Who We Were When (JA/JP)
Title: Who We Were When
Author: Finn21
Characters: Jared/Jensen
Rating: NC-17
Word Count: Overall 67K
Disclaimer: I own nothing of them and it makes me cry.
Summary: Jared’s a fun loving jock with hidden angst. Jensen's the new college boy who moved in next door. Two worlds collide.




Who We Were When


+++

The first time we met felt like an endless, irreversible downward fall.

+++


1999


Jared stares at his first period Calculus syllabus and sighs. Beside him his best friend Ryan is making paper footballs with the sheets Mr. Robertson has been passing out all hour. Jared watches as his friend tucks the last piece of free paper into the side pocket of the football, sets it on his desk accordingly, then flicks it with his fingers.

It flies high, going up, up, up until it slams down on top of Kelsey Belmont’s head. She turns around and sneers at them. Ryan laughs. Jared sighs again.

It’s going to be a long year.


+++


At lunch Jared spaces out, staring awkwardly at lunch lady Doris with her stringy hair and droopy eyes, standing behind the buffet line and handing out the meatloaf surprise the lunch room has had everyday since…ever. He thinks about what her dreams must have been like when she was his age. What had she wanted out of life? Had she expected this? Had she wanted more?

It’s not his usual train of thought, which usually consists of lame pop culture references and jokes about sports, or maybe the random comment here or there about the hot chick who was flirting with him in History. He has a pretty sweet life, he knows this.

Only…lately, he’s been thinking more. About…stuff. Life and death and dreams and goals and all that important shit you’re not supposed to think about until you’re, like, an adult or whatever.

Yet, he’s been finding himself contemplating all of it lately, the meaning of life and why things are the way they are, and do they have to be that way or do people just make them that way. And okay, maybe that doesn’t make sense, but he’s been contemplating it anyway, alright! And really? He’d kind of just like to forget it and enjoy his last year of freedom.

His stupid head, however, won’t shut up. He’s not sure why.

“Hey, JT! Duuuuuuude, wake up,” Sean is waving his arms in front of Jared’s face like a monkey on LSD, all big hands and fingers in his face and whoa! Okay, back to reality.

Jared snaps from his thoughts and takes a breath.

“What?”

“Man, you were, like, zoning,” Ryan chuckles from across the lunch table, and starts picking mindlessly at his fries.

“Sorry,” Jared shrugs simply, feeling all of a sudden tired of this lunch room and its bad cheeseburgers and mushy fries and yellow walls.

“Thinking about practice?” Kyle smiles, big white teeth and no lips. “And how I’m gonna school your ass today.”

“Yeah. Sure, man. Whatever.” Jared rolls his eyes.

“You know this season’s gonna rule, bro. We’re fuckin’ seniors, man. Fuck, yeah,” Kyle yells out, smacking him on the shoulder and howling out like he’s wolf of the pack or something. Sean and Ryan join in with him.

Jared shakes his head with a half smile.

It’s going to be a very long year.


+++


After practice, Jared drags his aching body up the driveway of his house. He hates how his daddy always makes him park his pickup on the street to save room for his momma's car, but he doesn’t complain. That wouldn’t be polite. Instead he silently struggles up to his front door, muscles screaming, bones aching, skin covered in slick sweat.

He’d thought an entire summer of swimming and going to the gym would prepare him for football practice this season. Coach Boone, however, apparently had other plans. Five hundred sit ups, three hundred push ups, fifty suicides, seventy-five squats, and a three mile run later, the entire team looked as if they were all going to die of dehydration, exhaustion or both. And, dude, that was just the goddamn warm up.

Maybe all those fruit roll ups and mountain dews hadn’t been such a good idea in retrospect, but he's 17 years old, dammit. He's gonna eat junk food every now and then, it's practically expected. Still. It didn’t help him with the sore stomach and body he's now carrying. Not at all. And when he makes it to the steps of his front porch, flushed, and frustrated by his long day, he just stops. He stops and sits down on the steps and takes a moment to rest his mind before he goes inside and gets ambushed by his momma, wanting to know what his first full day of being a senior was like, and how were his classes, and what clubs is he thinking of joining and should she sign up for the bake sale, because his momma? Is just that kind of a person. And most days he loves her for it, heart and soul, but right now he can’t deal. He just can’t.

So.

So he takes a moment on the porch, breathing in the humid San Antonio air, the newly cut grass, and watching the sky turn into a golden orange as the sun dips closer to the horizon. It’s quiet. Peaceful almost. He closes his eyes.

A minute passes, maybe two, then there’s the distinct sound of a car door shutting and Jared’s eyes flutter open. It takes a few seconds for his vision to adjust to the light again, but then he catches the figure across his lawn, next door. No, it’s two figures. One coming out of his neighbor’s house and one getting out of a car he doesn’t recognize. Two guys. Young guys.

The one walking out of the house has dark brown hair, scruffy goatee. Jared had seen the guy around a couple months ago when he’d moved in after the Kirby’s had left town. He was pretty reserved most of the time, kept to himself mostly, had a few laid back parties every now and then, but nothing big. Never cuts his grass, though.

Jared thinks he looks about as everyday normal as any other college student around this town with the brown cargo pants and flip-flops.

He isn’t the one that catches Jared’s attention.

It’s the other guy: lean and built, with light hair and a wrinkled T-shirt that reads: Dallas Cowboys, wearing a pair of fitted jeans that just sort of seem to hug his body in this way that…that really doesn’t matter, at all, because…yeah. It doesn’t matter. And he isn’t thinking about that kind of stuff, because he just isn’t. And whatever. Shit.

Jared feels his jaw clench involuntarily, sweat trickling from his forehead down his face. He wipes a rough hand across his forehead, and pushes up off the porch stairs. It creaks, old wood and age combined. Both men turn to look. Jared cringes, glances up.

His eyes meet with piercing green and his throat goes dry. He freezes. Just freezes. His body a solid mass of heavy muscle he can’t move. And the guy with the eyes just stares back at him, blank face, parted lips, wrinkled T-shirt. Jared feels his cheeks begin to burn, sweat still dripping down the sides of his face. One bead drops into his eye, burning red hot, and he blinks, rubs away the sting. When he looks again, both men are rustling inside the guy’s car.

Jared watches them begin to pull boxes from the vehicle and start to move up the lawn toward the house. Suddenly his body begins to work again and before he can think or breathe or speak, he’s tumbling up the steps of his porch, through the front door, and into his house.

The first thing he hears when he enters the kitchen is his momma’s cheerful voice asking him, “So how was your first day back, sugar?”

And Jared? He just smiles bright and wide and takes a seat at the kitchen counter, ready for the talk.


+++


Two weeks later, Jared wakes up on a Sunday night to the distinct sound of a guitar being played in his backyard. He rolls over, bleary eyed and irritated, and sees the red digital numbers read 2:45 am on his side table clock. It’s not that Jared minds a little party every once in a while, he doesn’t. But this isn’t a party, and this isn’t a Friday night, and fuck all if he’s got an English quiz tomorrow on Hemingway, and he needs his sleep.

Frustrated, he pulls his pillow over his head to try to block out the noise. He thinks it works for a few minutes, until the plucking turns louder, and Jared flips over, blows out a long sigh. He gets up out of bed and goes to his window. Through his blinds he expects to see a bunch of drunk, hipster college kids, drinking Corona and smoking weed or some shit.

But he doesn’t. Instead, he’s surprised to see that guy again, the one with the piercing eyes and the wrinkled T-shirt sitting on his neighbor’s back patio, by himself, in a comfy lawn chair. He’s got his guitar on his lap, his head tilted back in the chair, eyes closed as he blindly caresses the strings and...caresses? Yeah, now Jared knows he’s sleep deprived.

There's a long pause while Jared watches him play.

Then he's flopping back on his bed, shutting his own eyes, and pulling his pillow back over his head. And just before he falls asleep, Jared thinks he can almost hear the light traces of a song being strummed.


+++


“You goin’ to Kyle’s Homecoming thing on Saturday?” Michelle Myers asks him one Tuesday in study hall.

He’s attempting to finish his Anatomy packet from the night before, defining bones in the human body and where they go and what purpose do they solve, and he just sort of shrugs as per usual, and says, “Yeah. Isn’t everybody?”

Michelle smiles, leans her cheek on her propped up palm all coy and falsely sweet and replies, “I guess so. But I just wanted to know about you.”

Jared glances out of the corner of his eye and sees the offer there. He’s used to the attention at school. He’s gotten it most of his life. He’s never really sure why, but there it is. And maybe he takes it for granted, maybe he should be more grateful that he’s got so many friends and so many hot girls like Michelle throwing themselves at him, because, dude, she is hot. But…

Everybody knows that whole saying, the more things change, the more they remain the same. Well, yeah. It applies to James Madison High School is spades. And this is the thing: Jared’s tired of the same. Maybe it’s growing up in San Antonio his whole life, or maybe it’s being seen as the perfect golden boy for too many years to count, he’s not sure.

It’s just…football doesn’t feel as exciting as it should this time around. His friends don’t seem as funny, regardless of how much he loves them, because he does. Everything just seems smaller somehow. And he feels like he sees more, more than this town, more than this world he’s in.

He wants more.

He doesn’t say that, though. He just smiles back at Michelle and mumbles out a soft, “I’ll be there.”

Easy as that.


+++


The night of the Homecoming game Sean sprains his ankle in the first half, Jimmy Patterson can’t seem to hold the ball for his life and yet they still manage to come through at the very end, winning the game 16-7. It should feel like a huge victory. These are the senior memories people die for, the ones in all the teen movies ever made.

Jared just doesn’t much care either way. He’s starting to think maybe something’s wrong with him, the way he’s so blasé about…everything lately. He keeps thinking about the song he heard his neighbor play and how it sounded like a secret.

Something he wasn’t a part of.

Something he wanted to be a part of.


+++


It starts off as a stupid disagreement. Megan wants to borrow his car to go see The Matrix at the drive-in with some guy named Chet. Like, who the hell names their son Chet in the first place? Honestly? And Jared knows why she’s asking. It’s the same reason she won’t ask momma or daddy for their cars so he says no. Because fuck that if he’s gonna let anyone get play in his own car but him. She calls him a selfish prick, a stupid dick, a horrible brother, and he gets so annoyed he calls her a spoiled bitch.

Then before he knows it, she’s running down stairs to tattle on him, and his momma says he’s grounded. That’s it. No warning. No nothing. Just grounded.

He grits his teeth, brushes past his sister with a, 'Hope you’re happy now' and storms out the front door, all soap opera melodramatic and teenage angst.

It’s not that he’d had specific plans tonight, or anything. But maybe he’d wanted to do something and now he can’t. And that’s so unfair.

Seriously.

Letting out a long sigh, Jared sits down on the porch swing a few feet away. It’s dark outside now, but the air is still warm. Jared presses his bare feet against the cool, wooden floor and pushes back, causing the swing to glide softly.

Next door a group of people tumble out of his neighbor's house, off the porch, and onto the front walk, a warm glow of light shining golden rays upon them. Jared watches them curiously, intrigued. They all look so young, not much older than him. Yet, they act older somehow, more mature.

The group is saying sweet goodbyes. Each person hugging one another or patting the other on the back, or talking happily. Someone laughs and then the group disperses, ones and twos going to their cars parked on the lamplit street.

Jared doesn’t catch himself looking for anyone in particular until he comes running out of the house, an object in hand. His hair’s a mass of messy angles all over his head, his gray shirt twisted slightly in the front. He stops a tall, skinny guy with spiky hair and an earring from getting in his car. They start talking, but Jared can’t hear what they’re saying. He laughs. Earring guy puts a hand on his waist. He hands earring guy a CD. Earring guy takes it and steps closer. They both laugh this time, and then a beat later they’re kissing, and Jared can’t breathe.

He doesn’t know if they know he’s watching them, or what. And if they do, they don’t seem to care. Everyone from the group is gone now, it’s just Jared, and them, and their lips pressing together. Tongues and hands and sound all mixed as one.

It’s probably not right for him to be watching this, but he can’t seem to turn away. His body refuses. His mind has lost all capable function. It feels dirty and sexy and wrong to be doing this, but…but Jared can’t stop. Doesn’t want to stop.

And when they finally pull apart, say their last few words, and turn to go their separate ways, Jared’s eyes lock with his. It’s the expression of pure shock in his eyes that tells Jared, he didn’t know Jared was watching.

And Jared starts to feel ashamed and stupid and dumb. Until at the very corner of his mouth, the barest, almost indistinguishable hint of a smirk traces his lips and Jared blinks. Just numbly blinks, because? What else is he supposed to do?

And later that night when he tries to go to bed with visions of that same smirk in his head he feels a gnawing pain begin to grow in the pit of his stomach.


+++


A week passes and Jared still can’t get that kiss out of his mind. The image of them pressed together, leaning against a car, mouths covering heated flesh, hands groping one another so unreserved and open…it’s. It’s all Jared can think about. And it feels like it should be wrong. Like he shouldn’t be thinking about it, but he is, and when he does, he doesn’t want to stop.

And the funny thing is the image just pops into his head at the most random times. In the middle of Calc, or while he’s taking out the trash, or when he’s getting ready for school, or when he’s taking his morning shower. And…yeah. Maybe he shouldn’t be thinking thoughts of boys kissing when he’s in the shower, because, ya know, he’s not like that. At all. Ever. He likes women and tits, and women with nice tits. So. So it’s just a thing. Just a thought, he tells himself. It doesn’t have to mean anything. Nobody has to know.

It can just be his.

It can just be whatever.


+++


“JT?” His momma says to him the following Monday, petting his hair softly. “Can you move away from the fridge, sugar? I need to get the milk.”

He shuffles out of the way of the door, taking the orange juice carton along with him. He didn’t even realize he was zoning out again. Weird.

“Whatcha makin’?” He asks, taking a seat at the kitchen table.

His momma pours a cup of milk into a pink bowl and takes a wooden spoon, starts stirring. “Some caramel brownies for your daddy’s office party tomorrow.”

“What office party?”

“Your father’s promotion party, Jared. I told you this three times already. Where’s your head been, boy?”

“I…,” Jared begins, but isn’t sure what to say. His momma’s looking at him like he’s lost his damn mind, and he can’t tell her why or what he’s been thinking. So he just shrugs, and gives her his best puppy dog eyes and she laughs lightly, shakes her head.


+++


A few days after, Jared gets out of practice early and comes home to relax before dinner.

The house is quiet and blissfully empty for once. Jared takes the opportunity to catch up on an old and sacred pastime of men the world over: video games.

He grabs a soda, a bag of chips, flips on the T.V. and sits down.

Five minutes later he hears a knock at the door.

Perfect.

He groans. He’s right in the middle of Tony Hawk’s pro skater, almost getting ready to do the most awesome spin/flip combo to ever be preformed and he has to stop. He hears the knock again. Damn.

When he gets to the door, Jared expects to see Ryan or one of Megan’s minions or maybe just some random girl scout looking to sell some cookies. That would make sense. In Jared’s life, that would make complete and total sense. Except, no. That’s not what happens at all. So when Jared opens the door with crumpled, dirty clothes on from a long school day, ruffled hair, and an unpleasant expression on his face to see him standing on the other side, he almost, what the hell, feels his heart stop.

“Hey,” the guy says, all easy-breezy and charming. He smiles just slightly at the edges of his mouth. His lips are moist with spit, and fuck, Jared is having a really hard time remembering what he’s supposed to say right now.

“Um, can I, uh help you?” He manages to croak out after a long pause, and the guy just smiles wider.

“Yeah. Yeah, you can. I was wondering if I could borrow a cup of sugar,” he replies, leaning into the doorway all bedroom eyes and silky voice and Jared isn’t sure what’s going on, but it’s making his belly stir uncomfortably.

“Uh, sugar? Um, yeah. Yeah, okay. I can…,” Jared continues to tumble over his words embarrassingly. Awkwardly.

And then the guy laughs.

“Dude. I’m just fuckin’ with ya,” he says after a beat and a breath, placing a light hand on Jared’s bicep.

“Oh,” is all Jared can manage to reply through a tight smile, his body tense as he tries not to stare at the hand on his arm. The hand that is totally just resting on his arm, like, taking a nice vacation on the island of his arm, no money down. Sure. Why not?

“I’m Jensen,” the guy says off of Jared’s wide-eyed, confused expression, bringing his arm away from Jared’s bicep to hold out for a hand shake. And, okay, Jared can breathe a little better now. “I live next door.”

“I know,” Jared replies, a little too quickly, and swallows hard in his throat. “I’m Jared.”

“Nice to meet you, Jared. I've seen you around,” Jensen says, the barest hint of THAT smirk playing across his lips. The same smirk Jared’s been thinking about for days and weeks now. The smirk that just won’t go away. “Actually, I was wondering if maybe I could borrow a wrench. A pipe burst in my bathroom and there’s water everywhere and my roommate's too damn cheap to call a plumber or, you know, own any tools so…here I am,” Jensen’s saying, and Jared makes himself focus on the conversation at hand, because staring at someone’s mouth is kind of rude. And weird.

“A wrench? Um, okay. Yeah. We’ve got one of those,” Jared says all happy-go-lucky and immediately wants to smack himself at his complete idiocy. “Just let me go grab it.”

“Sure,” Jensen replies, and leans his hip against the open door jamb, like he’s got nothing better to do, no where better to be.

Jared turns around and walks toward the basement where his dad keeps some spare tools. He feels the tension in his shoulders. He cracks his knuckles, but feels no release, just bone grinding against bone.

When he hands Jensen the wrench a few minutes later their fingers brush. Just the barest hint of a touch, nothing more.

Jared glances up and sees Jensen watching him. There’s a long pause. Jared doesn’t move.

Jensen simply smiles. “Thanks, man. I owe you.”

Jared sees him turn to leave and says, “No problem.”

No problem at all.



{Part 2}