Date: Tue, 14 Mar 2006 21:14:22 -0800 From: christopher. Subject: breaking through part 6 This is fiction. I don't know Jake Gyllenhaal and my little story doesn't imply anything about him or his sexuality, but I'd do just about anything to have him all to myself. Feedback is greatly appreciated and any writer will tell you that they live for it; I'll answer every single one. Questions, comments, loved it or hated it? Shoot me a message at christopherrluu@gmail.com. Thanks to everyone for writing, getting mail makes a day at work go by faster than you'll ever know. Things are speeding up, posts may be coming more often, I hope that's something to look forward to. In the meantime, go get yourself a copy of Jarhead, which I've watched seven or eight times since I got mine. On with the show: Part VI Jake couldn't take his mind off of the messages in Chris' phone. Even after they were gone, the words lingered in his mind, somehow inching out the lines he was supposed to have memorized. On the set, he was too distracted to hear the production team telling him where to be and which scenes they had left to do, he mixed up his lines and had to take a break, setting back the entire shooting. Juliette and Bradley had both mentioned how uncharacteristically quiet he was being between scenes and even the crew felt like something was off. "Hey," Chris said. Jake calmed down a little just hearing his voice over the phone. "Did you eat yet? I know it's late but I figured we can get something together," Jake asked. "I just got out of my meeting and I'm starving," Chris said, "where do you want to meet up?" "Just the French place by the hotel is good," Jake said, "I'll be there in an hour." Chris slipped his phone back into his pocket, noticing that Jake's voice sounded more drained and flat than it normally was. Before he could ask about it, he heard the phone click and Jake was gone. An hour and ten minutes later, Jake walked in to the little bistro that they had been frequenting for the last three weeks, Chris sitting at a table by the window sipping his coffee and reading the New York Times Magazine as Jake walked past the other tables and pulled a chair out next to him. "It's been a long day," Jake said, running his hands over his face, fingers kneading at his temples, "I can't wait to get back to the hotel." "Just a few more days to go," Chris said, "then we can both just relax." Jake nodded, "I'm just going to come out and say it, because I don't know how else to bring it up." Chris sat up straight, not expecting anything to come up. He looked confused, everything seemed to be going alright. "You didn't read any of those messages that Eric sent you, but I did. He said some heavy things." "I've only known him for a week," Chris said, "you've got to be kidding me if you're thinking what I think you're thinking." "It just sounds like he thinks that there's more going on," Jake said, he looked just as confused as Chris did, the words just spilling from his mouth. "There isn't," Chris said flatly. Jake's hands shook, his flushing red. "I'm not accusing you of anything. I'm just saying you have to let him know that there are lines that can't be crossed." Chris' voice lowered, "Are you saying that you don't trust me, Jake? I don't give you any reason not to." "I trust you, I don't trust other people," Jake said, his tone sincere. The situation was just so foreign to the both of them, so unlike anything that they normally talked about. "I didn't say this because I think you're into him, I just want you to know." Chris sat there, silently seething. He never doubted Jake, ever. The thought never entered his mind--he just didn't work that way. Everything seemed to be going so well between them and now Eric had driven a spike between them without ever even meeting both of them at once. "I can't believe you're even bringing this up." "It's been bugging me all day. I can't concentrate. I fucked up all my lines," Jake said, desperately grasping for straws, anything, to get these feelings off his chest and out of his head, "I don't want to lose you, I don't even want to think that there's a possibility of losing you," he said, his words coming out slowly and deliberately. "There isn't one, Jake," Chris said. Jake's features softened, maybe from fatigue and maybe from relief, it calmed Chris down just the same. He let out a long sigh, looking up at Jake's blue eyes. When there was tension between them, neither of them knew how to deal with it. This was new to both of them, if they were at home, Chris knew that instead of talking about it like they'd just done, Chris and Jake would escape to their corners, brooding and feeling miserable on their own. New York was cold and alienating, so if they didn't have each other, they didn't have anything. It wasn't easy, but when Chris reached for Jake's hand, he took it in his own and everything seemed to be okay. *** "Glossy or matte?" Eric asked. "I want everything but the iris to be matte, make the blue part of the eye glossy," Chris said, tracing the outline of the eye on a mock-up that Eric had given him. "I like that you moved the text into the actual eye, making the letters look like part of the striations in the iris. It's so good." Eric smiled, proud not only of his work, but also that he'd impressed Chris with it. His ideas would actually make the cover really dynamic, nobody would miss it, "What do you think about making the skin gray? It would make the blue stand out, I think." "Let's see it," Chris said, sitting back in his chair. Eric leaned over him to get to the mouse, causing Chris to roll his chair back a little. Eric clicked around, his mouse darting back and forth and soon, Chris saw a new cover slowly inch out of the printer. "There you go," Eric said, handing it to Chris. He watched as Chris' dark eyes, nearly black in the fluorescent lights of the lab, scan the printout, his fingers tracing the eye again, a smile coming to his face. "This is the perfect blue," Chris said, it looked like the Santa Barbara ocean first thing in the morning, the blue that Rothko's paintings reminded him of, and more than anything, the blue of Jake's eyes. "It's not cold or icy. It's perfect." "It took a lot," Eric said, "there are lots of blue eyes in my trash can." Eric slipped the copy out of Chris' hand, admiring it himself. It took him a long, long time. Each effort was more bittersweet than the last because he knew that the closer he got it to perfect, the less he'd see Chris. "So the back will just be black with white text, some blue, it's going to look so good," Chris said, "I love it." "I knew you would," Eric said, his eyes looking down at the cover. He imagined it on bookstore shelves, stacks of them side by side, staring out at eager readers. It was bigger than anything that he'd ever done. This piece would be all over the country and people would see it, it didn't matter if they were old or young, men or women, people would see it. "I can't say thank you enough," Chris said. "The cover's almost as important as the inside. Almost." Eric let out a chuckle. "Finally," Chris said, "you've been so tense all day." "It's just that you never answered my messages," Eric said, "and I just don't know how to act around you anymore." "Like you normally do, minus the kissing. That should be fine," Chris said, "and I don't know how to check those messages. I just learned how yesterday morning." "I saw you in the society pages of the New York Times Magazine," Eric said, "sounds like you did a good job at the museum." Chris didn't even know that he was in the magazine, remembering that Jake had interrupted him before he got past the table of contents. "You didn't get a chance to go?" Eric shook his head, "I was working on your cover, but I didn't have an invite anyway." "It was pretty last minute," Chris said, "I didn't have a speech prepared or anything. They were just being nice if they said anything at all." "Did you want to take a break? Get some coffee or something?" "I think we're done," Chris said not realizing what his words really meant, "I mean the cover is perfect. Houghton will send you the blurbs for the back when they get them. I just want to tell you that nobody could have done this cover but you." "I'm sorry I messed things up," Eric said, freezing Chris in his chair. He didn't know what to say to that, especially after everything he and Jake had talked about. "Me too," Chris said before standing up. He gave Eric a firm handshake, seeing the disappointment in his eyes, "It was really good working with you." Watching Chris walk out of the lab, Eric realized it was the third time he'd watched Chris walk away. Every time he wanted Chris to turn around, smiling and running into his arms, lips crashing together like a Hollywood movie. But instead, Chris was walking to Jake to run into his arms and to kiss his lips. Eric sat there, resigned, knowing that no matter what he did, Chris would never be running to him. Looking at the mock-up one last time, the blue eye looking back at him was mocking him. Jake was looking back at him, gloating that he'd won out, that he was the one with Chris. He'd done it for Chris, though, grimacing every time he edited it, every time he made it look more and more like Jake. It was a constant reminder of what he couldn't have, but it was what would put his name out there so that people would know him, know Eric de la Coeur. It hurt, though. Eric was suffering for his art, and no matter how much it hurt him, he had to do it. *** "They said I had a deeper understanding of my character," Jake said, his voice was excited and his words were running into each other, "they said that those were the best scenes I've done the whole time." Chris smiled, pulling Jake into a kiss. "I finished the cover today, everything's set," Chris said, catching his breath. Unexpectedly, Jake kissed Chris right back, his eyes wide and bright, "I want to show you." Chris pulled away and reached into his messenger bag, rummaging around for the mock-up that Eric had given him. "Oh, I think we're in this," Chris said, handing Jake the New York Times Magazine. "In here?" Jake asked, flipping through the pages, "there's an article about you?" "No, a picture of us together I think," Chris said, still shuffling through his bag, "in the society pages." Jake flipped backwards, scanning the pages for anything familiar. When he got to the spread on the Rothko exhibition, he spread the magazine wide open. There they were, smiling for the cameras in one picture, side by side in their black suits. They both looked surprisingly calm, and in another picture on the spread, Jake was laughing, Chris whispering something in his ear. "What do they pictures say?" "It says 'Author Christopher Lewis and actor Jake Gyllenhaal at the museum's Rothko exhibition,'" Jake read, "the other one says 'a moment of inspiration.'" "Ok, I found it," Chris said, holding out the cover to Jake. Putting the magazine down, he saw the gray background and the blue eye, bright but not artificial, he thought it was sort of oceanic and strangely familiar. "What do you think?" "It's really cool," Jake said, still looking at the picture, "I like that it's an illustration and not a photo. I really like it." Jake stared at the picture, trying to figure out where he'd seen that blue before, but he couldn't place it. He handed it back to Chris, watching as Chris' eyes scanned the page, a subtle smile lifting the corners of his mouth. He carefully slid it back into a folder and into his bag. "They're adding something to the back, so it's going to be a novel and a short story; or maybe a short story and a novel. I'm not sure," Chris said, "I sent it in today." Chris was rummaging around in his bag again, "I have a copy of it here for you to read. I wrote it for you." *** Folding up the papers and looking up at the sky, tears slowly rolling down his stubbled face, Jake blinked and slowly slipped them back into his coat pocket. Slowly lowering his head, he let out a long sigh. "And that's a wrap!" Fincher screamed. The director was known for his demands of perfection, but amazingly, Jake had done the last scene in one take, the tears seemingly miraculous. "Everyone was amazing, everyone give yourself a hand." The entire crew filled the park with sounds of claps and hollers and Jake clutched those papers in his hand, shaking off the tears, and wiping his face. Slipping away behind the production crew, Jake did his best to collect himself, not realizing how intense it was not to just be filming the very last scene in a movie, but to be wrapping the entire movie altogether. One deep breath and he was composed enough to give a warm handshake to the crew and hugs to his costars. It had been almost a month and a half, but he was proud of this project and proud of what New York had made him realize. The papers were supposed to be a letter from his dying mother or his dead father, it was open to be either, but instead, they were the handwritten story that Chris had given him the day before. He'd finished reading it right before the last scene, his heart beating like he was running a marathon and his breath short. Chris' work could be devastating; hitting every emotion that Jake usually kept locked up, Chris' surprisingly immaculate handwriting seemed to delve right inside him and tear him up. "That was the most heart-wrenching scene I've ever directed," David said, "and I've had to deal with a lot of drama queens." He patted Jake on the back, moving along to give his thanks to everyone else. He remembered how thrown he was at first, having to do the first scenes over and over, driving himself and the crew insane, and then Chris came to the city and everything seemed to be in place. His work was better, his time off was better, and more than anything else, he felt like he had everything he needed. He never thought Chris had somehow managed to become such a big part in everything, but he had and now Jake couldn't imagine what it would be like without him. *** "We sent out a search party but they didn't find anything. I figured you for dead," Olivia said, beaming. "I missed you guys, and I missed home so much," Chris said, grabbing the two cups of coffee off the counter. "So it's business as usual now?" Olivia asked. "It hasn't been normal for a long time now," Chris said, realizing that the past few months had been nothing like he'd been used to. Chris backed out of the coffee shop and headed home. The warm air enveloped him, a refreshing change from the chills of New York. Chris was in his uniform of jeans, white t-shirt, sandals, and hoodie, not weighed down with layers of sweaters, scarves, and coats. He was home and he was happy. Jake was still staggering around the house and wiping the sleep from his eyes when Chris set the cups of coffee on the table next to a copy of Jeffrey Eugenides' novel Middlesex. "Good book," Chris said, running his fingers over the smoky black and white cover. "You leant it to me a while back," Jake said, scratching the back of his neck as he let out a long yawn. Chris watched as the muscles of Jake's chest stretched, the hairs on his stomach and his head matted and disheveled. Jake pressed his nose into the crook of Chris' neck, wrapping his arms around Chris and rocking their bodies together. "Thanks for the coffee," he whispered. Chris felt the scratch of Jake's facial hair against the smooth skin of his neck; something that tickled at first and now was as comforting as a firm hug. He smelled like Chris' laundry detergent, his shorts slung low on his hips. Chris turned around and pressed his forehead to Jake's, smiling. "You smell so good, so clean." "Caddy smelled like trees," Chris whispered, grinning. He ran his hands down Jake's chest, his fingers running through the hairs on Jake's stomach. "I see the beginning and now I see the ending," Jake whispered, playing along, "I don't remember anything else from The Sound and the Fury." "Me either," Chris said, pressing his lips to Jake's. "I have to ask you something. Something serious," Jake said, pulling their bodies even closer together. "Before that though, I just want to tell you that I liked the story you gave me." Chris blushed and tried to look away, but Jake pushed his forehead against Chris', their eyes focusing on one another's again. "I want you to move in with me, to my place." "I've never even seen it," Chris said, "you're here all the time." "That's what I want, it's like a new place. It can be our place," Jake said, his eyes almost pleading. Chris could tell he'd put a lot of thought into it just by the tone of his voice. "All I know about it is that it's three blocks away," Chris said, "and full of boxes." "Imagine how easy it'll be for you to move. Three blocks and we can have a place of our own. Not your place or mine, it can be ours. I, I mean, it has four bedrooms, a detached garage, we can make it into a studio for you to write. You could hang your plaques and it could be like an escape," Jake said. Chris felt the excitement, Jake holding him tightly, his skin heating up as he got excited. Chris combed his fingers through Jake's hair, flattening a cowlick in the right side of his head and looked into his face. Jake seemed confused, he expected an excited "yes," a deep kiss at the least. "Can I look at it first?" Jake's eyes brightened, sparkling. Jake smiled, "Let me get dressed." *** Chris unzipped his hoodie and threw it onto a stack of boxes in Jake's entryway. The house was just like any other house, but it was situated on top of a bluff, overlooking the ocean. Chris's house faced the beach too, but from up here, they could see the fog rolling in onto the sand and the sun dip into the water at dusk, Chris was in love. Jake moved some boxes around, the only ones open were labeled "clothes" and "shoes." Jake grabbed Chris' hand and led him around the house. "I can look into the garage and see you from here," Jake said, pointing out the picture window. The garage had a huge window too, and Chris could picture himself in there, typing away while Jake was inside the house on the phone or reading. They could be together even if they weren't. "And the bedroom is big, with big closets, and the kitchen is nice. What do you think?" "Do we unpack your stuff or do we move my stuff in first?" Jake pulled their bodies together, crashing his lips into Chris'. Jake did it, let someone in, and it felt good. He pulled off is sweater, feeling Chris' hands rest on his broad shoulders, his warm fingers pressing against Jake's cold skin. Jake's hands slowly unzipped Chris' hooded sweatshirt, feeling it slip off his shoulders onto the dusty floor. The thin material of Chris' t-shirt bunched up as Jake slid his hands over hot skin, breaking the kiss only to pull Chris' shirt off. It floated to the floor as Jake pulled Chris down onto the ultra-suede couch and settling on top of him, their mouths hungry as Chris reached for Jake's cock. He shuddered as Chris' fingers worked open the buttons of his jeans, "You're not wearing anything under," Chris panted, surprised. "I was in a hurry," Jake panted, a sly grin spreading across his face. He leaned back down as he pulled his pants off, Chris unbuttoned his own jeans, watching Jake's hungry eyes scan his chest. Jake's hand wrapped around Chris' cock, his ears filling with Chris' low groans and pants with every slow stroke and pull. Jake licked at the hollow of Chris' throat, feeling Chris' fingers dig into his shoulders, Chris writhed under him, his body rising to thrust into Jake's fist. Jake pumped Chris' cock faster, feeling him pant and stiffen, every muscle in his body tensing. Jake kissed him again, Chris' lips flush with desire, his body tingling with lust. "Just do it, Jake," Chris groaned. He attached his lips to Jake's neck, surprising him. Soft nibbles joined Chris' tongue right where Jake liked it and Jake followed orders, slipping a finger into Chris' hole. He felt Chris' entire body tense, saw Chris bit his lip as he tried to relax. Glancing around the room, he saw nothing but boxes. He had to have something, some lotion somewhere. Chris pulled him back down by the neck, kissing him and running a hand down to his cock. Jake shuddered when he felt Chris' hand stroke his dick, smearing the pre-cum down his shaft. Chris let his other hand rest on Jake's stomach, feeling the taut muscles squeeze every time he reached the head of Jake's cock. His ass burned when Jake slid another finger in, his back arched when Jake found his prostate, lightly tapping it as Chris purred into his ear, pulling at the lobe with his lips. Jake pulled off of Chris, leaving kisses on his jaw as he gently pushed Chris so that he was lying flat on the sofa. Both their cocks were rigid, shiny with pre-cum. Chris' heart beat so fast and hard he could almost hear it over Jake's heavy breathing and his own groans. His body felt hot and slick with sweat, sliding against Jake's hairy chest as he tried to fuck himself on Jake's fingers. He looked up and saw Jake's face, a contrast of serious concentration and a haze of lust that had Chris throwing his head back and trying his hardest to not to desperately jerk at his own cock. Slowly raising Chris' legs onto his shoulders, Jake leaned down, hoping that his copious pre- cum would be enough for him to slide into Chris. When the blunt head of Jake's cock pressed against his hole, Chris rested his forehead on Jake's shoulder, his eyes shut tight and his teeth clenched together. Jake did his best to control the entry, but slipped, a good two inches forcing its way into Chris' hole, "Fuck," Chris groaned, "slow down, slow down." His breathing was heavy and labored, his entire body stiff. Jake started to pull out but Chris clung to his back, freezing him in place. His body yearned to slam in all the way, to pound his cock deep inside Chris, but the erratic breathing and clenching muscles kept him in place. Feeling Chris nod against his shoulder, Jake pressed his cock in deeper, a low groan escaping his own lips. "Stop," Chris said, "hold on." He reached down and started to stroke his own cock, distracting himself from the pain. Jake pressed the rest of his cock inside Chris, feeling his entire shaft sheathed in the tight heat. He let out a long breath, pulling out as slow as he could. Chris moaned when he pushed back in, his cock jumping when Jake rolled over his prostate. Throwing his head back, Jake let his body take over, his thrusts starting out slow and long. Chris' fingers ran through his hair, pulling their lips together as Jake's thrusts got faster and harder. Jake pulled Chris closer and Chris froze, "stop right there." Jake checked himself, making sure everything was okay, "Right there," Chris whimpered, "keep doing it like that." Jake realized that he was thrusting at a different angle, his cock aimed right at Chris' prostate. His fingers gripped the flesh of Chris' thighs, pumping deep into his body with every thrust. Breathing hard, Chris pulled Jake down again, needing to feel his tongue sliding against his own, feeling Jake's body fit so perfectly against his and the scratching of stubble against skin, the raw need and desire almost smothering the both of them. Chris stroked his cock again, feeling his body tingle with sensation from his dick and his ass, radiating all over to the very tips of his fingers and toes. Jake straightened his back, thrusting with what was left of his strength. His jaw hung slack and every muscle in his body seemed to work towards release. Chris' hand was like a blur on his cock, his movements erratic and rough. "I can't take much more," Chris said, almost choking on his own words. Tossing his head from side to side, his eyes were shut tight and his cock was swollen, every breath shallow and light. A second later, a long groan escaped Chris' lips and Jake could feel the squeeze of Chris' ass muscles on his thick shaft, watching as ropes of cum landed on Chris' chest with ever contraction. Jake pressed his lips to Chris', steadying himself before his last hard thrusts, his cum shooting in Chris ass as the spasms took him over the edge. Chris flinched when the hot liquid splashed inside him, his body almost melting into Jake's. Slowly, Chris' breathing went back to normal; blinking, he ran his hand down Jake's spine, feeling the sweat on his fingertips. Jake settled on top of Chris, leaving lazy kisses on his forehead and temple. Chris cringed when Jake's softening cock pulled out of him, settling down when he felt Jake's fingers in his tousled hair. H let out a sigh when he felt Jake wrap his arms around him, pulling them onto their sides. His forehead resting against the back of Chris' neck, Jake settled in, home sweet home. *** Jake's biceps bulged and his neck strained as he and Chris moved Chris' old couch into the detached garage at Jake's house. When they set it down, Jake brushed his hands together and pulled the hem of his t-shirt up to wipe the sweat from his brow. He hopped onto the soft down cushions of the couch and lay back, "Just as comfortable as I remember," he said, "Maggie sent me a housewarming present when I got the house that you'd really like. I'll bring it out when I figure out which box they're in." "I love this," Chris said, motioning to the entire studio. His couch was in there, his desk and a few of his awards were already sitting on the windowsill. A green library lamp stood on the desk next to a stack of his notebooks. He'd move his books in later and it'd be perfect, a place he could go to write that wasn't the same place he folded his laundry. The huge picture window filled the room with a soft light and across the lawn, he saw that Jake's house, their house, would soon be as cozy as this studio. "And I love you." Jake smiled, "I'd still be living out of boxes if it wasn't for you." "You're still living out of boxes." "But now I actually want to unpack." Chris stood behind him, hands softly kneading Jake's shoulders. Leaning his head back, Jake closed his eyes as Chris leaned down to kiss him. Pulling away, Jake smiled, "Unpack so that this is our house, not mine." Chris had been on his own for so long he didn't realize how much junk he had amassed. Back at his place, Jake had helped him pack his things into the same brown cardboard boxes that filled his house, throwing out old magazines and junk he didn't even remember he had. "Thanks for this," Chris said. "I never said thanks for that story you wrote me," Jake said, "I like it a lot. I've read it a few times and still can't get through it without getting a little, you know, teary." Chris blushed, shrugging, "It sort of just came out." "It was heavy," Jake said, pulling Chris down onto the couch with him. Chris ran his hand over Jake's stomach, resting his head on his shoulder. "When did you write it?" "In New York," Chris said, softly kissing Jake's neck, "towards the end of the trip, it was just a hard day to get through." Jake ran his hands down to Chris' neck pulling their lips together. "I didn't know that you felt like that," Jake said, "I was there with you and didn't realize how you felt." "You were working," Chris said, "that's more important than me sulking and feeling all lonely." "No it's not," Jake said, "it's not okay." Chris kissed him to shut him up, knowing that no matter what happened, no matter how long they'd be together or how much they'd go through, there'd be times when he'd come in second. He'd experienced a taste of it in New York and every day he wondered if the next movie would be even harder and he'd be pushed completely out of mind. *** The sky shone blue through the windows, Chris pulling his sunglasses on even though he was indoors. It was early, but the fog had somehow broken and Chris could see some teenagers on the beach, skipping school because of the unseasonably warm weather. Jake was at home, applying a fresh coat of varnish on the wood paneling of the writing studio. He was so into the move that Chris felt smothered, Jake was overcompensating for New York, where Chris had almost been left to fend for himself. Chris swirled the coffee around in his cup, wondering why Jake was suddenly so eager for them to be together all the time. He didn't see anything wrong with what they had been doing, Jake coming over in the morning and then hanging out all day and some nights. It was starting to be too much, especially when Jake was imagining Chris' furniture in the house they were sharing. Chris sighed, realizing that he hadn't written a word all morning. He used to revel in his routines, but now that it'd been thrown for a month, he seemed to just write now, anytime and anywhere he had a chance, not just in the morning like he used to. Shutting his laptop, he packed his things and headed to the beach. "Did you get something done?" Jake asked, sitting down on the sand next to Chris, his bare toes wiggling in the warm sand. Chris shook his head, letting it drop to its familiar place on Jake's shoulder. "Nothing's coming out," Chris said, his voice almost drowned out by the crashing waves. Everything was familiar now, the smell of the ocean mixing with Jake's musky laundry detergent smell, the crashing waves and Jake's steady breathing. "I think I'm going to take a break." "You've been working really hard," Jake said, reaching for Chris' hand, "you deserve one. A real break." "But what would I do?" Chris asked, realizing that he'd been writing for the last six years, nonstop. He didn't know how to do anything apart from the constant writing, re-writing, and anxious waiting for rejection letters or the rare congratulatory letter. He had no idea what he'd do all day if he wasn't writing or thinking about writing. "You would just chill," Jake said, "watch movies and go to museums, stuff like that." Chris didn't know what to say. It sounded nice: the lazy days of not changing out of his pajamas, going to see movies and sleeping in, but it also sounded like it would get old fast. Jake watched Chris, waiting for a reaction or an answer, but he didn't get one. Instead, he saw Chris' intense eyes fixed on the ocean, his face confused. "Whatever you do, I'll be right there with you." It seemed to be the right thing to say, and it really did make Chris feel better to know that Jake cared enough about him suggest something at all. After quick kiss on the cheek, Jake pulled Chris up off the sand, "Let's get going, I want you to see the studio and the house." Chris was floored. The boxes were all gone, every single one. He'd been gone for a morning and what looked like weeks of work had been done in just a few hours. He walked around the living room, speechless as he ran his fingers over the ultra-suede couch and the mis-matched furniture. He loved it. Jake's things and his things mixed together seamlessly, it really was their house. His pictures were on the wall right next to Jake's, his coffee table was right there, it's coffee-mug rings still there. "You did this all by yourself?" Jake shrugged, his hands slipping into his pockets. "You've had a lot on your mind." "Is that my Booker prize on the mantle? And your Young Hollywood award! And all the boxes are gone," Chris said in disbelief, "I just fell in love with you all over again." "Everything's done," Jake said, practically beaming, "bedrooms, kitchen, bathrooms, all done. And the studio, too. I even alphabetized your books." "You're too much," Chris said, wrapping his arms around Jake's neck, "you didn't have to do all this. I could have helped." "Something's going on up here," Jake said, finger gently running over Chris' head, "it's like you're distracted all the time. You needed time to think." "Are you sore? Tired?" Chris asked, "I mean, you moved everything by yourself." "There are a few new scratches on the floor, a few nicks in the paint," Jake said, smiling. He was obviously proud of everything that he'd done and in all honesty, Chris loved everything. He didn't know what was coming over him, but Chris' hands suddenly came to his face and the tears just streamed down his face. Jake didn't know what was going on, one minute Chris was fine, smiling as he looked at the house and now, he was crying, heavy sobs shaking his body as Jake held him. Jake felt the tears soak through his thin t-shirt, Chris' shaking body resting on his. Soothing hands ran over Chris' back, but he seemed to have lost control of everything. It was all coming at him too fast. Jake grabbed the sides of his head, looking right into his eyes, blue meeting brown, "Whoa, whoa, what's going on?" Chris didn't have an answer; he couldn't say a thing. The tears came out and since he couldn't do anything about it, he just let them flow. --- Feedback? christopherrluu@gmail.com