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7 EMERSON
With trembling hands, Emerson stares at the phone in his hand, hardly able to believe he actually texted Jason. Sure Jason gave him his number and said he could text him anytime, but that was an incredibly vague offer that Emerson had not intended to take him up on. Not because he didn’t want to text Jason, rather because the parameters of the offer were too vague for him to be sure how to go about.
He’d all but twisted himself up in knots inside when Arlo mentioned the game. In hindsight, half of the student body wearing spirit wear should’ve been a tip off, but it wasn’t until Arlo’s comment at the end of class that he put two and two together. He spent the next few hours winding himself up over whether it was a good idea. In the end, the memory of Jason’s dimpled smile and their time spent together at lunch was enough for Emerson to overcome his nerves and click send.
That momentary bravery is rewarded when his own phone, rarely used with only five contacts—three of which are work-related—buzzes beside him on the couch.
Jason
definitely no broken anything in football
but good luck is always appreciated
Emerson grips his phone tightly, embarrassed at his own smile and finds his reply coming with a swiftness that negates his ability to overthink.
Emerson
I don’t understand football enough to know how much is luck and how much is skill, but on the off chance you need both I’ll wish you both.
but good luck to you — today and every day
Looking up at his television he watches Gandalf stride across the screen. He’s seen this movie so many times he knows every scene by heart, the familiarity of it comforting in the deepest way. He watches it for a minute, subtitles on as always, when a thought occurs to him. Maybe Jason isn’t a Lord of the Rings fan. Maybe he won’t understand the reference.
Worried about the reception of his last message, he sends another text just to make sure.
Emerson
That’s a reference from Lord of The Rings. In case you didn’t catch it.
The Fellowship of the Rings to be exact.
Jason
afraid I did not catch that
but I haven't seen the movies since they came out
A frown mars Emerson’s features as he stares at his phone and starts rapidly tapping out a reply.
Emerson
Please tell me you’ve read the book?
Jason
if I say no will this end our new friendship?
Emerson
Well, it won’t end the friendship but I will be shocked. The book is amazing. I mean the movies are also amazing. The cinematography alone is a masterpiece. I’m watching it right now. But the book is better! The book is always better, Jason.
If you’ve only seen the movies then you don’t even know that when Frodo, Sam and Pippin are fleeing the Black Riders they run into the wandering company of Gildor, a Nildorian elf who keeps the hobbits safe! The elves even send the message along about them being pursued by the nine which is integral to the one ring making it all the way to Rivendell. I don’t know how the filmmakers thought something this crucial could be cut.
As soon as he hits send, he’s hit with a staggering wave of regret. His family always said he was too intense. Back home he used to watch the movies on his laptop in his bedroom rather than the family tv, because when he watched it in the living room they’d ask why he didn’t watch something different for once. That, or Landon would take the remote and fast forward through the good parts while telling Emerson he’d seen it enough times.
Over the years, he learned to pretend he liked things less than he did in order to avoid being judged and ridiculed for his hyperfixations. Yet here he is, finally making an actual friend for the first time in his adult life, and he’s gone and infodumped a mountain of text at Jason, about elves no less! Maybe this is why he doesn’t have friends. Maybe Landon was right. Maybe?—
Jason
which book is that in?
Emerson blinks at his phone, mouth agape. Jason isn’t making fun of him, or changing the subject. He’s asking a question. A question about something Emerson likes.
It’s probably pathetic. It’s definitely embarrassing, but something painfully tight unfurls in Emerson’s chest. He pulls his knees up to his chest, resting his chin on them as he tries to decide how to reply. He could give the short answer. He should give the short answer. But Jason did ask, which means he must be at least a little bit interested.
Emerson
It’s in Fellowship of the Ring, which is the first book. But you should really read The Hobbit first. Not that you’re offering to read the books now. Just in general. I know a lot of people think it’s just a little prequel that you can skip but it sets up the world perfectly. Besides, who wouldn’t want more of the Shire?
Jason
ive seen the hobbit it was good
but let me guess, not as good as the book?
Emerson bites the inside of his cheek so hard it almost bleeds, grateful there’s no one around to see the ridiculous smile on his face. It’s just a few texts, only it’s not just anything. Not to Emerson.
Emerson
Exactly. The book is so much better, Jason. But also the movies are masterpieces.
To Emerson’s intense relief, Jason is a quick texter, and his response is almost immediate.
Jason
ive never been much of a reader but your enthusiasm has me curious maybe ill check it out
also I wont be able to check my phone during the game in case you send more messages
but ill read them when I get home tonight
The text is simple enough, yet Emerson’s response is anything but. In one single message, Jason managed to show more consideration for Emerson than his family did his entire life. Not only letting Emerson know he isn’t being ignored, but that he won’t be bothering Jason if he sends more messages.
With a flustered huff, Emerson pulls on his hoodie and tugs the strings closed, feeling the inexplicable need to hide even in his own home. How is it that Jason could see his needs so clearly when no one else ever could? Is he like this with everyone? Even as Emerson thinks the question, he knows the answer. Of course he is. This is clearly why everyone he’s met at the school adores Jason. He’s thoughtful and kind and makes people feel safe.
Jason is a stupidly handsome, stupidly considerate human being, and it’s probably a good thing he’s straight, or Emerson might do something equally stupid and accidently fall in love with him. Given that he’s entirely off limits, Emerson doesn’t have the double-edged worry of being rejected romantically and platonically, which somehow makes the prospect of Jason’s friendship just a little bit less scary.
This is totally fine. Emerson can absolutely handle making a new friend, even with the most popular man at Santa Leon High. The thought makes Emerson laugh to himself as he smashes his body into the corner of the couch and cocoons into his weighted blanket.
Maybe this isn’t such a horrible idea after all. Maybe somewhere in Santa Leon there’s a future for Emerson after all. A happy one. The kind his mom would’ve wanted him to have.
Maybe, just maybe, he can be happy here.
* * *
Emerson is not happy.
The bus is late. Again. At this point, it would be more accurate to say the bus being on time is a fluke. He’s not sure why he didn’t take Jason up on his offer. They texted on and off all weekend, mostly about Lord of the Rings, to Emerson’s surprise. Given that Jason hasn’t read the books, he had an awful lot of questions, each of which Emerson answered in explicit detail.
Rather than be put off by the long texts, Jason would reply—sometimes quickly, sometimes not—with a question or a thought that made it clear he not only read the messages but was interested. More than once, Emerson thought about sneaking in a quick text taking Jason up on the offer for a ride. Except they weren’t talking about rides, they were talking about movies and books and at one point, though Emerson isn’t sure why, tacos.
Unsure how to segue the conversation, and worried he might come off as too clingy, he’d let their conversation come to a conclusion Sunday afternoon when Jason was taking his dogs on a walk. That was another thing Emerson learned. Jason has dogs. Two of them. Emerson very much wanted to meet them the second Jason mentioned them, but he didn’t voice the thought, unsure if that was in the realm of their friendship.
More than once growing up, he made those kinds of assumptions, and it usually ended up with him being ridiculed or losing friends who weren’t comfortable with Emerson’s intensity.
Turns out, having a friend is complicated. Or maybe, given how easy things are with Jason, the only one complicating things is Emerson’s brain.
Either way, he did not allow himself to ask Jason for a ride. Which is why instead of being seated in Jason’s comfortable truck with his handsome smile to start Emerson’s day, he is stuck at the bus stop next to a small child with a snotty nose, waiting on a late bus. The bus does in fact show up eventually, six minutes later than it’s supposed to be. Thankfully, that’s not horrible, all things considered, and not late enough to negatively affect his morning. At least that’s what he thinks until he gets to school and sees Jason’s truck already parked. The depth of irritation that Emerson feels about this is enough to have him aggressively spinning his fidget ring as he walks across campus.
Around him, students greet their friends, and various staff slowly stroll through the parking lot making morning small talk with other teachers. Emerson doesn’t linger. Aside from Jason, he’s yet to make any friends, possibly his own fault. He hasn’t even made it to lunch in the staff room or the cafeteria, preferring to hide away in his classroom. Nor has he attempted anything beyond a polite greeting with most of his coworkers. All of his mental energy has been directed towards settling into his new place and new job.
Sometimes he wonders what it’s like to approach new things with anticipation rather than anxiety. It seems impossible that anyone can do that, but Emerson knows some people can. It makes him kind of resent the fact that his own brain is hardwired to dread even the most mundane things, to the point he even avoids things he likes solely because transitions and potential unknowns often require more spoons than he has. Learning about the spoon theory after his autism diagnosis—something most often used by those with chronic illness and disabilities to discuss their limited energy—has greatly helped Emerson come to terms with the fact that many daily tasks take more out of him than his neurotypical peers.
Deep in thought, he makes his way to the front office. When he steps inside, Mabel isn’t at her desk and aside from a teacher whose name he forgets leaving the office after him, it’s otherwise empty. Breathing a sigh of relief that he won’t have to deal with any unwanted small talk this morning, he pulls his favorite pen from his pocket, the tip barely touching the sign in sheet when he hears a familiar voice filtering out from the small room just off Mabel’s desk. He knows it houses the office printers and fax machines along with a wall of cupboards filled with extra supplies. Mabel explained all this when she caught Emerson peeking in there last week.
“I’m not joking, Mabel, I wish I was.”
The sound of Jason’s deep voice has Emerson breathing deeper. He really does have a nice voice, the pitch of it unfairly soothing as is the cadence of his speech. He’s exaggerated and excited, which makes it easy to judge his moods and track the flow of conversation.
“You get yourself into so much trouble, Mr. King.”
“You say the sweetest things,” Jason laughs.
“Only you think trouble is sweet,” Mabel chastises. “Now get me that box there from the top, and tell me what happened next.”
“Are you sure you want to know? It’s pretty scandalous, Mabel. I don’t want to offend your delicate sensibilities.”
“Delicate sensibilities, my ass,” Mabel snorts. “You tell me the rest of the story before the bell rings, or I’ll add your name to the top of the volunteer yard duty rotation list.”
“Mabel Farwell, I am shocked.”
The sound of Mabel’s laughter fills the otherwise empty office. He shouldn’t be standing here listening to their conversation. He has no excuse aside from enjoying the sound of Jason’s voice, which is possibly not a thing most friends do, but then it’s not like Emerson has a lot of experience to compare it to. Jason says something too quiet for Emerson to make out, but it makes Mabel cackle and reminds Emerson that he is not special. While Jason’s friendship might mean more to Emerson than he wants to admit, even to himself, he knows it is probably just one in a million to someone like Jason, who is friends with everyone.
Wanting to get away before he’s caught, he hurries to scribble his name across the sign in sheet, adding the time when Jason steps out of the side office and Emerson forgets to disappear in favor of staring. Jason’s got on a short sleeve Santa Leon High t-shirt today, the dark hair on his forearms and muscles in his biceps on full display as he grips the large box Mabel must’ve wanted him to get. He’s freshly shaved, making the dimple in his chin more prominent when he smiles.
No matter how much Emerson might want to pretend he doesn’t have a tiny crush on his new—and only—straight friend, he most definitely does.
“After that debacle I ended up on the front porch locked out and Stella, the absolute menace that she is, yanked my towel off and ran,” Jason says with a shake of his head, stopping dead in his tracks when he catches sight of Emerson. “Hi Emerson.”
Jason says “Hi Emerson” with that relaxed grin of his, so clearly unbothered about being caught talking about his sexual escapades. Not that he should be ashamed. He’s an adult and can do whatever he wants. Emerson certainly has no room to judge. If he didn’t want to hear about something like this, he shouldn’t have eavesdropped. It’s none of Emerson’s business who Jason is involved with. Yet he can’t help but wonder who Stella is. Did Jason go on a date this weekend in between texting with Emerson?
Something uncomfortable churns in Emerson’s gut, and he doesn’t like it, not one bit.
“Good morning, Mr. Miller.” Mabel straightens the bright pink scarf tied around her neck, her smile firmly in place. “Can I help you with anything this morning?”
Emerson shakes his head, tapping his pen against the edge of the desk. He stops when he catches himself, clicking the pen shut before pocketing it. “I was just signing in.”
“You let me know if you need anything,” Mabel says, more of a statement than a question as she settles herself at her desk.
In the two weeks since Emerson started, she’s told him that at least a dozen times. Emerson has yet to take her up on it despite the fact that he has a laundry list of things he could use help with in his classroom. He’s pretty sure she’s just being polite and the majority of his issues aren’t anything the school is going to help with anyway.
“Put that box there on the floor so I can go through it later,” Mabel tells Jason, patting his arm. “Good man. What would I do without you?”
“Find someone else who can reach the top shelf probably.”
Mabel swats Jason’s arm, shaking her head. “You get out of here and stop causing me trouble so I can work.”
“You love me,” Jason grins, grabbing his cooler and backpack off the floor before nodding towards the front door. “Come on, Emerson.”
Relieved by the explicit direction, Emerson trails after Jason who reaches for the door and holds it open, allowing Emerson to easily slip under his outstretched arm. Given his height, it shouldn’t be so easy to do so, but Jason’s got nearly five inches on Emerson, making him feel small in a way he’s unused to. He was taller than his aunt and uncle, even taller than Landon who hated it. He’s used to being the tallest one in the room, to folding in on himself to avoid being noticed. Something about the way Jason’s body and personality take up space so he doesn’t have to is something Emerson doesn’t know how to make sense of. All he knows is he likes it, gravitating into Jason’s orbit as his earlier tension slowly bleeds away.
“You ready for another Monday?” Jason asks, falling into step beside Emerson.
“As ready as I can be,” Emerson answers. He must not do as good a job of hiding his own mess of emotions because Jason stops him with a hand to the shoulder. The touch is light enough Emerson could brush it off; he doesn’t. Because it’s Jason and it feels good, and Emerson is tired. Not from lack of sleep, tired in the way it’s hard to explain. Tired in the way he gets sometimes when his brain takes in too much, and all his energy is used to keep himself at the same base level other people seem to just exist at without trying.
Some days, he manages just fine, and other days, well other days the effort is herculean.
Jason gives his shoulder a gentle squeeze. “Was there a problem with the bus?”
“It was six minutes late,” Emerson says, frowning. He should stop. He knows he should stop. Were it anyone else, he wouldn’t have even answered, but this isn’t anyone else, it’s Jason. Who’s got those damn big brown eyes trained on Emerson like he’s the only person on this campus. He’s looking at Emerson like he cares what the answer is, and all of it just comes spilling out. “And there was a kid who kept crying, and she got snot on my pants, and I wanted to tell you good morning, but you were already gone because the bus was late and—” Emerson cuts himself off just before he adds the part about what he overheard about the woman who took Jason’s towel. He already sounds neurotic; he doesn't need to sound jealous too. Even if he is, just a little bit.
It’s not even that Emerson has a crush on Jason. Though, standing here staring at him basked in early morning sunlight, watching the way it glints off his pitch black hair, it’s impossible to deny. Physically, this man is exactly what Emerson would like: big, soft, kind. And painfully off limits. That’s fine. Emerson doesn’t even care about dating. He’d much rather have Jason’s friendship anyway. It’s just that his friendship isn’t a certain thing yet, not in the way Emerson’s brain needs it to be.
He knows Jason is his friend. It’s impossible not to because Jason makes sure he knows. What he doesn’t know is how deep the friendship is allowed to go. He’s never had many friends, and the few he’s had over the years always became strained when Emerson was too, well, Emerson. He’s always been too something for people. Too quiet. Too talkative. Too excited. Too stoic. Too intense. Too boring. Too rigid.
The last one has always been the biggest one. How many times growing up did he hear it? From teachers, from his cousin, from his aunt and uncle. The critique on his facial expressions, either too expressive or not expressive enough, or the commentary on his emotions when he felt things too strongly or somehow didn’t feel them at all.
Emerson, there’s no reason for you to be so upset, no one else is. Emerson, you need to calm down, people are staring. Emerson, you need to learn how to let things go, you’re taking this too seriously. Emerson, why can’t you like things a normal amount, you make things stressful for other people. Emerson, why can’t you just be different.
It took Emerson a very long time to realize maybe he wasn’t the problem. Maybe his family wanted him to fit into a box when he was a circle, not a square. Regardless, the damage was done and he hears their voices now, reminding him he needs to not overwhelm Jason. Except he doesn’t know how to be less, he never has. Which is exactly why it’s easier to avoid people entirely rather than try to mask. Emerson doesn’t do casual, in anything. Not in the books he loves or the movies he watches and certainly not in the people he enjoys. Not that there’s ever been very many. But when there is something he likes, something he loves, his hyperfocus takes over because Emerson has always been all or nothing, and right now he wants to be all with the giant of a man staring at him, like how he feels matters.
He wants to be all in with Jason, at least in regards to their friendship. He’s a lot of things, but delusional is not one of them. He reminds himself of this while tracking the way Jason’s school t-shirt clings to his body. He’s got muscles, that’s clear, but there’s a bit of softness at his belly and hips that Emerson suspects would feel very nice in a hug. A platonic hug.
This would all be so much easier if Jason weren’t so painfully, devastatingly handsome. He looks like someone out of a magazine, or a museum. Or maybe a movie star. He’s just so big that even at five-foot-eleven, Emerson has to tilt his head up to look him in the eye. Which is apparently a thing that makes Emerson’s pulse race. There’s also a steady countenance about him, a quiet strength in the way he carries himself. He looks like he could take on an Orc with his bare hands and win. He— oh no . No, no, no .
Under no circumstances is he going to go there. The last thing he needs to think about is how sexy Jason would look in an Aragorn costume.
Even now he can feel it, feel that compulsion in his brain where something he likes starts to change from a casual interest into a hyperfocus. Once that happens, Emerson is done for. There is no going back. No casual anything. In the past, this part of his brain has always been directed at things he could control, things he could hide, like books. Like his obsession with Lord of the Rings.
In all of his twenty-six years, he’s never felt his brain try to latch on to a person. But it is now, and if he isn’t careful, he’s going to scare Jason off with his intensity. He knows he is.
“Earth to Sunshine.”
“Sunshine?” Emerson murmurs.
“That got your attention,” Jason chuckles, “though judging by that cute little pinchy thing going on between your eyebrows, I’m going to go out on a limb and say it’s definitely one for the no column.”
As far as Emerson is concerned, he’s less like sunshine and more like the nimbostratus cloud that blocks the sunshine. Thankfully, Jason begins to talk again, sparing Emerson from having to figure out how to say that without upsetting Jason. It might not have been a nickname he’d stick with, but he likes that Jason is trying to find one and is loath to inadvertently stop Jason’s attempts by running his mouth.
“No worries, Emerson. I’ve got plenty more where that came from. We are going to figure out the perfect nickname for you if it kills me.”
“I prefer you alive.”
“Thanks.” Jason’s eyes crinkle at the corner. “I’m quite partial to this life of mine. I think?—”
“Watch out,” someone yells.
Emerson’s head swivels around just in time to see a football headed directly towards his face. He should duck, or move, but his body chooses this moment to freeze in panic. Emerson can do nothing but hope his face doesn’t break when Jason’s massive hand flies out to catch the ball one handed.
Various students whistle and scream, earning them one of Jason’s famous smiles. He pulls his arm back, launching the football across the quad in an impressive throw directly towards Matty who catches it, setting off a fresh round of cheering. When Jason returns his attention to Emerson, his expression softens.
“That was a close one.” He lifts his hand, the same one that stopped a football from hitting him in the face, and smooths back Emerson’s hair. Jason’s hands are so unlike his own, so much larger with a wide palm and thick fingers. It’s all Emerson can do not to shudder, an ache deep in his chest as he imagines how it might feel if his hand kept going, if it cupped the back of Emerson’s head.
Jason tips his chin down to study Emerson’s face. Usually he balks at this level of attention, but somehow coming from Jason it doesn’t trigger his nervous system’s fight or flight mode. Jason’s gaze doesn’t make him feel judged or unsafe—the opposite really—and with every second he keeps his attention focused solely on Emerson, some of his earlier tension fades.
“You good, Emerson?”
“Mhmm,” Emerson hums, unsure if his body is capable of speech when all his brain is thinking about is how big Jason’s hands are. “You—how?”
“Played in high school. Wide receiver,” Jason answers with a shrug. Emerson is certain that’s some kind of football position, but which one he has no idea. “Come on, I’ll walk you to class.”
Emerson doesn’t hesitate to follow, body thrumming with adrenaline from the near miss. Beneath that, something else simmers, but Emerson doesn’t have time to try and figure out what it means.