He learned that Simon liked to wake up with Jack’s arms wrapped tight around him so that if his heart decided to start pounding or his breath decided to stutter, Simon would know that Jack had him.
The first time they’d gone grocery shopping together had made Jack’s week. He didn’t know why he’d fixated on that particular marker of togetherness, but walking through the brightly lit aisles with Simon had filled him with a deep satisfaction. He’d never done it with a date before. He could only ever remember going with his mother when she forgot and had to zip out at the last minute.
Simon had been grumpy about Jack’s glee and Jack knew he’d really been scared the experience wouldn’t live up to Jack’s expectations of boyfriend-ness, though Jack had told him a hundred times that he didn’t have expectations. When Simon had reached for his arm in the check-out line, Jack had pulled him close with an arm around his waist and felt Simon exhale and press closer and he’d been filled with utter smug contentment.
He’d begun going to dinner at Simon and Jean’s on Tuesday and Friday nights, so he learned that when Simon and Jean had a few glasses of wine together they were funny and giggly and got extremely passionate about embroidery. And knitting. And tatting lace.
In theory, Jean was teaching him to bake, but Jack preferred sitting on the stool in the kitchen and watching Simon and Jean’s practiced ballet of baking together, listening to them finish each other’s sentences. “Should we add more—?”
“Yes, because of the—”
“That’s what I thought too.”
Once Jack fell asleep in the armchair while Simon and Jean watched a Hedy Lamarr movie and woke to find a hand-knit blanket tucking him in and a note from Simon that said If you wake up, come downstairs, to which Jean had added the following proviso: Or come upstairs ;). Jack laughed and left the note on the kitchen counter with a heart on it for Jean before he went downstairs and told Simon.
“What do you think she’d do if I actually did go upstairs?” he asked, nuzzling at Simon’s ear.
“Probably hit you with the baseball bat she keeps under the bed.”
* * *
“It’s not our first date,” Simon insisted again. “We’ve eaten meals and watched movies and gone on walks and—and you’ve devirginized the hell out of me.”
“Yeah, I did,” Jack growled into the phone. “Still. First date as far as I’m concerned. Want me to pick you up or do you want to pick me up?”
Simon’s sigh wasn’t audible but Jack could sense it.
The date had been Simon’s idea.
He’d woken Jack up early a few days before, straddled his hips, and told him, eyes burning, that he and Jack were going on a date. Jack had put him off, stroking hands down his sides and telling him in no uncertain terms that they did not have to do it. That he’d meant it when he’d said they didn’t need to eat dinner out to be happy.
That was how Jack came to know that when Simon put his mind to something he was immovable. And though Jack was pretty sure Simon had only offered for his benefit, Jack wasn’t about to tell him he couldn’t do it.
Now, Simon’s nerves were coming out in arguing over the details.
“Simon, you know we don’t have—”
“Fine, pick me up I guess,” he interrupted.
Jack grinned. His boyfriend was brave as hell.
“Great. I’ll be there at seven.”
“Don’t forget my boutonniere.”
Jack could tell from his tone that this was snark, but he didn’t know which particular kind.
“The hell’s a boutonniere?”
“The flower thing that—never mind. I’m making fun of you.”
Jack considered letting it go. He knew Simon was joking and he knew he was joking because he was nervous.
“This matters to me,” Jack said, making sure his voice was gentle. “I know it’s not your thing, but since you offered, I want to take you out. I want to... I don’t know, treat you.”
This time he did hear Simon’s sigh.
“Okay. Sorry. I know.”
“How freaked are you?”
“Not freaked exactly. Just...spinning a little.”
“Worst-case scenario it for me.”
“Um.” He gave a nervous laugh that made Jack wish he could reach out and wrap Simon in his arms. “I’m a bad, boring date and make everything awkward because I get shy and you finally realize that d-dating me is more t-trouble than it’s worth?”
“Okay, got it,” Jack said, because he’d also learned that telling Simon his fears weren’t going to come true wasn’t helpful. “Well, if I decide I’m done with you I promise I’ll still drive you home, how’s that?”
Simon huffed.
“Fine, I’ll see you at seven. I’ll be the one without a boutonniere.”
* * *
Simon opened the door, looking harassed, and peeked over his shoulder before hissing, “She wants to take our picture.”
Jack smiled. “Sure.”