31. Unhealthy Obsession

Summary: Jack has very normal thoughts and reactions to Dave's stalkative behaviour.

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You. You know who you are. Heart emoji.

Thank you OJulius and Spring for contributing and helping me brainstorm !!

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Old sport, how he had hated the name at first. He'd never liked any of his fake names; not the ones that sounded appealing, not the ones that were some teasing play on words to agitate another one of the phones; all of them were fleeting. He moved between locations so rapidly that any name he gave himself felt as if it was merely removing him further from his sense of self, another inconsistency that he was forced to live with. Back then, he often wondered how many people still knew him by Jack, if he even knew himself by that name anymore; he'd stopped referring to himself by name a long time ago.

He'd thought about old sport in the same manner. It was something temporary, a nickname that he wouldn't let himself get attached to in favour of it hurting a little less when he had to abandon it. He'd found that it was best to avoid any attachment to his persona's, which made it easier when he eventually had to leave the person who used it behind. Unbothered to comment on it, he let Dave ramble on and use it to his heart's content. No matter how much he tried to push it down, there was undeniably something endearing about it; it was something personal. Back then he'd told himself that Dave just kept it up because he was too far in to ask for his actual name, and that it meant nothing more

And then, Vegas happened. Suddenly old sport became more than a lackey, a means to an end; old sport became sportsy, and sportsy became a companion. Nights where Dave outright introduced him by his nickname, unknowingly assigning him an identity that he had avoided for so long. It was foreign to mean something to a person again, to have a name that wasn't fleeting. Nights where old sport was someone to talk with, soft conversations that descended into sleepy mumbles, contact so close he was certain it must've resembled their growing bond in some way.

He couldn't quite pinpoint exactly when, or why, but he had started referring to himself with a name again; he had internalised old sport. Then again, maybe it was a process, the result of being seen as a person again; more than a pawn to push. He hadn't entirely realised how dehumanised he had been until Dave started treating him accordingly, even outside of his own lack of a name, people hadn't been kind to him since his interrupted death. Adopting old sport as a name was the final step to it: people treated each other with courtesy and mutual respect, people had a consistent name to call each other.

Their reunion had reinforced that. Even after what had gone down in Vegas, the mess they'd made for themselves; he was still old sport to Dave. Only to Dave was he a consistent identity with a name of his own, a name that was given to him nonetheless. He began to think fondly of it, took kindly to the name and its intimacy, tried very desperately to ignore what that implied about his relationship towards Dave. The name, despite being the final step in personifying himself, had only been one of the first of their growing dynamic. Even though he considered old sport apart of himself, it was undeniable that it was simultaneously exclusive between him and Dave.

It was personal, a name that only strengthened what lingered between them. He hadn't been this acquainted with anyone since he had abandoned Jack as his name, he'd even referred to Dave as his friend on several occasions. He hadn't stopped to think about it then, too intoxicated to notice how the way he slouched against Dave was far more than friendly, but with the silence of the night came his thoughts. Dave was the closest he'd had to a friend, there was no denying that, yet he still felt hesitant to label Dave as such.

Because friends weren't supposed to wander your house unannounced, in the dead of night while you were meant to be asleep. It wasn't exactly what he had expected upon seeing Dave again in Bakersfield, but it was the reality he was faced with when he woke up to the sound of his shower running one night. He'd snuck out of bed, careful not to make a sound even despite the adrenaline that raced his body. The possibility of an intruder was quick to be discarded, no one with actual malicious intent took the time to shower in their target's house, and his suspicion was only confirmed when he peered into his bathroom to find a purple figure behind condensed glass panes.

For a moment, Jack had just stood there; observing as if frozen in place, though not quite out of fear. He considered just about anything, from confronting Dave to the very brief thought of stepping under the shower with him that was quickly abandoned with a shake of his head. What'll you do, old sport? he had asked himself, only for that name to echo through his mind once again. Confronting Dave meant a shift in their dynamic, and he couldn't imagine a life where he wasn't old sport anymore, it'd become too pivotal to his identity. That was the only reason, he had told himself; Dave roaming his house was still an invasion, even if he found himself watching for longer than anyone should've.

It was entirely possible that wasn't the first time, Jack considered, and it surely wasn't his last. Even with his doors locked and his windows closed, Dave would still manage a way inside: it was almost endearing to see how much effort he put into merely being in Jack's vicinity. He eventually found himself making it easier for Dave, leaving open windows and unlocking his doors just to hear him scrounge the house until he inevitably fell asleep, still making a feeble attempt to convince himself that this dynamic was a perfectly healthy and platonic one.

Nights came where Dave snuck into his room, lingered over him while Jack did everything in his power not to fall asleep with his eyes closed. He'd spend hours listening to Dave's breathing under his bed, trying to sync his own to it only to fall out of their established rhythm again when either of them would shift. It was intimate in its own sense of the word, an unspoken and unknown connection that wouldn't exist between them once the sun rose. Jack liked it that way, it made it so that he wouldn't have to confront anything, simply bask in that strange kindredship he felt in having Dave so consistently around him.

He thought that was the full extent of it. Breaking into someone's house, using their things and sleeping under their bed should've been enough to repulse anyone who wasn't the affection deprived Jack. Dave must've been smart enough to realise that Jack had somehow figured out about his nightly visits, because they became less and less frequent. Jack found himself missing Dave's presence, only admitting to himself that he liked him there once he was gone. He wondered - feared, even - that Dave had somehow lost interest, gotten bored of him and moved on to something more important to spend his nights on. The thought terrified him, he found himself looking for any indication in Dave's behavior during the day, yet found none.

That was, until he discovered a camera; or one of them, he wasn't sure yet. The light of his ceiling lamp cast a distant shine on the lens, highlighting the small circle where a camera was incorporated into the screen of his alarm clock that otherwise displayed bright red numbers. There was only one person who had the mechanical knowledge to build a camera into such a small and complex mechanism, erasing the suspicions he already lacked to begin with. His mind was racing a mile a minute, and yet his predominant instinct told him to step away and pretend as if he hadn't seen anything. So that was what he did, silently retreating with an observant eye that quickly noticed several other cameras hidden in clever ways.

He should've confronted Dave, that's what he told himself any normal person would do. But then again, Jack wasn't exactly typical: even outside of his undead state, the degree to which he condoned Dave's behavior was indicative of obsession at the very least. And so, much like everything else, it remained unspoken and lingering in Jack's thoughts. Maybe there was something comforting in being watched, he considered, knowing that there was always someone to love and care in his own way. Or maybe he liked the idea of Dave reciprocating everything he had tried so hard to internalise.

It wasn't until he had burnt his hand on a hot pan one day, that the cameras became anything other than a lingering eye. A stupid accident; grabbing a container from the cabinet above, only to drop it and outright dip the back of his hand into burning oil as he tried to catch it. He'd cursed the world and its creator altogether, shook his hand in the air until the stinging pain subsided minimally, leaving a pounding red mark in its wake. It'd turned into blisters overnight, visible but not prominent enough to be noticeable upon first sight. Despite that, it was still one of the first things Dave had commented on once they were confined within the saferoom.

"What'd ya' do old sport?"

He nudged Jack's side, letting one of his fingers brush over the back of Jack's hand. Dave's touches always made his skin feel like it was on fire, but the stinging pain that shot through him at the notion was literally making him burn. On instinct, he retreated his hand back to his chest in a swift movement, almost regretting doing so as he saw Dave's slightly defeated look.

"Oh- Burnt myself while cooking, no big deal..."

"Did'ya clean it properly-?"

Dave immediately asked, leaning in closer to inspect Jack's hand, almost as if to avoid his eye. He hadn't bothered to clean it at all, simply bit back the pain like he had gotten accustomed to doing. Now that Dave mentioned it, he did distantly recall being told to hold his hand under cold water when he burnt himself, somewhere in his early childhood. Then again, his blisters didn't look out of the ordinary, and it would take a real medically specialized eye to recognise such a thing.

"You're s'posed to wash and wrap it, ya' know?"

The question was so targeted that there was no way Dave hadn't been watching, he just hadn't discovered the camera which he did it from yet. It was endearing to see how Dave's care manifested itself, the camera's remaining unrevealed as he found another way. If Jack hadn't discovered them, he was certain he wouldn't have thought anything of Dave's sharp observation. The way he took it upon himself to take care of Jack, unrequited and selfless, made him swoon.

"I may, or may not, have forgotten-"

With the hand that wasn't being studied by Dave, he nervously scratched the back of his neck, avoiding his eye as if his face alone would give everything away. Dave was quick to press his palm to Jack's, careful not to graze his fingers against the blisters on the back of his hand as he began to drag him to the bathroom. Jack was thrown in motion too quickly to register the contact, following behind Dave without protest.

"Well what're ya' waitin' for sportsy?! Ol' Davey's always glad ta' help!"

He proudly proclaimed, pushing open the door to the men's toilets. It was only when Dave released his hand that Jack noticed how he had been focused on nothing but that minor point of contact between them, mourning the loss of Dave's cold touch. He wasn't left to linger on it for long though, as Dave gestured to the cleanest sink by Freddy's standards. He stuck his hand under the cold water, and before he could get a word in, Dave had already taken initiative in cleaning his wound.

He couldn't get enough of the sight, slender fingers putting minimal pressure so as not to pop his blisters, occasionally retreating to retrieve some of the antibacterial soap Freddy's put in their dispensers. Jack was fully capable of doing it himself, but made no suggestion of doing so as he watched Dave trace careful circles along his knuckles, touch so delicate it made him heat up in the face. His focus was on Jack alone, bent over the sink with a concentrated look in his eyes, like he was all that mattered. He couldn't help but wonder if that was how looked at the cameras; with that near obsessed look in his eyes.

"Y'gatta be careful not ta' pop your blisters sports..."

He said, with a tone that matched his focused expression as he washed the soap off Jack's hand. Despite Jack's irrational hope that he would go on just a little bit longer, Dave straightened his posture and retrieved some of the paper towels that were to his side, handing them to Jack. If he hadn't downcast his eyes in hopes of hiding the flushed look on his face, he would've seen that Dave's expression matched his own.

"Yeah- Yeah, will do, thanks..."

The image of Dave's hands, gently tracing his skin with care so delicate Jack couldn't help but feel appreciated was forever burned into his mind, so much so that he was already reminiscing back on it as he dried his hand. Discarding the paper towels on the floor, as any self-respecting visitor of Freddy's would, Jack perked his head up when Dave spoke again:

"C'mon sportsy, I've probably got some bandages for ya' in the saferoom-!"

And with that, Dave was already walking ahead of him, out the door and back down the hallway. Jack followed, finding his mind briefly wandering to those hands delicately wrapping him up, before fixing his eyes on Dave's back. His tail, perking out just beneath the hem of his shirt, was wagging rapidly. He couldn't suppress the smile that crept up on his face at the sight, enthralled at the idea that Dave was just as mesmerized by the notion despite his casual demeanor. Dave held the saferoom door open for him, letting him enter first with an outstretched hand: Jack would've made a comment on him being such a gentleman if he wasn't still plagued with images of purple against contrasting orange.

"Ya' go ahead and take a seat old sport!"

Dave had said, gesturing to the decrepit table that the saferoom harbored for Jack to take a seat, rummaging in his locker. He'd retrieved a roll of bandages, sitting besides Jack as he gestured for his hand. That evening Jack was still thinking about how close they'd sat as Dave carefully wrapped his hand, contact from the hip to the knee with their shoulders occasionally brushing because of Dave's calculated movements. Jack hardly knew where to focus, head spinning as Dave mumbled with a low voice that resonated between them:

"Y've gatta wrap it loosely..."

Dave usually spoke with intent, enthusiasm that always rubbed off on Jack, but sometimes his voice adopted that tender tone when he was focused. Mumbling to himself, repeating little phrases as he worked on mechanics, Jack wasn't sure he was even aware he did it. He loved that voice, it showed a little more truth to Dave than he usually let on, showed him something he was curious to see. As his eye lingered on the camera hidden on his mantelpiece, he wondered what it'd be like to have that tone whispered into his ears, praises reminiscent of late Vegas nights where alcohol led into lines blurred.

He wondered what Dave would say to him if he knew how much Jack thought about him, about the direction those very thoughts sometimes tended to take. He'd tease him, comment on how much he reminisced about his hands only to lay one of those hands directly into Jack's, or so he liked to imagine. Unable to help himself, he let his mind wander to the idea of Dave watching him right now: tail excitedly wagging behind him, he'd mumble to himself in that same focused voice, how Jack desperately wished he could hear it.

That sparked a different thought on its own. He couldn't hear Dave through his cameras, despite desperately wanting to, but he hadn't stopped to consider that Dave could hear him. For someone who lived alone, Jack spoke to himself a lot: little things such as reminding himself to turn off the lights, toss his clothes in the laundry, insignificant stuff. Dave had surely heard him refer to himself as old sport by now, a tendency he had picked up on before the cameras were even there. Maybe that explained the flustered attitude he once had when Jack came into work, it was around the same time when Dave's visits decreased as well.

"...should get coffee for work soon-"

He mumbled to himself, softly enough to be inconspicuous yet loudly enough to be heard. If he wanted to, he could find out what exactly those cameras did for Dave; he could play clever if need be. Unbothered by trying to make something edible out of the little scraps in his fridge, Jack headed straight for his bedroom. Being watched had become something more than just comforting; it was a near fascination to think about Dave everytime he turned in his bed, night after night of imagining him eagerly observing a screen until he inevitably drifted off.

Surely enough, the sun rose and Jack was forced into another day of work, though the curiosity whether or not Dave heard him managed to overshadow the usual annoyance he felt as he pulled into the parking lot. He found him in the saferoom, already waiting on him as jumped at the sight of Jack. In his hand, much to Jack's marvel, was a white cup, still steaming from the hot liquid inside. His eyes were so glued to it that he nearly forgot to greet Dave, only snapped out of his transfixion as the coffee was urged into his hand.

"Heya sportsy, gotcha a lil' somethin'!"

Jack was preoccupied with staring at the coffee, his face distorting in the ripples that ran along it as Dave swung an arm over his shoulder. He didn't even dare look at him, almost certain the hint of red on his face could be seen through the layers of foundation. That same foundation he'd imagined smudged along contrasting purple, exposed entirely to-

"How'd you know?"

Jack interrupted himself, dumbfounded despite all the giddy hope he'd had for this exact scenario to happen. A brief silence fell as Dave's eyes seemed to search the room for an answer Jack already knew wouldn't be truthful, retreating the arm that rested on his shoulders in favour of returning to the table and tending to a little bag.

"What, can't I get my sportsy a treat? Here, I've gotta pastry too!"

If being referred to as my sportsy wasn't enough to throw Jack off, then the pastry certainly was. Dave retrieved it from the bag, golden-brown cake with a circled layer of jam in the middle, wide smile on his face. He stared at it, dumbfounded, before remembering how he hadn't bothered with dinner the night before. He sat besides Dave, closer than needed with the remaining space on the table, and gratefully took it from his hands. With a barely suppressed grin, he brought up to his face and smelled the thing, before speaking:

"Woah dude, this smells amazing-!"

He proclaimed, and Dave was already curiously leaning closer as he beckoned for Jack to bring it near to his face; stumbling directly into his trap. With a laugh, he pushed the pastry into Dave's face with just enough force to coat his nose in jam without breaking the cake itself. He gave Jack a playful punch in the shoulder as he retreated back with laughter, wiping at his face with the sleeve of his shirt.

"This is how ya' repay me old sport-?!"

"Oh come on, you fell for it!"

Jack scoffed in response, taking a sip of his coffee, momentarily forgetting why he'd had that in the first place. Only when Dave wiped himself clean did he take notice that he'd only brought one pastry, halting in his movements of bringing it to his mouth.

"Where's yours?"

"Wuh-?"

He gestured between his pastry and the empty bag it'd once been in.

"Oh, I already ate, don't worry sportsy!"

It was entirely possible that he was telling the truth, but it was just as likely that their incredibly low pay hadn't allowed for more than one. As endearing as it was to think that Dave might've spent the last of his pay on a meal for Jack on top of it all, he couldn't help but feel a little guilty about the prospect of it.

"Don't be stupid, here-"

He broke off half of the pastry, extending one of the parts to Dave, who accepted it with nothing but a winsome grin. They ate in silence, silence that left more than enough room for Jack to ponder on his thoughts. Dave could hear him, he couldn't even begin to cycle through all the things he must've said without thinking or realising, words that were sure to linger in Dave's mind. All the while Dave still thought he was blissfully unaware, unknowing of how much Jack thought about Dave's constant eye on him.

He couldn't help but wonder how far he could push it, how much it'd take for Dave to break. Seeing exactly what would make him tick, rat out his own little endeavor in favor of whatever Jack offered him through a screen, words whispered into thin air. That was exactly what his goal became as he walked out of the restaurant that day, left with nothing but Dave on his mind once more. He might not have been the one with cameras littered all over the other's house, but his fixation on Dave's presence was equally as obsessive. Maybe they were a perfect match; distinct yet all too similar, perfectly content to participate in an unspoken game of push and pull instead of facing their dynamic head on.

Night fell, and Jack found himself angled towards the camera with every intent to put on a performance. He had no real way of telling whether or not Dave was watching, but something in his gut told him he was from the way he could simply feel those restless eyes on him. Observing every little movement, the way his back just slightly arched along with his movements, shirt riding up against his stomach, leaving just enough up to imagination. His lips hardly parted to bite his tongue between his teeth, occasionally letting a name slip in a heated whisper, growing increasingly louder the closer he got. That very name which had Dave speechless on the other side of the screen, mouth open in a heave as his own hand dropped low.

Dave was an uncharacteristic mess the next day. Stumbling over his words, dropping simple things he was otherwise familiar with; avoiding Jack's gaze at all cost. He could tell it came from a place of nervousness, he'd experienced Dave being distant out of anger once in Vegas and recognised it to be vastly different. It was entertaining to see him without his everlasting confident demeanor, though Jack was certain he wouldn't have the guts to even make the slightest allusion to it at this rate. He felt just a little bit of pride at the thought that he'd been the one to warrant that reaction.

"Want one?"

He'd asked Dave once they found themselves outside on break, extending his pack of cigarettes to him. Wordlessly, and with the slightest hint of a blush on his face, he retrieved a cigarette and stuck it between his lips, where Jack briefly let his eyes linger. To have Dave- someone who talked whenever he could - this silent, was an accomplishment on its own. For a moment he considered staying silent too, but the idea of Dave's reaction was what pushed him to spill:

"Suddenly you don't like looking at me anymore Davey-?"

Dave's eyes were back on him in an instant, filled with a mixture of horror and realization at the implications of that statement. Maybe he was scared of rejection, rightfully being told off for his behavior, but then again; he didn't have the slightest notion of how much Jack had grown to adore exactly that.

"I'm right here, if you want to get some hands-on action..."

Jack said, with as much of a casual demeanor as he could manage whilst trying not to look at the way Dave was outright staring at him.

"Ya' mean it old sport-?"

How he would love to hear that very name he had gotten so sickly attached to in a vastly different context, whispered to him instead of imagined in the smaller hours of the night. Despite his understanding that this was a lot to lay on Dave at once, especially after the previous night, he couldn't help but indulge in having the upperhand for once.

"Tonight- You know the way in."

Answered Jack, flicking the butt of his cigarette into the distance as he turned to head back inside, just in time to hide the quickly spreading grin and accompanying blush on his face. He knew Dave would be there, it was an offer he couldn't pass up, especially not judging by the way he only seemed to have eyes for Jack during the rest of their entire shift. The cameras didn't in any way compare to the transfixed look in Dave's eyes, an expression he looked forward to seeing all night long.

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[4377 words]

Like 80% of this was written in one sleep deprived night my apologies about the rapidly dropping quality lol🧡