully empty, aches for him?

"Jake, goddamn it," Adam hisses and takes a firm hold of Jake's hair, "I want to have sex! So stay here, and I'll get the fucking condoms and all that crap, okay?"

Jake just stares at him for a few seconds, his mouth is open and his eyes completely empty, before he finally gives up every thought of saying anything and nods silently, like a corrected little kid.

He knows that Adam doesn't love him.

But he can't think about that now, either. They both know they're not good for each other, that Adam needs a shoulder to cry on and Jake just needs someone who understands him, but neither one of them can think about that right now.

Because Adam's so hopelessly stupid, and Jake's way too weak to say no to him, wants him way too badly when he stands pressed up against him for another second before he disappears into the bathroom and then comes back out, condoms and lubricant in a sticky bottle in hand, and beckons to Jake to follow him.

Jake's too weak when he sees Adam, as pale as always under the blush on his face, ruffled hair, passion as a glittering shell over the sorrow in his eyes, the sorrow that will always be there and that not even Jake can take away.

He can only walk up to Adam, hands on his hips and Adam's arms around his neck, presses him closer, needs him closer, needs to get warm again, and he does, almost too warm, and they fall down on the bed entwined in each other, tongues are battling for control, and Jake discovers that no matter how much his head protests against this, his hands are already struggling to get Adam's shirt away, expose the pale chest beneath, and his mouth travels down just as Adam's did, nips and kisses along his collarbone, fumbles hungrily with his fingertips over Adam's skin, listens to the shuddering gasp that rains down over him and sends his hands even further out of his control, makes them wild and crazy and gives them courage to go down to Adam's fly.

Adam inhales sharply and subconsciously grabs Jake's hair when he unbuttons Adam's jeans, forces a hand into his boxers.

Jake loves it. And he loves Adam.

But right now, his love is nothing but cold sweat that steams up from the heat of his skin, ice that coats the warm thing in his stomach, cold in all the warmth, grief in all his lust.

Jake's love is nothing more than that bitter taste of Lawrence on Adam's tongue.

And Jake has to pull back, has to snatch his hand back like he's burned himself and part his lips from Adam's.

Adam looks at him. The astonishment is like a thin film over eyes that are hazed with desire, and he still doesn't take his hands away from Jake's neck.

"What is it?"

That voice. God, Jake's going to miss it so dreadfully much.

Because he can't do this anymore.

And that tears his heart apart.

Tears it into shreds a second time.

"Adam…" Jake says and tries to get that damn hoarseness out of his voice, tries to swallow the lump in his throat. "I can't…"

Adam props himself up on his elbows. The blushing on his cheeks is starting to fade away.

"What?!"

Jake takes a deep breath. He can't even look at him, only lift his hand again and stroke his cheek.

"I… I love you so much…"

Throaty voice. He can't suppress it now.

"But… I… I'm not… What you want, I…"

The sheet is smudged out in front of his eyes. Adam's cheek disappears form his hand when he sits up.

"What the fuck are you talking about, Jake?" Adam says, almost angrily. "I love you, damn it! You know that!"

Jake nods.

Adam loves him. Jake knows that Adam loves him.

And Adam is so stupid. So hopelessly stupid and wonderful. And Jake can't, at least not right now, be the one who ruins, the one who bursts his bubble and explains to him.

Explains why Adam loves him.

Not right now.

He's just going to get himself together, gather those dam tears up and bury them, tie Adam's tie tomorrow, scrape together the pieces of him when he comes home from the funeral.

Be there for him. Since that's what he does. What he's there for.

And then, he might tell him. But not now.

So he really does get himself together, wipes some stubborn tears away and finally looks at Adam, who now isn't the symbol of everything that could ever pleasure him anymore, but just a senselessly cute little kid with an unbuttoned shirt, and strokes his cheek again. Adam still looks pretty annoyed. Annoyed and confused.

"Not now," Jake says. "Later. You're just a little emotional. And I want this to be good."

Then, he drops his hand, because it's like caressing a statue. Adam just looks at him, completely indifferent of his touches, with furrowed brows, his eyes are suspicious, grey slits.

"You think I don't love you," he then says.

"I know you love me," Jake says calmly. "And I love you, too. And we are going to do this. When it's all over. I promise."

Yes. The funeral has become their competition with themselves. The bump they have to overcome, and on the other side of that bump, there's just a road, smooth and calm, slow and beautiful, with flowers along its side, streams that run in the ditches.

And they're not even going to overcome that bump together. Adam's going to go there alone, and Jake's going to stand there and wave him off, teary like a mom that sees her son go alone to school for the first time.

And then, he's going to tell Adam why he loves Jake. And if he then has the strength to leave him is yet to figure out.

Aw… As if the Adam-angst wasn't enough… No, no, I just had to throw a little Jake-angst in there, too! Hope you'll review, because it makes me happy!