44

It's already night when they reach Jason's dorms. The light above the building's entrance is slightly broken; it flickers when they're standing below it while Jason unlocks the door. It's mainly made of glass with steel framing, and Winston watches their reflections in the glass while he waits, hands shoved into his pockets and breath misty on the wind.

The door clicks, and Jason pulls it open. He holds it for Winston who hurries through with his head down so half his face is protected by the jacket, shuddering when he's solidly in the warmth. Undoing the jacket's zipper before he melts, he looks over the entrance. It's sparkling clean, like always, and the lights are motion-activated and turned on the moment they entered.

Jason's room is on the third floor, so they thunder up the stairs. Winston is wheezes at the top, resting his whole body against the wall for a second. "You good?" Jason asks, grabbing his hand.

"Tiptop," wheezes Winston between two breaths, but allows himself to be led out of the hallway and to Jason's room. Jason's pace is slow, meandering, and he's not gripping Winston's hand as tight as usual. Three full-length practice matches in a row later and that's probably a pretty natural result.

Jason opens the door, flicking his key to a bowl on top of a black dresser. The roommate [Trevor, Terry, or Travis, I can't remember his name!!!] waves at them when they enter, headset on and sitting cross-legged on his bed with a laptop before him. There's another guy with him, sketching him with a pencil from the floor. Jason points to the other guy and Terry mouths something in return. Winston can't tell what, though, and he looks away.

Dropping his jacket onto a chair, Winston flops onto Jason's bed and stares up at the ceiling. One second later the mattress shifts beneath him as Jason joins him, the weight evening out between them. Winston turns his head to come face-to-face with Jason, and he asks, "Tired?"

Jason yawns on his reply, a belated "Ye—" that's never completed. Winston snickers, planting his feet on the end of the bed. Staring at Jason's face, watching every twitch of the muscles, Winston is still entirely unprepared for Jason to reach out and grip his hand. It's a warm hand, warm fingers entwining with his own, and his breath hitches in his throat, heart skipping a beat.

"Sleepy," murmurs Jason, facing him. His eyes are darkened by the lack of proper lighting and Winston's throat is unexpectedly dry. He licks his lips, and it's too dark to see if Jason spotted the movement and yet somehow the dark just makes Winston feels more seen, more observed.

More obvious.

Furious whispers break out from the roommate's corner, but Winston is too enraptured by Jason to even look over. He squeezes Jason's hand, feels an answering tug on his fingers, and shuts his eyes. Needs a moment to himself in the darkness just to breathe, just to think without Jason distracting him.

Jason is warm even in the darkness, a beacon even when Winston can't see. He curls up on his side, facing Jason, and opens his eyes again. It's still dark, their corner of the room. The whispering from the other side is no longer as furious, but they're still talking back and forth, and Winston sinks into the collective existence like a cog in a clock. He listens with half-an-ear, catches snippets like "stop moving" and "you're being a pain in the ass, I'm doing this as a favor, you know" and "what, like you're not gonna call in your chips? Please, I know you" and it's kind of fascinating.

He doesn't know Terry [apparently that's his name now??] very well, the guy is often out when Winston is here. He knows he's an artist, that he's majoring in digital art and graphic design, that he's often very quiet and doesn't tend to enter conversations even when he is present.

Terry and this new guy seem to know each other well, though. Winston has never heard Terry speaking so much at once before.

Smiling, Winston pushes himself until he's sitting, legs crossed. Jason stays lying down, their hands still connected in Winston's lap. Jason's eyes are shut, Winston notes now. His breathing is even and deep, and Winston wonders if he's asleep.

"Tired?" asks Winston again, so low it's barely above a whisper. He leans a little over him and spots the moment when Jason peeks up at him, eyelids moving the barest minimum. Jason's blink is slow, eyelids rising a little more as he gazes up at Winston in silence.

Finally, Jason murmurs "Mhm" softly, almost inaudible. His eyelids fall shut again, and Winston spends a minute just watching him. Sleepy, open and relaxed, Jason is a vision from right out of a movie; it feels like those moment when the main couple is sleeping on the beach and the sun is rising over them and they just shine. Like stars. Winston has his phone in hand before he can think, and he's taking a picture of Jason in the next second. Stares at the resulting image. It's kind of grainy in the corners and most of the image is in shadow, but Jason is in focus.

Biting his bottom lip, Winston carefully places his phone on the bedside table, stretching to make sure he doesn't lost his grip on Jason's hand. The whispers are rising in volume from the other side of the room again, and Winston tosses them a distracted gaze. Terry is gesturing, movements big, and the other guy is glaring at him while they argue.

They haven't given up, though. Whatever it is they're doing, they're still trying.

Looking at Jason again, Winston is powerless to resist a yawn shattering his carefully crafted defenses [I use that phrase a lot, huh] and he lies down again. Lies on his back this time, scooting until he has a pillow under his head and he yawns again.

After a moment, Jason blearily gazes around and shuffles closer, until he can put his head on Winston's shoulder. And he does, tossing a leg and arm over him, Winston holding his breath. Can't help it.

Jason whispers, "Is this okay?"

"Yeah," breathes Winston, his hand resting on Jason's back. "It's fucking perfect," he murmurs, eyes slipping shut and world going quiet. Jason doesn't say anything more, the sounds of his breaths gradually evening out, muscles relaxing again on top of Winston. And he's not sure how much time has passed by the time he realizes that Jason is sleeping but Winston's heart clenches as he gazes down at Jason's slack face, mouth a little open, breaths puffing.

Winston doesn't even mind that he's nearly being crushed.

Worth it, he thinks.

At some point, Winston falls asleep as well.

The next time his eyes open, the room is pitch black except for the light from the other bed in the room. His eyebrows furrow as he gazes into the darkness and he stretches his arms over his head, tilting his head to take in more of the room. Jason isn't lying on him anymore, he slowly notes, blinking. He's no longer weighed down by anything and he groan, pushing up onto his arms and trying to force his vision to work better via sheer will-power.

It takes a second for his eyes to adjust and his stomach swoops as he notices—Jason is sitting up against the headboard beside him, doing something on his computer, a low clacking sound emerging as Jason's fingers dance over the keys. The light from the computer is harsh on his skin, digging shadows into his lines,and at Winston's hum, Jason's eyes flicker to him. He smiles and—

It's warm.

Jason's smile is warm, soft and gooey even in the weird lighting. It's gentle, and Winston is weak. His heart trips, and he falls back, arms give out beneath him. He blinks up at Jason, eyelids heavy as lead and already starting to fall shut again. He's weak, he thinks, and pathetic, and sad, and—so in love it hurts.