#aka how deep a hole can Jack dig himself before Davey takes pity and pulls him out

[livesincerely]

One of the last things that gets packed⁠—right up there with the wifi router, the stuff for the bathroom, and Jack’s good pillow⁠—is the calendar. Davey carefully peels it from it’s place of honor on the front of the fridge, almost the whole of April carefully x-ed out. 

“The 29th is on Friday,” he notes as he tucks it carefully away, smiling softly. “We should try and do something.”

“Dave, we are up to our ears in fuckin’ boxes,” Jack complains from his spot on the floor, giving an earnest attempt at becoming one with the carpet. “We ain’t gonna get our deposit back if we ain’t outta here before the first.”

“You were out of town on a contract last year and the year before that we both had the flu,” Davey complains. “It’d be nice if we could actually do something to celebrate.”

It’s at this point that Jack realizes he has no idea what the fuck Davey’s talking about.

“Dave,” he says. “What the fuck are you talkin’ about?”

“The 29th,” Davey says, like that alone is enough of an explanation.

“What’s so special about the 29th?” Jack asks.

Davey frowns⁠. And not just his Jack, you dumbass frown, but the full-blown, pinched-mouth, brow-furrowed, Jack, this isn’t funny, stop it frown that makes makes Jack’s heart want to shrivel up and die whenever it’s pointed his way.

So, Jack pivots. Hard.

“I’m kiddin’,” he quickly assures him, pushing himself up on his elbows as his mind races for some kind of solution. “‘Course we can do somethin’. Maybe dinner at that Italian place we saw on the corner? It looked like a nice joint.”

Davey’s expression clears. 

“God, I would kill for some tiramasu,” he says wistfully. 

“Hopefully, it won’t come to that,” Jack laughs, relieved. “I’ll call in the morning, see if they take reservations.”

“Perfect,” Davey says, with a beaming smile that makes Jack’s heart lurch for entirely different reasons. “It’s a date.”

“Yeah,” Jack says weakly. “It’s a date.”