Chapter Text
“Welcome back, class. Today we have a guest teacher, here to repent for his sins.”
Davey had expected that there would be some sort of payback for his pseudo-con. He had not been expecting Jack to call in a favor this early.
Jack waved jazz hands at Davey. “So this liar is a kitchen wizard. And he’s gonna teach you something, I dunno what, I let him plan the whole thing because I’m tired.”
Romeo perked up. “If he lied, am I the favorite now?”
“You have never been even close to the favorite. And he’s still the favorite.”
There was a classroom-worth of protests. “But lying liars!” Smalls shouted.
Jack shot her a look. “Any complaints can be taken up with God. Now shut up and listen while I sit in the corner.”
“With the tiny bit of authority I’m granted as today’s guest teacher, Jackie, you have to cook along.” Davey gestured to his former station.
“Jackie!” Romeo echoed, giggling.
Jack wrinkled his nose, then grudgingly made his way over to Davey’s former station. “You count your blessings. If you weren’t cute, I’d be leaving.”
Buttons pretended to hack up her lungs. “Disgusting.”
“Fuck you.”
“Swear jar,” Davey said mindlessly.
“Swear jar?” Mike repeated.
“That’s the most domestic thing I’ve heard all year. Congrats, Mom,” Ike added.
“Listen. My mama dealt with the whole gay curveball, but I doubt children prior to graduation would go over well. So… no thanks.” Davey looked down at his ingredients, then paused. “Speaking of my mama, how useless can this recipe be before I exit our niche?”
Jack shrugged. “I mean, you need a childhood story to justify it.”
“So my brother really likes pretzels, and my mama was sick of cooking—”
“Goddamnit, Dave, you lied about the pretzels, too?”
The issue with inducting Jack into DnD night was that he knew nothing about it. And so, Katherine linked him to an online guide, and then dragged Davey into her room to make him spill everything.
“Davey, seriously. Oscar Isaac? That’s what he said?”
“I mean, my memory may be a bit fuzzy because of the adrenaline but I’m pretty sure it is.”
“I hate to break it to you, but Oscar Isaac is very far out of your league.”
“Kath, this is not the point—”
“Oh, yes, right. The fact that you lied to him for over a month and he still wants to bone is another thing we need to cover.”
“Okay, but, we’re dating now, so consider: it all worked out.”
“That is not the lesson you were supposed to learn from this.”
“And he doesn’t just wanna bone. You don’t cry over that.”
“Maybe you don’t.”
“I don’t want to explore that statement. Anyways, please psychoanalyze my boyfriend.”
“BOYFRIEND?”
“Boy I may be dating. We haven’t been specific. Psychoanalyze him, please. Why is he sad? Can I make him less sad?”
“DAVE?” Jack yelled from the kitchen.
“YES, DOLL?” Davey shouted back.
“WHY DID KATH SAY I SHOULD BE THE BARD?”
Davey glared at her. “BECAUSE SHE LIKES BEING MEAN TO YOU.”
“THAT’S NOT VERY NICE, KATH.”
“TO BE FAIR,” Katherine interjected, slapping her hand across Davey’s mouth before he could say anything in retaliation, “YOU DO HAVE ENOUGH CHAOTIC ENERGY TO BE A DECENT BARD.”
Davey considered licking her hand for a moment, then restrained himself and pinched her knee.
“GOD, WHAT ARE YOU, A FUCKING TWELVE YEAR OLD?” Katherine yelped.
“SWEAR JAR!” Jack sang.
Davey found himself at the receiving end of a vicious glare. Katherine rubbed at her knee for a moment, and then decided, “You two deserve each other. Brats, the both of you.”
Davey grinned innocently, then bounded off Katherine’s bed and back into the kitchen.
This was a role reversal that Davey could get behind. Literally. He found himself wrapped around Jack’s back, guiding his hands in carefully braiding the challah.
“I know how to braid,” Jack told him, for roughly the thousandth time. “Sorta.”
“Jack. I learned how to make this when I was seven. I mastered it at nine. I swore at that moment that I would never make a bad challah in my life. So if you think you’re going to mess up my record, you are very sweetly but sorely mistaken.”
“I think I can do this from here, Dave,” Jack griped.
“Next time I’m making you do a six-strand challah. It’s required when courting a Jacobs, y’know.”
Jack smiled. “Oh, so you’re courting me now?”
“You’re courting me. Big difference.”
“Well, if I’m courting you, then you’re obviously my boyfriend,” Jack said, and Davey beamed.
“Obviously.”
Jack twisted around to kiss him, and Davey yelped against his lips.
“Not when you’re touching the challah!”
“What, is that not kosher or something?”
“Never mind that! You’re fucking up the braid!”
When Davey tried to go into Katherine’s apartment a few months later, Race was standing outside like a string bean gargoyle. “Password, please.”
Davey glowered at him. “Let me in. I have cookies.”
“I will take your cookies, along with a promise.”
“What promise?”
At this point, Race could have asked for his first born and Davey would have given him a cookie and left. But his plea actually made Davey pause.
“You and Jack can’t be gross for like… five seconds.”
“We are not gross.”
Jack, who had been standing behind Davey the entire time, licked up the side of Davey’s face.
“Hello? Am I the only person seeing this?”
Davey pushed Jack’s face away with his hand. “This is not normal. This is actually gross. We are not usually gross.”
Race wrinkled his nose. “You’re usually horrifying. You hold hands and be nice to each other and shit.”
“That’s not gross. That’s called being nice to each other.”
“And holding hands!” Jack interjected.
“It’s awful. I hate it. Please stop forever.”
“Oh, need some for yourself? I have a decent little Italian stepbrother available. Not sure if he’s your type, though,” Jack teased, and Race gave him a look that could have stopped an army.
“I hate you and I hope you get blue balls and die.” He grabbed the plate of cookies and stormed into the apartment, and Jack laughed.
“Not likely, pal!” Jack turned to Davey. “Hey, looks like we don’t have any promises to keep.”
Davey grinned, taking Jack’s hand and pulling him through the door.
“Davey,” Crutchie said, clearly trying and failing to sound measured and calm, “this apartment is not the best little whorehouse in New York.”
Davey sighed. “I do appreciate your dedication to the Dolly reference, but I’m hardly making it a whorehouse.”
Davey felt Jack set his forehead on his shoulder, obviously tired of the debate already.
“You were making out! On the couch! The couch has done nothing wrong! The couch is a good interfaith couch that gets good grades and--”
“Crutchie,” Jack said, still refusing to look anywhere other than the sleeve of Davey’s t-shirt, “you and Finch have already ruined this couch. I’ll bake you anything you want, I’m just begging you to leave.”
“So you can make my humble abode the best little whorehouse in New York.”
“Jesus Christ, sure, if you’re set on the reference.” Jack looked up, meeting Crutchie’s eyes with a firm stare. “A tray of snickerdoodles.”
“Peanut butter cup.”
“Fine.”
Crutchie left, but not before giving Davey a suspicious look. As soon as the door closed, Davey sighed and pressed a kiss to the top of Jack’s head. “Sorry about that.”
“Not your fault that you’re roommates with a force of chaos.”
“Kinda is. But he pays half the rent, and I love him, I guess.” Davey shrugged one shoulder, and Jack laughed before he cleared his throat a little.
“Well, I’m planning on waiting a little to ask, but I don’t intend to make you suffer with him forever.”
And there was, of course, the little message to that—that the bottom drawer in Jack’s dresser, saved for Davey’s socks and other things when he stayed over, could become a real place someday, a home, and that they were going to take their time, but they’d have that, eventually.
They didn’t voice any of it, so Davey just smiled and kissed his cheek. “How noble of you.”
A clatter outside the bedroom shocked Jack awake. He stretched, yawning, then realized that he was somehow alone in Davey’s bed and it was too early for any sane human being to be awake. Jack checked the clock, groaned, then pulled himself out of bed and plodded out to the kitchen.
A hurricane of flour burst, coating every available surface. Davey, unnaturally calm, stood at the eye of the storm, using a spatula to wipe down the sides of the bowl of his Bordeaux colored stand mixer.
“Dave?” Jack said, inching towards him like he was a scared animal.
Davey hummed, not listening.
“Dave.” Jack repeated, a little louder.
Davey hummed again and turned on the mixer.
Jack decided it was time to take matters into his own hands. He snuck behind Davey (well, sneaking wasn’t that hard seeing as he was totally absorbed by his stress-baking) and pinched his waist.
“Hey! What was that for?” Davey yelped.
“Dave. It’s three in the morning. You need to sleep before your final. Come back to bed.”
Davey was already turning away to a tray of cooling scones.
“You gotta try these, Jackie, I used the freezer blueberries but they’re still so good! And the shortcake, over there—”
Jack, very gently, took Davey’s shoulders and started walking him away from the kitchen. He stopped a few feet away, and turned them so that he could look up into Davey’s eyes.
“Davey. You need sleep. I clearly do not need scones.”
“You need these scones, though, they’re delicious.”
“I’ll have a scone at a reasonable hour after we sleep. Sound good?”
“No, Jack, you don’t understand,” Davey whined. “You need a scone. Right now.”
“Dave, if I eat a scone right now, I won’t sleep.”
“Exactly! Then you can stay up and help.”
Jack pinched the bridge of his nose. “You have a zoology final at 1:30 PM tomorrow—today, I guess. Please, for the love of all that is holy, come back to bed with me.”
“I… I’m covered in flour.”
“Doesn’t matter. All my finals are projects so I can wash the sheets while you’re taking your exam.”
Davey seemed momentarily defeated by those strokes of common sense. “I think you just want me in bed,” he declared finally, and Jack set his head in his hands.
“I want you to sleep, and then pass your final. I’m begging you to sleep.”
“But I’m in the middle of this cookie recipe—”
Jack had had enough at this point, so he scooped Davey up in his arms and carried him awkwardly back to bed.
“Strong,” Davey muttered into his shirt, and Jack practically tossed him onto his side of the bed. (Technically, the entire bed was his side, but Jack had stolen the left side.)
“I’m not that strong, you’re just skin and bones and not much else. Sleep.”
“My cookies—”
Jack sighed and threw an arm over Davey. “Now you can’t leave.”
“You’re evil,” Davey mumbled, finally surrendering to his exhaustion.
“Davey,” Sarah said, methodically slow, almost like a snake winding up to strike. “We need to chat about what happened last night.”
“Nothing has ever happened last night,” Davey said, then immediately winced. “That’s not how people talk.”
“No, it isn’t.” She sat down next to him, crossing her legs. “Davey, I’ve seen you burn something precisely twice past the age of ten.”
He got a sinking feeling in his stomach, like he was about to be tarred and feathered for the entire Jacobs clan to see. Not that any of them but Sarah were in his apartment.
“One time, it was when Les cut himself on a knife and you had bigger things to think about, like bandaging him. Completely understandable.”
Davey braced for impact.
“And then last night, when you literally just sat there, and stared at Jack, did not notice the time, did not notice the smell, did not notice anything until your goddamn fire alarm was going off.”
He nodded, slowly, and Sarah furrowed her eyebrows at him. “Nothing in your defense?”
Davey hesitated. “Jack looks very pretty in green.”
“You know, I used to pray for the day that you would finally have an actual relationship, and not just your bizarre mix of pining for three days and whoring around. But this is worse, Davey, this is so much worse.”
“Hey, you have no room to talk. At least I can bake. There’s a reason you were relegated to dish duty.”
Sarah sniffed at him. “I don’t need to cook. My girlfriend’s rich.”
“I don’t need to cook, my girlfriend’s rich,” Davey mimicked in a mocking tone. “Sorry we can’t all date someone on Forbes’s Thirty Under Thirty.”
Sarah lightly punched him on the shoulder. “We all have different skill sets, okay? Some of us aren’t good at everything, Mr. Makes Robots Just For Fun.”
“They’re very basic robots.”
“They’re very basic robots,” she said, making her voice just a touch deeper. “They’re nerd shit, Davey.”
Davey shoved Sarah back. “What does this have to do with baking, anyway?”
She smiled devilishly, shrugging. “Just that you loooooove him.”
Davey felt his ears go hot. “I’m leaving.”
“This is your apartment!” Sarah laughed as he opened the door.
“I’ll go to Jack’s!”
Sarah’s laughter grew louder, and Davey shut the door behind him, glaring at it for a moment and then sighing out an odd little laugh, not knowing quite what to do with that whole exchange.
“Hi there,” said Jack, poised to knock on Davey’s apartment door.
Davey jumped. “How much of that did you hear?”
“Enough.” Jack’s lips quirked up in a grin. “You looooove me?”
“Aw, fuck off,” Davey whined, trying to shove past him.
“Not so fast, string bean,” Jack said, placing his hands on Davey’s shoulders. They seemed serious for half a moment, until Jack cracked a grin. “You weally wooooooove me?”
“Oh my god,” Davey said, coming to terms with the fact that this was the man that he faked cooking incompetence in order to date. “You’re the worst,” he decided, pushing Jack’s hand off his shoulder and walking away. “The worst, and I hate you!”
“No, you loooove me!” he heard Jack call, barely audible over his laughter, and just as Davey made up his mind to hide in a coffee shop for three hours, he heard Jack’s footsteps behind him.
He didn’t stop walking away until Jack’s hand was tugging his, pulling him around and right into a kiss.
When Jack pulled away, it was only by a breath, and he smiled widely. “I love you, too,” he said quietly, and Davey sighed, kissing him again.
“I guess I love you. Unfortunately.”
Jack laughed, winding his arms around Davey’s neck. “Unfortunate for everyone but me, I won the lotto with this.”
Davey would have objected, as he would reasonably be deemed the lottery winner—he had, after all, been the one to pay with his dignity. But Jack had other plans, and said plans were to be kissing Davey until they were both smiling too wide to keep doing so.
“I’m worried,” Davey said, and Katherine looked up from her phone, one eyebrow raised.
“You’re always worried.”
“About Jack.”
That caught her focus, and she set down her phone. “Why?”
“He’s just… I feel like he’s trying to give me reasons not to love him.”
She sat forward. “Davey, if he’s being… bad to you, you know I’ll--”
“No, fuck no. He’s sweet, our relationship is great, it’s awesome. He just… has been really self-deprecating. A lot.”
Katherine pursed her lips. “I mean, that’s not… out of the norm, really.”
“Yeah, but it’s… I just wanna help him. And I don’t really know what the issue is.”
She leaned back, a little less tense. “What kinda stuff’s he talking about?”
“Everything? How he looks, his art, his grades, his career…”
In the past, Davey had always just resolved himself to trying to prove Jack wrong in silent ways. He tried, at least, to show Jack that he thought the world of him. But he wanted to root out whatever was lurking in the back of Jack’s mind, and destroy it until it would be ridiculous for Jack to even wonder if Davey should love him.
“Well, he clearly doesn’t think he’s worth you.”
Davey’s mouth snapped open, outrage coursing through him quickly. “Of course he is!”
“Slow down, I’m explaining Jack’s brain, not mine. He’s probably worried that you’re kind of in denial about it. That you’re blind to something, and you’re gonna figure it out and leave.”
“I wouldn’t do that! And I… I don’t see anything that would make me leave him in the first place. That doesn’t make sense.”
“Dave… sometimes things like this are irrational.” She pointed at herself. “Psych minor, remember? I study how fucked up and weird all that shit is. It doesn’t really make sense sometimes.”
They exhaled at the same time, caught in their moment of understanding.
“He’s probably talking like this partially because he’s used to making fun of himself to justify his existence. The increase is probably about trying to open your eyes, in his mind, to whatever he thinks makes him more fucked up than you.”
Davey couldn’t figure out how to respond.
“Plus, I think he may be deflecting your compliments by doing this so he can maintain the self-image he had before you started dating.”
He blinked slowly. “You’re very smart, Katherine Plumber.”
She grinned. “Thirty Under Thirty, man.”
“Why does everyone keep bringing that up? Are you trying to give me an inferiority complex?”
“I just thought it was appropriate. Now are you gonna go talk to Jack, or keep using me as his therapist?”
Davey rolled his eyes. “I’m gonna go talk to my boyfriend like a real adult.”
She gave him a standing ovation as he left the room and flipped her off.
Davey was a planner. He planned things very carefully, and so, as soon as Jack sat down, he rushed to say, “I’m not breaking up with you.”
Jack set his hands in his lap, brow furrowed. “... Thank you?”
“I just need to make sure you know. Breaking up is not happening tonight. Unless you do it.”
“Davey, babe, I would have to be the world’s biggest idiot to break up with you. Like… it is already a miracle that this is a thing.”
Davey winced. “Okay, see, that’s what I wanted to talk about. The jokes. About yourself.”
“You make jokes about yourself.”
“I make jokes about stuff like my robots malfunctioning, or messing up a lab. You make jokes about… you. All the stuff I like about you. And as previously stated, many times, I love you, and I love all the stuff about you, so I’d like to defend said stuff.”
“But—”
“No, Jack. I don’t want to hear about how you’re ‘not worthy’ or don’t deserve praise. You are an incredible man. You are so brilliant and capable and handsome, and I’m lucky to have you. I’m trying my best to reinforce this, but I think some outside help would be a good idea.”
Jack’s mouth fell open a little. “Like therapy? Nobody really likes themself that much,” he protested, and Davey took his hand.
“This is kind of exactly what I’m talking about.”
Jack exhales through his nose. “Listen, I… I’m sorry if I’m worrying you.”
“Jack, I adore you. And more than that, I like you, as a person. I think you’re fucking incredible, and I just… I want you to see all the awesome shit about you that I see.”
“If I held you to the swear jar, it could pay for the damn therapy itself.”
Davey grimaced, not amused by that, and Jack closed his eyes. “You make me want to be the best person on earth. And I just ain’t, Davey. The guy, in my head, who deserves you… he’s smarter than me, and he’s way better at this feeling shit, and he’s thinner than me, on top of all that. And I’m just not that.”
“How can I make you understand that you are the best person for me?” Davey couldn’t restrain the thought any longer. “It doesn’t matter what the rest of the world thinks. There isn’t some cosmic formula that determines who ‘deserves’ to be with whom. I just—Look. I want you to be more comfortable with yourself. That’s all. And I think you deserve to get help to put in the work towards that. I know it’s not easy—hell, I struggle with it myself—but it’s worthwhile. And it’ll make you happier. I don’t need you to be my knight in shining armor. I’m not asking you to change who you are. I just want you to be happy.”
He felt a little bit like he’d blacked out that entire time, and when he came to, Jack was staring at him. “Christ,” Jack muttered, his voice rough. “You got speeches like that stored somewhere?”
“I appreciate the compliment, but this conversation isn’t about me. Please. I want to help you.”
Jack looked down at his knees for a moment, then back up at Davey. “This’s been bugging you, huh?”
Davey laughed, a little sorrowfully. “Guess you’re on my mind a lot.”
“I don’t wanna be a burden.”
“You are the furthest thing from a burden. Counseling’s free for students, it’s not gonna cost you any extra.” Davey reached out and ran his thumb along Jack’s forehead, right above his eyebrow. His hand fell down a little to rest on Jack’s shoulder. “You are the most wonderful human being I’ve ever met. You deserve to see all the fantastic things about yourself that I do.”
Jack’s eyes shone a little, and he rubbed at them before any tears could escape. “Cheesy bastard.” He took a deep breath, rubbing his knees nervously before reaching up and squeezing Davey’s hand. “I’ll try it. No big promises of foreverness, but I’ll test it out.”
Davey squeezed Jack’s hand back. “It’ll be good for you,” he said gently. “I know it. All I want is for you to learn to be kind to yourself.” He pressed a kiss to Jack’s palm, and Jack smiled so wide the corners of his eyes crinkled.
“TEN MINUTES REMAINING!” Specs shouted, his voice filling the unnecessarily large tent Katherine had managed to procure.
There were many uncomfortable things about having rich friends spend exorbitant amounts of money around you. Frankly, Davey was too excited about the fact that Katherine could randomly throw a bake-off for him to care.
Jack swore loudly, and Davey popped his head up over his counter like a meerkat trying to observe an oven. “You doing okay, babe?”
“Dave, the point of this competition is that you don’t help each other ,” Katherine stage-whispered from her seat at the judges’ table.
“I do not need help,” Jack said, his voice low and furious as he poked a fork in some unidentifiable object over and over. “I have this under control.”
“You are both so good at this until we put you under pressure,” Crutchie said, and Davey and Jack both flipped him off.
He was correct, unfortunately. They had each thrown out three separate bungled attempts, and Davey was watching his upside-down cakes like a hawk to ensure it wouldn’t become four. As much as he had dreamed of appearing on the Great British Bake-Off, he didn’t realize that he crumbled like a peach cobbler under pressure. Though the prompt had been “Not Your Grandma’s Fruitcake”, he had decided to make an extra strawberry upside down cake just in case—all he had to do was make sure that he didn't horribly fuck up half of what he was doing.
Davey glanced over to Jack, curious to see if he was faring any better. Considering all he saw was the top of Jack’s head as he hit it on the counter on accident again , Davey felt pretty good about where he was in the process.
"Five minutes!" Specs called. Scratch that declaration, Davey felt motherfucking awful. He panicked, realizing that his plating was definitely not going to be up to par thanks to how short three hours really was. Especially to try and squeeze in several separate attempts.
He entered a brief stage of baking Nirvana—managing about five solid minutes of complete control and fixation before a human being spoke again and he nearly crushed his cake tin.
“TEN… NINE… EIGHT… SEVEN… SIX… FIVE… FOUR… THREE… TWO… ONE! Bakers, set your trays in front of the judges!” Specs marvelously interrupted Davey’s reverie.
Now that Davey thought about it, Jack was looking a little shifty, pale with what seemed to be shock. Davey took his hand and kissed his knuckles quickly, and Jack managed a smile before he smeared the flour still left on his fingers on Davey’s nose. Davey started. “You motherfuck—”
“ALLLLLLLRIGHTY folks, it’s judging time!” Kath reminded Davey and Jack of their surroundings. “Your judges,” she began pointing at each one in succession down the long judging table that had been set up, “Specs, Spot, Race, Romeo, Smalls, Crutchie, Finch, Sarah, Mike, Ike… ah, fuck. There are so many of you clowns that it takes too long to list all of your names. Just eat.”
Jack somehow looked even more nervous than he had before. For what it was worth, his lemon-raspberry cake was plated far more beautifully than Davey had managed with his upside down cake, so Davey couldn’t see why he would be worried at all. “It’s pretty,” he muttered so only Jack could hear, and Jack rolled his eyes.
“You think everything I do is pretty.”
“Because it is.”
“I love you, you asshole.”
Sarah pretended to throw up into her napkin. “You’re ruining my palate.”
Jack gave her a mock bow and tipped his imaginary cap. “Always happy to do so, m’lady.”
“Okay, folks—who wants a slice?” All of the judges’ hands went up as Kath moved to slice Jack’s cake. For some odd reason, Jack’s face fell a little more every time she cut another piece.
“You okay, honey?” Davey murmured to Jack.
“Yeah, yeah… I just. I think I made a grave mistake.”
“Doesn’t look like you switched the baking powder and baking soda to me.”
“Damnit, Dave, that was one time .”
“Those were the shittiest brownies I’ve ever eaten, Jackie. They tasted like grave dirt. And were hard as tombstones. Get it? Grave mistake? It’s graveyard humor.”
“Please stop,” Jack said, his voice flat and dead.
Suddenly, Sarah let out a small squeal of surprise. “What the fuck? Who puts a key in a goddamn cake?” She gagged a little to spit out a shiny, slightly cake-coated key.
Jack looked exceptionally sheepish.
“Kath! Oh my god! Yes, I’ll move in with you!” Sarah ran around the judges’ table to hug Kath. “So clever of you to arrange this whole competition!” Katherine looked a little confused, Sarah pressing a kiss to her cheek as she blinked.
Jack scratched the back of his neck.
“Nice move, dude! Someone had to push those two to get their own fucking room somehow!” Race jeered from the table.
Kath rounded on Jack. “What the fuck , Kelly.”
“Okay, okay, okay.” Jack raised his hands in submission. “I. I um. I thought Davey and I got to try each other’s cakes first? And uh. Um. Sarah. That key isn’t gonna get you anywhere you wanna be.” Nobody seemed any less confused. “Okay. Uh. How do I put this.”
“Oh my god,” Davey said, at the exact same time it dawned on Spot. “Holy shit, you—do you even pay attention when—oh my God, Jack—”
“I hate audiences,” Jack said under his breath as everyone realized the intent one by one. “Three judges. I know for sure there’s three judges.”
Davey grabbed the front of his apron and pulled him in for a kiss. “I will totally move in with you.”
“Oh good, the humiliation led to something.” Jack cast an unsavory glance towards their friends, who were all somewhere between having strokes and entirely unaffected.
Davey laughed. “We both gotta humiliate ourselves along the road. It’s just karma, doll.”
Davey, having a younger brother, had many tricks up his sleeve for distracting unwanted attention. Yes, he enjoyed being out with friends, but sometimes he just wanted to be alone with Jack instead of having the whole gang tag along.
Jack swung their intertwined hands as Race babbled on about math for the bazillionth time. “Okay, so, you have the number line, right? But, like. Stick a bunch of them together? That’s the long line, folks.”
Davey had had enough. Walking the Freedom Trail was about learning about all the racist white men that founded the US, not hearing Race’s explanation of the long line for the third time that day. “Whoa! Would you look at that!” he shouted, pointing somewhere in space.
Jack, not the quickest to catch on, looked where Davey pointed. “Babe, I don’t—”
Davey tugged on his arm and pulled him in for a kiss. It was the oldest trick in his book, and highly effective as long as your makeout partner wasn’t too gullible. As much as Davey loved Jack, he realized a moment too late that this was not a particularly fantastic tactic to use with him.
Spot turned back first. “Come on, y’all. Can’t you keep your hands off each other?”
Davey said nothing, instead taking a hand off of Jack’s hip and flipping him off.
The faucet was dripping again. This was a regular occurrence in Jack and Davey’s apartment—they always knew they should get around to fixing it but neither of them had the will nor the ability to use tools effectively. Their landlord was shit, so that was out of the question, which left them with a leaking faucet and not much resolve to fix it. So they lived with their slightly-inflated utilities bill and occasionally nagged each other to think about fixing the sink.
Jack and Davey were two episodes into their weekly Parks and Rec binge when Davey noticed something was off.
“Hey… Jack?”
“Shhh! Leslie’s just gotten out the Mission Im-Pawnee-Ble binder.”
“Jack. I can’t hear the faucet.”
“Yeah, so? It isn’t always dripping.”
“It is when our upstairs neighbor is showering. And I can hear him belting ABBA again, so the faucet should be dripping.”
“Maybe Wiesel finally fixed it.”
“Wiesel’s a piece of shit, Jack. No way he fixed the faucet.” Davey hit pause on the remote. “Just go check for me, will you?”
Pressing a light kiss to Davey’s lips, Jack got up and ambled towards the kitchen. “You’re lucky I love you.”
“Yeah, yeah.”
Jack felt like he was being watched as he approached the sink. Tiptoeing closer, he shrieked as he realized he was right.
Staring back at him in fear was a tiny black kitten with a tiny white heart on its forehead and mittened paws.
Jack clapped a hand over his mouth to keep from scaring the kitten more than he already had. "Hi?" The only response he received was a skeptical tail flip.
“Everything okay in there?” Davey called from the couch. The kitten cowered, and Jack realized that its face was soaking wet from drinking from the leaky tap. He bit his tongue, trying to think as the kitten watched him.
“Dave…” Jack paused, figuring out how to phrase his thoughts. “I think you should come in here.”
Jack could hear Davey groan dramatically as he hauled himself off the couch. "If you want me to kill another spider for you, please know we're never getting married and my inheritance past my death is going directly to Les."
“Don’t you care about your sister?” Jack attempted to keep the conversation lighthearted as he continued staring at the cat in the sink.
“Sarah has Kath. Les has a TikTok account. I think we can infer who needs extra security."
“Yeah, yeah, sure.”
By this point Davey had reached the kitchen. He plodded towards Jack carelessly, obviously unaware as he wrapped an arm around Jack's waist. "Alright, what appears to be the…" He trailed off as he and the kitten finally made eye contact. "Problem?"
Jack felt Davey tense up beside him. Wordlessly, Jack gestured towards the kitten, who had resumed licking up the dripping water. Davey exhaled slowly.
“Why is there a kitten in our apartment?” he asked, his voice just a little pitchier than normal. "I—is she… why?"
“Well, you see, Dave, I went and adopted a kitten without telling you and put her in the fucking sink!” Jack replied sarcastically. "Y'know, this is how it works—start dating, move in, kitchen sink becomes a cat home, next comes love, next comes—" Davey almost collapsed into Jack, his head slumping forward to press against Jack's temple. He started humming something, and Jack rolled his eyes. "What are you doing?"
"I won't stop humming until you Harry Houdini yourself into having a decent answer."
"Asshole."
"In an act of God," Davey said in an old Atlantic accent, "Kelly comes up with a decent goddamn answer about the cat in his boyfriend's farmhouse sink. More at 5."
Jack pushed his face away. "I dunno where it came from, we just have to do something with it. What do cats eat?"
"My experience extends to Thomas O'Malley of The Aristocats , and I doubt that's an accurate interpretation."
Jack scratched his head. “Cats… they like fish, right?”
Davey sighed. "I have leftover salmon. I'm afraid the spices are gonna kill her. Look at her, look at her tiny tongue. She looks… horrified. Like we've killed her forbidden love before her eyes."
“To be fair, we are being pretty gross.” Davey punched Jack in the shoulder. “Okay, okay. We’re also a hell of a lot bigger than her, and she’s definitely alone and stranded.”
"When did we assign the cat pronouns?"
"Jesus Christ. You did. Just. Get the fish, and we'll call. Someone."
Davey gazed into the frightened kitten’s big eyes. “Oh man. Wonder if she has an owner.” He wrinkled his nose. "Wonder if she got in through the window. I told you something would get in if you left it open."
"Fresh air is an important component of a healthy life. Please just give the cat your food."
Davey sighed and turned to the fridge, pulling out a Pyrex full of salmon. “She better like this—it doesn’t look like we have any other options.”
"What if she doesn't have a family?" Jack said as Davey silently pondered the merits of cold or warm salmon for a cat. "Oh, what if she was abandoned?"
Davey hummed for a moment. “Is there anything in our lease that prevents cat ownership?”
“I thought this building was no pets.”
“Sometimes… people forget. Can you check the lease?”
Jack began searching through his email for the document. “Aha! Found it. Pets, pets, pets…” Jack gasped. “Dog ownership is prohibited in this unit. Any tenants found to have—”
“See? Nothing about cats. Wiesel can’t do anything about a cat.” Jack nodded slowly, and Davey set the fish down for their sink kitten before leaning to press a line of kisses down Jack's jawline. "C'mon. When we get a better place, you can have the massive bear hunting dog of your dreams. Look at her, she's sweet and nice… She's an orphan… "
"Oh my god, you can't just pull the orphan card on any animal to make me like it."
"Please? If she doesn't have a microchip? Pleaase?"
Davey had a gift for tilting his head just the right way that Jack's resolve slowly crumbled. "Fine."
Davey had stars in his eyes. “Oh my god, Jack. Jackie. We’re cat dads now. All my dreams are coming true.”
"They warned me about fake bad chefs who work their way into your home and heart and convince you to adopt pets."
"Your guardians are very specific," Davey said, faking surprise before he beamed and kissed him.
Frankly, with Davey's hand cupped around the back of his neck and a kitten in their sink, Jack couldn't think to pay those fictional warnings any mind.
"Luna," Jack declared as they walked out of the vet. Davey raised one eyebrow.
"Come again?"
"Luna. We should name her Luna."
"Huh."
"Your choice to keep her, my choice to name her. I choose Luna. See," he pointed at her little white tuft, "la luna. Moon. She's a little moon kitten."
Davey would’ve fully melted on the floor had his arms not been full of the aforementioned kitten. “That’s adorable.”
"I'm adorable," Jack said, shrugging one shoulder. "It tends to run off on my surroundings."
Davey nodded. "Scientifically, I find your claim flawless. Also, Luna's four letters, so the name tag'll be cheaper to engrave."
“Oh my goodness,” Jack sighed, “we can get her one of those tiny little nametags—I think I’m going to start crying. This is so fucking cute.”
Davey changed his voice. "Oh, Davey, we shouldn't keep the cat, skeptical face."
Jack defended his poor judgement all the way to the car, and after a five minute debate about whether or not to make Luna use a seatbelt, Davey collapsed in the driver's seat with an aggrieved sigh. "This is my family. My poor cat and you. Who thinks she should wear a—"
There was a tiny thump, and they turned to see Luna, lying on the floor, having just walked directly off the carseat.
"Oh my god," Jack said. "Babe, she's just as dumb as us."
“Fuck. Maybe… maybe you should just hold her.” Davey rubbed his forehead, ( stress causes wrinkles , Sarah sang in the back of his head) and Jack clambered over the backseat to scoop up the kitten and place her in his lap.
"No shenanigans," Jack told her, and Davey burst out laughing.
"But what's the point without them?"