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There’s something about waiting that, over time, gets so terribly burdensome. for something that requires little effort—standing still, biding time—all the inaction can be grueling, watching digital numbers change on a clock face, seconds ticking by, tick tock.
Jay’s always been patient with people in general and more so with those he likes the most. That said, he’s the most forbearing when it comes to Jake, Jake who seems to have been born to run: to always move forward, away, towards the horizon, all while he tags along. He’s always a few steps behind because it’s difficult, trying to catch up.
Unlike Jake, Jay is more the type to stay, comfortable with a lack of big movements meant for great things or vast distances. He likes being, not doing; he and Jake can’t get any more different in this regard. But he moves with him anyway, towards him, always with him. How can’t he? Jake is so bright and whenever he says something, Jay has no choice but to say, I agree.
Yes, you’re right.
I’ll follow you anywhere.
But all the reverse inertia gets tiring and Jay can only keep up for so long. There are times he wants to say: can we stop? For a bit? Long enough so he can touch Jake, run a gentle palm up his arm, cradle his cheek. Something to savor, something slow. Long enough so Jake will look back at him, into his eyes, and maybe, finally see.
Can you just notice I’m here?
But Jake never notices. It’s like wearing a pair of glasses for so long that it becomes a part of you. You look for it and it’s over your head the entire time. You take it off and your hands push a phantom object up your nose anyway. That’s Jay: a constant that he’s so used to Jake doesn’t even see him anymore.
They drift a lot, streets and roads and scenic places. They’re always so beautiful, the places they go to. But Jake is too even when he’s turned away, even when all Jay sees is his side profile or his back or him leaving like always, walking through doors to another door, entering one vehicle only to move to another, constantly moving.
Can we stop? That’s always at the tip of his tongue. Can you look at me?
Sometimes, Jake does—pauses long enough, gives him the time, like he’s just remembered Jay’s there. And because these moments are so rare, Jay drops everything, gives him all his attention, but these instances are so short, a blink of an eye in the grand scheme of things, seconds to an hour. And while he remembers all that they talk about, Jake doesn’t. He constantly forgets and Jay is tired of handing all of himself over.
It’s not like he doesn’t get anything in return. There are fleeting moments where jake shares pieces of himself but they’re not enough. Jay is missing so many parts, he’s about to crumble—and if he does, how can he keep going where Jake goes? How can he follow him anywhere just like he’s said over and over to someone who isn’t listening?
“I’m tired,” Jay finally says one day midwalk, out of the blue. He just wants to curl up somewhere and nap for the next decade. “Jake, I’m tired.”
And of course Jake has no clue. He doesn’t know the weight behind Jay’s words and, honestly, he doesn’t expect him to. So when he turns, when he laughs and says, “Just a bit more, Jay-ah.”
Well. He doesn’t have any bits left to give. Every part of him is in Jake’s hands and he can’t do this anymore.
“I’m tired of this,” he says in specific, staring at Jake. Reveling in a momentary reprieve, the two of them in front of one another, just breathing and speaking. “I can’t do this with you anymore.”
And Jake looks so confused. Of course he is.
“I don’t understand what you mean,” Jake says, eyes narrowed. “Can’t do what? Jay, what the hell are you talking about?”
But it couldn’t have been more obvious. Jake tells him, let’s go here and they go. He tells Jay something and Jay always says yes, no hesitations, who cares? It could be the world versus Jake and he knows his choice will always be the person in front of him.
But he’s so exhausted and his limbs no longer feel like they’re his.
“I’m going,” is all he answers with, indirect. For the first time in a while, he heads the opposite direction, away. “I’ll see you.”
And it’s no surprise that Jake doesn’t even ask him to stay. Not at all, but, even then, it aches and Jay heaves a heavy sigh as he sidles up to a stranger in the bus, headed home.
“Long day?”
He turns to the guy beside him who’s looking over and he looks as exhausted as Jay feels. He chuckles and turns forward, nodding.
“Very long,” he shares before glancing back. Reciprocating because he doesn’t want to be like Jake who takes, and takes, but gives something below the bare minimum. “You?”
“Same,” the guy mutters with a groan, sagging against his seat. “Why does life have to be so long? I’d be fine with a month.”
“Like a house fly,” Jay says with another chuckle, and at the confused sound from whoever this is, he glances at him again. “They live up to twenty five days the longest.”
They stare at each other before the guy makes a face.
“On second thought,” he muses after a while. “Maybe this is ok. I don’t want to be a house fly.”
This time, Jay laughs. This is a very weird conversation.
“It was just for comparison’s sake,” he points out. “You can still be you.”
The guy hums and turns to him a little bit more. Offers his hand.
“I’m Sunghoon.”
Jay takes his hand and shakes it, grinning.
“I’m Jay.”
They fall silent, the bus finally moving, and it’s quiet and not completely still but it’s enough. Jay sighs again and relaxes. Closes his eyes.
When his phone beeps, he ignores it.
“This is nice,” he murmurs eventually, again vague. But Sunghoon seems to understand.
“Yeah,” is the answer he gets. “Wish this bus ride could be five times longer than it is. I don’t want to move.”
Jay chuckles again.
“Same. Wanna be house flies together? We can just stay at home. Live and die there.”
Sunghoon snorts.
“Ok. Let’s be house flies together.”
They don’t have to go far and maybe Jay can finally rest for as long as he wants until he’s not tired anymore. Until—
“Want to exchange numbers?”
Jay is already smiling long before he opens his eyes and turns to Sunghoon again. Really looks at him.
“Sure. We house flies have to stick together.”
Jay grabs his phone, thumb hovering over the notification from Jake, before he swipes to the left.
“Here.”
It’s not the longest bus ride but he and Sunghoon talk a bit more and maybe, just maybe, Jay can finally sit still, too—long enough to be noticed. Long enough for someone to say, with hesitation as their conversation dwindles…
“You want to get something to eat? When we get to our stop?”
Jay grins one more time.
“Just as long as there’s not too much moving involved.”
Sunghoon winks.
“Perfect. I know just the place.”