39

Winston is in love with Jason.

Peeking at Jason out of the corner of his eyes, holding hands in the dark of the night while they're walking out of the theater they just watched a movie in, Winston thinks the thought again; he is in love with Jason.

He tries not to act a fool, studying Jason. Tries not to drown in the way the streetlights' light dance in Jason's eyes, the way Jason's hair flops over his forehead, the way Jason tilts his head when he spots something interesting.

It's a fool's game, naturally, and Winston has never claimed to be otherwise. He spends more time looking at Jason then he does the road, but they're walking at such a slow pace anyway that it should be fine.

The night is cold. When Jason breathes, a cloud of smoke escapes between pink lips, and his cheeks are pink for once not due to a blush, but rather the night air. Slow snowflakes swirl in the air, lit up by the streetlights and bypassing cars both. They surround him like a halo, and Winston couldn't look away for pain of death.

He's in love with Jason, he thinks. Tastes the words on his tongue and mulls over them again and again, hand clenching on Jason's when he nearly slides off on a puddle of ice on the cobblestone ground.

"Shit," Jason pulls him steady. Hands on Winston's upper arms, Jason looks him over, "You okay?"

Winston can't breathe. Jason's lit up from behind by the streetlight, tiny snowflakes are landing on Jason's hair, and Winston can not breathe.

"Shit," Jason mutters again, pressing a gloved hand to Winston's cheek while Winston stares up at him in confused wonder. "Obviously you're not okay." Jason frowns. "You didn't hit your head. Are you getting sick? Do you have a headache?"

"Do you?" The worry punches through Winston's stupor.

"Yeah." Jason shrugs, "But I've already taken painkillers, so it's fine. Were you startled badly? Do you need to sit down?" Jason seamlessly switches track back to Winston.

Winston frowns. "Alright," he says, because surely Jason will appreciate it as well. Maybe. He's not entirely sure what does Jason the most good when he has a headache; Jason never really talks about that. He takes painkillers for them when needed, and he doesn't seem to consider them beyond that.

Sitting on a metal bench a few steps away, Winston stares down at his feet. They don't speak for a few minutes, and Winston forces his thoughts into order by counting the snowflakes landing on his winter shoes.

He's in love, Winston thinks once more. He is in love with Jason.

Does it change anything, he then finally dares to ask himself. Does his feelings alter their relationship at all; they're already dating, and he likes spending time with Jason so much it's ridiculous. Does being in love with Jason in any way alter that?

"Do you--" Winston stops. He turns and slumps against Jason, landing face-first on Jason's chest, and he's instantly surrounded by warmth as Jason hugs him. "Do you like me?" Winston mutter into Jason's jacket.

Jason puffs above him. "Quite a lot, actually. Why do you ask?"

"I like you."

Jason rests his head on top of Winston's and Winston shuts his eyes and breathes the embrace in. It's warm, it's soft, and he is a gooey mess inside in a way he doesn't even know how to articulate. "I thought you did, yeah," Jason murmurs into his hair, and Winston's fingers flex on their grip. He inhales slowly through his nose, failing to suppress a shudder.

"You don't need to worry," Jason says above him, and Winston tilts his head to the side just enough to peek up at him. Jason adds, probably understanding that Winston needs more information, "I like you a lot. I love spending time with you. So you don't need to worry."

"I'm not worried," mutters Winston into Jason's jacket. But he stays put a while more, basking in the embrace and Jason's easy acceptance. In his reassurance.

For a while yet, they don't move. But eventually Winston's back start hurting from this position and he groans as he shoves himself up, Jason's arms falling off him. Jason holds onto Winston's upper arms for a moment, though, steadying him as Winston sits on his knees on the bench. "Thanks," Winston moves himself until he's standing on the ground.

Jason joins him, and they wander off following the path down below a bridge and up again. Winston does his best to not look at Jason, absurdly full of so many emotions he thinks he'd implode if he does. They're not holding hands, now, but the warmth of Jason's presence by his side is still undeniable, still a beacon lighting up the whole world. Winston looks ahead to the streetlights, to the snowflakes still swirling on the wind, and his heart is a galloping mess but his mind is surprisingly steady.

He's in love.

"What you thinking about?" Winston asks after a few minutes, when they're on another street. He doesn't look at Jason as he asks, would probably collapse into a puddle of goo if he did, but they're walking close enough their shadows when passing into the streetlights' reach are melting into one. Their shoulders bump every once in a while, Winston's heart tripping every time.

The streetlights are far and few between, and their shadows stretch meters over the ground every time they pass beneath light. They're not the only people out, but it's close.

Jason laughs, and it's a beautiful sound. Winston wants to memorize every pitch, every rise and fall of his voice. He wants it in his dreams, and even his nightmares. He thinks he'd be content to never make another noise in his life if he could just listen to Jason's voice.

"I can't remember a single thing about that movie. The trailer was so amazing, and I was so excited about watching it—especially with you—but i can't remember anything at all from the film," Jason muses, sounding far off and thoughtful.

"We'll go watch it again," Winston says. At last, he peeks at Jason out of the corner of his eyes, trying not to move his head in case he makes a weird expression. Jason's bright grin at the suggestion doesn't help, and nor does the way the streetlights create stars in his eyes.

Winston's chest squeezes, stomach tight with butterflies and his hand tingles as it just barely grazes Jason's.

"Yeah, that'd be great," agrees Jason, and Winston smiles at the ground. He stretches out his fingers the next time their hands graze, and Jason clasps his hand without missing a beat. Squeezing, Winston exhales on a shuddering note and looks back up at the sky. There's nary a star to be seen inside the city, but he imagines he can see them. Imagines he can even spot a shooting star.

It feels like that kind of night, somehow.

The bus-stop is waiting where they left it and they sit on the bench under the tiny roof cover. Crossing his feet, Winston and Jason interlinks their arms while they wait. "What about you?" Jason asks out of nowhere, and Winston shoots him an inquisitive look. Jason laughs, tilting his head. "The movie. What did you think about the movie?"

"I can't tell you the first thing about it."

"You didn't watch?"

"I watched," Winston says. He shakes his head. "I remember the movie starting, when they start off with that long stretch of country road but... I don't know."

Jason hums. "That's cool. We're watching it again, right?" And Jason's smile is so handsome, yet so pretty, yet so bashful at the same time, and Winston is staring now. Can't help it. Is thoroughly caught in Jason's magnetic pull, enchanted by Jason's eyes and the little wrinkle between his eyebrows when Jason is thinking, the curl to Jason's lips when he smiles, the dusting of freckles and the hair flopping over his forehead.

Winston looks away first. Clears his throat, and pretends he doesn't notice Jason is staring at him. Right until the bus comes and screeches to a halt before them, over ten minutes late, and only then does Winston peek at Jason again. AS the bus shoots off into the darkness, tossing them about on their seats, Jason meets Winston's gaze and smiles. It's a shy, simple smile, and Winston isn't very surprised when his heart skips a beat.