Genre: J2 RPS
Word Count: ~450
Summary: Written for the spn_30snapshots challenge. Table 09, prompt 10.
AN : Where is all this melancholy coming from? Geez. Thanks to silentpoetry1 for giving me her patented Seal of Approval on this one.
Here and Now
Jensen was standing in front of him, his shoulders askew from the heavy backpack slung over one of them. It was too early for Jensen to be up, Jared saw that in the pale cast of his skin, and the way he blinked slower than usual.
They’d said their goodbyes the night before, over a couple of bottles of wine that had been saved for that reason alone. Red for Jared, white for Jensen. They’d said farewell without ever saying it, the words hidden among smiles that were a little too wide and laughter that was a little too loud. But goodbye hung between them heavily, turning the here and now into then and remember when.
More than five years had passed since chance and a bit of luck tossed them together. It had been a time full of early mornings and late nights that dragged on forever, and years that went by faster than a blink. Standing here now, with the damp morning air making his skin clammy and cold, Jared could only think about what their time with each other had turned into: a few scattered artifacts, pieces of matter that represented memories. Jensen’s spare toothbrush in the medicine cabinet upstairs, a half empty box of cereal in the pantry in the kitchen. Jared knew that he’d keep those things there, not throw them away. Jensen may come back. He might need them later.
In that moment, Jared’s greatest fear was that of forgetting, looking back a year from now and not being able to remember the exact timbre of Jensen’s voice—not Dean’s but Jensen’s, there was a difference—or his shoe size, or the way his eyes looked when he smiled, or how he liked his coffee.
The hazy morning sun was just starting to turn the tips of Jensen’s hair blonde, and the low rumble of his truck’s idling engine was the loudest thing around. Its fan kicked in, an impatient sound, and Jared knew that he had one more shot. This was his last chance to make good on a promise he had made to himself while speeding lonely down a straight stretch of two lane blacktop in the middle of nowhere Texas three years ago, when there had been nothing to look at and plenty to think about.
And now Jared had only a few short seconds, a couple of heartbeats, a breath’s worth of time to take back all of his jokes, rearrange their words and turn them into confessions.