Dreaming Wide Awake

Peter Simonds is a bitch.

He used all of the peanut butter. All of the peanut butter is gone and all that's left is a pink sticky note with a sad face on it. But no peanut butter.

Better though, Jason thinks, than having a Peter who didn't like peanut butter, because his ever popular PB&J sandwiches would be far less appreciated. And, you know, Peter Simonds may be a peanut butter-eating bitch sometimes, but mostly he's just good at hugs and making people feel warm and helping you not feel like punching a wall when you're upset. And the day's going to take a really long time without peanut butter.

And Peter.

Jason doesn't know what sort of day he's going to have without the essentials.

Coach Maxson obviously doesn't care how fucking bored he is so long as he can play soccer at the game tomorrow. All the excused classes seemed like a great idea at the time- a missed history exam, dodging Kyra and Diana for another day to avoid failing to explain why he can't take them to prom- but now there's just an empty room and a pulled leg muscle and a clock that's ticking really fucking loudly and an empty peanut butter jar and no boyfriend to make staying in bed all day sound fun.

So, fuck. Nothing to do.

Maybe he'd try TV, but it does that blue fuzzy thing since Peter tripped over the coffee table and broke his nose on the top of the screen. And then of course he'd just be thinking about Peter's broken nose tape for a while, because he looked ridiculous, but the kind of ridiculous that you just want to hold on to and make chicken soup for even though broken nose is not a sickness, says Peter.

Wasting time thinking about Peter and maybe watching TV has been effective for just short of forty-five seconds. And the clock has made it obvious it's not going to pity Jason and speed up. 11:49 is what it's taunting, though the numbers make no real difference until they're close enough to 3:00 that Jason can get excited about Peter's return. Because that means something to do, and something to break the boredom, and something to allow Jason to do more than just think about Peter, and Peter's clothes coming off, and how much he'd like to-

But for now someone's turning the doorknob, and without any clothes on, Jason's really hoping it's the kind of someone that's not going to care if he looks like he just rolled over and cleaned drool off of his face. He decides that to pretend to sleep is his best chance. Less room for questions. The door opens, but through closed eyes everyone looks the same anyway and Jason's still waiting.

And waiting.

And waiting.

And the door closes and then he's hoping.

And waiting.

And guessing.

And the softest pressure on his forehead tells him that he's right. Well, unless Zac is just really happy to see Jason resting up for the game. But peeking through his eyelids he sees that no, it is in fact the person he's been waiting for. The person carrying a bag filled with a croissant and jam from the cafeteria, because it's Friday and because when Jason eats croissants, the crumbs get everywhere and someone has to help him clean up. The person who is 'accidentally' dressed in one of Jason's dress shirts and Jason's khakis and almost definitely Jason's underwear, if someone were placing bets. The person who didn't have math today because thank fucking god hell yes Sister Mary has to go visit her aunt's cousin who just broke her arm in a boating accident. And Jason feels a little bad for being so happy that the distant relative of a nun was injured, but not bad enough to take back his happniess. And besides, he knows Romeo and Juliet by now. "Thus from my lips, by thine, my sin is purged."

And he also knows just what kind of day today is going to be.