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10 JASON

“Good job class, hit the lockers,” Jason yells, lips sealing around the end of his whistle as he gives a quick blow to catch the attention of the stragglers out at the edge of the field. He waits until every student is back and accounted for, well past the class dismissal bell, before departing the field. A quick glance at his watch shows he’s got ten minutes until his next class. Not enough time to bother heading back to his office, or enough time to sneak over to Emerson’s class and see how he’s doing.

He saw him this morning when they drove to work together, and he’s going to see him later, but Jason misses him already. It’s weird because Jason’s pretty sure he’s never even wanted to talk to any of his girlfriends as much as he wants to talk to Emerson. Hell, even with Theo he can go a full work day without talking to him when he has to.

Something about Emerson is different, and Jason isn’t too fussed about why. At first he thought it was wanting him to settle in but they’re nearing the end of October now and he can’t really use that excuse. The truth is he just likes Emerson.

Pulling his phone out of his pocket, he swipes open the screen, ignoring the thirty-seven new messages in the family group chat in favor of opening his last text stream with Emerson. Smile already pulling across his face, he types out a message.

Jason

are you busy?

i have a question

The response comes within seconds, almost as if Emerson had his phone in hand. Almost as if he was waiting for Jason. There’s no way he was, but it makes Jason’s smile widen all the same.

Emerson

What kind of question?

Jason

if someone wanted to start reading Tolkien where should they start

Emerson

That depends on the person and the time commitment. Are they looking for the full experience? The most accepted answer is to follow the publication order which would put The Hobbit first. Obviously The Lord of the Rings follows. Tell them to not read those out of order. Ever. There’s a lot of lesser known published books too like The Similiarian or the Children of Hurin that come after.

By the time he’s gotten to the end of the message, Jason’s smiling wider than he has since, well, since he saw Emerson this morning on the drive to work. Emerson texts the way he talks, albeit a little bolder sometimes, and it’s damn endearing. Not wanting to waste a minute of his time he’s quick to reply.

Jason

that was a lot of titles

lets just say this person is not a reader and has no idea what they’re doing

He could tell Emerson this is about him. There’s no reason not to. Except that Jason kind of wants to surprise him. For the last week, he’s been putting up with Jason rambling about football at lunch, listening in earnest while Jason spews player stats and works through plays. And even though he doesn’t understand or care about football, he never asks Jason to stop talking. It makes Jason want to do the same in turn. He’s never been a big reader, but ever since he overheard Emerson telling his students that audiobooks are reading, he’s been thinking about picking one up for his runs. If he just so happens to want to learn more about Emerson’s special interest so he gets to infodump, well, that’s just him being a good friend.

His phone dings alerting him to a new message from Emerson.

Emerson

Anyone can be a reader. Is it one of your players? I could get them a spreadsheet with relevant Tolkien facts including publication order. Maybe a reading log too.

Jason

you have a Tolkien spreadsheet?

Emerson

Well, no, but I can make one.

He’s so earnest Jason can hardly stand it, and he intends to tell him as much. Not enough people tell Emerson how smart and funny and handsome he is. If they won’t, then Jason will. It’s what Emerson deserves, and there’s no rule against complimenting friends. He compliments Theo and his brothers. This is no different.

Jason

you are adorable

It takes a few seconds longer than usual, but when it does, it’s so very Emerson.

Emerson

I think we should explore the possibility that you have questionable taste.

“What’s got you smiling like that, Coach?”

Jason looks up at Matty’s familiar voice to see him and Vicente, who prefers to go by his last name Sanchez, sharing matching shit-eating grins.

“None of your business,” Jason grumbles, pocketing his phone. “Don’t you two have somewhere to be? Mr. Caldwell’s class is on the other side of campus.”

“Caldwell,” Sanchez snarks. “ Pinche pendejo .”

“Language,” Jason reminds him even though he echoes the sentiment. Caldwell’s been a pain in the ass lately, likely because of homecoming on the horizon. Jason has lost count of how many times he’s wanted to use equally colorful language, in both English and Spanish, to tell Caldwell off. Unfortunately, he can’t, and his position demands he not let his players do it either, even if it’s deserved.

“Sorry, Coach,” they echo.

“Go on and get out of here before I have to walk you to class so you’re not late. Don’t give Caldwell a reason to single you out. I know both of you will make me and this team proud.”

Matty’s usual smile falters before he shoves his hands in his pockets. “Yes, Coach.”

Jason waits until they’re across the field to pull his phone back out to read the second half of Emerson’s text.

Emerson

You might be the first person in the world to think Tolkien spreadsheets were cute.

Jason

I told you, you’re cute and for the record I have impeccable taste

case in point, pineapple on pizza

Emerson

Absolutely not. The only acceptable topping for pizza is cheese.

Jason

agree to disagree

Emerson

We can agree you are wrong.

The warning bell rings, leaving Jason feeling much like one of his students as he keeps his eyes glued on his screen while walking towards the gym, unable to to stop texting Emerson until the very last second.

Jason

feisty Emmy coming out

I like it

speaking of pizza, im hungry

Emerson

You’re always hungry. Did you eat breakfast?

Jason

yes but that was hours ago

you still coming to my office for lunch

Emerson

I come every day. Except for Friday, obviously.

Jason

lucky me

you know the kids would love if you came

especially Arlo

Emerson

Maybe one day. I think one jock is enough for me at lunch time.

The late bell rings, and Jason knows he’s got to put his damn phone away or risk making a hypocrite of himself in front of his kids, many of whom he has to remind daily that they don’t need to be glued to their phones. Even as he sees familiar faces watching him, he can’t stop himself from sending one final text.

Jason

ill see you at lunch

Smiling to himself, he pockets his phone. Not even the good natured teasing from his seniors who catch him is enough to dim his good mood.

* * *

The second Emerson steps into his office, Jason’s spidey senses go off. There’s a tightness to the clench of his jaw and a hunch in his shoulders, but the frantic way he spins his fidget ring is the final kicker.

“What’s wrong?” Jason asks.

Emerson breathes deeply, exhaling a heavy sigh. He doesn’t answer immediately, moving further into the office so he can shut the door behind him, the sounds of schoolyard activity that usually filter in through the open gym doors quieting.

Were it anyone else Jason might push but he’s learned better, understands the way Emerson’s brain processes questions and stress. Rather than push for answers he’s desperate for, he busies himself with getting them set up. He grabs a Dr. Pepper and a green apple Gatorade from the fridge, depositing them on the edge of his desk along with everything else he’s got in his fridge: sliced jicama with tajin, fruit salad and baby carrots. He has no intention of eating the latter, unsure what possessed him to even buy them or put them in his fridge. The only good carrot is the kind in albondigas .

“So,” he starts, unwrapping his sandwich. “My kids were giving me hell today.”

At Emerson’s raised eyebrow, he continues.

“They thought I had a girlfriend,” he explains before taking a huge bite. He can’t help chuckling to himself as he chews, recalling the absolute chaos that had been his third period. None of his damn seniors would do anything except try and find out who he’d been texting the entire time.

Emerson unpacks his own lunch, eyes on Jason as he withdraws his peanut butter sandwich. “Do you?”

“Have a girlfriend?” Jason chokes. “Hell no. You’d know if I did. I talk to you more than anyone. Besides they were just needling me because they caught me texting at the start of class. Which, by the way, was not a girl. I was texting you.”

Emerson’s eyes widen, the pale green nearly translucent under the shitty lighting in Jason’s office.

“What exactly made them think it was a girl?” Emerson asks. He takes a bit of his sandwich, fixing Jason with an unblinking stare.

Not long after they met, Emerson mentioned how stressful he found eye contact with most people, never sure how much to use. He said he tended to avoid it while talking but had been told he used too much when listening. Jason assured him that however much he looked or didn’t look at him was fine, and he meant it. Secretly though, he loves it when Emerson does the intense stare thing while he talks, the undivided attention lighting up the middle child part of his brain that loves to be sure someone is paying attention to him.

“You know how they are,” Jason shrugs, thinking about the way they’d tried to turn dodgeball into twenty questions. He knows a lot of people hate teenagers, but he loves their unfiltered curiosity and thirst to find themselves. “They said I was smiling at my phone like a lovesick teenager. Nosy little shit heads.”

“But you were just texting me?”

“Obviously,” Jason confirms, grabbing a piece of watermelon out of the fruit salad. “Did I ever tell you about the time when I was four and Charlie told me if I swallowed a watermelon seed it would grow in my belly—sprout vines and everything?”

Emerson takes a bite of his sandwich before shaking his head.

“I always believed Charlie, even when Andrew told me not to. Anyway, we were eating watermelon, and it was full of seeds we were supposed to spit out onto a napkin, and Charlie looked me dead in the eye and told me to be careful not to swallow one, or it would grow in my stomach and eventually kill me.”

“That’s illogical and also scientifically impossible,” Emerson points out, curling his legs beneath him in the office chair.

“I know that now,” Jason laughs, “but I was a kid. Anyway, I accidentally swallowed one despite my best intentions not to and cried all night. I couldn’t eat watermelon for years.”

“I think I’m glad I didn’t have siblings,” Emerson muses. “Although Landon was bad enough.”

Jason clenches his jaw so hard his teeth grind. Emerson’s cousin is the biggest piece of shit he’s ever heard of, and Jason sincerely hopes he never has the misfortune of meeting him. Despite the way Emerson has tried to play off the unkind words from Landon, it’s clear they left a lasting impression.

With a heavy sigh, Emerson sets his half-eaten sandwich on top of its tupperware before laying it on Jason’s desk.

“I talked to Mr. Caldwell on the way here.”

“What did he want?” Jason asks, trying to keep the bitterness from his tone. He’s downplayed how horrible he thinks he is, if only because as the head English teacher, Emerson is forced to interact with him far more than Jason, and he never wants to influence Emerson’s opinion or add to his stress.

“He wants me to take his place chaperoning the homecoming dance.” Emerson pulls his knees to his chest in a way that should not be possible given his height, but then Emerson is lanky and lean, his body able to contort itself into positions that Jason’s much thicker body could never. “I suppose want isn’t the right word. He told me he’d taken the liberty of putting me down to chaperone in his place.”

“Tell him no,” Jason grumbles. “Or better yet, to fuck off.”

“I would never,” Emerson gapes. “Besides, I don’t think saying no is an option.”

“I’ll talk to him.”

“No, it’s— no .” Emerson twines his arms around his legs until he’s made a little ball of himself, chin resting on his knees and his eyes on the edge of the desk.

“You don’t have to do anything you’re not comfortable with, Emmy.”

As he hoped, the nickname does the trick. Emerson turns his face in Jason’s direction, cheek resting on his knees. “You’re chaperoning.”

“I am,” Jason confirms. He told Emerson as much weeks ago, casually suggesting he come too, but Emerson had shut him down swiftly with an uncharacteristic bite, and Jason hasn’t mentioned it again. He’s not sure why the idea of going to a school dance upset him so much, but he suspects he’s about to find out.

“They’re pretty loud, but you’ve got your ear defenders, and you can step outside as often as you need.”

“It’s not that. Or it is I guess, but that’s not the—ugh.” Emerson turns his face into his knees, tapping his fingers against his leg.

Watching Emerson be uncomfortable makes Jason feel like there’s a rock lodged in his throat. He wishes he could take away everything that ever made him upset, wishes he could fix it all.

“I don’t have anything to wear,” Emerson blurts.

Of all the things Jason expects to hear, that isn’t it.

“You can wear anything,” Jason tries.

Emerson lifts his face from his knees to look at Jason. “What are you wearing?”

“A suit,” Jason answers.

Emerson sighs so heavily Jason feels it in his gut.

“To be fully transparent, this is the same suit I’ve worn to the last three homecoming dances. It’s not new or anything.”

Despite this clarifying information, Emerson doesn’t relax.

“You would look handsome in a suit. My aunt always dressed me up for church in these itchy, stiff ones that made me feel like I was choking. I used to sneak to the bathroom and try to take it off, but I’d get in trouble. It didn’t matter that I told her I hated them. Then at holidays, she always dressed me and Landon in matching suits for family photos for the holiday cards even though the ones with me in them never made it on the card because I always took the suit jacket off or undid the buttons, and they said I ruined the photos.”

A flare of white hot anger pierces Jason. He’s never hated anyone, but he hates Emerson’s family. He can’t fathom how anyone could make a child feel unloved or unwanted, especially someone as precious and special as Emerson. The desire to protect Emerson now, to show him what it’s like to have people who care about you and appreciate you, is staggering.

It makes Jason think of his own parents. He hasn’t talked to them this week, and he makes a mental note to call them later and see if he can finagle a way to get Emerson invited to a family dinner, or maybe Thanksgiving. Well, if Emerson wants. He’ll have to ask him first, but now isn’t the right time. Jason’s family would love Emerson, he knows it. The fact that his own family so easily disregarded his needs makes Jason feel upset and helpless so he focuses on the now, on something tangible he can fix.

“You know you don't have to wear a suit,” Jason points out, not wanting to dwell on his thoughts to the point of ignoring Emerson. “There’s no official dress code or anything.”

“Yes, I do,” Emerson protests. “Or at least, something nice but dress shirts are a sensory nightmare. That stiff cotton doesn’t move and when I’m uncomfortable, I get snappish. And then I’ll snap at you, and you’ll hate me.”

Oh. Oh .

“Emmy.”

“I’ve never been to a school dance, ever. No one invited me, why would they?”

Jason’s natural inclination is to interrupt and try to fix, but there’s no fixing what’s already happened, so he bites his tongue and waits, sensing Emerson’s need to get this out.

“Then you came along with your smile and your kind words, and you did what no one in my life had done—you invited me. You didn’t tell me I couldn’t handle it before I tried, or try to get me to not go because you didn’t wanna deal with it. But I panicked and snapped at you, and I’ve been too embarrassed to bring it up since. Now Mr. Caldwell wants me to take his place as chaperone, and I’m going to be out of sorts and cranky and you’re going to see—see the real me.”

Leaning so far forward he nearly falls out of his chair, Jason rests his hand on the arms of Emerson’s chair. “I want you to listen to me. I’m not going to run away if you get overstimulated or snap at me. I’ve got three brothers, one of whom is an absolute chaos gremlin. Literally nothing you do can scare me off. I don’t want you to tone it down or mask, do you understand?”

“People say that but they don’t mean it,” Emerson whispers, the force of what he’s holding in palpable.

Jason was lucky to grow up in a family where he was loved, every second of every day. He cannot begin to imagine anything else. While he might not be able to relate to Emerson’s trauma he can feel it, has seen his brothers and his students suffer, understands exactly what it means to love someone who questions if they were meant for this world.

“I mean the words I say,” Jason promises, sliding his hands down the arms of the chair. Beneath the hem of his brown trousers, Emerson’s got on a pair of socks with swords on them, and Jason reaches out before he can think twice about it, giving his ankles a gentle squeeze. “I like you, Emmy. You and me, we’re solid. Nothing's gonna change that.”

Emerson’s eyes are focused on where Jason’s hands are wrapped around his ankles. He doesn’t ask if he should move them. Jason has touched him enough to know it’s welcome. Maybe not all friends touch as much as they do, but it works for them. Jason can never resist touching him when he’s near: a reassuring shoulder squeeze, a quick hug, or a long one when he has the chance. The touch always makes Emerson’s tension ease, and it makes Jason feel so good, he’s given up wondering if it’s unusual. It occurs to him that most friends wouldn’t be holding their friend’s ankles, but that’s because Emerson wouldn’t let them.

Sure, Emerson has gotten a little friendlier with some of the other staff, especially Mabel, but no one else is allowed to touch. Only Jason is afforded that privilege. Which is maybe because Emerson knows him, always indulging Jason’s tactile nature. Emerson really is such a good friend. One of the best, ever.

“The way I see it, we have two options,” Jason tells him. “If you don’t want to chaperone, then let me talk to Mr. Caldwell, or even Mabel. We can figure it out. But if you want to go, well I hear there’s this really awesome P.E. teacher, who is also chaperoning. Word on the street is that he knows some really embarrassing dances, and he likes to have fun.”

“I can’t dance.”

“You can stand in the corner and laugh at me,” Jason offers. He smooths his thumb over the arch of Emerson’s ankle, all but on his knees now in his desperation to make Emerson’s smile return. “Or I could teach you to dance. Not to brag, but I’ve been told I’m a great teacher.”

“Why do you make it sound so easy,” Emerson asks.

“I’m either that impressive or that stubborn,” Jason grins. “You don’t have to decide this second but?—”

“I’d like to go.” Emerson’s chest expands with the force of his breath, which he holds for a few seconds before letting it out. “With you. As uh, chaperones. As friends.”

Friends. He knows they are, but hearing Emerson say it without hesitation, given his history, makes Jason’s heart swell with affection.

All but throwing himself back into his chair, Jason tips backwards to grab his phone off the far edge of his desk. “Only one thing left to do.”

“What?” Emerson asks, uncurling himself in curiosity. His legs drop to the floor and his shoulders straighten while he watches Jason.

“Call Andrew.”

“Your big brother?”

“Uh-huh,” Jason confirms, already calling. It rings twice, Emerson’s confused why mumbled at the same time Andrew answers the phone.

“What’s wrong?” Andrew asks.

“Why do you always assume something is wrong when I call you?” Jason questions, switching the phone to speaker so Emerson can hear as well.

“Maybe because that’s usually when you or Alec call me.”

“Nothing is wrong,” Jason assures him. “But I do need something. Or we do.”

“ We ,” Andrew echoes. “Am I on speaker phone?”

“Yup,” Jason confirms. “Me and Emerson are making homecoming plans and?—”

“Emerson, your teacher friend?” Andrew interrupts. “The one you told me about before.”

The weight of Emerson’s gaze is heavy, but Jason merely shrugs, not at all embarrassed about being caught talking about Emerson.

‘ All good things, ’ he mouths silently.

It’s clear Emerson is curious, but he resists asking questions, eyes darting between Jason and the phone in his hand. Were this either of his other brothers, he’d be pestered to death with questions, but because this is Andrew, the easy acceptance comes without a struggle.

“What do you guys need?” The question is accompanied by the loud clicking of his keyboard. How Andrew can hold a conversation and work on complicated stats at the same time is beyond Jason, but it’s not the first time he's done it, so Jason shouldn’t still be surprised by Andrew’s multitasking capabilities.

“Emerson needs a suit for homecoming,” Jason explains.

“I assume off the rack is not what you’re going for.”

“You’d assume correctly,” Jason confirms. “We need something tailored to his sensory needs. Stylish but very comfortable.”

Emerson’s face scrunches up, and he shakes his head.

“I see what’s happening here. You need me to get you guys in with Denise,” Andrew muses, the loud tap tap of his keyboard suddenly stopping.

“Not me, I’ve still got that suit from a few years ago. But Emerson needs something.” He turns his attention to Emerson. “Denise is Andrew’s tailor. Well, she does a lot of custom work too, like Charlie’s suits when he has a gallery opening for example. But mostly just for Andrew, he’s very…particular about his clothing.”

“Some of us don’t like the feeling of seams,” Andrew grumbles. “Nor do we want to look like we’re walking around in something we slept in.”

“He means Charlie,” Jason tells Emerson in a mock whisper.

Andrew’s thoughtful hum filters through the phone. “Is Emerson looking for something off the rack that needs to be tailored or something custom?”

“I think custom would be the best bet for comfort,” Jason answers easily.

“I can’t afford a custom suit,” Emerson hisses.

If Andrew heard Emerson’s outburst he says nothing, far too tactful. “She’s not taking on any new clients, but I might be able to pull a few strings. When do you need it?”

“Homecoming is uh—” he pauses, assessing the best way to break this to someone with Andrew’s desire to plan far, far ahead for everything. “Next weekend.”

“Are you serious?” Andrew whistles long and low, grumbling to himself for a minute before he finally speaks. “Just so we’re clear, you want me to get you in with one of the most sought after tailors in the area to get your friend a custom suit, which you need ready in nine days?”

“Yup,” Jason confirms, ignoring the way Emerson is gaping at him. “That’s a very accurate read on the situation. Well done, Andrew.”

There’s a long pause before Andrew replies, “I’ll see what I can do.”

“I knew you’d come through for me,” Jason crows. “Best big brother in the whole world.”

“I said I’ll try,” Andrew reminds him. “It took weeks the last time I needed to get Charlie a new custom suit for that gallery opening in Santa Monica last year. But—Denise likes me. I might be able to get her to do me a very huge favor. Let me handle this. I’ll text you when I figure out the details.”

“You’re the best, Andrew.”

“Yeah, yeah, you all love me and can’t live without me,” Andrew sighs with the air of someone long suffering. Then again he’s been putting up with all three of his younger brothers’ bullshit for years so maybe he is. “I’ll talk to you later, Jason. Also ignore everything Charlie put in the group chat. I did not—well, it’s not true, that’s all you need to know,” Andrew says in a rush, hanging up the phone before Jason can ask what the fuck he’s talking about.

“What just happened?” Emerson blinks.

“When it comes to Charlie and Andrew, I’ve learned sometimes it’s better not to ask,” Jason explains, unable to resist sneaking a peak at the group chat which is up to over one hundred messages. A peak at the clock affirms he has no time to figure out what the fuck is going on. He swipes open his notes app, scrolling until he finds his Emerson list—one that’s grown quite a bit since he started it—adding never been to a school dance (make sure he has fun!) before shutting off his phone, laying it face down on his desk to return his attention to more important matters—Emerson and his lunch.

* * *

Jason leans against the wall of the coffee shop, sipping at his iced white mocha and staring down the street. Andrew told them to meet him here at two, and while it’s only five minutes after, that’s as out of character for him as it would be for Emerson to be late.

Luckily he’s got something sweet and cold to sustain him. They’d screwed up Emerson’s chai latte, something Emerson had refused to tell them. Jason found out they’d added espresso after watching Emerson grimace several times in the span of five minutes. Refusing to let Emerson ingest something he hated, he’d taken the drink back in and politely asked them to fix it, which with the afternoon rush seems to be taking forever. Jason offered to wait for it himself, but Emerson said he’d rather not meet Andrew alone and sent Jason to wait outside where he’s been the last few minutes.

He takes another sip of his mocha, wishing he’d gotten that scone he was ogling when he catches sight of Andrew’s cherry red Mazda sailing down the road. It slows in front of the tailor’s a few store fronts down, pulling up against the curb. Andrew hops out, pushing his hair off his face and waving to Jason before plunking a few quarters in the meter.

“You’re late,” Jason yells, “you’re never—” but the rest of his words cut off when the passenger door opens and out steps a carbon copy of Andrew, if Andrew was dressed by a toddler—his neon green crocs, purple linen trousers and garish floral shirt a stark contrast to Andrew’s pale pink and tan ensemble. “Why the hell are you here, Charlie?”

“Is that any way to greet your favorite big brother?” Charlie asks, pushing his shades up into his hair.

Andrew steps in front of Charlie. “Pretty sure I’m his favorite big brother after what I agreed to in order to get this done.”

That makes Jason frown. After their phone call in his office yesterday, he’d merely texted it was done along with an address and time. Jason didn’t realize it’d been difficult for him.

“What did you do in order to get Denise to see him anyway?” Charlie asks, crossing his arms. “I’ve been trying for a year, and she still won’t even see me. The only reason she makes my suits is because she can fit them to your body.”

“We don’t need to talk about it,” Andrew says with a dismissive wave of his hand. “Where is this Emerson, by the way?”

“He’s probably not real,” Charlie interjects. The problem with these two is they never let him get a damn word in. “Remember when he was five and told us his best friend was a mermaid?”

“To be fair, he did watch The Little Mermaid a lot,” Andrew points out. “I think he had a crush on Ariel.”

“No I didn’t,” Jason lies, unsure how he can always feel like a little kid around them.

“My money is still on Emerson being fake,” Charlie continues, like Jason didn’t say anything. “I bet our baby here just needed a new suit because he split his old one with his thick thighs and?—”

“Emerson isn’t imaginary,” Jason all but yells, having the wherewithal to blush when a family walking by them stares. He can’t believe he’s got to deal with both of them. Just Andrew was fine. Andrew is predictable and easy, at least alone. With Charlie, he’s feistier, and then there’s Charlie himself, who is a wildcard. Jason has no idea if his sometimes charming, other times brusque, personality will be off putting to Emerson.

“You don’t both need to stay you know,” Jason points out.

“See, imaginary,” Charlie says. “He’s trying to get rid of us.”

“Of course he’s real,” Jason gapes.

“Who’s real?” Emerson asks.

Jason spins to find Emerson at his back, delicate fingers curled around his freshly made drink. He lifts it, taking a slow sip. Judging by the happy taps of his fingers against the side of his cup it must be correct this time.

“You,” Jason answers quietly, unsure why he can’t take his eyes off the droplet of chai latte stuck on the corner of Emerson’s mouth.

“Jason Matias King.”

“What?” Jason asks, startling at the use of his full name. He turns around to find both of his brothers watching him with matched expressions, as if they practiced it in a mirror.

“This explains everything,” Andrew utters.

“It really does,” Charlie replies.

“Explains what?” Jason tries.

“He’s a redhead,” Charlie and Andrew answer at the same time. Already Jason’s headache is coming on. He wasn’t prepared for both of them.

Beside him, Emerson reaches for his hair, taking a step closer to Jason, making him reel with a surge of protectiveness.

“Don’t be a dick and talk about people like they’re not here, dude.” Jason levels a look at his brothers.

“My apologies,” Charlie says with a smile. “I was rendered temporarily speechless by your friend's beauty.”

Emerson chokes on his tea. Jason chokes on his own tongue. What the fuck is Charlie doing? He’s always been an outrageous flirt, but he should know not to do that with Emerson. Sure Emerson is gay and single, but he would never date someone like Charlie. His brother is great—talented and loyal but also way too much for Emerson. He needs someone calmer, more gentle. Someone who will appreciate him. Plus Charlie doesn’t want a relationship. He could never make Emerson happy.

Not that Jason spends a lot of time thinking about people dating Emerson. He did once, and it left him feeling vaguely confused and with heartburn.

“You didn’t mention how pretty he is, baby brother.” Charlie smirks, stepping forward and holding out his hand towards Emerson. “Charlie King, pleasure to meet you.”

“Emerson,” he replies, reaching his own hand out as well. He lets Charlie shake it, and that familiar burn in Jason’s gut intensifies. Maybe he needs an antacid.

“I’m Andrew.” His brother steps forward, holding his hand out next. “It’s always lovely to meet a friend of Jason’s. He never lets us meet any of them.”

“Except Theo,” Charlie points out.

“Theo is really nice,” Emerson says.

“You’ve met Theo?” Andrew questions.

“Yeah, he and Alec came over to Jason’s for pizza night last week.”

Immediately, Andrew and Charlie turn towards each other seemingly having some kind of silent conversation. Jason gulps down his mocha, desperate for more sugar and caffeine to deal with whatever is happening.

“If you’ll excuse me,” Charlie mutters, turning to walk down the street.

“Where is he going?” Jason asks.

“Presumably calling Alec to find out why he didn’t know about pizza night,” Andrew answers, as if it were obvious. “Come on, let's head inside. I need to apologize to Denise for being late. Fucking Charlie wouldn’t pick a shirt.”

Turning to Emerson, Jason offers a smile. Emerson tries to return one, but it looks a bit more like a grimace.

“It’ll be fine, I won’t leave. Unless you want me to.”

“No.” Emerson shakes his head. “Don’t leave, please.”

“You’re stuck with me, Emmy,” Jason loops an arm around Emerson’s shoulders, walking him towards the tailor’s. When they reach the door, Andrew holds it open, his gaze lingering on where Jason has Emerson pulled close to his side.

“What?” Jason asks, feeling like a defensive teenager.

“I didn’t say anything,” Andrew says.

“Your face said something.”

“I’ll make sure and have a private meeting with my face later to discuss the issue,” Andrew deadpans.

Jason groans. Charlie’s louder than life personality so often takes center stage, it’s easy to forget what a spitfire Andrew can be. Then again, it’s easy to forget a lot about Andrew who often fades into the background when Charlie is around.

“You know—” Jason starts, cutting himself off when Denise comes into the front sitting area. He’s only met her a few times from when she did his suit a few years ago, but she looks exactly as he remembers. She’s dressed impeccably as always, her dress shirt rolled to her elbows and a delicate gold chain hanging around her thick neck. Her gray hair is trimmed short on the top and buzzed on the sides, and there’s a stern air about her that softens when she catches sight of Andrew.

“There you are, Doll.” Denise walks right to Andrew, smiling when he bends down to kiss her cheek. “You’re never late.”

“Sorry about that,” Andrew sighs, shoving his hands into his pockets. “Charlie’s fault.”

“Where is that trouble-making shadow of yours anyway?” Denise scoffs.

“Outside making a call, he’ll be in shortly.”

Denise hums before turning to face Jason and Emerson. “You must be my special appointment. Emerson, right?”

“Yes. Thank you for seeing me on short notice,” Emerson says, fidgeting with the cardboard sleeve on his drink. “I hope it’s not any trouble.”

“Oh, he’s handsome and sweet,” Denise grins, giving Jason more indigestion. Maybe he had too much salsa on his eggs this morning. “Why don’t you come with me in the back and we’ll get you all set. No trouble at all, sweetheart.”

“Don’t worry, she’s great with people like us,” Andrew offers, clearly sensing Emerson’s unease.

Emerson’s confusion is evident. “Gays?”

“I’m ace actually,” Andrew offers, surprising Jason. He’s not remotely in the closet, but he’s also painfully private with people he doesn’t know. “I meant neurodivergent. Just let her know what you need.”

The smallest flicker of relief passes across Emerson’s face, and Jason wants to hug Andrew. He doesn’t, if only because Andrew is incredibly selective with who touches him and when.

“I’ll take care of him, don’t worry. You two stay out here, make yourself comfortable. And if Charlie comes, tell him not to touch anything .”

“Why do I feel like there’s a story there?” Jason asks Andrew, all the while keeping his eyes glued to Emerson’s receding back as he’s led into a private room.

“There’s always a story with Charlie, but I’m more interested in what’s going on with you and Emerson.”

“What do you mean?”

“What do I mean,” Andrew scoffs. “You looked like you wanted to crush your drink when Charlie flirted with him.”

“I did not,” Jason objects. “Besides, he shouldn't flirt with Emerson.”

“Why?”

“Because,” Jason grumbles, slumping back into the sofa cushion. The couch is definitely more decorative than comfortable, especially for someone of Jason’s size. He half feels like he might break it, hunching his shoulders in and staring at his mocha.

“You never cared when Charlie used to flirt with Theo.”

“Why would I care if Charlie flirted with Theo?” Jason asks.

Andrew’s face takes on a pinched expression. “ Jason .”

“Your face is using its outside voice again.”

“I can’t help it,” Andrew sighs, scrubbing a hand over his face. “I told myself I wouldn’t interfere, but it’s killing me.”

“You are kind of a know-it-all, but we love you anyway.”

Andrew flips him off, but the corners of his mouth turn up in a small smile. “Look, just think about it.”

“About what?”

“About Emerson,” Andrew says gently.

“I think about Emerson all the time,” Jason points out.

“I bet you do,” Andrew mutters, glancing towards the door. “Charlie would be better at this, but the asshole isn’t here.”

“Better at what?” Jason asks. “You’re being weird, even for you.”

“Have you considered that maybe you like Emerson?”

“Of course I like Emerson, he’s the best,” Jason says, sloshing a bit of his mocha on his sweats. “What are you implying?”

“I wasn’t implying anything. I was flat out saying it,” Andrew sighs. “Though apparently not explicitly enough.”

The bell above the door jingles as Charlie saunters into the room, making his way directly to Andrew and infringing on his personal space despite there being plenty of room for him to sit on the other chair. “What are we talking about?”

“Emerson,” Andrew answers.

“Nothing,” Jason replies at the same time.

“Oh, are we talking about Jason’s massive fucking crush on Emerson? He is really pretty.”

“Stop calling him pretty,” Jason snaps, the first half of his sentence taking twice as long to register. “Wait, what?”

“Your crush,” Charlie says, ignoring the way Andrew thumps him on the backside of the head.

“We talked about tact, Charlie.”

“Fuck, tact. Jason is our brother, and I can’t sit around watching him make puppy eyes without saying something. Unless he doesn’t want to ask Emerson on a date, at which point I’d be happy to do the honors. Maybe he’d let me wine and dine him in that new suit he’s getting and?—”

“Don’t you dare ask him out,” Jason growls.

Rather than look put out by his tone Charlie merely grins. “Why, because you want to? Because you’ve had a thing for redheads since you were a kid? Or is it because you look at Emerson like you simultaneously want to wrap him a hug and talk about feelings while also devouring him?”

“Charlie,” Andrew whispers, tone warning and leaving Jason reeling. Does he really look at Emerson like that?

“I’m just being honest,” Charlie tells Andrew. “Besides I’m not going to ask him out, he's too—sweet for me.”

“Emerson is perfect,” Jason frowns. “You would be so lucky.”

“Do you see this,” Charlie says to Andrew before he returns his attention to Jason. “Listen, you should ask him out, before someone else does.”

That burning in Jason’s chest intensifies, and it occurs to him that it is, quite possibly, not heartburn. He thinks about Emerson and his little resting grumpy face. Emerson and his endless Lord of the Rings facts. Emerson and his toothy smile when Jason offers him a Dr. Pepper every day. Emerson and his beautiful red hair and kissable full lips. Emerson and his peanut butter sandwiches and quiet laugh. Emerson and his beautiful, brave heart.

Emmy. His Emmy.

“Oh shit,” Jason whispers, the sudden clarity staggering. “I have a crush on Emerson.”