July 25, 2016

Atticus was never nervous to step foot in a courtroom. The rush of adrenaline was a high. According to some, having command of the room was too much power for one person to have, especially if few people were in the commander's presence. But Atticus himself never agreed with that mindset. So he decided to treat whatever conversation Jake wanted to have as just that.

Atticus always knew who he was. He was the imprudent bully his father taught him to be. And any time he attempted to change that image of himself, whether mentally or physically, it always came crashing back. He never knew where he really stood. He couldn't, in that moment, place Jake, either.

Because Jake was a headache. Atticus's feelings about him swung back and forth like a pendulum. He could only watch the pendulum swing as it descended closer and closer to his heart. He had to make a decision. Zoey called it "the gray."

"We aren't meant to only see people as flawless or evil," Zoey had said years prior. "When you shift from white to black and back again, you always pass through the gray. We just need to keep you in the gray a little longer. Ground you into that gray so far that the colors come out again."

Just the thought of allowing Jake to be gray sent a rush of anger through his veins. So when he answered the front door and saw Jake standing on the faded welcome mat that Chris put out when he first moved in, he was vexed. He hated the way the younger man was looking at him: scared and innocent and so damn beautiful with a lock of wavy chestnut hair threatening to fall in front of his honey eyes. Atticus stuffed his hand into the pocket of his black jeans to resist the urge to brush Jake's hair from his face.

"Hey," Jake mumbled, barely above a whisper and unable to meet Atticus's eyes. "Can I come in?"

Atticus wanted so badly to say no; to put that pathetic welcome mat to shame. But he opened the door enough for Jake to slide through. Atticus shut the door behind him, and Jake kicked his shoes off and went to sit on Atticus's couch. He crossed his legs up on the cushions and squeezed his socked foot. He anxiously glanced up at his ex-friend's icy eyes: the first time in weeks he looked into them. The twist of anger set in the glare of his pupils was natural. Jake's gaze was much more gentle. Atticus could feel as Jake's eyes searched his stature, looking for a tell that said he wasn't as uptight as he appeared. But his stance-and always that venomous glare-was impenetrable. Jake gnashed his teeth against his bottom lip and calculated his honey eyes into focus.

Atticus stood silently, allowing Jake's attempt to dissect him. He traced every flick of Jake's gaze. Every eyebrow quirk. He watched for the moment Jake's lips twitched with anticipation.

When the induction had gone on long enough and turned into stalling, Atticus clicked his tongue. Jake finally startled, moving to crack his knuckles before bracing his hands against his knees and asking, "Aren't you going to sit?"

Atticus shook his head, saying nothing. Lawyers were never quiet when they had a plethora of things to say. Atticus's lips twitched, and he crossed his arms before rocking back on his heels.

Jake took on the posture of a defendant on the witness stand; a lawyer representing himself in Atticus's kangaroo court. His shoulders closed in and his eyes shifted. He could always plead the fifth, but the heaviness in the air surrounding them told him that it was already too late. He was in for an interrogation without a judge to moderate.

"I broke up with Nick," Jake whispered, staring down at the hardwood floor.

"Why?" Atticus asked with a bitter tongue. "I thought you loved him."

"I don't know if I ever truly did."

"Then why did you stay with him so long?" the prosecutor snapped. The venom dripped off his tongue with every syllable. "What was so great about him?"

What did he have that I didn't?

"Nothing. My mother liked him. So when she saw us together it made her like me. I think I made myself like him just so my life was easier. Besides, I couldn't. . . I just. . ." Jake trailed off, lips frowning and quivering.

"You couldn't what?" Atticus pressed. He paced in front of Jake when asking questions. He rocked back on his right foot during the answers. He spoke with a gesturing hand that tucked back into his crossed left arm when he was done, closing himself off and asserting authority.

Jake looked up, tears threatening to cloud his vision. The lawyer broke him without even trying, and the confession was on his lips.

"Have you," he whispered.

Atticus looked away. His shoulders slacked. He couldn't say anything. Three years of law school never prepared him for the shock that sets in once there's an unexpected confession on the stand. The prosecution rests.

"I broke up with Nick before we even had the fight," Jake continued. Even without Atticus's questions, he was going to finish giving his testimony. "I wanted to tell you, but we got so mad so fast. You had so much pent up jealousy over him, yet you refused to acknowledge the possibility of liking me back. I guess, in that moment, I decided that you didn't deserve to know."

"Then why are you telling me all of this now if you knew that I didn't care?"

"I dated him for seven months and got over him within a day." Jake stood, cupped Atticus's cheek in his hand, and forced him to look back at him. "But I'm nowhere close to getting over you."

The defense rests.

"You don't know what you're getting yourself into," Atticus whispered. "You can walk out the door right now forget that any of this happened. You can take the plea deal and go."

"I've seen enough crime dramas to know what you're offering," Jake said, moving his hands to grip Atticus's forearms. "You'll have to come up with your own sentence."

Atticus could feel his own hesitation. He knew that if he dared to lean down, the hatred he spent all afternoon building would collapse. Whatever move he made was going to be the decider of their fate. Twice before, one of them had ran too early. Too early to know what the other truly felt like. How they felt. Too early to commit more than a few minor details to memory. Any possibility of a simple friendship was damaged beyond repair.

Now Atticus found himself in the perfect position to take that step closer and brush that distracting lock of hair from Jake's face. And, as he slowly brushed the hair back into place, he learned that the feeling of Jake's hair between his fingers was even softer than he imagined. His thumb grazed against Jake's jaw, mapping out the location of the scar that Jake before had admitted to covering up with his sister's concealer. Just the notion of Jake's jaw fitting so perfectly against the palm of his hand made the decision. As his right hand tilted Jake's face up, his left moved to press firmly against the small of his back, tugging him upwards to catch his cherry flavored lips.

Atticus felt, hell, he could hear his heart beat three times before the strong grips on his elbows released and Jake's arms were around his neck with one hand buried in dirty blond hair. A single, gentle tug of his hair was enough for him to tug Jake forward the extra inch that allowed their chests to press together.

Their lips parted for a moment as the hesitancy left their breaths. Jake's lusty, half-lidded eyes were going to be a major factor in why Atticus's lips would be permanently kiss-swollen. But Atticus didn't care about that. He was so focused on committing every sight and feeling into memory-just in case this was all Jake would allow him to have.

"Any closing argument?" the prosecutor asked against the defendant's lips.

"I want to be with you more than anything. And I'm sorry. So damn sorry."

"Me too," Atticus said with a nervous breath. "On both counts."

"So, what's the verdict?" Jake asked.

Atticus found everything about Jake endearing. Jake always looked at him with a sparkle in his eyes, and he would bite his bottom lip and let it go in a way that kind of drove Atticus insane. Jake made him feel things he never wanted to feel- in ways that he didn't know existed. Jake's smile made his eyes light up. His laughter made him smile. His voice made his heartbeat pick up. Touching him made his chest stir. Kissing him made his head blur.

Atticus bit his lip as he looked at him. At that point, they were just broken friends pushing past every boundary protected by the definition of platonic. They couldn't go back. Atticus didn't want to go back.

Atticus shook his head and let out a light chuckle. "We're both guilty as all hell."

Jake laughed. All the stress left his features as his eyes squeezed shut and he hid his face in Atticus's shoulder. From where his hand is splayed hot against Jake's back, he feels the tension give out as Jake leans back into him.

"Is this really what you want?"

"Yeah," Jake whispered, smiling. "As long as you want it, too."

Atticus kissed him so he wouldn't have to say the words. If Jake would let him, he needed to keep cataloging. His top lip was firm, yet the bottom had a plush pout that made it so easy-so damn irresistible that Atticus had to give it a gentle tug with his teeth to open up Jake's mouth. Sugar was the only word that came to Atticus's otherwise quiet mind. His brain was so stimulated and distracted that it couldn't catch up.

Jake tasted like cotton candy. He was just as addicting as sugar on Halloween. Coffee with vanilla creamer and far too much sugar added in. Cinnamon toothpaste and coffee tongue prodding forward with hesitant, experimental gestures guided by mint and bourbon.

Atticus's fingers were digging into Jake's back, and when Jake took a step backwards that Atticus wasn't expecting, his buffering mind lagged, and they fell backwards onto the couch.

"Hi," Jake whispered, looking up at Atticus, who was straddling his hips.

Atticus whispered, "Sorry," but his crooked smile indicated otherwise.

"I was hoping you would catch me. It was your fault, after all. I didn't know what to do with myself." A slight blush crept up Jake's cheeks as he admitted, "I've never been kissed like that before."

"You had me distracted. Are you sure about that?"

Jake nodded.

"Never with Nick?"

Jake shook his head. "Never let him."

"So your mom liked him, huh?"

"She has bad taste. And he was a pushover."

"Tell her about me?"

"She recalls you as a, quote, 'professional bully.' Personally, I think Nick was worse." Jake grabbed Atticus by the red tie around his neck and pulled him closer. "But don't worry. She absolutely hates you."

"Maybe I wanted to be worse."

"Pot. Kettle."

When he kissed him that time, Atticus was positive that Jake truly had no idea how edible that smirk of his was.

Maybe Jake knew the superficial reasons surrounding his mother's strong distaste for him, but Atticus could feel it all those years ago when Megan Raleigh met him for the first and only time. The secrets his father left behind hurt more than the secrets he experienced for himself. It wasn't just that lawyers were professional bullies, it was only him.

Atticus couldn't admit what to Jake what was wrong. Not right then, at least. He faked a smile and stood, ignoring the psychosomatic pain in his calf, and held out his hand for Jake to take hold of. Only once Jake was back on his feet and dragging Atticus along to his car so they could get dinner and have their first real date did Atticus feel the side of his lips twitch up in the faintest smile.