Chapter Text
It took great fortitude to do what Jake did.
Regardless of risks or potential payoffs, he remains a man who doesn’t stand for ineptness, sternly forthright in his beliefs, and does not allow himself to be taken as a fool.
Bradley gathers he must be an outlier to this rigid disposition. It’s not an assumption he’s been cognizant of for long, yet it settles deeper with each day passing since Jake pulled him aside after only one beer and confessed his feelings for him.
Jake took his shot. Bradley caught and crushed it in his fist on instinct.
Rejecting comes innately. Turning people away without a further thought, leaving friendships open with minimal effort on his side.
He doesn’t necessarily believe it’s easier to be alone. More so a tendency to repeat the cycle after being left behind countless times. It’s not even-handed to say he gives what he gets, but it’s how he justifies it to himself.
Jake’s confession didn’t come as a complete surprise either, merely another area of his brain he’s refused to acknowledge until it was front and center in his face.
Worst of all, Jake didn’t so much as flinch. His face didn’t fall, he didn’t show visible disappointment, sadness, nothing.
Jake simply nodded, clapped his shoulder, then walked away.
Sometimes he swears the patch of skin burns in the middle of the night.
It’s almost as if Jake braced for it, like he knew he wouldn’t hear words of reciprocation but needed the rejection out loud to move forward, to move on.
Resigned from the beginning—confident in the knowledge he’d never get to have him.
Selfishly, that part hurt the most. For Jake to be two steps ahead of him when it comes to his own fucking actions, but at the same time, all Bradley did was prove him correct once more.
He was given the perfect chance to confess his own deep ache in return, but he made a choice, and now he has to live with it.
Bradley sighs, and no matter how many times he does, the pressure in his sternum won’t ease an inch. He slides his fingers behind deep into the coarse sand, gazing outwards.
Night after night coming here, the stars nor the sea offer an answer. Each pitch-black wave showcases a gnawing center, swallowing in on itself before crashing onto the shore in an endless cycle.
He supposes it’s a hint of sorts. Another choice whether to allow the same to happen to him for the rest of his life.
For years, he’s known Jake’s cocky grins cause his stomach to flip. He’s known how secretly he appreciates yet envies Jake’s nature to say what he wants no matter the situation. He’s known it makes him smile with affection watching Jake snort into his beer from an unexpected dirty joke.
Capturing a heart like his remains what he can’t fathom.
Projecting his own everywhere he goes rarely inspires joy anymore. For a while, it’s what he ran on. Enticing crowds with tricks and showing off for an audience because at the very least, strangers wouldn’t leave a lasting impression. Strangers wouldn’t burrow under his chest, and in turn, he wouldn’t want to keep them warm in there.
None of it would last through the night—a quick fix before he’s gone again.
During those times of spontaneous fun, he’d glance up and lock eyes with Jake’s soft ones watching him. They’d quickly disappear, like Jake was protecting his vulnerable underbelly from his attention.
It’d make him feel like shit, but given his consistent behavior, it was always the smart thing to do.
With the sea as his witness, he has no choice but to acknowledge his desire to not remain this way.
Could they really be more? Is he capable of allowing them to be?
Bradley sighs once more and stands, dusting off his hands.
He heads to the parking lot.
*
After ringing the doorbell, he waits with his hands in his pockets. It’s the middle of the night, he should have called, but soon enough, the light flicks on inside.
Trepidation ties a harsher knot in his stomach, unease in each shift on his feet.
It would be more than justified for Jake to throw it all back in his face—righteous to slam the door for the shit he’s put them through.
Bradley tells himself it’s not what he wants because it isn’t.
Light blossoms from the entryway once it opens. Bradley stares off at nothing over his shoulder, so he isn’t sure if Jake is surprised to see him.
From what he sees in his peripheral, Jake appears…soft. Touchable in sleep pants and a loose t-shirt while leaning against the doorway.
It’s more than likely he awoke to the ring. He wonders if Jake is the kind of person who stretches before he gets out of bed or rises at the first sound of his alarm. Maybe he sets it early to give himself another hour to fall back asleep before starting the day.
He turned away the chance to find out.
“Yes?”
Bradley clenches his fists in his pockets at the dry address. No jokes, no to what do I owe the pleasure like he might have expected.
No, his voice is tired. It compels him to look at his face then and damn, does it hurt. No plastered smile, no lopsided grin or tilt of his head. Just a blank nothingness that highlights the purple under his dim eyes.
Bradley’s stomach hurts knowing he’s responsible, and for the fact he knows Jake would hate him attributing himself as the cause.
Jake doesn’t care for someone to have power over him, but his slumped shoulders signal he’s accepted it, just like everything else Bradley does.
“Can I come in?” Bradley asks, then clears his throat from how gruff it comes out.
Jake ticks an eyebrow. “For what?”
“I owe you an explanation.”
“I don’t care what you owe me. If I wanted to hear why, I would have asked.”
Jake doesn’t sound hurt, but a put on bored tone, like Bradley’s arrival here is a nuisance disturbing him. Layering his words with self preservation, and while Bradley understands, an unfair indignation rises in his already tight chest.
Bradley nods and takes his hands out of his pockets. “Can you do it for me then? One last thing?”
It isn’t a fair request, and Jake’s mouth tightens. He glances down at his feet like he’s trying to figure out how to turn him away, but then Jake catches sight of his hands. His focus zeros in on the bitten, torn up cuticles and his nails chewed to the skin.
Jake exhales harshly, shaking his head as he deflates. He uncrosses his arms and looks upwards before he pushes off the doorway. Turning into his home, Jake leaves the door open.
Bradley blows out a silent breath and follows him, closing the door quietly. At first glance, he notices scattered boxes everywhere. It’s a sign Jake hasn’t settled in yet since permanently moving here for their reassignment.
“You’re not leaving, are you?” Bradley asks. It comes out like a fearful demand—the question leaving his mouth without his brain realizing he’s spoken. Maybe Jake’s been waiting for a reason and Bradley gave him the final push he needs.
Jake shoots him a strange look over his shoulder. “No,” he answers.
The monosyllable settles the urge to thrash within, and he silently follows Jake into the kitchen next to the living room. He flips on a light above the sink.
“Do you want a drink?” Jake asks.
“No, thank you.”
They’re shrouded in a tense silence then. Jake leans against the sink counter with his arms crossed again. He doesn’t appear expectant, remaining truthful in his earlier statement that he doesn’t believe he’s owed anything.
Bradley assumes whatever he says tonight, Jake already knows somehow.
However, Jake doesn’t extend an olive branch. He allows them to stand engulfed in this uncomfortable air, staring off distantly at nothing.
Jake is a master at indifference, but Bradley knows parts of him well too.
He might not understand the full depths, but he’s aware he hurt Jake like hell.
“I’m sorry,” Bradley begins softly. “For the other day, it just took me off guard.” Jake clenches his jaw. Bradley sees the bite on the tip of his tongue, the venom sizzling to spew. “I want to say—”
“What is this?” Jake interrupts, impatience escaping. “I knew what you’d say beforehand. I don’t need you to tell me.”
“So why tell me at all?” Jake doesn’t answer, tightening his hands over his crossed arms, so Bradley tries a different approach. “How did you know? Why didn’t you have any faith in me?”
Jake barks a laugh, void of humor. “It has nothing to do with my faith in you, Bradshaw, so don’t come here and give me that shit.”
“Then what?” Bradley presses. It sounds desperate, and it is. He needs Jake to spell it out for him here more than anywhere.
Jake shakes his head, but if he’s interpreting it correctly, the motion almost seems…fond.
“Because you think you deserve to be alone,” Jake states. “It didn’t matter if you felt the same way or not.”
“I do,” Bradley rushes out with vigor. “I feel the same.”
Nothing about Jake’s demeanor changes. He softens a tad in his shoulders and arms, but no elation spreads. No budding exhilaration which normally follows such a confession.
He just seems more tired and resigned. Almost pitying in the lines around his eyes, like his life would be a hell of a lot easier if Bradley denied him once more.
It makes him want to ground his teeth in anger towards himself. He’s walking a fine line before Jake decides he’s a lost cause just like everyone else.
“I know,” Jake whispers.
“I don’t want to be alone,” Bradley urges. “I just don’t know how to be anything else.”
Jake scans his face, studying while his forehead creases in thought. He doesn’t want Jake to get lost in his head like him. He wants to cage him in against the counter, feel his arms uncross to wrap around his spine and for Jake to tell him it’ll be alright.
“Can I ask you something?” Jake starts. Bradley nods. “For as long as we’ve known each other, have I ever left you behind? Fuck anyone else, but you?”
“I…”
Bradley flounders for an answer. He glances at the hardwood floors and wracks his brain for an instance to argue, but he can’t find one. All of the times Jake pushed him in the past, he didn’t abandon him afterwards.
It was always himself who disengaged. Sure, Jake would leave before it could come to blows or if Bradley dug his nail into a sensitive nerve, but Jake always returned.
He always came back demanding more, good or bad.
Jake let him inside his home here in the middle of the night. If he were anyone else, Bradley doubts Jake would afford them the same grace he’s offering right now.
But Jake does for him.
“What is it?” Jake wonders, as if he’s thinking out loud. “You need me to prove I’ll stay? After all this time, it’s still not enough?”
Frustration builds in every line of himself because Bradley doesn’t know. His clenched jaw hurts his neck from his inability to give Jake the answers he’s seeking.
“What do you need?” Bradley probes. “I’m serious.”
“I need you to take a chance for once in your goddamn life. I need you to stop watching me from the sidelines if you’re not going to do anything about it.”
Bradley shakes his head. “‘S’not enough. I want to give you more than that.”
Jake smiles the barest bit and it’s like a rush of rejuvenating rain after an unstopping drought. Bradley hasn’t witnessed it in days and his pulse lurches when Jake kicks off the counter.
Jake pads into his space, close enough where he smells his lingering spiced soap. “You’ve got the moves, Bradshaw,” Jake murmurs. “Use ‘em.”
Without another word, Jake turns and heads towards his staircase with an air to close the door behind him once he leaves.
Bradley stands there alone in Jake’s kitchen for a few minutes.
It’s an offering—a second chance to right his wrongs.
Despite the terrifying probability he’ll fuck it up, Bradley smiles to himself while he shuts Jake’s front door and heads home.
*
After many rigorous rounds of volleyball on the beach, their games dwindle into more hitting the ball back and forth.
He’s coated in sweat, melting from his hairline down his exposed torso. Tapping out with a hit to Payback, Bradley stands near the end of the net to catch his breath and watch for a second.
Water sounds pretty good, and when he turns around, he spots Jake sitting in a low to the ground beach chair. Earlier, Jake played a couple games before he claimed he was bored after his team kept winning them all.
Since then, he’s been in the chair with his legs bent and a book open on his lap. Luxuriating in the beautiful warm day while engrossed in whatever he’s reading.
Bradley stares at his kneecaps, pinked from the harsh sun. His own wobble like a foal, wanting to fall and crawl forwards in the sand to kiss the delicate skin. He’d use the width of his spine as a shield to protect him from the elements, to block out everything that dares cause him harm, including himself.
Jake must sense his intense attention. He lifts his head from his book, and Bradley can’t discern his expression behind his sunglasses, but he doesn’t need to.
Silently, Jake crooks his finger in a come hither motion.
His feet almost stumble from how swiftly he dredges through the thick sand. Once he sits in the open chair next to him, Jake returns to his book, so he glances outwards at the ocean.
It’s incredibly bright with the midday, beaming to where he has to squint behind his aviators. Outside the dead of night, the sea seems a bit calmer today. Fuller with the surfers in the distance and the plethora of people running into the shallows.
He listens to the crashing waves, the crisp turn of Jake’s book pages, and the gulls cawing overhead before dipping to the sand. He inhales the coconut from Jake’s suntan lotion and the sweet scents from the fruit bowl snug in the sand between their chairs.
Out of the corner of his eye, he notices Jake’s hand pausing inside the bowl while he chews a piece.
Bradley turns in the chair and watches him read. Following the lines of his soft jaw from his head tilted downwards, the light dust of wine stains on his nose bridge from the sun rays. Beneath the sunglasses lies an array of barely there freckles, prominent in the intense light.
He wonders what it’d be like to drag his fingertips down Jake’s abdomen muscles. Would they be just as warm? More so with the hair all over his torso? Would Jake have kept playing the game if Bradley ducked under the net, waltzed into his space and asked with a teasing plea?
Jake might’ve still wanted to read his book instead, but maybe he’d kiss him in parting before heading to these chairs.
Mid-chew, Jake lifts a strawberry and wordlessly holds it out in his direction.
Bradley stares at the green leaf top before he takes it from his fingers and sinks his teeth through half. He hums with delight from the burst of refreshing juice down his throat.
After he finishes, Jake holds up a piece of pineapple, so he takes it as well. It soothes his thirst he’s forgotten about, the sharp sweet liquid cold in his mouth. While he chews, he watches Jake’s brows furrow as he reads a passage with his thumb holding the page down.
It’s…nice. All of it. Sitting here at the beach together with the waves nearby, the sounds of their friends carrying on while sharing a snack.
Not solely imaginable, but happening right here with him as a present participating member.
Jake isn’t carrying a grudge; he isn’t holding anything against him. Not from the other week at the bar nor from the other night in his dimly lit kitchen.
Bradley still wants more. Despite the tranquil silence as they sit, he wants his voice.
“What are you reading?” he asks. Jake lifts the cover to show him, and Bradley chuckles. “Is that a dig?”
The Idiot reads in black and white font.
Jake quirks his lip up and shakes his head. He grabs a piece of pineapple for himself and pops it in his mouth. Bradley wants to taste it from his tongue.
He watches Jake’s jaw work, and his knee twinges with the urge to bounce. “Are you enjoying it?” Bradley asks.
Jake lifts his head then. Through the light reflective brown of his sunglasses, he appears content—approving. An outsider watching might assume Bradley just gave a dissertation on the novel contents with an exacting analysis of the themes from his expression, not just a genuine curiosity whether he finds the book satisfactory.
God, has Jake always looked at him like that?
“I am,” Jake answers.
Bradley smiles at him, and Jake mirrors it, so much wider than the one in his kitchen. He returns to the pages, and Bradley feels settled. His fingers hang off the chair edges and he burrows his feet deeper in the sand.
With the light sea air, his chest unspools a bit, almost like a reward.
He’s nodding off when a few people call his name, pestering with good-nature requests to join another game.
Bradley glances at Jake’s pink knees. He shakes his head in the negative and calls out later.
After a few silent minutes of turning pages and forearms smacking the ball, Jake lifts the book to show him a specific passage.
Bradley listens intently and grabs a couple blueberries in his palm.
*
“Bring it home, Rooster!”
Bradley tosses the bag underhand to the corn-hole board across the way. It swirls around the hole before falling in, and Fanboy cheers while pointing at him from the other side.
He grins, taking a sip of his beer.
The entire street and cul-de-sac in one of the primarily naval neighborhoods is filled with servicemen and women for a block party. Loud laughter, street games, a shit ton of alcohol and good fun while the orange sky transitions into night.
Once the late hour arrives, there will be fireworks for the Fourth, and the vibrating crowds showcase the night is only just beginning with the festivities.
Glancing further around the street, he notices Jake two houses down. Sitting in the bed of a truck with his own drink, lightly swinging his feet while speaking to Coyote.
Even from here, his stomach twists with how handsome he looks. Hat turned around in his simple jeans and black t-shirt spread across his torso. His golden skin intensifies, serving as a beacon and guiding like an airfield out at sea to bring him home.
He tosses his head with a laugh at whatever Coyote says, perhaps a story from the animated motions of his hands. Bradley follows the arch of his neck, the rise of his fingers as he brings the red cup to his lips.
Some days, it remains a bit strange to see him outside of work. He’s getting used to it day by day, but they didn’t exactly run in similar social circles when they were on the same soil. For the longest time, he refused to see Jake as anything but his coworker.
Bradley supposes that’s all they are still. After the uranium mission and the formation of their squad, he’d like to say they’ve become friends.
Then Jake made the next step, one Bradley didn’t do a thing to dissuade him from beforehand.
He doesn’t want to stop being friends. He doesn’t want to stop being them.
And even though he’s the one who hindered everything, again, he wants more. He wants so achingly deep. He wants to cup the side of Jake’s neck while he laughs and press his lips to the hollow of his throat to feel the rumble of it.
Jake glances in his direction like he’s just as aware of him as well. He stares for a second, looks at the open spot next to him on the truck, then returns back to his conversation.
It’s a split-second, subtle motion, yet Bradley couldn’t miss everything it proclaims, how intense that short attention in his direction flares inside.
His thumb digs into his plastic cup, popping it in and out while he stares at the corn-hole game. Jake’s laughter spurs him to hand his remaining bags to Bob, and he easily subs in for him once asked.
Crossing the street with a flutter in his chest, Coyote daps him up in greeting and taps his back before Bradley lifts up onto the truck bed.
Jake knocks his knee into his while continuing on with his conversation.
He wonders if they’re still pink from the sun, or if the skin has recovered as easily as Jake seems to.
It’s another unfair assumption. He hasn’t asked, but he wants Jake to be okay all the same.
He peers around at the various groups and crowd goers. Someone lights a firework on the street that sounds like a sharp squealing engine kicking back. People laying on blankets in their yards chatting and waiting for the show.
It’s nice again tonight. Easy. Laughing and drinking with friends he’ll see day after day. He’s pleased everyone is here tonight, and he’s constantly welcomed with joyful smiles in return.
No surprises. No rug yanked out from under his feet. No quick fixes yet a building consistency in his life outside of being alone.
Perhaps that’s what he’s craved without knowing it—stability.
Sitting here with Jake’s rich cologne unknotting his worries, he truly ponders why he runs, why he severs these ties.
Does he fear he’ll fail Jake, does he fear losing him if he decides Bradley isn’t worth it anymore?
But then deeper on the opposite side, what if they don’t crash and burn? He’s poured immense work and dedication year after year to be at this point in his career, they all have, so what if they pay off just the same and succeed?
Jake holds the power to be the most transcendent experience of his life, and it’s fucking terrifying.
I need you to take a chance.
Jake hasn’t ever undermined him—not so explicitly with the intention of the definition. He’s a fucking prick when he wants to be, but he encourages in the only way Jake knows how to do. No sugar coating, slyly blunt without shying from a point he refuses to stray from.
Drop down, take your shot.
He’s growing in his career and his tactical decisions, he gives himself that grace. But that isn’t what’s on the line here.
It’s his life again, but in a different sense. His happiness, his future. Jake—slipping in between his fingers like Bradley’s disappointing him all over again with a click of his tongue and a shake of his head.
He wonders how good it’d feel to stop undermining himself all together. How it’d feel to crack open his ribcage and trap Jake deep inside of it.
It’s not lost on him that he’s not the fairest to himself either. Hypercritical while setting such high standards for something that doesn’t even exist.
He just wants to be good to him.
Perhaps being mindful of it all is another chance in itself. He’s aware, so he can act. Ever since their conversation in his kitchen, Jake hasn’t told him to fuck off, he doesn’t turn him away.
No, he beckons.
The next time, Bradley vows to make sure he won’t have to.
Jake doesn’t deserve to be lumped in with his past experiences. He’s different, Jake has always been different for years, for better or worse.
Bradley wants to respect his patience deeper, to cherish the faith in him he previously accused of not existing. He wants to—
For the briefest second he yearns to prolong, Jake reaches over and squeezes his knee.
Bradley whips his head in his direction. He hadn’t realized he'd been staring down at his hands in his lap.
Jake points upwards. “Fireworks are about to start.”
He must have been lost in thought long enough for the sky to fully become night. Most of their squad sits in lawn chairs in front of them, beers in hand while they idly chatter.
Bradley stares at the side of Jake’s face. He studies the strong slope of his nose, the light grays behind his ears he doubts Jake knows are there. His light stubble on his jaw from the weekend and his dog tags chain peeking from beneath his shirt.
Jake lifts his cup for another drink.
He supposes this is one of the ways Jake knows his reciprocation lies beneath his rebuttals. No matter what he’s doing, he finds a way to look at him somehow.
Once he gets going on something, Bradley doesn’t know how to stop.
But he’s damn well going to learn how to jog onto the field.
He doesn’t think about it. Safe inside the dark hour, he reaches behind their bodies and wraps his arm around Jake’s waist, pulling him closer on the truck bed so they’re pressed thigh to thigh.
It’s a simple move—the smallest of actions, but when Jake turns with wide eyes, the barest part to his lips and the softest blush on the apples of his cheeks…
Bradley lurches out of the gnawing sea. His saliva goes down in a smooth swallow and his belly stirs with an awakened hunger long suffocated and denied.
Nearby, a speaker plays some low rock while the sky explodes with the first burst of fire. The crowds cheer with excitement, roaring with the kickoff.
He doesn’t glance at the crackles. He doesn’t acknowledge the sharp colors in various designs and rapid repetitions. He watches the glow highlight the sides of Jake’s face, how the reds and blues bounce off the green in his eyes.
Jake quirks his lip up, fond and sweetly conspiratorial in the lines around his mouth. He settles into his side before he returns his attention to the sky.
It’s a beautiful show, aided by the cool summer breeze on his bare arms and Jake’s body heat seeping into him.
Bradley finishes his beer and figures it could always be like this. Jake doesn’t feel like he’s falling through his fingers. He feels stable, solid. He feels like he doesn’t want to be anywhere else but right here.