25

Unlike Winston and Gary, Jason lives in the college's dorms. They're serious of buildings on the edge of campus, separate from the rest of the school but still on school grounds, and Winston walks beside Jason over the many small paths and grassland that separates the dorms from the basketball court. It's late, sun starting to set behind the horizon, and the shadows are longer for it, stretching from the buildings like great big beasts.

They hold hands as they walk, Winston squeezing every few minutes just to check that's real. Jason returns the squeeze every time.

They make their way up the stairs, evade the other students with some creative raising of their arms as the students in question walk below them, and Winston's eyes slide to Jason every once in a while. When they're standing before the open doorway to Jason's room, Winston clears his throat and asks, "You're sure it's fine I'm here?"

"Of course," Jason smiles, squeezing his hand. He pulls Winston in after him, and Winston can't help but hide behind him for a second, old instincts keeping his head down and his steps small until he realizes the room is empty. Nobody else is here.

Exhaling, he steps out of Jason shadow. He can't help observing every inch of the room, eyes drifting from furniture to furniture. Three beds, floating shelves above the headboard on each one, three desks and chairs, a corner to the left of the door taking up by a couch and two beanbags, a massive TV screen mounted on the wall.

The walls are wallpaper, some kind of treelike pattern on them. The room has in its entirety a very earthy, woody theme with Jason's bed the furthest one from the door, and it's accompanied by a pretty big desk full of notebooks and textbooks splayed out without any apparent theme or order. Through an open door, Winston can see a private bathroom and he glimpse of a shower.

Maybe he should have applied for the dorms when he got in to this school.

Jason sits down on the bed, legs dangling over the edge for a second before he moves and crosses them beneath himself. The sheets are sparkling white, and the mattress bends under his weight. Jason's hair is still wet from his shower after practice, lying mat over his forehead. Winston's eyes the strands, the drip of water rolling down his cheek, and swallows heavily.

He drops onto Jason's desk chair, his bag landing by his feet. It's fine; there's nothing fragile in there anyway. His gaze trips over Jason and the bed, and then the wall behind him, eyeing the posters on Jason's side of the room.

There are basketballs symbols on everyone, some of the people holding basketballs, and he assumes they're famous players. "So," Winston says after a while, fingers twiddling in his lap. His gaze lands on Jason again, and Jason in turn is watching him.

Winston gulps.

"So," he starts again, attempting to pull his thoughts together into something that makes sense. His throat seems weirdly parched, lips chapped when he licks them, and finally he just says, "Nice weather today."

"Yeah," Jason agrees, voice hoarse and staring at Winston. He clears his throat and a rather soft smile slowly twists his features into something profoundly gentle. "It's pretty great," Jason breathes, still staring.

Winston gulps again. Blushes, it feels like, but he's never been able to actually do that so it's probably just in his head. He ducks his head, gaze going to his hands, and he twiddles his fingers whit even greater force. The moment of silence lingers over them like a blanket, Winston's breathing raspy in his own ears, and his stomach flutters in a distinctly strange manner.

Jason coughs, and Winston's gaze rises. Jason, who's cheeks are flushed and who's gaze is now looking at the wall behind Winston, says, "So, ice cream?"

"Yeah," says Winston. He blinks, breathes in deeply, and says, "That'd be great."

Jason jumps off the bed. "Awesome," he grins, heading right for someone else's desk and pulling open one of the cabinets, inside which he pulls open another little door. Which is apparently a freezer, as he emerges with a large tub of ice cream. When Jason's turn toward Winston again, he's beaming.

The silence is, now, thoroughly shattered.

Winston can hear his own heartbeat, but it's overshadowed by Jason saying, "Best purchase we ever made. Totally worth bankruptcy."

"You're bankrupt?" Winston asks, raising an eyebrow.

Jason's purses mouth and says slowly, "Maaaybe?" A pause, and then he admits as he sits down on the bed and spirits two spoons out of his bedside table, "I'm not really sure what personal bankruptcy is. I'm definitely broke though."

He holds out a spoon over to Winston, and Winston uses the chair's wheels to roll closer. He grabs the spoon and looks into the open ice cream tub. It's a triple threat; vanilla, strawberry and chocolate in the same package. Winston licks his lips, glancing up at Jason from below his eyebrows. "Your favorite?" he asks, smirking.

Jason's eyes are wide, and it takes him a moment to respond. "Yep," he breathes, and it strikes Winston how close they are right now. If Jason just leaned down... but no. That's his imagination playing tricks on him, his own desire reflecting in Jason's beautiful eyes.

Clearing his throat, Winston sticks his spoon harshly in the ice cream and manages to get some of every flavor. He shoves it in his mouth, the cold stretching along his tongue and getting into his throat, teeth biting around the spoon.

He swallows. Looks up at Jason again, who's not moved in minutes and is still staring at him, eyes slightly open. Winston's stomach cramps, and he licks his lips, the taste of chocolate lingering on his tongue. Jason's eyes follow the motion, and his Adam's apple bobs starkly in his throat as he swallows heavily.

They stare at each other for a startlingly long second, Winston's mind utterly blank. Caught in Jason's eyes, in the heat in the pit of his belly, in the strange silence that have descended upon them, Winston feels caught in a web.

Trapped.

And he doesn't want to go anywhere.

With his heart in his throat, Winston watches Jason visibly pull himself together, sticking a whole spoonful of ice cream in his moth. When he's swallowed it, he coughs and says hoarsely, "Video games." A beat of silence as Winston's eyebrows slowly furrow, and then Jason rushes out, "I mean, do you wanna play video games?"

"Yeah," Winston says, leaning back a little as air rushes back into his lungs. Night has mostly fallen, the view outside the window only lit up by streetlights and ceiling lamp in here is a soft, yellowish color. They move to the couch before the TV, and Winston sits down prim and proper with his back straight and hands in his lap while Jason sets the game up.

While playing, they continue to sneak bites of ice cream and slowly gravitate toward each other on the couch, the distance between them diminishing every few minutes. Winston's intensely aware of it, intensely aware of how close they are.

He desperately wants to stay here.