I Guess They Never Disappear

Chapter 17 (Beginning of Part Two)

Jared POV

I'm going over to my boyfriend's today to make pasta. 

How wonderful it feels to be able to say that. 

My Evan. 

Fuck. I'm getting sappy. 

The Insanely Cool Jared Kleinman does not get sappy. Not even for his boyfriend. Because Evan wants, or maybe he really needs, someone who's strong. 

When I stop by the store I pick up the exact same ingredients we had the first dinner. Technically our first date. The first kiss, on the cheek at least, as it were. 

Back when all of this started. 

I can't believe it's been a year. 

By luck, they happen to have almost the exact same little chocolate cakes we had that day, and I make sure to pick them up. When I walk towards the register, I notice a flower display. Ev likes flowers. Sappy, yes, but if he would want them I think I can put that worry aside to make him happy. 

When I get to his apartment, the door is locked, as always. I pull out my key ring and unlock the door. 

Evan doesn't mind that I do that anymore. Progress.

He has his back to me when I enter and he's muttering to his plants, a watering can in hand. 

"Hey Ev," I say. 

He whips around, and then he notices it's me. 

"Hi Jared," he says.

I cross the room to where he's standing and kiss him on the cheek.

Predictably, he turns bright red. 

I like that. 

"You look nice," I say.

"Oh."

"What's that supposed to mean?"

"Oh?"

"Oh."

"Oh."

"This is stupid, Evan, let's cook."

He puts down his watering can and the two of us walk to his little kitchen. He's put out some of the pots and things already. I start unloading the groceries while Evan goes to sit at the table.

"Where are you going?"

"To sit."

"Why?"

"You're the chef here, Jared."

"So you don't want to cook with me?"

"I'll... if it makes you happy."

"It does."

"Okay, what do you want me to do?"

I direct him to put water in the large pot to boil and to break the spaghetti a little bit so that it fits. 

We cook for a bit in silence, the water boiling on the stove, the sauce simmering in a separate pan, the sound of a knife as it cuts through the bread. Our hips brush every few minutes, because Evan's kitchen is really tiny, and probably not meant for two people to cook in. 

It's domestic. 

So domestic. 

You know, I promised myself that I wouldn't get like this. 

I used to think that I hated these moments, where it was comfortable and warm and there were no words being said but a million ideas were being communicated. I still do, a little. It's too emotional, too vulnerable. 

Sometimes Ev and I are like electricity when we touch. A brush of my hand against his cheek, his fingers wrapped around mine, our ankles wrapped around each other. Dangerous, but only if you aren't careful. And I'm always careful. It's surface emotion. I can insulate my emotions deep, deep down. No danger. 

Other times, we're fire. We're fire now, dancing around the kitchen together, cooking our dinner. It's not as sharp as electricity, which sparks and then ebbs. The fire is a constant presence. It burns hotter when we brush. Emotions flow easier in the presence of the fire, which burns right through the insulation. 

That's when I feel like I could tell Evan all the thoughts I've had at three in the morning, the ones that tell me that I'm not enough and I'll never be enough for him. And that he deserves someone better. Another Zoe. But I have to remind myself (I always do, the insulation rebuilds itself as I notice it melting) that Evan doesn't need to hear about that.

Evan has his own sorts of burdens, like his anxiety. He'd blame it on himself and that's not what I want. I want to be able to communicate this and not worry about how he'll take it. And then I feel even more guilty because Evan doesn't want to be seen as a child or someone who doesn't understand the world. He's an adult, of course. 

It's wrong to think he's not. 

So it goes around in a circle. I want to talk to him, to explain everything, but then I remember I can't, and then I feel bad about thinking I can't, so I want to talk to him again, and then the cycle starts over again. 

Fire's more dangerous than electricity. 

The pasta has finished, at this point, and Evan and I drain it out in the sink together. Then I toss it in the sauce while Evan puts the bread onto a plate and pours us our drinks. And then we go sit at the table together, on the same side, and I try not to enjoy the feeling of us just being together. The fact that we're dating. 

Eighth grade Jared would fucking incinerate. 

It's easy to remember that day. Heidi left us at Evan's sometimes without supervision. Not like we got up to much. All we pretty much did was do homework together. 

Sometimes the smallest things feel the most magical when you're with the right person. 

The pasta is good, but I can't help focus on the little grin on Evan's face as he sucks his noodles into his mouth. He's so happy. 

When Evan's comfortable, his shoulders and the muscles in his face visibly relax. I mean, that probably isn't that rare of a thing to happen; in fact, it probably can be said of most people. 

Again, the smallest things can feel like fire. 

We put away our plates. Evan wants to wait before we have our desert, so we decide to just cuddle on the couch a bit and watch some T.V. 

I end up lying in Evan's arms, the crown of my head tucked underneath his chin. 

The fire burns harder. I can't believe I'm here. I mean, we've been dating for a few weeks, so it's certainly sunk in before. That doesn't mean it doesn't hit me again every time I'm with Ev. I was so certain there would be another Zoe. It would be what I deserve. So I have to remember that I'm the Zoe now. I'm the person Evan wants. 

Evan's breathing is steady. I don't know what is drifting through his brain right now, but I secretly hope that it has something, even a little bit, to do with me. 

For now, I can like how domestic it is. 

For now, I don't need to worry. 

I feel like I could fall asleep. 

Apparently Evan does too. 

I find this out when I wake up the next morning, still trapped in Evan's arms. 

It's domestic, and I want to hate it. But I really, really don't. 

A/N: Hi everybody, I'm back!

I hope that your week has gone well and that you've been taking care of yourself. You deserve it. Make sure you talk to people. (Don't follow Jared's example.)

You're loved.

Stay safe everyone, I love you so much. 

Your dearest author,

Angie

<3

Word Count: 1158