Page 40 of We Were Never Lovers
“Omelette with zucchini, mushroom and tomato,” Jack said as he placed the plate in front of Sean at the table. His face was red, his eyes down, his movements striving for normal, but skittish. He’d been like this since he dragged himself out of bed earlier, mumbling about crustiness in his pubes before seeming to remember himself, where he was and why he had dry come flaking on his skin.
Sean had huffed a laugh, more uncomfortable than real, but Jack was disappearing out the door, stumbling over their clothes and shoes strewn over the floor, head ducked as he muttered, “Shit.”
He hadn’t held eye contact since and he seemed to have turned permanently red, the blush rising up from his clavicles under the singlet, staining his neck crimson; his cheeks looked hot to touch.
Sean sat at the table instead of on the couch because he had a perverse urge to watch him. He felt off-balance and unsure too, but Jack was next level. He didn’t know what he’d expected when they woke up—Jack still wrapped around him, Sean’s arm holding him close—but he’d thought they’d at least acknowledge what had happened. Jack looked like he’d rather call a press conference and discuss their preliminary final loss, and Jack hated talking to the media and he hated losing that final; Sean remembered that much.
Jack took his time getting his oatmeal, fruit, and smoothie, and Sean waited.
“So,” Sean said when Jack finally sat, unable to put off sitting down to eat any longer.
“So, off day,” Jack said brightly.
Sean snorted. Alright, if that’s how he was going to play it.
Jack went on a monologue about his plans to get the outside ready for the patio renovation he was getting done and Sean grunted in acknowledgement in all the right places, wondered how they normally dealt with the mornings after. Not like this, he was pretty sure.
“Jack,” he said in a lull in the monologue.
“Shit,” Jack stood suddenly. “I better call the patio guys ‘cos we got training earlier this week and I don’t reckon Annie’s gonna be able to meet them.”
And then he was grabbing his phone and heading outside.
Sean frowned at him. Was he ashamed? The thought perplexed Sean, then made him feel ashamed. Had he done something wrong? And if he had, Jack should just nut up and tell him, not act like a tweaker, not avoid him.
He levered himself up and hopped back to his room. If Jack was going to avoid him, he’d just avoid him right back.
But he realised he’d need something to do after he sat down and he didn’t know where his phone was. He got up and hoppedback out, saw Jack holding his phone near the kitchen island, tapping something out on it.
“What’re you doing?” Sean asked.
Jack jumped. “Nothing.” He flicked his eyes back to Sean’s phone, tapped something quickly and handed it over.
“What the fuck,” Sean said. “Are you lookin’ at my phone?”
“No,” Jack said vehemently, which was pretty rich since he was literally doing just that.
“It’s not what you think,” Jack said when Sean stared at him incredulously.
“What do I think?”
“That I’m like, invading your privacy. I’m not,” Jack shook the phone in Sean’s direction.
“Then what’re you doing?” Sean took it and looked down at it. He swiped it open and saw the notifications lighting up the various icons.
“Nothing you don’t want me to be doing,” Jack said.
Sean glanced up at him; Jack was finally making eye contact, an assurance to his posture that hadn’t been there all morning.
There was a stand-off, both of them staring for a beat, another beat.
“Do you do this a lot?” Sean asked. “What’re you looking for?”
Jack dropped his gaze and tapped his fingers on the bench. “People send you shit on your DMs. I delete it.”
Sean’s lips parted. Jack was thwarting people who might want to hook-up with him? And they weren’t together? And if they were, Jesus, jealous much? Sean couldn’t fathom it.
“You don’t want me to know if other people are tryin’ to hook-up with me?” he asked.
