the anatomy of love [BxB] COMPLETED

52

He's here.

After waiting a grueling amount of time Sunday night has finally come. Jackson doesn't want to get his hopes up, but he just can't help it. His hands tremble adjusting his jacket, fixing his hair, patting his pockets every thirty seconds to make sure his phone and wallet are there.

Then he opens the front door. Wes stands on the other side, a small bouquet of roses in his hand, and a tension in his face that reflects a mix of hope and terror.

"Jackson," he says as a greeting.

"Nice roses," Jackson says with a sly smile, remembering the bouquet of roses he sent to Wes's office. I don't do romance. Call it seduction. He feels a sweeping sense of time and words fitting into place, the circularity of moments that gives life its vibrancy and meaning. "I'll put them inside."

Wes nods and hands them over to Jackson, like he knows they will be better off anywhere except with him. Which might be true; Jackson can't imagine Wes tenderly caring for a plant. Jackson quickly finds a vase that his mother definitely insisted on buying just in case her son miraculously wanted to decorate the apartment, and fills it with water and places the flowers in it.

He returns to Wes, who has his hands in his pant pockets. When he sees Jackson, his face changes. Usually people describe it as brightening like a light glowing from within. But on Wes, it's the exact opposite. His eyes sweep over Jackson and they darken and deepen, like sinking to the bottom of the ocean, and within that shadow and shade something gleams and glitters, like glimpsing a treasure in the sand that flashes in a beam of sunlight.

"Ready?" Jackson asks, smiling despite the nauseating drop of his stomach.

"Yes," Wes says, looking equally as nervous as Jackson feels, and they get in the car. The engine hums familiarly, and Jackson watches Wes adjust gears and with measured turns of the wheel merge on the road.

"Where are we going?" Jackson asks after a moment of silence, fearing an awkward lull that's impossible to break. He sees a slight quirk at the corner of Wes's mouth.

"You said you wanted a surprise."

Jackson smiles, and turns his head to the window to hide it. "Can you give me a hint?"

"No," Wes says, his voice firm but undercut by his obvious smugness at keeping Jackson in the dark. "In fact, I should blindfold you."

"Take me on a date first," Jackson teasingly admonishes. He sees Wes bite his lip to stop the curve of an unwanted smile.

"Do not tempt me, Jackson."

They roll to a stop before Jackson can think of a response. Wes gets out of the car with a practiced flourish and an important slam of the door. With a smile that keeps finding its way onto Jackson's face he follows after him.

Wes leads him to a classic pub translated in Portland's trendy style, a modern facade of wood paneling and cement with a polished, sleek interior, a glossy bar on one side and booth seating on the other. A waiter with an eager smile and erratic motions of his hands greets them and leads them to a booth, setting menus in front of them while explaining the specials of the day.

"Have you been here before?" Jackson asks after the waiter leaves.

"Yes," Wes says. "They make excellent burgers."

"Pardon?"

"I said they make―" he breaks off when he notices Jackson laughing, narrowing his eyes. "What?"

"I'm sorry," Jackson says, trying to breathe. "I just cannot imagine you eating a burger. It's so messy."

"And pray, tell me, what do you imagine me eating?"