ILLUSIONIST // JACKDANIELS

chapter 2

//A|N - This chapter is set after the first movie, and just before the second one. The first chapter was Jack and Daniel before they joined The Horsemen.//

"Oh, come on!" Jack said, smiling at the man in front of him. "Trying to see who I have a crush on through mentalism? Nah, Merritt, that ain't fair."
"Rules are rules, Wild Card." Merritt stated, using the nickname he'd come up with for his best friend. "Either; you let me do my mentalism on you, or, I force my way into that head of yours."
"F*ck you, McKinney." Jack laughed.
"Anytime, Jacko." Merritt flirted sarcastically, adding a wink to the end of the sentence.

Eventually, Wilder ended up giving in and let Merritt do his, "mental thing," as he called it. Merritt stared long and hard at Jack, occasionally squinting his eyes to see further into his racing mind.
"Hmm, okay... It's a name." Merritt said, still focusing on his act. He soon started whizzing his way through the alphabet before he finally stopped.

It was rather quick, actually. Merritt thought.

The next time Merritt spoke, it was aloud, yet his voice was a whisper.

"It's Danny... Isn't it?"

———

Later that night, Danny found himself sprawled over the couch of The Horsemen's shared apartment in a drunken state. He and Henley went out to get a few drinks, that was supposed to be it. But, like all bad things, one drink turned into two, two turned into three, and three ended up being a whole lot more than Danny had anticipated. He'd had God-Knows-How-Many shots of Only-God-Knows-What, and Henley, in her sober moments, carried a visibly drunken J. Daniel Atlas back to the small, homely apartment.

And the worst part of it, was that it was all for him.

Jack motherf*cking Wilder.

Danny liked the kid. Everyone knew that. But what they, excluding Merritt, didn't know was that he loved him.
If Danny was allowed to say all that he could about Jack, about how his eyes shimmered every time they were in the sun's path, about how his laugh was the most glorious and holy thing that Danny had ever heard, about how he just wanted rainy days so he could cuddle up next to Jack and fall asleep tracing the words 'Jack Atlas' in faint strokes of his fingertips on Jack's back, love would be an understatement. Good God, Danny had it bad for the younger man; but he really couldn't help it. He loved the way Jack's hair would spring up every morning after a long night of staying off the radar and trying not to attract any attention to himself (he was supposed to be dead, after all), he loved the way Jack's leather jacket looked as if it was barely hanging onto him, emphasising the fact that Jack was somewhat small-framed yet still had muscle, and he loved the way Jack used to smell after a show, the air having traces of Henley's perfume being over-powered by the wonderful scent of Jack's aftershave.

Damn... Danny really did have it bad.