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When people ask Jared why he and Jensen got divorced, Jared never knows what to say, not even nearly 10 years later. Their divorce papers stated irreconcilable differences. Nice and vague and doesn’t really tell the story of their ill-fated two-year marriage. Maybe they were too young, too naïve to the realities of how a marriage works. They were fresh out of college and still new to the ways of the real world and being out from under their parents’ influence.
Whatever the reason, it’s one of the few regrets of Jared’s life. Not the marriage, even as short as it was, but that they didn’t fight harder for each other.
Jared hasn’t seen Jensen for over nine years, since he picked up the last of the boxes from what used to be their apartment. The ink had barely been dry on their divorce papers, but they hadn’t wanted to draw out the inevitable any longer than necessary. Jensen was crashing on Josh’s couch by then anyway, so he had most of his important stuff already. These last few boxes contained school papers and mementos and wedding gifts Jared didn’t want.
He doesn’t remember now what it was exactly, but Jensen said something snarky to him, like always, and Jared took it wrong, like with everything lately. They shouted at each other on the front steps and his last image of Jensen was through his tears, Jensen’s face angry and blotchy red and his shoulders hunched up around his ears.
It happens at the dentist office, of all places. Jared signs in at the front desk and settles into a chair in the waiting room and when he glances up, his ex-husband is staring at him, eyes wide and mouth partially open in shock. He looks good, older, definitely not as baby-faced as in their sun-drenched wedding photos. But Jared would know those startling green eyes and freckles and kissable lips anywhere.
Jared’s kept tabs on Jensen, however inadvertently––their mothers are friends, have been since before any of their kids were born, and no divorce would change that. He had no idea Jensen was in Houston, though, and he gets this absurd urge to call his mama and yell at her for not warning him.
They silently stare at each other for a long time before Jensen shakes his head and closes his mouth with an audible snap. This is even more awkward than Jared ever pictured it.
“So, I, uh” is all Jared manages to get out before the hygienist calls Jensen’s name, who stumbles past Jared’s chair like he’s still in a daze. Jared figures it’s better this way, missing the confrontation that was surely coming.
Jensen’s waiting for him when he gets done with his teeth cleaning. Jared wants to make a run for it, but he needs to stop by the front desk first and has to pass Jensen to do it.
When he’s done setting up his next check-up in six months, Jared finally turns to Jensen. He wants to yell “What do you want?” and “What are you doing in my city?” and “Why can’t I ever get over you?”
Instead, he says, “Hey,” in a voice that only shakes a little.
“Hi. Can we?” Jensen hooks his thumb over his shoulder toward the door, and Jared nods, his insides all twisted up into knots.
He’s not sure what to expect when they reach the parking lot. They certainly hadn’t left things on good terms all those years ago. It’d gotten pretty nasty toward the end, but all that anger dissipated a long time ago. Not the hurt, however, or the wish that things could be different.
And Jared would be lying if he said he didn’t still love Jensen.
Jensen stares at him for a long, tense moment, his face blank and not betraying any thoughts. Jared used to envy that ability. He always sucked at poker. Jensen could read him easily, like an open book. He wonders what emotions he’s wearing right now.
In the next moment, he has an armful of Jensen, who burrows against his chest, wrapping his arms tight around Jared and pressing his face into the curve of Jared’s neck. Jared automatically lifts his arms to hold Jensen close. His eyes fall shut, and he breathes Jensen in, that familiar, warm scent that reminds him of home and lazy weekends spent in bed and the days he had everything he ever wanted.
Jensen’s not as skinny anymore and he’s put on some muscle, but he feels the same in Jared’s arms. Jared never wants to let go.
“I missed you,” he murmurs against Jensen’s temple. “Nearly every day.”
“Me, too,” Jensen says, and Jared’s heart clenches at the unexpected possibility of a second chance.
Jensen lifts his head and meets Jared’s eyes for the first time in more than a decade, and for once he drops the wall he normally keeps up. Jared sees regret and love and sadness there, but hope is shining the brightest, and Jared finally feels like things are clicking into place for him. For them.
“Do you want to go get lunch?” Jared asks.
“Yeah. Yeah, I do.”
They still have a lot to say to each other, a lot to apologize and forgive, and that’ll come in time.
Right now, they’re starting with lunch.