Page 30 of Make the Play
In the two weeks since Emerson started, she’s told him that at least a dozen times. Emerson has yet to take her up on it despite the fact that he has a laundry list of things he could use help with in his classroom. He’s pretty sure she’s just being polite and the majority of his issues aren’t anything the school is going to help with anyway.
“Put that box there on the floor so I can go through it later,” Mabel tells Jason, patting his arm. “Good man. What would I do without you?”
“Find someone else who can reach the top shelf probably.”
Mabel swats Jason’s arm, shaking her head. “You get out of here and stop causing me trouble so I can work.”
“You love me,” Jason grins, grabbing his cooler and backpack off the floor before nodding towards the front door. “Come on, Emerson.”
Relieved by the explicit direction, Emerson trails after Jason who reaches for the door and holds it open, allowing Emerson to easily slip under his outstretched arm. Given his height, it shouldn’t be so easy to do so, but Jason’s got nearly five inches on Emerson, making him feel small in a way he’s unused to. He was taller than his aunt and uncle, even taller than Landon who hated it. He’s used to being the tallest one in the room, to folding in on himself to avoid being noticed. Something about the way Jason’s body and personality take up space so he doesn’t have to is something Emerson doesn’t know how to make sense of. All he knows is he likes it, gravitating into Jason’s orbit as his earlier tension slowly bleeds away.
“You ready for another Monday?” Jason asks, falling into step beside Emerson.
“As ready as I can be,” Emerson answers. He must not do as good a job of hiding his own mess of emotions because Jason stops him with a hand to the shoulder. The touch is light enough Emerson could brush it off; he doesn’t. Because it’s Jason and it feels good, and Emerson is tired. Not from lack of sleep, tired in the way it’s hard to explain. Tired in the way he gets sometimes when his brain takes in too much, and all his energy is used to keep himself at the same base level other people seem to just exist at without trying.
Some days, he manages just fine, and other days, well other days the effort is herculean.
Jason gives his shoulder a gentle squeeze. “Was there a problem with the bus?”
“It was six minutes late,” Emerson says, frowning. He should stop. He knows he should stop. Were it anyone else, he wouldn’t have even answered, but this isn’t anyone else, it’s Jason. Who’s got those damn big brown eyes trained on Emerson like he’s the only person on this campus. He’s looking at Emerson like he cares what the answer is, and all of it just comes spilling out. “And there was a kid who kept crying, and she got snot on my pants, and I wanted to tell you good morning, but you were already gone because the bus was late and—” Emerson cuts himself off just before he adds the part about what he overheard about the woman who took Jason’s towel. He already sounds neurotic; he doesn't need to sound jealous too. Even if he is, just a little bit.
It’s not even that Emerson has a crush on Jason. Though, standing here staring at him basked in early morning sunlight, watching the way it glints off his pitch black hair, it’s impossible to deny. Physically, this man is exactly what Emerson would like: big, soft, kind. And painfully off limits. That’s fine. Emerson doesn’t even care about dating. He’d much rather have Jason’s friendship anyway. It’s just that his friendship isn’t a certain thing yet, not in the way Emerson’s brain needs it to be.
He knows Jason is his friend. It’s impossible not to because Jason makes sure he knows. What he doesn’t know is how deep the friendship is allowed to go. He’s never had many friends, and the few he’s had over the years always became strained when Emerson was too, well, Emerson. He’s always been toosomethingfor people. Too quiet. Too talkative. Too excited. Too stoic. Too intense. Too boring. Too rigid.
The last one has always been the biggest one. How many times growing up did he hear it? From teachers, from his cousin, from his aunt and uncle. The critique on his facial expressions, either too expressive or not expressive enough, or the commentary on his emotions when he felt things too strongly or somehow didn’t feel them at all.
Emerson, there’s no reason for you to be so upset, no one else is. Emerson, you need to calm down, people are staring. Emerson, you need to learn how to let things go, you’re taking this too seriously. Emerson, why can’t you like things a normal amount, you make things stressful for other people. Emerson, why can’t you just be different.
It took Emerson a very long time to realize maybe he wasn’t the problem. Maybe his family wanted him to fit into a box when he was a circle, not a square. Regardless, the damage was done and he hears their voices now, reminding him he needs to not overwhelm Jason. Except he doesn’t know how to be less, he never has. Which is exactly why it’s easier to avoid people entirely rather than try to mask. Emerson doesn’t do casual, in anything. Not in the books he loves or the movies he watches and certainly not in the people he enjoys. Not that there’s ever been very many. But when there is something he likes, something he loves, his hyperfocus takes over because Emerson has always been all or nothing, and right now he wants to be all with the giant of a man staring at him, like how he feels matters.
He wants to be all in with Jason, at least in regards to their friendship. He’s a lot of things, but delusional is not one of them. He reminds himself of this while tracking the way Jason’s school t-shirt clings to his body. He’s got muscles, that’s clear, but there’s a bit of softness at his belly and hips that Emerson suspects would feel very nice in a hug. A platonic hug.
This would all be so much easier if Jason weren’t so painfully, devastatingly handsome. He looks like someone out of a magazine, or a museum. Or maybe a movie star. He’s just so big that even at five-foot-eleven, Emerson has to tilt his head up to look him in the eye. Which is apparently a thing that makes Emerson’s pulse race. There’s also a steady countenance about him, a quiet strength in the way he carries himself. He looks like he could take on an Orc with his bare hands and win. He—oh no. No, no,no.
Under no circumstances is he going to go there. The last thing he needs to think about is how sexy Jason would look in an Aragorn costume.
Even now he can feel it, feel that compulsion in his brain where something he likes starts to change from a casual interest into a hyperfocus. Once that happens, Emerson is done for. There is no going back. No casual anything. In the past, this part of his brain has always been directed at things he could control, things he could hide, like books. Like his obsession with Lord of the Rings.
In all of his twenty-six years, he’s never felt his brain try to latch on to a person. But it is now, and if he isn’t careful, he’s going to scare Jason off with his intensity. He knows he is.
“Earth to Sunshine.”
“Sunshine?” Emerson murmurs.
“That got your attention,” Jason chuckles, “though judging by that cute little pinchy thing going on between your eyebrows, I’m going to go out on a limb and say it’s definitely one for the no column.”
As far as Emerson is concerned, he’s less like sunshine and more like the nimbostratus cloud that blocks the sunshine. Thankfully, Jason begins to talk again, sparing Emerson from having to figure out how to say that without upsetting Jason. It might not have been a nickname he’d stick with, but he likes that Jason is trying to find one and is loath to inadvertently stop Jason’s attempts by running his mouth.
“No worries, Emerson. I’ve got plenty more where that came from. We are going to figure out the perfect nickname for you if it kills me.”
“I prefer you alive.”
“Thanks.” Jason’s eyes crinkle at the corner. “I’m quite partial to this life of mine. I think?—”
“Watch out,” someone yells.
Emerson’s head swivels around just in time to see a football headed directly towards his face. He should duck, or move, but his body chooses this moment to freeze in panic. Emerson can do nothing but hope his face doesn’t break when Jason’s massive hand flies out to catch the ball one handed.
