in which they're introduced by a mutual friend, but it's not the first time they've met.

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felix sips coffee, as jack picks at his salad and pretends to listen to the swede ramble on and explain the previous nights event, in great detail.

though, the irishman isn't paying attention. he doesn't have to.

jack swears he's heard this story  and can recite it a million times over because owning a letterman jacket and having the same saturday night routine that involves drinking and frat parties and bailing on your friends because some hot girl with an itialian surname you can't pronounce showed up means nothing changes. it all ends the same.

and that's with a hungover felix, at a table at some shitty familiar cafe in town with jack there to listen, and do nothing but that.

but, the irishman can't lie. sundays weren't the only downfall to his and felix friendship, but they sure weren't the worst. and besides, there was always the upsides to look forward to.

and those upsides include meeting people like...him.

but it's not always for the first time.

---

felix sips coffee, and jack picks at his salad. and it's just like every other sunday.

just the two of them.
in the middle of town.
one with a killer migraine and the other with a slowly shrinking appetite.

"you should have come last night."
felix kicks back in his chair, bringing his almost drained coffee cup to his lips, and sipping through a half assed smirk.

"i did. i came. just like every other saturday night, and you left. with that same girl. just like every other saturday night."

and maybe it wasn't like every sunday.

because jack's carrying an attitude, and he's talking back and that isn't what he's meant to do.

there's a slight gagging sound, and felixs expression changes. he brings the cup back to the table, swallows hard, and stares.

he's frowning, eyebrows knotted and mouth drawn in a thin line and he's studying jack.

because this isn't what jack does.

"what's wrong?"

"nothing."

"no, jack. tell me. what's wrong."

the irishman contemplates for a moment.

because really there's nothing wrong.

yeah, maybe he didn't get much sleep and maybe he drank a little last night and maybe he got into some rough situations.

but there was nothing of concern.

"i'm...just a little agitated. sorry, i got about three hours of sleep and there's some coursework i've got to finish and-"

and it's like jack's mood gets worse with every footstep that inches closer and the voice that only grows louder as it calls out for the boy that's not jack.

"felix? fancy seeing you here? i'd assume you'd be dying, nearly drowned yourself in beer last night, buddy. of course, before you fucked off and left us."

there's a shadow cast across their table, and it's all wide shoulders and out-of-place strands of hair and a hand extended out for felix to inevitably take, and pull so he can bump shoulders with the stranger.

"mark, hey!"

or...not stranger.

because when jack looks up, he's looking at a boy with hot chocolate eyes , crinkled up at the edges in a smile. and he's looking at the void black that both hangs low over his eyes and sticks straight up at strange angles. and he's looking at the same shoulders that dug hard into his own only nights before, and the chest that was once soaked in-

"mcloughlin, meet-"

"you're the asshole who spilled half a cup of beer down my front last night."

"and you're the asshole who wouldn't let me buy you a new shirt."

felix sits through it all.

through the prolongued eye contact and the dragging of marks chair to the table, and the small talk that happens between the two before he speaks.

"so you've met?"

"briefly. but yes, we've met."
jack turns to felix, the blond wearing an expression that only reads confusion, and mark chuckles, before adding his own comment.

"you say briefly like we ran into each other and left. you spent a good ten minutes cursing me out, and another ten denying my number."

"wait, what? did you hit on him?"

"no, of course not! i just...felt bad for spilling beer down his so called 'favourite shirt' and felt like i should repay him. but i didn't have cash. simplest way around it was to give him my number and hope he let me buy his forgiveness."

the swede laughs through the whole thing, in small bursts.

because mark is flushed almost as red as his hair used to be and he's completely denying the fact that he tried - and failed - at hitting on felix's other best friend.

jack doesn't see it that way.

and maybe it's because he was yelling at the boy rather than listening to a thing he was saying, and maybe it's because he was drowning in those hot chocolate eyes rather than taking in a single word spoken.

"i was not hitting on him!"

and maybe everything he remembers is blurry and hazy and-

---

it's a strange turn of events.

because felix is still leave with the same italian girl, but jack is escaping through the back door like always.

the irishman isn't losing sight of his house as felix is losing all sense of care as he walks hand in hand down streets with someone he feels himself falling for.

the irishman is making his way to the kitchen with a slight stagger, and he's grabbing another one of those fucking stereotypical plastic red cups and he's pushing through crowds of people he doesn't know.

and he's drinking, and walking, and pushing and stumbling and stepping on people's feet and apologising and-

"oh, shit, i'm so sorry."

-and having drinks spilled down his front.

"fuckin' watch it, asshole!"

and yelling.

"you fucking ruined my shirt dude! this is my favourite shirt! what the fuck you're so ignorant!"

"don't get your panties in a twist, princess, it's okay. you're lucky this is my place or you'd be forced to wear that all night."

and he's got a strangers hand on his shoulder, guiding him through crowds. and he's pushing said stranger away.

and he's yelling again.

"dude, get the fuck off me! what are you doing, don't touch me!"

and it's twenty minutes later.

and he's in the bedroom of a stranger.

and he's got a soaking wet tshirt and an idiots number in his hand.

"you should text me soon. i'd feel bad leaving you without some way of repayment. maybe we could go for coffee, or..."

"yeah, okay whatever. i have to go."

"let me at least walk you home."

"no, no it's okay."

and he's turning to leave.
and he's listening to the strangers voice gets lower, and less audible as he pushes through groups of people.

"stay safe, princess."

---

"you were hitting on me."

and jack's realising something.

"you were hitting on me, oh my god."

and he's laughing.

they're all laughing.
because not only is mark beet red, but jack is too, and felix is more than confused.

but they're laughing nonetheless.

"you were hitting on poor, drunk me. and yknow what, im not even mad that i was yelling at you."

"im not either. you're pretty cute when you're yelling, princess."

"oh shut up."

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i really don't know what this is ((the italic scene is obvs a flashback))
-a