They sit with plates of egg rolls and sweet and sour chicken and watch Adventure Time - Jack's choice.
Pitch has loaned Jack a pair of pyjamas, a t-shirt and too-long trousers with the drawstring pulled tight. Although he still feels wrung out and jittery, it makes him feel better. Better even than his own clothes would. It comforts him, in a weird way. Like being looked after.
It's dark by the time Pitch clears the plates away, and then turns off the TV. He turns to face Jack, with a serious expression that makes anxiety patter inside him like rain.
"We need to talk," Pitch says, and Jack licks his lips.
"Uh. Look, I'm sorry, okay? I know - you probably don't need all this bullshit from someone you thought was just going to be a quick fuck, or-"
"Jack," Pitch says and takes Jack's hands. "Stop that. Stop assuming that I'm annoyed, or that I'm going to reject you. Listen to me."
Jack looks up then. Because that's not a command, which would piss him off. It's softer than that – more of a plea. Part of him still wants to run away - he doesn't want to feel like that again - but more of him wants to stay. To listen - and maybe understand.
"I should've talked to you before, instead of being - consumed - with how much I wanted you. But you're so young-"
"I'm not a kid."
"No, you're not. But you are young. And that was a mistake. You have no experience in this, and I should be looking afteryou."
"It was just a blow job, Pitch. You don't need to give a lecture in how to deal with a blowjob, because normal people don't freak out about stuff like that." Jack drags a hand through his hair. He can feel his hands shaking and he pulls them away from Pitch to pluck at the seam on his pyjama bottoms, hoping he didn't notice.
"Don't think of it as freaking out. It's not. You were just feeling sensitive - and god knows you had reason. Benard just tried to sell you. Not just a date but- God knows why your father didn't speak up."
Jack huffs a humourless laugh. "Yeah, my father doesn't give a shit what happens to me. It was probably his idea."
Pitch stares at him. "But you're his son."
"The son he never wanted. The son who killed his wife. Jesus, most of the time I don't even blame him for hating me."
"Jack - what are you talking about?"
Jack finds a loose thread in the trousers and tugs at it. "Mom wanted to keep me, Dad didn't - said they had enough kids. And she – died- giving birth-" Jack's heart is pounding in his chest and he realises that this is a really shitty thing to talk about. Just in general but especially to someone who's potential boyfriend material (although he can't ever see himself calling Pitch something as – sweet – as boyfriend). He wipes at his eyes, feeling heavy and sad.
Maybe he just shouldn't have come here. This thing with Pitch had promise, but nothing in Jack's life ever works out well. It's just best not to hope, not to put himself out there where he's only going to end up hurt with his heart ripped in two.
"God, Jack-"
"You know, I think I should go," Jack says, his voice wavering as he tries not to cry. He forces a smile into place. "Not to say that it hasn't been fun. I always enjoy making an idiot of myself in front of hot strangers." He picks up his clothes from the floor, considers putting them back on, decides it'll take too long. He needs to get out of here. "I'll get someone to return your clothes-"
"Jack, wait, please. Just a few minutes."
Half of him wants to run and never look back, the other half sees a glimmer of hope in Pitch, and that scares him almost as much.
He sits back down, holding tightly onto his clothes, ready to bolt.
"I've scared you," Pitch says quietly. Jack shakes his head. "I have. Tell me what I've done wrong, please."
"It's nothing. It's not you. I'm just - I'm a mess. I've always been a mess."
"What your father says about your mother - you know that's not true, don't you?"
Jack gives an angry shrug. "She's dead because of me. My father, my brothers and sister - they lost her because of me."
"Jack-"
"You don't know anything about me. I don't need your false comfort, or-"
"It's not false, Jack. I want to help. And you're right. I don't know anything about you. But I want to."
"Nobody ever wants to know me. They want to - to fuck me. Or to be seen with me. But they don't want to know me."
"I do," Pitch says, and it's the simplicity with which he says it that makes Jack think that it might just be true. "I want to know you. I want to protect you. I know that I have a – less than sparkling reputation, but when it comes to the people I care about, I am fiercelyprotective. And no, I don't know you. But I do care for you. Let me look after you, Jack."
Pitch's reaction is so completely unexpected that Jack doesn't know what to think. He wipes at his eyes, feeling suddenly exhausted again. He rarely talks about his mother, his family. This is why. It makes him feel worthless, and exhausted, it makes his heart ache and his throat tighten until he can hardly breathe and doesn't know if he deserves to. And now there's Pitch's reaction, weighing against it.
Biting his lip, Jack shuffles closer on the sofa until he's pressed against Pitch. He curls up against him, wrapping his arms around his neck. He's always found comfort in touch, in hugs from Jamie and Kal, and if Pitch really wants to comfort him, he'll give him this.
It works.
Such a simple thing, but it works every time, as long as he trusts the person he's with. He moves onto Pitch's lap, rests his head against his neck. One of Pitch's hands rests on Jack's hip, the other on the back of his neck, stroking gently. Slowly Jack's anxieties drop away, one by one, with each gentle stroke of Pitch's fingers. He feels safe. Wanted. Calm, in a way he's rarely found.
Pitch just continues to hold him, knowing what Jack needs. He moves only to kiss the top of Jack's head.
Time passes strangely; Jack's not sure if it's been hours or only minutes, when he realises he's sleepy again.
"M tired," Jack breathes, and Pitch nods.
"Would you like to stay here?"
"Mmhmm."
Jack's already half asleep when Pitch eases him into a princess carry and takes him to a bedroom. The bed is large and comfortable, and when pitch closes the thick curtains it's pleasantly dark, the only light from the hallway outside. Jack crawls under the sheets and sighs, feeling comfortable in a way that goes far beyond a nice mattress.
"Sleep," Pitch murmurs and kisses him gently, and Jack is gone before he even closes the door.
A/N: Thank you so much for all your comments, favs and follows! Never underestimate how much that means to a writer - you keep me posting.