Page 70 of Make the Play
“But we’re not talking about Charlie, or any of the King men. We’re talking about you. I might have done this as a favor to Andrew, but you come to me any time you need something, you got that? Your mom was good people and so are you. I want you to feel welcome here, alright? My door is always open if you need something tailored, or just need someone to commiserate with about those King men. Dating Jason, I’m sure you’ll get used to them but?—”
Dating Jason.Dating Jason. Denise continues speaking in an even tone but Emerson’s brain buzzes while his face heats, leaving him acutely aware of every inch of his own body. He can feel every wisp of hair touching his face, the uncomfortably hard lub-dub of his heart and every seam on his clothing.
“Emerson,” Denise says, clearly realizing he’s zoned out.
“I’m not…me and—oh no. No,” Emerson croaks. “Not that I wouldn’t, because I would. I mean have you seen him? And he’s nice. He’s so nice, Denise. But he’s not interested in me. Why would he be? He could have anyone. Besides, he's straight.”
“Straight,” Denise echoes, almost as if she’s testing the word out. “I’ve never seen a straight man look at another man the way he looked at you, sweetheart.”
“Jason King is straight,” Emerson repeats.
If he says it twice, maybe she will understand it.
“I’m the last person who wants to make judgments about someone else’s sexuality,” Denise says, tone softening. “Why don’t we get this suit tried on and make sure it's perfect for tomorrow?”
Emerson nods his agreement, following Denise into the back room. Even when she hands him a photograph of his mother like promised at the fitting, his fingers tracing over a face he hasn’t seen in a decade, his thoughts eventually return to Jason. He can’t help but wonder exactly how it is she thinks Jason looks at him? He tries to shake away the thoughts, reminding himself that it doesn’t matter if he sometimes imagines things between him and Jason turning into something more. It doesn’t matter that Jason’s embrace is everything he’s ever wanted or that he longs to be wrapped inside this very hoodie with Jason’s bare skin against his own.
None of it matters, because Jason told him he’s straight and Jason doesn’t lie.
* * *
Jason
I’m here.
Emerson readsthe text three times before his brain allows him to reply. Once he’s texted Jason to come on up he’s left waiting for Jason to make it up to his apartment and knock on the door. With nothing to do while he waits, he scrutinizes every inch of his studio apartment, acutely aware that no one else has ever been in here. For all the times Jason has picked him up or dropped him off, he’s never been up to Emerson’s actual apartment. It wasn’t from a lack of Jason trying, but any time he offered to walk him to the door it was easier for Emerson to sayno thanksthan deal with his internalized shame about his living space. The kind he’s been working hard to get over, not just for Jason but for himself. Jason’s easy acceptance of Emerson, of the things that bring him joy, make it easier for Emerson to accept the things he loves too.
Growing up, his room had been his sanctuary, the only place in his aunt and uncle’s home that had been his. That is unless Landon wanted to come in and steal Emerson’s favorite plushie or break his LEGO, both things he did regularly but denied, always claiming Emerson was being weird and lying. It was always at that point Emerson usually started crying out of frustration, which ended up negating the truth because his aunt and uncle hated strong displays of emotion. In hindsight, there was very little about Emerson they liked.
Even into adulthood, his room was still filled with comfort items which left him open to judgment from family. Over time, to avoid harsh judgments, he got used to hiding the things that brought him joy.
A lifetime of trying to mask his neurodivergent nature and personality traits to protect himself left him an adult struggling to unmask, even now that it’s safe to do so. Because that’s the crux of it. Jason is safe. He’s safe in ways Emerson didn’t even know was possible.
Even knowing this, it’s hard for Emerson not to compare his own living space with Jason’s. His studio apartment doesn’t look like Jason’s house, and that isn’t just because of the size. Jason’s home is set up like, well, an adult’s. There’s a couch and a television and some photographs in the living room. A perfectly respectable and average kitchen. His house is sparsely decorated. There are a lot of shoes by the front door, but it’s overall a fairly average home. Emerson loves Jason’s house: the oversized comfortable couch, the dogs who both finally let Emerson pet them, and the fact that it’s in a quiet neighborhood where Emerson can’t hear everyone who lives around him. What he loves most about it though is that Jason is there. Having been to his home a few times left Emerson thinking maybe it was time he let Jason see his own home, a decision he is currently on the verge of spiraling over.
While there are a lot of things Emerson dislikes about his apartment: the noisy upstairs neighbors who stomp around like they have shoes made of cement, the fact that someone on his floor smokes on their balcony so he can never have his window open, or the way one of the kids next door knocks on his wall when they can’t sleep. Thinking about it, perhaps there’s a lot of things he dislikes, but it’s still his. His apartment, one that his aunt and uncle can’t shame for being filled with toys and books. His own apartment that no one can sneak into and rearrange his bookshelf or break his LEGO sets.
This too small, too noisy apartment is Emerson’s, and he loves it in the same way he covets his treasured possessions, because it’s his and no one can take it away. With that independence comes the reality that Emerson has no one who comes over. No family, no friends. No one else has been in this apartment ever since Emerson moved in, as evidenced by the half-finished puzzle on the dining room table he never eats at or the fact that his kitchen counters are covered in papers he’s in the middle of grading, not appliances.
A single bookshelf sits in the corner, overfilled with books spilling onto the floor and piled in corners. In front of the books are his favorite LEGO mini figs and the top of the shelf has his model of Rivendell. He has more LEGO sets, carefully packed away with their original instructions. They’re still in boxes, partially because Emerson has no shelves to display them, but also because even though he lives here alone, it’s taken him a long time to feel safe bringing them out.
His kitchen is equally chaotic, and the only thing that’s not work-related on his kitchen counters is a dragon shaped cookie jar he found at a thrift store before he moved here. Emerson doesn’t like cookies so it’s filled with Ranch Doritos, but it was the first grown-up purchase of his life—if a mythical creature-shaped crock for baked goods counts. Emerson is very attached to it despite the paint on the end of the snout being scratched and the chip in the back tail, which he hides by wedging it in the corner.
Even his couch is used, though this one is not from a thrift store. His aunt and uncle were re-doing their second living room and were going to throw it away. Even though Emerson kind of hates the ugly floral pattern, and it reminds him of his aunt. He’d paid them fifty bucks and then spent a small fortune to bring it across the country, if only because it was familiar to sit on, and he’d desperately needed everything to not be different. There’s also no coffee table because Emerson doesn’t use one, only a large empty spot where there used to be a sort of blanket nest Emerson uses when he’s overwhelmed and needs to lay on the floor. It was there this morning, but he balled it all up and hid it under the bed when he texted Jason to come on up.
His apartment is lived in but in a kind of haphazardI’m a first year teacher with no moneybut also Ihave no idea how to let myself decoratebecause I was never allowed to express myselfkind of way. Something he feels very aware of when the knock on the front door comes.
Steeling his nerves, Emerson walks to the door, unsure how he can want to see Jason more than anyone in the world, yet somehow feel like he’s walking to his death. It’s incredibly exhausting having a brain that rebels against even the things he wants when it’s afraid, and he tries to remind himself that Jason isn’t going to poke fun at his toys or the size of his home. Despite knowing Jason would never tease him, the anxiety rises.
Jason knocks again and Emerson breathes slowly. In for four, hold for seven, out for eight. He does it again until the worst of it passes, turning the deadbolt and readying himself to apologize for keeping Jason waiting, when every single word and thought falls from his head at the sight of Jason standing at his front door, his smile as wide and bright as actual sunshine. He’s dressed in a charcoal gray suit. The cut of it hugs every single swell and curve of Jason’s body, highlighting the breadth of his thick thighs, massive chest and overall impressive girth.
What really catches Emerson’s attention though is the plastic box in his hand, one he’s holding almost nervously with a flower inside. Not just a flower—a boutonniere.
“Wow,” Jason whispers. His chest expands with a slow, deep breath. “Emmy, you look?—”
“It’s too much, isn’t it?” Emerson blurts, suddenly wondering why he didn’t choose something subtle like Jason, whose suit is a perfectly normal, non-attention grabbing three piece suit.
In stark contrast, Emerson’s suit is anything but subtle. The cut is less traditional than usual with slim lapels and pants that hit just above his bare ankles. Unlike Jason, he’s not wearing a tie but rather a loose white button up with the top two buttons undone at Denise’s suggestion. Most attention grabbing of all is the color, a pale green.
