Jack rolled onto his side, facing him. “You don’t eat. You don’t sleep. What do you do all the time?”
“Wait for Christmas Eve.” He rolled onto his side, too, and traced Jack’s bottom lip with his finger. “I’m sorry I made your boyfriend leave.”
Jack’s tongue licked the place Kris’s finger had just been. “He wasn’t my boyfriend. Just a hot guy I met at a bar. You’re hotter anyway.”
“Oh.”
Jack scooted closer. He reached across Kris to turn off the lamp and then rested his face on Kris’s chest. “Jesus, you’re like sleeping on concrete.” He rolled away then, settling on his side of the bed after a series of shimmies and quiet moans.
“Jack?”
“Mm?”
Kris couldn’t see anything in the dark. “Will you help me remember?”
“Remember what?”
“My children. I’ll forget them by morning. I think I always do.”
Jack turned back around and rested his cheek on Kris’s arm. “Okay. Promise you won’t roll over in the middle of the night and crush me?”
“Promise,” he whispered and kissed the top of Jack’s head.
Although Jack asked Kris to stop watching him, Kris didn’t listen. As soon as he “left” Jack’s apartment the next morning—while Jack went off to work—Kris walked right back inside and sat on Jack’s couch, just waiting. Christmas Eve was in two days, and Kris knew how long Christmas Eve would take. He wanted to be close to Jack as much as possible.
Kris suspected Jack knew he was there because as soon as Jack walked in from work at 6:45 PM, he paused in the doorframe with one snowy boot in and one snowy boot out. His studied the space with eyes squinted. Then, he sighed and walked on in before toeing out of his soaking wet boots and slipping into a pair of worn navy blue slippers he kept by the front door.
He tossed his bag on the kitchen counter, full—Kris knew—of reports from social workers and his computer. Another night of working from home then. Jack warmed up leftover macaroni and cheese and broiled a hot dog in the oven before cutting it into pieces and stirring it in with the creamy noodles. Jack turned on the TV and sat right next to Kris on the couch, although he showed no additional trepidation. Perhaps he thought Kris had really gone.
When Jack’s eyes started wilting halfway through an episode of Law & Order, he set his empty bowl on the coffee table and leaned forward with his elbows on his knees. He forlornly glanced at the bag on the counter before muttering, “Fuck work,” and returning his dishes to the kitchen.
Kris was accustomed to Jack’s usual before bed routine, starting with distracted teeth brushing, scrubbing away grit and grime as his brain rewound the day. Although Kris had considered Jack’s crooked childhood teeth charming, he also liked them now, straight and white.
After the preoccupied brushing, Jack washed his face with a black bar of soap. The suds turned blue on his skin before he rinsed them down the drain. He finished by applying a light orange cream all over his face. Whatever store-bought magic he employed, it worked, as Jack’s skin always glowed clear and bright.
He would then use the facilities, turn out the bathroom light, and amble to his bed, where he stored his discarded pajamas under his pillow every morning to await the night.
That night, though, he didn’t reach for his pajamas. He tugged a green Polo over his head and tossed it on the rocking chair he kept in the corner. A rocking chair that was already covered in other articles of clothing. Kris knew Jack reused clothes if they still smelled clean, so why put them back in a closet or drawer? Jack unbuttoned and unzipped his jeans and pulled everything off in one go: the jeans, his boxers, and even his slippers and socks while Kris watched from the doorway.
Jack pulled the covers down and sprawled on his back down the center of the bed without pulling the covers back up. The lamp from his bedside stand painted the room in a pleasant shade of light gold.
Jack stared at the ceiling, and Kris stared at Jack, especially that blackbird tattoo in the center of his chest. It rose and fell in a gentle mimic of flight. Kris was so transfixed by its barely beating wings that he hardly noticed Jack touching himself until Jack made a noise like the ones he’d made the night before with the blond stranger.
Hidden safely in The Other Place, Kris sat on the edge of Jack’s bed. He scooted closer, mere inches from Jack’s bare thigh and the hand that moved over hard flesh. Jack’s heels dug into the mattress, and the blackbird on his chest no longer moved in gentle waves but in flying leaps. Jack breathed heavily through his parted lips with his eyes squeezed shut.
Despite all there was to see, it was Jack’s face that caught Kris’s attention most. He slid up the bed and loomed over an oblivious Jack. He rested his elbows on either side of Jack’s head and shivered at the lovely sound of a deep whimper. Kris wanted to run his finger down the side of Jack’s face, perhaps taste his mouth, but he remained still, struck with wonder.
Kris was fond of Jack’s bright green eyes, and yet, their tight closure didn’t detract. Familiar freckles sat like sprinkles on a sweet treat across the bridge of Jack’s nose, and he sucked his bottom lip into his mouth just as a moan tried to escape.
Jack’s forehead wrinkled when he finished. His mouth drooped open but expelled no sound. His breathing showed no sign of slowing, but tension flowed from his body until he became a pile of relaxed limbs melting into the bed. It was the most breathtaking thing Kris had ever seen. He sat back in awe.
Jack hummed and rolled his head side to side before reaching beneath his pillow. He used his pajama shirt to clean his stomach, threw the shirt on the floor, and pulled the thick winter blankets up to his chin.
Before turning off the light, Jack revealed a sluggish smile. “Were you watching?” he asked, and the room went black.
At 7:15 on Christmas Eve, Jack rushed into his apartment, muttering, “Shit, shit, shit.” He dashed into his bedroom, tearing off his coat and shirt as he went. Kris watched in secret, in silence, from the couch, even though he needed to talk to Jack. He needed to say goodbye before he left to serve his purpose.
When Jack emerged from his bedroom, he wore a green and red sweater with the words “Ho Ho Ho” sewn in white thread across the chest. He put his coat right back on, grabbed a bottle of wine from the kitchen counter, and sprinted out the door. It slammed behind him, so Kris followed Jack down to the wintry street, lit with twinkle lights and covered in snow.
He caught up to Jack easily and put a hand on his shoulder to halt his forward motion. Jack turned, face already shaped into an expression of irritation. When he recognized Kris, though, he smiled. “Oh. Hey.”
“I have something I want to show you,” Kris said.
“I promised a friend I’d help her set up for her Christmas party tonight, and work went late, so now, I’m going to be late.” He pulled at the front of his sweater. “Look at this thing. It’s an ugly Christmas sweater party, and she said she’d be pissed if I didn’t put in some effort. Fuck, I hate Christmas.” He noticeably slumped, so Kris put his hands on Jack’s shoulders to comfort. He didn’t expect Jack to lean forward and rest his forehead against Kris’s chest. “What do you want to show me?” he mumbled into the fabric of Kris’s red coat.