Peter freezes. Shit.
Although, in a way, it's quite good that she's the one to have figured them out. After all, as Jason's sister, she's the one whose opinion will really matter. And it's frightening, because if she happens to be against it, he can't tell what Jason would do. Probably go back to keeping it a shameful secret, laughingly calling Peter a naïve fool for ever believing that the world could accept them, with an edge of bitterness, and they would ignore that, for however short a time, Jason had almost believed it too. Or, even worse, follow Mary's prophesy. How bitterly, painfully ironic would it be if Peter knowing, and trying to stop it, had really been the cause all along? He can't let it happen, he can't. So he says, "what?" like he really doesn't know what Nadia's talking about, and winces because his voice sounds panicked and strained, too high even to his own ears.
Nadia stares at him for a long moment, but he can't read her expression. There's a hint of fond amusement there, and exasperation, but thankfully, no obvious disgust. She sighs, hand brushing through the roots of her short hair and, and it's moments like these when she looks properly like Jason's sister; Jason sitting at the desk in their room, pulling at his hair and annoyed at whatever book they'd been assigned to read in English that month, because he always said the author "chose that word because it sounded better, okay," and Peter laughing that English was going to be the only subject Jason failed this year if he kept it up. He smiles briefly at the memory, because Jason's hair is always a golden mess afterwards, strands literally everywhere, like the squiggles making up Peter's geography notes. He tries, he really does, but it's hardly his fault. Dr Wathey spoke in a monotone, and had an annoying tendency to switch topics half-way through the lesson, as well as assigning an alphabetical sitting plan. So Peter ended up in the corner, with an excellent view of Jason, and the way the sunlight shining through the new windows shone up little flecks in his hair. It was very distracting, as if he'd been sprinkled in gold. Unfortunately, he'd also ended up next to Ivy, who usually spent half the time talking to him about it, and complaining about what she wouldn't do to be Jason's roommate instead, always ending with an obnoxious "It's nothing against you, Peter, but surely you understand why I think it would be better." Privately, Jason laughs and says he would consider transferring schools.
"Oh, please," Nadia scoffs. "God help me, here. It's really obvious once you know to look for it. You look at him like Matt looks at our dearest STD-infested whore, like she at Jase. He spent half of today's rehearsal staring at you like you were the second coming of Christ or something. It's kind of pathetic actually, like a kicked dog searching for one kind word from its master."
"Wait, so you're alright with it?" he asks, because knowing their luck, it's almost too good to be true.
"Look, it's not like I'm crazy about the idea. But you make him happy, and at least if it's you it's not Ivy. It would break my heart to think that my own brother had such atrocious taste," she jokes, and Peter smiles, weak as the tea his mother serves to unexpected guests.
Ivy comes in then, and her eyes are puffed and red with dried tears. "I can't believe you missed rehearsal again," Nadia snaps cruelly, like she can't see how close Ivy looks to falling apart, as Peter makes his escape.
He means to tell Jason straight away, but the minute he steps into the room, Jason pushes him against the door, slamming it shut. Peter lets him kiss him until their lips are bruised and stinging, reminiscent of late nights or early mornings.
"Where were you?" he asks, pressing a soft kiss to the side of Peter's mouth.
"Talking to Nadia," he answers, and doesn't miss the way Jason tenses up against him, hand playing with the short curl framing Peter's face.
"And?" he asks.
He smiles, mischievously wicked, and half-twists away. "Wouldn't you like to know?"
"Jerk," Jason laughs, holding him in place.
"She's very perceptive," he says, and this time Jason is the one to pull away, small frown between his eyebrows.
"You mean?" he pauses, because he doesn't have to go on. The meaning is perfectly clear.
"Yeah," he says, pulling Jason forwards, back against him, because the heater's broken again, and Jason provides the best warmth. "She's fine with it," short kiss, and Peter breathes "We're fine."
"Cool," Jason says, the adjective that Peter hates. "'Cause we're not fine with Ivy,"
"You told her?" he asks before he can help it.
"Always the tone of surprise," Jason comments, like it wasn't totally justified, "No, I didn't actually. It must be like freaky girl gaydar or something."
"So she hates us?" It's hard to imagine Ivy ever hating Jason for anything.
"Nope," Jason answers, but the smile doesn't quite reach his eyes. "Just you. But I think she'd hate any girl I liked, so it doesn't really matter."
"I'm not a girl!" Peter protests, hurt, but mostly incredulous and actually slightly concerned, because if Jason hasn't realised that by now then all that stupid sport must have caused some serious brain damage.
Jason only laughs, pressing a kiss to Peter's cheek. "I know," he says, "but she blames you for converting me."
"How would she know you were ever straight?"
Jason shrugs, "Nearly slept with her, remember?" and the reminder leaves a bitter taste in Peter's mouth, like the blessed holy bread which had gone mouldy last April, or the memories of his nightmares, particularly the recent ones, filled with righteous hate and an unexpected pregnancy, and finally dreadful, terrible silence.
In his dreams, Jason falls and doesn't rise again.
In real life, he only waves a hand in front of Peter's face to get his attention. "You okay?" he asks. "I thought this was what you wanted."
"Yeah, just," Jason is really what he wants; he just wants to be allowed to show it. "I don't know, I can't help thinking something's going to go wrong, I mean we've been really lucky, what with Nadia and all."
"Relax," Jason says. "Besides, you're the one who's always saying to give the world a chance. It's kind of like that dream you had," and Peter freezes, because how could Jason know? "God's approval and all. Would be nice," he adds, half-wistfully.
"Yeah, I guess," he answers, and Jason frowns slightly, eyebrows raised.
"What an altar boy you make."
Peter pauses. "It wasn't all a good dream," he says finally, because however much he may want to tell Jason, you don't just ignore something the Virgin Mary tells you, if you're ever lucky enough to be visited by her.
"Like?"
He shrugs, "I can't quite remember," he lies, and thinks that Jason can probably tell. But he doesn't confront him, and Peter is only half thankful for that.
"Okay," Jason says finally. "But tell me, okay?"
"Sure," Peter says, and really its only half a lie, because when any danger's passed, and they've graduated, he knows he won't be able to stand keeping it a secret anymore.
Jason walks over to the desk in the corner, tossing a large textbook onto Peter's bed. "The Slave Trade beckons," he says, theatrically.
"Yes, master," Peter jokes with a mock-salute and notes with satisfaction the way Jason licks his lips as his eyes darken.
He smiles, and starts reading about the Abolitionist movement.