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There were so many things Bradley wanted to say that they seemed to exist as a living thing inside him, a creature with too many limbs and too many mouths, clawing at the walls of his chest whenever Jake was near. For years he had carried those words around, hidden away in the dark corners of himself. They had become familiar companions by now, those unspoken declarations. He knew the shape of them better than he knew his own reflection.
Now they sat heavy in his throat.
The afternoon stretched around them in a haze of gold and blue. The water is nice, the sky is high, Bradley feels himself burn. It has nothing to do with the sun.
Bradley fixed his gaze on all of it with desperate concentration.
The water.
The sky.
Anything except Jake.
Because looking at Jake had always felt a little too much like standing too close to the sun.
His eyes betrayed him anyway.
No matter how determined he was to look elsewhere, they found their way back to him as naturally as breathing.
Jake sat beside him with the effortless ease that seemed to define every part of his existence. One arm rested along the back of the bench, his shoulders loose, his posture relaxed in a way that made Bradley irritated. There was something almost unfair about how comfortable Jake seemed in his own skin, how he moved through the world as though nothing could touch him deeply enough to leave a mark.
Jake wasn't looking at him.
Bradley wondered if he ever truly had.
Not really.
The thought hurt.
More than it should have after all this time.
The silence between them continued to stretch.
Neither uncomfortable nor peaceful.
His heart beat harder.
Until he became aware of it in every part of his body.
In his wrists.
In his throat.
In the space behind his eyes.
He realized, with a strange sort of clarity, that if he didn't speak now he never would.
Is it better to speak or die?
"I love you."
Is it better to speak or die? Tell us Bradley, is it better to speak or die?
They sounded smaller aloud than they had in his head.
A simple sentence carrying years of devotion.
Years of wanting.
Years spent watching Jake walk into rooms and somehow alter the gravity of them.
Years spent memorizing things he had no business memorizing.
Years spent loving him.
The confession settled between them.
Bradley felt strangely exposed afterward.
For a moment nothing happened.
The world, infuriatingly, remained intact.
Then Jake turned.
Their eyes met.
And Bradley forgot how to breathe.
There was no shock on Jake's face.
No confusion.
No disbelief.
Only a long, searching look that seemed to reach beneath Bradley's skin and touch something vulnerable.
The intensity of it made his stomach twist.
His mouth went dry.
God.
He had imagined this moment so many times.
Hundreds of times.Thousands.
Most of those fantasies had ended badly. Some had ended well. None of them had prepared him for this.
For Jake simply looking at him.
Jake said nothing.
He only smiled.
And somehow that was worse than rejection.
Because there was kindness in it. Jake Seresin being kind, who would’ve imagined?
The urge to beg arrived suddenly and without dignity.
He wanted to ask for something.
Anything.
It almost felt holy.
Like standing inside a church after everyone else had left. Kneeling in front of something powerful enough to save you and destroy you.
Here I am, he thought.
Take it.
Do something with it.
Love me.
Please.
Just don't leave me hanging.
Jake stood.
The movement felt devastatingly final.
Bradley remained seated because he wasn't entirely certain his legs would support him if he tried to move.
Jake looked down at him.
For one absurd moment, Bradley thought of every religious painting he'd ever seen, every saints and angels beautiful enough to make devotion look effortless.
Jake reached for him. His hand settled against Bradley's cheek.
Only then did Bradley realize tears had begun sliding down his face.
Jake brushed one away with his thumb.
The gesture held such impossible tenderness that Bradley almost leaned into it.
Almost.
"It'll pass." Jake said.
It wasn’t really cruel, not dismissive. It was worse, it was kind.
His hand dropped, the loss of that touch felt immediate.
Jake stepped back.
Then another step.
And another.
Before long he was walking toward his car with his hands buried in his pockets, looking exactly as he always did.
Untouched.
Unchanged.
Bradley watched until he disappeared.
Then he laughed. He laughed until tears blurred his vision.
Until his chest hurt. Until the laughter collapsed into sobbing.
It won't, he thought.
It won't pass.
Months later, standing in an airport with orders that would take him halfway across the world, he thought,
It won't.
And years after that, when he saw him again—
When Jake was standing in the crowded bar and smiled that same impossible smile—
Bradley knew immediately that nothing had changed.
"Bradshaw, as I live and breathe."
The years between them seemed to shrink all at once.
"Hangman," Bradley replied, surprised by how steady he sounded.
Jake looked at him.
It didn't pass, Bradley thought.
Jake's smile softened.
I know.