#i interviewed him once like years ago and he is even nicer and smarter than he seems in his videos

[abyssaldyke]

The way I need to smoke out Jacob Geller one time...

[penzyroamin]

not to be a basic sad bitch but can we get back to december + javid 🥺

oh i CELEBRATE what a basic sad bitch u are kath 🥺🥺🥺

ok so this got…. long as FUCK. this is 5.4k words. that is the longest prompt response i’ve ever written. however in my humble opinion. so yknow, sit back and enjoy the Canon Era Gay Guilt, Reconciliation, Vulnerability, And Time Jumps. this is also gonna get posted on ao3, because its… 5.4k words.

ain’t nothing but missing you

April 1906

Jack hasn’t seen Sarah Jacobs in a couple years, but when the word around the street is that she’s got a kid now, he decides he might as well drop by. As he walks over, he practices nonchalance, trying to remember what he acted like five years ago, when he felt comfortable at the Jacobs’ home. 

He thinks he’s about prepared when he’s finally at their door, muscle memory carrying him across the city and to their tenement and up a couple levels.

(Sarah supposedly has her own place with her husband and daughter by now, but Jack was told she was stopping by, so he’s trying to cover all his catching-up bases.)

One, two, three quick knocks on the door, and then it opens.

Jack’s breath freezes in his lungs, and the smile he’s put on falters.

Davey blinks at him. “Oh.”

“Hi,” Jack manages, and then Sarah arrives at Davey’s side.

“Jack Kelly, what’re you doing here?” Her little girl’s resting at her hip, and Jack regains his smile, more genuine this time.

“Here to say hello, especially to this little one.”

Davey clears his throat. “Well, I’d better be getting home, Sarah.”

“Back to Boston?” Jack asks, and Davey’s gaze returns to him, intense and curious. 

“No, I just got back to town a week ago.” Davey smiles at him tightly, his lips pressed together, and moves past him to leave. Their shoulders brush together as he says, “Have a good night, Jack.”

Jack watches him leave, and when he turns back to Sarah, she’s giving him a certain kind of look. It tells him, in an instant, that even if Davey hasn’t told her, she knows. “Would you like to come in?” she asks.

She knows, and Jack remembers.

April 1901

Davey’s tiptoeing on the edge of being too old to sell papers, and Jack has his job doing cartoons, but the newsies still see them as ringleaders as much as ever. And so, they’re watching in the lodging house while everybody plays poker. Someone’s clearly robbing someone else blind, but Jack’s distracted by Davey’s chin on his shoulder, knuckles brushing against his thigh.

They’ve always sat close. He doesn’t know why it feels different recently.

He hears Davey laugh softly, and even though it’s because of something outside of their little world, Jack can’t help but think it feels distinctly private. Davey moves his hand to rest halfway over Jack’s, their fingers partially intertwined, and Jack swallows hard, trying not to look at him.

May 1901

“What’re you gonna do?” Jack asks, distracting himself by fiddling with Davey’s fingers. They’re stretched out on the roof of Davey’s family’s tenement, and Davey’s hand was resting on Jack’s knee until Jack took it. Davey has his head resting on the wall, his eyes half-closed, and he sighs.

“Not sure. Maybe look for something nicer for a bit, but I’ll probably wind up in a factory.” His nose wrinkles a little. “Hope I don’t have to make bullets.”

The idea of that twists up Jack’s throat for a moment; Davey, who has always been so sweet and good and peaceful and smart, stuck on an assembly line to make items of war. There’s no war going on right now, not with a military. But when Jack sees the troubled furrow of Davey’s brow, he can’t help but feel that there’s one at home.

“I’ll see if the World’s got anything for ya,” Jack says. “You’s real smart, smarter than me. If they got something for me…” He trails off, the implication obvious, and Davey rolls his eyes.

“I can’t do art like you, and I can’t write like Kath. What’d they want me for?”

“You could interview for things. Hey, maybe even go undercover, you talk to people so good!”

Davey sighs, the beginnings of a smile gracing his lips as he turns his head to look at Jack. “I didn’t used to be. S’all recent.”

“Recent or not, you got a knack for it. Getting people’s trust, and all that. I think you’d be good.” The words are starting to get a little heavy in Jack’s throat– he’s never felt the need to heap so much praise on someone before, and it’s only a little uncomfortable. But it’s what Davey deserves, and for some reason, Jack is desperate to give Davey everything he deserves and more.

(Except he can’t, because he can never give Davey children, and a family, and the sort of normal, happy life that he truly deserves. And Davey’s parents will never approve of them, and they can never get married, and all of those are things that Davey deserves.)

Nonetheless, he continues: “Anybody who can’t see it’s just an idiot.”

He’s looked away from Davey, not quite comfortable with seeing his face right now, but still holding his hand. And then he looks back at him, gets only half a second to take in Davey’s eyes, dark brown in the dying sunlight, and the way Davey’s breath hitches.

Only half a second, and then Jack’s being kissed.

Davey’s free hand rests on the back of Jack’s neck, and Jack clutches his other hand tighter as he moves closer to him.

Jack knows, logically, that it’s a bad idea. Because, again, he cannot give Davey a real life, not the kind that he should have. And if he can’t give him a real life, then this will end, someday, and the thought of never being able to kiss Davey like this again makes Jack want to hold him so tightly that he’s never able to leave.

But he’s spent so long wanting him, longer than he probably realizes, and he tries to be invincible, but Davey Jacobs is his Achilles’ heel.

June 1901

It’s not unbearably hot, but the sun is too bright for anyone’s comfort. Jack’s accompanying Davey along across the city, helping him carry baskets of his mother’s washing to her clients.

When they finally drop off the last basket, Jack bumps their shoulders together, and Davey looks at him with a delighted grin. It makes Jack dizzy, and he nods towards the shaded alley.

They nearly collapse, sliding down the wall together, and Jack carefully puts an inch between them. It’s still light out, and there are people walking by just a few feet away, and they really aren’t concealed by anything, and Jack knows that they need to be cautious. He has to stop from looking for too long, because Davey’s hair is curlier than usual in the humidity, and he’s got his head tilted so his jawline is sharp and gorgeous, and if Jack keeps watching him sit there and breathe, he’s going to do something ridiculous.

Finally, Davey says, “Thanks for helping. Lord knows I needed it.”

Jack knocks their elbows together. “It would’ve just taken ya twice as long.”

“And I wouldn’t see you.”

Jack’s gaze flitters towards the pedestrians not too far away from them, and when he speaks, his voice is quieter than before. “Romantic.”

“Possibly,” Davey says, his voice no more than a murmur, and when Jack looks at him again, he finds Davey’s eyes on him.

He doesn’t understand why it’s easy, so so easy, for Davey to do this. He kisses Jack like he’s never thought about the repercussions, even though he thinks about everything. He can look at Jack and never once lose his restraint. 

Jack looks at Davey for a few seconds, and he wants to fall apart.

He presses his tongue to the roof of his own mouth to hold himself back, and when he gets back to the tiny shitty apartment he can barely afford, he goes to sleep fighting tears.

July 1901

Jack knows Irving Hall like the back of his own hand, so he knows every place you can hide in the back corridors. There’s one place in particular where you can faintly here the music and the applause, but no one will find you for decades, besides maybe Miss Medda.

So he and Davey are hidden there, fading into the sound of soft brassy music and the feeling of being the only two people in the world.

Most of the time, when they kiss and they’re all alone like this, it’s a little rushed, hasty, and hot. But something about the whole situation has made this moment softer. It���s time truly to themselves, without anyone else or even the thought of them. Jack smiles against Davey’s lips as they kiss, slow and sweet.

He knows they’re going to have to go back outside, to the real world, soon. That Davey should get home and go to bed. That Jack should walk back to his place and fall asleep alone and still craving Davey’s hands on his hips.

But he tries to forget it, he really tries.

August 1901

It’s a vaguely normal day in terms of the two of them– Davey talks, Jack talks, Davey seems effortlessly restrained, Jack is willing to kill for the ability to hold Davey’s hand for just a few minutes.

Davey comes over for dinner, which is the nicest thing Jack could scrape up, and that already gets Jack a little antsy because he’s realizing this is the first time Davey’s been in his apartment when it’s just the two of them. The sun is down, and it’s almost dark outside, and Jack is keeping his eyes fixed on his plate because really, this is supposed to be a sweet, civilized dinner.

And then Davey says, “My mama’s trying to get me keen on this girl from synagogue.”

Jack bites the inside of his cheek. “What’s her name?”

“Liza, I think,” Davey sighs. “She’s sweet, but also… you know.”

“I know.” The words scratch out of Jack’s throat, and suddenly everything in front of him feels a little stupid– because someday, some girl is gonna get Davey’s life, and she’ll get to be with him and wake up next to him and raise his family, and she’ll never know Davey quite like Jack does. But why does Jack even try to know him so bad, why does Jack need Davey near him, when that phantom girl’s always ready and waiting to scoop up her chance as soon as Jack messes up? And when he knows that that’ll be better for Davey, because Davey needs a nice girl to fulfill every domestic fantasy he deserves, so why is Jack being selfish?

“Are you…” Davey pauses, blinking in disbelief. “Are you jealous?”

Yes. Yes, he most definitely is.

They finish their food, and Jack stands after a moment. Davey gets up from the little table and walks around it, placing his hand on Jack’s waist and leaning forward to kiss him. It’s achingly gentle, and Jack’s fingers start to cramp with the effort not to touch him.

Jack pulls away. “Should you get home?”

Davey looks hurt for a moment, and then he asks, hesitantly, “Do you want me to go home?”

His eyes are so, so gorgeous, and so kind.

“No.”

“Then I’ll stay,” Davey says, sure and steady. Jack’s about to ask what exactly that means– for just a little while longer, for the night, but Davey’s already dragging Jack back, and their lips are together again.

Jack clutches at the back of Davey’s shirt as Davey kisses along his jaw, and they stumble across the room so Jack is pressed against the wall. 

Jack Kelly has broken a multitude of laws before, and so has David Jacobs, so Jack doesn’t really know why this law, the one they’re definitely about to break, feels so much more insurmountable. 

September 1901

They’re eating dinner with Davey’s family, some soup that’s much more broth than substance but is the best they could scrounge up. Les, nearly a teenager now, has long since devoured his serving, and is watching with keen interest as his parents discuss the romantic prospects of his siblings. Jack sits awkwardly, trying to pretend like the thought of Davey being engaged, married, to any odd girl doesn’t make his throat sore with envy.

“David, you’ve talked to Liza?” Esther asks, kind and hopeful but also annoyingly persistent. She sounds tired, and Jack pities her for a moment, trying to carve out a future for her children.

Davey’s eyes are fixed on his soup. “No, Mama, I ain’t.” He winces, then, and glances up, correcting himself. “Haven’t.”

The proper accent school had forced on him faded away two years ago, but Davey still has moments of caring about maintaining it, especially around his family.

“Well, it’d be nice if you could call on her family.”

“Yes,” Davey says, his voice spilling with false promises. “I’ll try and set up a dinner when I see her Saturday.”

Esther beams. “That’ll be lovely.”

Jack’s hand is clenched in a fist under the table, and Davey’s hand imperceptibly moves over to rest on Jack’s. It’s a moment of calm, a reassurance that they won’t vanish forever come Saturday.

Jack hasn’t ever met Liza, but he kind of hates her. Which isn’t fair, but he does, nonetheless.

That Friday night, they manage to steal maybe a half hour away, and Jack practically begs for Davey’s affection. They can’t do the real thing, not here on Davey’s goddamn rooftop, but he still presses chaste kisses to the back of Davey’s neck. He does so again, and again, temptingly brief, until Davey sighs slowly. It rumbles a little in the back of his throat, which is just a little too intoxicating, and in a few seconds, he’s pulling aside the loose, open collar of Jack’s shirt and the extra layer of his undershirt and leaving bruises along Jack’s collarbone.

Nobody will be able to see the marks, since Jack doesn’t let anyone but Davey ever see this much of his skin. But it’s material, far more material, than anything Liza has of Davey.

“I didn’t peg you as the jealous kind, baby,” Davey mutters against Jack’s shoulder, just a few minutes before they have to head inside. They were in that phase of trying to calm themselves down and make themselves presentable, but the name hits Jack’s system like a fever, and his ears go hot.

“Didn’t think I’d need to be,” Jack says, the words coming out a little strangled.

Davey huffs a soft, quiet laugh at that. “You don’t. She’s nothing like you. Nobody’s like you.” His thumb grazes over Jack’s cheekbone. “There’s only you.”

And that– the confirmation of everything Jack knows, everything he feels, pushes him dangerously close to tears. But he can’t cry, not now, not in front of Davey, so instead he drags him close, his arms around Davey’s waist to get him as near as possible. They kiss, bruising and sweet at the same time, until Davey has to pull back and get them calm all over again.

October 1901

As a general rule, Jack doesn’t cry in front of anyone.

He’ll cry alone, when there’s no one there to see him, no one to lose respect in him. But he refuses to be weak in the eyes of others, refuses to let other people see that he’s barely nineteen, and he’s not ready, not strong enough to do what life is going to force him to do.

But it’s been a horrible, fucked-up week. Pulitzer rejected idea after idea for his cartoons because they “catered to the lower class”, rent on his shitty place got hiked up, and then, of course, there’s Davey.

Nothing’s wrong with Davey, of course. But the circumstances of this thing that they have are getting worse and worse.

It starts with their friends starting to get confused as to why Jack, who was seized by infatuation every other second a year ago, suddenly talks of no one.

Davey has a few dinners with Liza’s family, and always assures Jack afterwards that they are incredibly boring. Jack worries less about them being boring, and more about them being safe.

And there is pressure on both of them– to start looking for a nice girl, to start figuring out what they want from their lives. 

Jack is slowly realizing that he wants to spend his life with Davey, and that’s truly horrifying, because he can’t. 

There is no future here, he tries to remind himself. This is temporary, and then it will go.

But his week has been utterly awful, and then when he meets Davey on the rooftop one night, and Davey presses soft kisses to the line of Jack’s jaw, it all comes crashing in on him. Davey is so gentle and fiery at the same time, so good and kind, and Jack cannot possibly keep him.

He almost goes numb, and barely registers his own tears until Davey is gasping and wiping them away for him.

Jack brings himself back to reality to the sound of Davey murmuring soft, reassuring words and kissing his forehead. “It’s okay, Jackie, we’re alright. Whatever it is, I can help. I’m right here, darling.”

That breaks right through all Jack’s shields, all his insistence that he doesn’t cry. Slow, quiet tears turn into wracking sobs, and he buries his face in Davey’s shoulder as his body shook.

Davey keeps whispering to him, rocking them back and forth. He starts singing some old Yiddish song, his voice a little raspy with the cold, and Jack clutches onto him. He wants Davey near him every second of every day, and he cannot have any of that, and that just makes him cry harder.

He tries not to think about the way Davey keeps him warm and safe from the wind, tries not to think at all– somewhere along the line, his tears slow, and he is calmed by Davey’s hand rubbing circles against his back. Davey pulls back, only far enough so he can look Jack in the eye.

“What’s going on?” he asks quietly, his hands cupping Jack’s face. “Did I do something?”

“You do nothing wrong. Not to me,” Jack says, and Davey’s eyes are soft and disbelieving. “It’s just… been bad. A bad week.”

Davey hums at that. “You wanna tell me about it?”

He can’t tell the full thing, he can’t tell Davey just how much the temporary state of them makes him want to rip his own heart out. Because then Davey will blame himself, and none of this, not one bit, is Davey’s fault.

But he tells him the abridged version, the part full of anger at the world for fucking him up so badly, frustration at Pulitzer and his landlord, fury at the world.

And when he finishes, he’s not crying, but he feels close to it again, and Davey wraps him up in another hug. 

It’s that moment that makes him realize. The way Davey holds him impossibly close, the way that he does it without a second thought, the way that Jack can picture them staying right here forever. 

He loves David Jacobs. He is in love with him. Irreversible, sticks-with-you-for-eternity kind of love, the kind of love that people get married over the dream of.

He loves him, and he doesn’t know how long he has, and he doesn’t know how long he will. But he knows it isn’t safe.

November 1901

There are a few moments after that in which he almost thinks he can make this whole thing work.

Davey stays the night over at Jack’s apartment– they have a while worth of burning kisses and grasping hands, trying to keep away the cold. After that, though, they lay as close as they can, Davey’s arms wrapped around Jack’s waist, and Jack’s just on the brink of falling asleep.

He opens his eyes just a bit to see Davey asleep, his lips just slightly parted, and that’s the last thing before he falls asleep.

The few times he’s gotten to wake up next to Davey, he’s always been up first, taken the time to sketch out the slope of his cheekbones. This time, though, when he wakes up, Davey’s sitting up next to him. He’s reading some massive book, and he’s smiling just a little.

He looks like a prince in some storybook. He looks enchanting.

Davey notices him, and his smile widens, reaching down to brush Jack’s curls out of his face. “Morning, neshomeleh.”

(That’s the thing with nicknames– Jack has always given them so frequently that whenever he calls him David, it feels like walking on holy ground. But Davey distributes them so sparingly, and usually just little quirks on people’s names, so every “lover” or word Jack doesn’t understand is a treasure. The first time they really discussed what they were, Davey asked Jack to call him David– he needed to be sure that Jack was serious.)

“Morning,” Jack says, and he wants so many more moments like this.

But then Davey has to go home, because they have lives, and those lives cannot be abandoned.

December 1901

It begins like this: Davey comes running up to Jack in the street.

Before Jack can blink, he’s enveloped in a hug, and Davey is laughing joyfully. The laughter fades for a moment, and Davey whispers, “Rooftop tonight,” with his lips close to Jack’s ear.

Then, he starts laughing again, and claps Jack on the back before he runs away.

That night, Jack climbs up the ladder on the side of Davey’s tenement to find Davey already sitting there, silhouetted by moonlight with his old coat pulled around him.

Jack steps towards him hesitantly, and as soon as Davey sees him, he rushes forward. Jack is taken aback when Davey kisses him, an ecstatic and almost aggressive press of lips before Davey backs up, holding Jack’s shoulders.

“You wait ‘till you hear my news,” Davey says giddily, and Jack blinks.

“I don’t wanna wait, mind telling me now?”

Davey laughs, that perfect firecracker laugh, and he drags Jack to sit down with him. They sit so they can face each other, Davey’s eyes bright and Jack’s eyes most likely confused.

“You know I got a cousin in Boston?” Jack nods. “And you know I’ve been looking for a job.” Another nod. “He talked to some folks up there and found someone willing to hire me.” Davey pauses, for dramatic effect. “As a teacher! A teacher, Jack, for littles, I can–”

Davey keeps speaking, but one word rings in Jack’s ears: Boston.

“You’re leaving?” he finally asks, interrupting Davey, his voice hoarse.

It doesn’t break Davey’s smile. “No, yes, but– Jack, this is the best part, he doesn’t know anything about me besides me having schooling and being good at running a crowd. And he’s found a place I can move into, and Jack, I already asked, and he said you could stay there, too.”

That’s too many words for Jack’s brain, too quick a series of additions, and he tries to focus on the last piece. “I can… move to Boston.”

“With me, Jack, you can move to Boston with me, and we’ll have a place, and nobody knows us! Jackie, lover, this is perfect, we can–”

Davey’s words fade into the background once more, and Jack starts feeling sick to his stomach, because he’s always thought that Davey knows that they’re impermanent.

He’s hated their impermanence, but he’s always thought Davey’s realized it.

And now, he thinks that maybe, Davey’s still clinging to childlike hope.

Of some accord that’s not his own, Jack starts speaking again. And then Davey speaks, and then Jack, and then both of them, and Davey, who was previously so thrilled, gets angry.

“I don’t get what you see wrong with–”

“This is never going to be perfect, Davey! We will never be safe, we will never be able to just exist– David, look at me!”

Davey’s eyes snap up to Jack’s face, and they’re filled with such hurt that Jack wavers. But he swallows down all the “I love you”s that he’s never said before, and he just says, “This can’t be forever.”

“We could try, though,” Davey says, sounding more desperate than angry now. “C’mon, Jack, listen to me. Believe in me, this is our chance. I’ll have a job, a real job, and we can wake up and fall asleep with each other and say whatever we want in private and not have to worry about my parents–”

The picture he’s painting is so goddamn pretty, and Jack needs to tear it apart, for both of their goods. Because Davey can be incredible, if he just lets go of Jack, and maybe Jack will learn how to live without him, someday.

“No,” Jack says simply.

Davey presses his lips together, looking at the ground. “I need to go. I need a job, a stable one. I need to go, and I need you to go with me.”

“You want me to. That ain’t good for either of us,” Jack says, praying that Davey will blink and then understand, but he doesn’t.

“So you just intend to quit this the second it’s real?”

“You want us to live together, David, to have a life. We can’t do that, we’ll never have that! No matter how much anybody wants it!”

There are a few more words. Tears start welling up in Davey’s eyes, and if Jack looks at that any longer, he’ll feel like the worst scum on Earth.

So he says goodbye, and he climbs back to the ground, leaving Davey on the roof.

And that’s how it ends.

April 1906

For five years, Davey has been in Boston, living a life that Jack could separate from his own.

And now he’s in New York again. He has a place, according to Crutchie, and a job teaching littles in the Lower East Side, the same neighborhood Davey grew up in.

Jack smiles to himself thinking about how Davey must feel– coming home, teaching in his own neighborhood, and finding it now quickly filling with Jewish families like his own. It must feel more like home than before, surrounded by the buildings of his childhood and by his people.

Jack never thinks so often about home, except when he’s thinking about Davey.

It takes him a few years of dawdling and wringing his hands and asking for second opinions before he finally gets up enough courage to find Davey’s little apartment. It doesn’t look too different from the Jacobs family’s apartment, but it’s all Davey’s.

He knocks on the door, thinking that he’s ready to see his face this time.

But Davey opens the door, and Jack’s never been ready.

Davey looks noticeably taken aback, and he steps away, a sliver more distance between them. “Jack. Hi.”

Jack swallows, taking off his hat. “Mind if I come in?” Davey doesn’t say anything, just moves to give Jack space to walk into his apartment.

Davey busies himself around the apartment for a while, cleaning up cups and scattered newspapers. Jack takes the time to observe him.

He’s still ridiculously gorgeous.

He outgrew his last bit of lanky awkwardness in Boston, making every step he takes now a little more confident. There’s a dark splattering of early-spring freckles across his face, and his hair is a little longer and curlier. There’s a short scar along his jaw that wasn’t there before, and Jack worries for a moment.

Davey turns, and his eyes fix on Jack, intense and suspicious. “What are you here for?”

“I wanted to check in,” Jack says, and the words seem hollow, even to himself. Davey huffs out an empty laugh.

“Well, you have. I’m fine.”

This is going downhill quickly, so Jack squeezes his eyes shut and manages, “Dave, I wanna apologize.”

Davey blinks, and then crosses his arms and tilts his head, telling him to begin.

“I never shoulda told you all that, before. I shoulda believed you, shoulda tried. I was a coward.” He looks down at his hands. “I thought… if I could make you leave me, maybe you could be normal.”

He looks up when Davey gives a frustrated sigh. “Jack, did you think you’d be the only man I’d ever think about?” Jack falters, his mouth falling open, and Davey rolls his eyes. “Only way that’d happen is if you’d left with me, if I had you. And you stayed, don’t see how you could fix that now.”

“I know. I know, Davey, really. I just…”

“You know I told Sarah I was gonna ask you to go with me?”

That explains some things.

Jack shakes his head, and Davey drops his hands to his sides. “I was so sure you were gonna say yes, Jack. We felt… I dunno, it felt like we were really something.”

“I’m so sorry. So sorry.”

Davey laughs hoarsely. “We all believe in magical true love when we’re eighteen. I was dumb, it’s… it is.”

Denial is on the tip of his tongue, he’s about to say that he didn’t believe in all that. And then he thinks about May, a few months before he was nineteen, and kissing Davey on the roof. Maybe he did.

He’s shaken out of the thought when Davey reaches a hand up to rub at his own temple, clearly tired. “Whatever. I left, you didn’t.”

Jack bites down on his tongue to avoid saying something stupid. “I wish I had. I shoulda, Davey, I’s regretted it every day.”

Davey’s eyebrows furrow. “You never wrote. You never tried to contact me. Never visited, never gave my mama a message to send to me. That ain’t regret.”

“It was different when you was away… abstract, sorta.”

“So, what, you like it better when you don’t have to feel guilty about me?”

“No!” Jack says, the word tripping out of his mouth. “Not that, swear, no, it’s just…” He can feel Davey’s willingness to let him stay draining quickly, and all he can think about how terribly, horribly wrong his life will be if he never sees this man again. “It’s just that I love you.”

Davey swallows, hard, and Jack realizes all over again that neither of them ever said it.

“I love you. And I did then, and I’s still doing it now, and Christ, every time I see you I never wanna look away. And I made myself think we couldn’t have nothing so I’d stop hoping for it.”

He tries to look Davey in the eyes. “I love you,” he repeats, for posterity.

Davey exhales slowly, his breaths shaky. “Lord. Jack, I…”

“You ain’t gotta say anything. I’m just sorry, is all. Nothing you gotta do about it.”

“What if I want to?” Davey asks, sounding a little faint, and Jack’s heart jumps to his throat. “If I forgive you right here, are you gonna leave again?”

“Never. You want me here, you want me anywhere, I’m there. I’s never gonna leave, promise.”

Davey tilts his head up, looking at his ceiling. There’s a long moment of silence, and Jack wrings his hands, praying silently. When Davey speaks, they’ve been quiet for so long that it surprises them both.

“I love you, too.”

Jack opens his eyes, realizing only now that they’re closed, and finds Davey’s gaze meeting his own. His breath catches in his throat, and he isn’t sure what to do.

“It’s gonna take some time,” Davey says, his voice soft and raw like Jack remembers it being in the mornings. “I… I’m gonna forgive you, but it’s gonna be a second.”

“I can wait,” Jack says, barely registering the words. “I can wait, Dave.”

Davey smiles delicately, and then, “Say my name. My real name. Tell me you love me, I need to know it’s real.” The half a room between them is stifling and impossible. Jack tries to breathe, tries to give Davey the sort of moment that Jack’s never been good at.

“I love you, David Jacobs,” he says, and before the last syllable has even left his lips, Davey is hugging him as tight as possible. Jack buries his face in Davey’s shirt, letting tears leak out as they breathe together. “I’m gonna love you right this time.”

Jack doesn’t know if they’re allowed to have a future together. But he knows they will, regardless of who refuses it to them.

The city of New York buzzes outside as they cling to each other, cherishing their reprieve and knowing that the April air next morning will be so different from December’s night winds.

quick note for those who dont know: nesholemeh is “sweetheart” in yiddish. the single take-away for this fic is that i’m soft for davey calling jack pet names