34. *comically loud inhale*

Summary: Dave leaves his shirt in Jack's house, Jack is very normal about this.

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Credits to Ribena59p for the art that inspired this story and a big thank you for giving me permission to write it !!

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There were traces of Dave all over his house. Jack hadn't immediately noticed them, oblivious to the small changes for the longest time. He'd brushed all the food that was missing from his fridge off to his memory faltering, it wasn't that he was particularly adamant on nutrition anyway; reheated leftover pizza had earned the title of Jack Kennedy special. It was only when he found a bottle of whiskey empty in his cupboard one night that he began to grow suspicious, taking inventory of his fridge before he went to sleep deep into the evening. He could've sworn his curiosity was making him hear things during the uneasy night that followed, faint rummaging and deft footsteps that stopped briefly outside his door.

The following morning, though, it turned out to be more than merely his imagination. Several of the products he remembered to be there the previous night had vanished, finding some of the packaging in his trash. A robber would've taken more than the measly food his kitchen harboured; there was only one person who could've done this. Only then did he begin to notice other things as well; his body wash and toothpaste running out suspiciously quick, along with the glass panes of his shower still having droplets of water clinging to them by morning. It wasn't something that bothered him, as much as he knew it probably should have, the strange presence feeling almost endearing.

Jack's endorsement of it only seemed to encourage the other to become more bold, migrating things around to his soul's content. He'd find pillows that were once on his couch littered across the floor, blankets unfolded and crumpled as if he had sat down to nap. Towels tossed on top of his hamper, unbothered to even hide them from sight. Dirty cutlery appeared randomly in his sink, washing it without any concern for the lingering presence. It was Dave's way of existing within his life, an odd companionship that, deep inside, he had been craving for years on end.

It wasn't long before Dave's belongings started scattering around his house, his imprint becoming increasingly more personal. One morning in particular he'd found a screwdriver besides his toaster, plugged in despite it not having worked in months. Surely enough, upon pressing the power button; it turned on as if it'd never been broken. Not long after, a brush filled with long purple hairs appeared by his sink, as though it had always belonged there. Maybe it had, Jack couldn't help but smile a little at the prospect of it. He considered asking Dave about it, teasing him with how lousy he had grown, but the possibility of him taking it personally and retracting all those traces was enough to make Jack discard the idea.

On warm nights he'd find Dave's coat, worn down leather, hanging over a dining room chair, only to have it vanish again when temperature dropped a few days later. Not only did Dave seem to leave clothing occasionally, he took Jack's own too. Shirts disappeared from his closet, reappearing in his laundry again after a while. It was somewhat endearing to think that, in some way, he was leaving traces over Dave's life as well. He hadn't noticed Dave's shirt in his closet that morning, tossing his pajamas aside to blindly grab at the unfolded pile of fabric on his shelf. Only when he walked out of his room, still buttoning his shirt, that he took notice of the dark violet color.

It was undoubtedly Dave's. Several of the otherwise black buttons had been replaced with ones of a different size and color, presumably because the previous one broke off. The color was fading in certain patches, around the collar and the lining of the sleeves, where he knew Dave would pick at if he was nervous. Loopholes had grown loose, stitched back up with yarn so the buttons wouldn't slip from them. It reeked of Dave's craftsmanship all over, Jack could picture how deft fingers had once worked at the fabric to preserve the garment that would've been thrown out by anyone else.

Not to mention how it smelled like him. Dave's scent still lingered in the purple fibers: tobacco accompanied with the faint hint of metal from blood that still left a stench regardless of how many times he washed it, his deodorant and the distant suggestion of sweet cologne Jack remembered him buying in Vegas, topped off with the musk of his sweat. He couldn't resist bringing it up to his face, inhaling the amalgamation of smells that polluted his nostrils in the best way possible, momentarily closing his eyes if only to imagine that it was actually Dave he was pressing up against.

He couldn't find it in him to take it off, kept subconsciously dragging the fabric up to his face to breathe in his scent, briefly relishing in it before he'd shake his head and straighten it along his stomach again. It was meaningless, just another way to experience the companionship that came with all the evidence of Dave's presence, or so he told himself. He still hadn't taken it off once he got in his car, only realising that Dave would see him dressed in his attire when he was already halfway down the road. He internally cursed himself, knowing it was far too late to turn back now.

"Mornin' old sport-!"

Dave greeted once he walked into the saferoom, seemingly having waited in there for a while already. Jack suspected that was simply part of his routine, another unconventional sign of affection that wouldn't have been noticed by anyone but Jack. He smiled a little at the notion, almost forgetting about his shirt before Dave took a step closer, fingers running across his collar.

"I see ya've finally acquired a better taste in clothin' sportsy..?"

"Oh, c'mon- Don't joke around."

"I'm serious old sport! It looks handsome on ya'."

If Dave calling him handsome hadn't already left him speechless, then addressing their whole situation so casually would've surely done the job. At least to an extent, he had to understand that Jack took to the little hints of his presence; that he could safely joke about it. The intimacy that came with the mutual understanding that they had something exceptional, unspoken yet incredibly present regardless. Much to his dismay, he felt his face flush when Dave began to straighten the collar that lay messily around his neck, calloused fingers pressing down on the fabric with gentle movements that seemed almost uncharacteristic.

"Jus' mind your collar next time, hmh?"

Dave murmured in a teasing tone, shooting his eyes up at Jack as if he was fully aware of the effect this was having on him. The exchange was over in an instant, and before he knew it; Dave was babbling about the day ahead of them again. Fingers still traced the seam of his shirt, that same smell that emerged from the fabric radiating around Dave as well. He wondered if he had Dave's scent as well, if fellow employees noticed that he reeked of the other; if they made any assumptions about it. Maybe he wanted them to, if only to have the thoughts he usually tried desperately to suppress acknowledged in some way.

The exchange still hadn't left his mind when he returned home that evening, running his hands along the collar which Dave had ever so gently adjusted to lay flat along his neck. When he took it off to change into a more comfortable set of clothing, he couldn't help but bunch the fabric up in his hands, burying his face in it to inhale the remnant of Dave's odor that hadn't been washed out throughout the day yet. His expression was dazed when he finally tore himself from the garment, shaking his head to abandon every idea that was starting to emerge, discarding the shirt on his bed.

This was normal, Jack tried telling himself. He was simply lonely, that was all; that must have been the explanation to that consistent urge to retrieve the shirt and inhale his scent once more. Despite everything, there was still something within him that couldn't acknowledge his relationship towards Dave; it would affect his future to an unthinkable extent. He'd made too many promises to right his previous mistakes, he couldn't make another now. And yet, he still found himself unable to repress everything, thoughts slipping whenever Dave came particularly close, or when he was overtaken with exhaustion.

And, courtesy of his inability to fall asleep, that was exactly the position he found himself in that night. Despite his annoyance, he was still wide awake when he turned under the sheets once more, listening to whether or not there were footsteps outside his door, considering getting out to greet them if they ever did come. But the house remained awfully silent, and he blinked against the harsh light from street lanterns that spilled inside once he got up for a glass of water. Dave's shirt still rested on the end of his bed, right where he'd left it, seemingly unphased by his sleepless night.

Almost as if it was fragile, he ran his fingers along the fabric, until he stood there for so long his body began to grow cold. It was right there, he could take it with him; fall asleep with Dave's scent right beside him like he remembered Vegas nights to be. Could it really hurt, if no one saw how desperately he clung onto the idea of Dave; if he internalised it all? If a tree fell in a forest but no one heard it, did it make a sound to begin with? Jack knew it did, it'd still create the vibrations that caused sound, there was simply no one to perceive them, much like his own solitude in the moment. And yet, his fingers were still tangled in the fabric once he slipped back under the sheets.

The sheets were pulled up to his shoulders, basking in the warmth if only to imagine it belonged to another person, pulling his knees up to his chest. He bunched the shirt up in his hands, burying the entirety of his face in it to inhale: inhale until his nostrils were full, until it polluted all his senses, until he drowned in it. His scent, while not overtly prominent, was so incredibly instinctive that Jack was certain he would be able to recall it the entirety of his rotten life. He wanted to breathe in that odor for as long as he could, right until he could imagine a reality better than theirs.

That same smell would pollute their house. The metallic scent would finally have vanished, the blood on their hands slowly washing from the crevices, calluses having the opportunity to hear. Tobacco wasn't as prominent either, they could smoke outside; a patio where they'd bask in the sun on late evenings, only lighting a cigarette when they felt like it. No longer dependent on nicotine, or any other substance for that manner, they could live freely. He'd smell Dave's real scent once he wrapped his arms around his stomach; his deodorant and cologne, intertwined with a hint of oil he'd worked with during the day.

"Smokin' again sportsy?"

He would ask, laying his chin on Jack's shoulders to look out over the street, few fellow neighbors also basking in the afterglow of a sunny day. Jack would nod, taking a drag while running his hand through Dave's hair, leaning their heads together. Dave's hair would be healthier, not entirely devoid of the slow decomposition that took its toll on his body, but less fragile than it was now.

"Bad habits never die, I s'pose..."

Dave's accent would linger on his words, they'd be around each other enough for that to become something consistent. That same fleeting comfort which he sometimes experienced late Vegas nights, wrapped in each other's arms where Dave's skin was the equivalent of the last warm sunshines tracing his figure.

"Here- Grab a jacket, atleast."

Dave would insist, briefly returning back inside to retrieve a jacket which he'd lay around Jack's shoulders. If he looked down he'd see it was Dave's leather coat, still in a candid condition: he'd haven taken care of it, one of the last reminders of a life they'd have long abandoned by them. Maybe there would still be a hint of the same scent Jack had pressed to his face right now, leather was a stubborn fabric.

"Thank you Davey."

He'd respond, his voice hardly above a whisper. Dave would press a kiss to the back of his head, and he'd turn around to blow him one in return, as if it was second nature. He would squint against the sun as he watched him head back inside, blinded by the impossibility of the scenario, impossibility that drew him back to reality in a harsh manner. It was too good to be true, he could smell the blood and tobacco that lingered on Dave's shirt as he drew a quivering breath.

It was unachievable, the closest he'd ever get was undoubtedly Vegas. They weren't meant for sunlit patios, the best they could do was a decrepit balcony accompanied by neon lights. Dave's coat would maintain its metallic scent, there was never enough time for it to wash out. There'd be many other substances along with the tobacco, ones that felt good in the moment but left a stain in the long run. He'd have to endure it, if only to maintain the dream of a better future, one they shared.

But all he had was the present, because aside from his eventual death; the future was nothing but uncertain. His fingers were outright clutching at the fabric now, desperate to return to his fantasies for distraction as he buried his face further in it. Maybe something in the present would suffice, just plausible enough to momentarily make him hopeful for it to become reality. A scenario that fit in their current situation, one where their companionship expanded beyond the traces Dave left in his house.

Dave would wait for him, a friday evening after work. They'd have gone home to change, Jack wearing the suit he saved in the back of his closet with Dave's shirt under it, remeeting at the restaurant they'd agreed on. He'd hook his arm in Dave's as they headed inside, able to catch a hint of his scent again. The blood and tobacco would still evidently be there, but they'd be overshadowed by additional cologne and deodorant; an attempt to appear more presentable for their date. Dave would speak with a hint of pride as he addressed the receptionist, grin on his face as they were led to their seats.

"Isn't this place a bit expensive-?"

Jack would ask him once they sat down, looking around the ever so slightly imposing restaurant; Dave's treat.

"Only the best fer' my old sport! Don't worry, I know the owner; old friend of Henry's."

He'd cringe a little at hearing Henry's name, one of the things about their situation which he couldn't erase if he wanted his fantasy to be possible. He'd quickly brush past it, starting conversation about something that happened on the job the previous week. Dave would quickly take the lead, he always had lots to say and Jack loved to listen, nipping at the wine he'd ordered until his lips were stained red. A waiter would come to take their order, and he'd simply get whether Dave ordered: not because Dave had a refined taste, but because Jack had been too preoccupied with looking at him to even glance at the menu.

Eventually the conversation would divert from their job, as alcohol raved along their systems they'd indulge in a shared fantasy, akin to the one had coddled in moments earlier. Dave would reach a hand across the table and Jack would lay his own in the outstretched palm, momentarily forgetting about the repetitive days that lay outside the pleasantly warm building. They'd be able to stand a life in Freddy's together if they had moments to themselves, warm smiles and soft words that mattered only to them. Jack tried desperately to suppress the prospect of his promise from piercing the fantasy like the knife he had once held.

They'd go home, giddy and unstable on their feet, but utmost content. It'd be Jack's house, they were smart enough not to get behind the wheel in such a state, and Jack's happened to be closest by. They would stumble in bed together, half undressed and with a shoe still on, giggling as Dave would fumble with his laces. Wiping tears of joy from the corner of his eyes, Jack would offer to help, pulling Dave's leg towards him. He'd make a joke that wouldn't sound nearly as funny as it did in his head, now fumbling equally as much with Dave's laces:

"Look at'cha- Oh so smart with machines, and ya' can't untie your damn laces!"

Dave would double down, laughing along with Jack, because the jab didn't have to be funny for them to enjoy the other's presence. Through a fair bit of struggling, Jack would eventually manage to untie the knot Dave had formed, pulling his shoe off and tossing it across the room, uncaring for where it ended up. Dave would reach a hand forward to cup his face with affection, and Jack would lean into it without the guilt that never seemed to stop eating at him.

"That's why I've got ya' sportsy!"

They would tumble in bed together, continuing hushed conversation that was filled to the brim with affection until either fell asleep. It'd likely be Jack because strangely, despite his otherwise crippling sleeplessness, he always seemed to be comfortable enough to drift off in Dave's arms. The last things he'd feel would be Dave's chest rising and falling against his with every breath, along with the arms that cradled him through the night like they had during intoxicated days in Vegas, where Jack was too far gone to acknowledge that he shouldn't have been doing it, that he was slowly making his eventual return to his promise harder on himself. He'd wake up with Dave's scent all over him, in both his fantasy and those nights which should've been long forgotten.

As good as he made it sound in his head, Jack was still alone, and wide awake at that. Not even the thought of Dave, close to him and wrapping him in an oddly safe grasp, was enough to rock him to sleep. None of the scenarios, coated in plumes of idealisation and longing, were reality and it hurt to deny that any longer. He lay alone on sheets that hadn't known the warmth of another person, and the only evidence of their connection was the shirt he still held flush to his face. There was no use denying it, he'd tried that for too long, and he found himself trying to figure how he could make the best of it.

A hand traveled down, toyed with his waistband as he contemplated whether or not he wanted to abandon his shame, face still hidden in violet fabric which now contained a variety of orange stains. He had nothing more, that was his saddening reality, and simply watching fantasies crumble beneath his eyelids wouldn't do anything favourable for his painfully awake self. All that was left for him to do was accept it, take the opportunity while he still had it in his hands, still breathing in his musk as a hand slipped between his legs.

Everything about it reeked of self indulgence, soft pleas whispered into the shirt that went spoken but not heard, a moment in which he let himself enjoy a fantasy for once. Graphic images were quick to pollute his mind, vivid recollections that had survived the drunken daze of Dave rubbing his scent all over him, still with one hand keeping the shirt secured against his face. For a moment he could abandon it all; the guilt, the promise and the shattered hope for a better reality. The sound was still there, Dave's name slipping into the fibers, but it had little meaning if no one but Jack was around to hear it. He'd figure out how to look Dave in the eyes after this, now was his time to drown in that scent, speeding his pace just a little.

His climax was quick and hardly satisfactory, crumbling once he'd reached the high; much like his previous fantasies. Nothing could ever go quite right, an understanding so prominent that he couldn't find it within him to pay it much mind anymore. He could only be grateful for what he did receive, which was currently narrowed down to the shirt he clasped his hands in. This wasn't normal, he knew despite how he tried to tell himself differently, and all there was left was to make peace with that.

Dave's shirt had nearly lost its scent in the morning, unsurprising considering Jack was still clutching it when he woke up, his head in a daze. He'd tossed it in the laundry, faintly followed by shame at the recollection of how he'd fallen asleep the previous night, underlined by the guilt of the orange stains he wasn't sure he could wash out. It tumbled out of the washing machine with the smell of his own detergent, faint tangerine with an awfully clean tone to it. Something within him felt disappointed at having to return it to Dave, but it hardly had his smell anymore and, besides, Jack couldn't get attached like that.

He'd had his fun, it was time to abandon the brief moment of relief in favour of the life that he had been told he was meant to live, even if he still felt so awfully connected to Dave. Soon he'd give it up again, manage to convince himself to take his distance; successfully realise that his fantasies were merely dreams. Until then, he traced the signs of Dave's craftsmanship along the shirt once more, running his fingers along near professional stitches and buttons of various shapes and sizes. He smiled, couldn't suppress it; Dave did always help him momentarily forget about his worries, maybe that was part of the reason why he couldn't find it in him to take that distance.

"Hey- I brought you your shirt."

Jack greeted once he stepped into the saferoom, already knowing Dave to be waiting there. He'd considered just about any approach to handing it back, and decided on the most direct one in fear of not being able to bring himself to do it otherwise. Dave had a grin plastered across his face as he took the folded shirt from Jack's hands, letting it fall open before him as grabbed it by the shoulders.

"Well, good mornin' to you too sportsy!"

Dave's demeanor was as casual as always and Jack wouldn't have seen past it, hadn't it been for his tail that wagged where he'd attempted to conceal it beneath his shirt. The smile that emerged at the sight faded quickly to a more flustered expression as Dave brought the shirt to his face, deeply inhaling in the same manner Jack had the previous night. His tail, now peering from beneath the hem of his shirt, only increased in its already furious pace at the act.

"Smells like you..."

He concluded, with that same lopsided smile Jack knew he'd also had several times. He brought a hand to his face, had to keep himself from thinking about the implications of that. Dave was looking at him as if he knew exactly what he had done; Jack wouldn't put it past him, his house had been awfully silent after all.

"...Yeah, I washed it, weirdo."

"Takes one to know one old sport!"

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[4013 words]

Me when I project lol