Work Text:
"I met someone."
The blinds are mostly drawn, afternoon sunlight coming through in thin slats and making Chris wince whenever he accidentally moves into the blinding zone. PJ doesn't seem bothered by it. He's sprawled out on Chris' bed like he owns the place, more or less naked. There are still odd socks on his feet and he's drawn one of Chris' hoodies over his shoulders without zipping it up, but the majority of him is bare to the world.
Well, to Chris. He's the only one here right now. That doesn't mean he's the only one who sees PJ like this, but that's okay. They've got an agreement of sorts. Not something they've bothered to say out loud or anything, but an agreement nonetheless.
"Did you?" he asks, pretending like his focus is still entirely on his phone. He's stopped paying attention to the photos that he's been mindlessly scrolling through the moment PJ had started making quiet, aborted noises like he wanted to say something but kept losing his nerve. "Figure you meet a lot of people, with classes and whatnot."
"Funny," says PJ. "No, I mean I met a girl."
Chris keeps his mask up. Not like he didn't expect this at some point. PJ is a funny, good-looking guy, and it only makes sense that he'd find someone in his arts program that he has more in common with than he does with the guy who's been following him around since they were still getting their adult teeth. Just because they hug and kiss and fuck doesn't mean they're dating, not really. PJ has gone on some dates in the past couple of years and Chris - well. Chris has found people to spend time with.
Sure, he's jealous. Not because he wants PJ all to himself or anything. Some days he does, yeah, but he thinks that's normal. They're best friends first and foremost, and they've been insular for as long as they've known each other. There are always friends and acquaintances and family members to split their attentions between, but at the end of the day they'd rather just watch bad movies on PJ's futon.
"A girl," Chris repeats. He's impressed with how level he manages to keep his voice, but he's had a lot of practice.
"Yeah," says PJ.
"You like her?" Chris asks, chancing a look over at PJ to see what his face is doing. PJ has never once been good at keeping his emotions hidden, never bothered with that sort of acting when he was honing that craft with Chris in secondary school.
PJ is grinning. Not at Chris, just to himself. He's picking at a chip of nail polish that's peeling off his thumb and grinning at absolutely nothing.
"Yeah," PJ says again, almost dreamy. Chris builds his walls a little higher. "Yeah, I think I do. We've hung out a few times and she's - she's so rad, Chris, she's a whiz with a camera and quiet but funny and she -"
"She sounds great."
Maybe interrupting PJ isn't the best way to keep his guard up, but Chris isn't sure how much more of that list he could take. He knows what's coming next. He's been preparing for it for years, for the time that PJ gives him those sad puppy eyes and tells him that they can still be friends and he has to pretend like it doesn't hurt. Because he could have said something, probably, could have told PJ how things have piled sneakily in his chest until it felt like he was scaling a mountain whenever he thought about having to let PJ go, but he's never had the guts. Chris is a lot of things. Brave has never been one of them.
He's not going to help PJ get there. He waits, still scrolling like anything on this stupid app matters, and prepares himself to shrug and grin and lie. These are his strengths. He can handle this.
PJ's hand squeezes his bare thigh, and Chris takes a beat before he looks up.
The puppy eyes aren't what greet him, though, and Chris is more thrown than he expected to be by this. Because PJ doesn't look pitying or even a little sad, he just looks... hopeful. Uncertain. His thumb rubs circles into Chris' tense muscle.
He smiles. Chris almost smiles back out of reflex, but he stops himself. He isn't sure what's coming, doesn't know how he wants to play this yet.
PJ says, "I want you to meet her," and then slides his hand further up Chris' leg.
--
The girl is cute and quiet, head bowed over a sketchbook when Chris approaches her table. He'd expected PJ to already be here, considering Chris was running late himself, but Sophie is alone at the round table. There are three cups and a teapot waiting, the weak light from the window glinting off everything, and it all looks so idyllic that Chris considers turning around and walking out. Idyllic isn't where he belongs. He sees that table, that girl, and he thinks: I am going to break this.
But she senses him or hears his fucking heartbeat or something, because she looks right at him like she already knows his goddamn soul. It's an unnerving sort of stare, but then she smiles. It lights up her whole face the way the porcelain does in the sun, and Chris really thinks he doesn’t belong here.
"Chris, right?" Sophie says, putting her sketchbook away. She's got a rucksack instead of a purse, and Chris wonders if that's a student thing or a Sophie thing.
Now that she's greeted him, he can't exactly walk away from her. He gives her a polite grin and sits down, acting like he's not unsettled at all. "And you must be Sophie. PJ has literally not shut up about you."
She hums, tilts her head, smiles again. It doesn't reach her eyes, and Chris is intrigued by how shrewd this wisp of a thing manages to look. "Likewise."
The idea of PJ talking about him as excitably as he's been gushing about Sophie for half a week is a ridiculous one, but Chris doesn't correct her. If PJ is trying to play it like he's cool and collected over this girl, Chris won't tell her the truth. Not unless he sees something in it for himself, anyway.
"He's usually late," Chris says instead, pouring himself a cup.
"I've noticed," says Sophie. She gently pushes her own cup towards him, and Chris pours her tea like a fucking gentleman or something.
It's weird without PJ's presence. He's so good with conversation, facilitating it so that nobody is bored or uncomfortable or anything, and he knows them both well enough to guide them into shared interests or something. Instead, Chris asks what she'd been drawing and they go through a couple pages of her sketchbook together before he jokes that, if she wants a model, he's willing to work for scones.
Sophie smiles. Her eyes crinkle up with it, and it seems like she's warming up to him. She tells him to look out the window and just keep drinking his tea at his own pace, and then she gets comfortable with her pencil again. Her legs are tucked up onto the chair with her, making her even smaller than she already is, and Chris has to be reminded to look away from her.
Maybe PJ would have made conversation flow better, but Chris doesn't mind this. They sit quietly for another fifteen or twenty minutes at least, complete silence broken only by Sophie's soft humming and her quiet reminders not to tilt his head a certain way.
"I'm not exactly a professional," Sophie says as she hands the book over. And, sure, Chris has seen a lot better, but the messy lines and cartoony sunken eyes make him feel something that he doesn't always feel when he looks at art. It feels like she can see him. Not just see him but see him, which isn't something Chris experiences often with complete strangers. He looks at it for a long time without saying anything, and Sophie laughs. "I know, it's awful."
"No, it's good," says Chris. He gives her a genuine smile, the first of its kind, and receives a pretty one in return. "It's me."
"It's you," Sophie agrees. There's something surprisingly interesting behind her twinkling eyes, something that makes Chris want to crack her open and see how she ticks. Metaphorically, of course, he isn't a psychopath. Still, it’s a relatively unusual feeling for him.
--
PJ doesn't show up. He sends them both an apology text that doesn't read sincere at all, opening a group chat and exposing their phone numbers to each other without asking. Chris wishes he could say that this sort of pushiness is unlike PJ, but he'd be lying to himself. No point in all that. He and Sophie roll their eyes at each other, and it seems like she's already on the same page. They get scones and chat about their favourite films and Chris can begrudgingly admit that he understands what PJ sees in the girl. She's sweet but sharp-witted, able to yes-and Chris' deadpan jokes without breaking a sweat. It helps that she's cute as a button. Chris offers to walk her home, and it's only after she waves him goodbye that he realises he hadn't done it out of obligation. He'd just really liked spending time with her.
--
They all talk in the group chat, but that's not their only point of contact. Chris plays some online games with Sophie and sends her photos of interesting objects so she can practice her still lifes; PJ goes out with her practically every other night and comes home with a stupid grin on his face; Chris and PJ still have an open-bed policy that PJ hasn't tried to revoke yet.
It takes a few weeks for all three of them to get together, though. Chris feels like he's found a friend in Sophie at this point, and he's been working to get rid of that pesky jealousy in wanting to be everything PJ needs. It's not easy, but Chris has a lot of practice with looking at his own emotions like they're a pile of old clothes, discarding things he has no use for anymore. Maybe it would be easier if PJ would rip the bandage off already and stop wrapping himself around Chris every chance he gets.
Chris wonders, shrewdly, if he's being used. Using each other was always kind of the deal, but if Sophie isn't putting out or something... he tries not to think about it too hard, but it's in the back of his mind when he's welcoming Sophie into the old house he and PJ share with too many other people.
"PJ's room is cleaner," he says after giving her the shortest tour of the common areas possible. "He'll be here in a bit, he's just -"
"At Poundland," Sophie finishes for him. She barely clears his shoulders, and Chris has to resist patting her curly head. "Yeah, he told me. We can probably expect him in three to five business days, if you wanted to show me that zombie film."
"Oh, yeah," says Chris. He gets the old bargain bin DVD from his own bedroom before he opens PJ's door. He bows dramatically to hear Sophie's tinkling laugh and tells her which side of the futon to avoid.
The film is as bad as ever, but Sophie is good company. She makes sardonic little comments every few minutes and points out production failures and laughs at all of Chris' stupid jokes. Her legs are curled up under her, and one of her knees is burning a hole in the denim at Chris' thigh. They're having such a good time, actually, that Chris completely forgets they were waiting for someone until PJ barges in with bags of nonsense and breathless apologies.
Sophie pauses the movie and says, "Oh, it's okay, we were having fun without you."
"Good," says PJ. He beams, and it really seems like he means it. Chris supposes that having your best friend and girlfriend get along is important, even if he's never exactly been in a position to figure that out for himself.
After he's unburdened his bags onto the cluttered desk, PJ comes over and presses his lips to Sophie's cheek in greeting. Chris isn't exactly uncomfortable, but he's trying to figure out an escape plan before he has to be a third wheel to some cuddling or heavy petting or whatever. His musing is interrupted by the unexpected pressure of PJ's lips on his own cheek.
PJ is still grinning wide, like he's a kid who can't wait to play with his toys, and Chris looks at Sophie for some direction. Does she know what the hell is going on?
Sophie shrugs. So, no. But then, quick as winking, her soft lips are on Chris'. It only lasts for a second, but it's long enough for Chris' brain to get all tied up in its own confusion and desire. Surely this isn't what PJ meant by wanting the two of them to see more of each other. Surely someone has fucked up the communication here drastically and he's about to get shouted at by one or both of them. Surely he's about to wake up.
"Good," PJ says again, clasping his hands together. "I've got a proposition for the both of you. It might sound a bit odd, but hear me out."