Page 57 of Make the Play
“Since we did Fellowship last week, we doing Two Towers this week? I wanna see what happens with Aragorn and Gimli.”
The fact that Jason—a man who barely understood Tolkien when they met—now knows the names of the movies, including in the correct order, and some of the characters, makes Emerson stupidly giddy.
“What?” Jason scrubs his large hand over the side of his jaw, highlighting the light stubble that wasn’t there just the day before. “Is there something on my face?”
“No,” Emerson answers, unable to believe he got caught staring. He’s usually better at pretending Jason isn’t the nicest thing in the entire world to look at. “Just thinking.”
“You’re probably hungry,” Jason muses, moving into Emerson’s personal space the way he always does, like he belongs there. He drapes an arm around Emerson’s shoulder, the weight of it an immediate balm to Emerson’s taxed nervous system. “What are you in the mood for?”
Emerson shrugs, far too low on spoons to make decisions.
“We could order takeout or—” Jason pauses, guiding Emerson towards the front door, pausing in thought as he holds it open.
“Or?”
“I’ve got a loaf of bread and some peanut butter at home. I could make us sandwiches.”
Moving without consciously deciding to do so, Emerson wraps his arms around Jason, relieved when the embrace is returned without fanfare or question. They stand there in the doorway, stuck halfway between the quiet of the tailor and the bustling activity out on the street.
The rise and fall of Jason’s chest steadies him, as does the large hand that smooths up and down his back. As always, Jason intuitively senses that words would be too much and doesn’t question the impromptu hug or the fact that Emerson, who always waits for Jason to touch first, was the one to initiate this one. All he does is hold Emerson close. He might not have much experience with hugs, but he’s certain Jason’s are the best in the entire world, his entire body surrounding Emerson.
When Emerson pulls back from the embrace, his mind is calm in ways it rarely is, his filter apparently gone because what he blurts next is, “Did I ever tell you that Aragorn is descended from Elros Tar-Minyatur making him the last descendant of Anárion?”
The smile that spreads across Jason’s face is wide, his obvious pleasure at Emerson’s unprompted infodumping as soothing to Emerson as the hug had been, albeit in a different way.
“You did not. Why don’t we head to the truck and you can tell me more.”
Emerson smiles, a real smile that he feels all the way in his gut. “Okay, Jason.”
* * *
“What are you wearing?”
“You like it?” Jason grins, defying all odds and somehow managing to make the monstrosity of an outfit he’s got on attractive. It’s actually an anomaly Emerson might mull over later when he’s not standing on the sidewalk with half the people at the bus stop staring at them. “I’m confused,” Emerson answers, unable to stop staring. There’s so much neon and all of it is very tight in ways that remind Emerson he’s very gay and very, very much attracted to Jason. Maybe not usually in spandex, but then again, he’s developing a Pavlovian response to Jason in gray sweats and his team hoodies, also something he wasn’t objectively attracted to before. So it’s quite possible he’s just turned on by anything Jason wears.
The outfit is objectively kind of hideous, but Jason’s thighs are so thick that the lime green spandex stretches tight, highlighting where the very short pink running shorts he’s wearing over the leggings have bunched up. The shirt is equally bright, though more of a highlighter yellow. It’s hard to focus on the color when the sleeves have been cut off revealing Jason’s massive biceps and highlighting all that corded muscle in his forearms dusted with dark hair. The shirt also appears to be just short enough that if he lifted his arms, it might show off his stomach, and it’s all Emerson can do not to turn around and run back to his apartment to hide in bed all day. He resists, if only because calling in with an incurable case of horniness for your fellow teacher is probably not an approved use of sick pay.
“It’s homecoming week.” Jason’s tone is cheerful, as if this explains why everything he’s wearing is so tight and bright. “Didn’t you see the email?”
“I don’t remember,” he answers, tearing his eyes away from Jason’s neon green thighs. He’s far too embarrassed to admit his brain is currently not functioning enough to remember what was in his work email recently. There was definitely something about homecoming, but he’d been very frazzled about chaperoning. Then the business with getting a suit and the subsequent weekend, hanging out with Jason all night Saturday which had somehow led to them hanging out again Sunday. Jason reviewed game tapes on his ipad while Emerson sat next to him on the couch grading. Jason had been wearing a pair of basketball shorts that rode up his thighs showing off the dark hair there, and now he’s thinking about Jason’s hairy thighs again and has lost the vein of the conversation entirely. Something about spirit week he thinks.
“They did spirit week at your old high school, right?” Jason asks. “I loved it when I was still in school.”
While Emerson is very happy that Jason had such an incredible time in high school, his own memories are fraught, and a lot of them he’s blocked out, some intentionally and others not. He has a vague memory of the lead up to homecoming, all the cheerleaders and sports teams wearing their uniforms daily. Which incidentally led to an increase of taunting from Landon and his teammates. The excess of school spirit and inability to avoid jocks meant Emerson hid in the library, racking up detention slips in order to avoid being in class. He definitely doesn’t remember any of his teachers partaking so enthusiastically though. Then again, none of his teachers looked like Jason either.
“Wait, was I supposed to dress up?” Emerson wonders, panicking, his blood running cold. Did he miss an email? Or worse, was there some kind of expectation that teachers partake in spirit week, and he was just supposed to know without being told? He looks down at his brown pants and short-sleeve green button up. He looks like a tree, and Jason looks like a wet dream out of an eighties workout video.
“It’s optional, don’t worry,” Jason assures him, clearly reading Emerson’s mood. He tips sideways, the loose neckline of his shirt fluttering open to reveal a chest dusted in the same dark hair as Jason’s thighs and forearms.
Maybe he should take that sick day after all.
“You getting in?” Jason asks.
Emerson hums, passing his bag to Jason before willing his pathetic heart and overactive imagination to calm down as he climbs into the truck. Just because Jason was extra tactile over the weekend, even for him, doesn’t mean Emerson can start daydreaming about being held all the time. And sure, those daydreams sprung from reality because he’d fallen asleep halfway through the movie on Saturday, waking up cradled in Jason’s arms. But Jason was just a good friend who didn’t push Emerson off even when he fell asleep in inappropriate places, like his straight friend’s arms.
His crush on Jason is getting entirely out of hand, which is dangerous, not because Jason would hate him. No, Jason is too damn nice for that, but because Emerson already has more than he ever dreamed, and he’s not stupid enough to want more.
Not even in his wildest fantasies did he ever imagine when he moved to Southern California that he might not just survive, but thrive. Sure the days are long and often overstimulating, but they’re satisfying in a way that makes it bearable. He also loves being a teacher. Somehow despite his own horrible high school experience, he still loves teenagers because they lack a filter and are brutally honest, which makes it easier for him to navigate intentions. He’s also in the position of power, making him feel a hell of a lot safer. Imagining that his very straight new friend—best friend, favorite person in the entire world if he’s being honest—might wake up one day and decide he has feelings for Emerson is just fanciful and outlandish.
