Chapter Text
"That's it," Luke says for about the fifth time, and Jess regards him with his eyebrows halfway up his forehead. He looks back at him, exasperated. "That's it, Jess! I've had enough of this ridiculous place! I mean, really, how many damn buildings are you gonna need?"
Jess smiles, continuing to walk along the route the map had told him to. Luke's right—the campus is a little confusing—but he has a feeling he doesn't really care about that all too much. The man's never been much of a good liar, and he can credit Lorelai's incredible obliviousness for never figuring out he's been in love with her for years, because he wears his emotions like flamboyant scarves. It almost scares Jess to admit it, but he's pretty sure Luke is proud—or something akin to it, anyway, that's got him beaming like that whenever he thinks Jess isn't looking.
Finally, he stops in front of the door, recognizing the name: Chase Hall. He doesn't know what to say, isn't sure how to… address it. He's never really had to say goodbye before—every time he's ever moved, he's been either a runaway or an escapee, never granted the right or given the room to bid anyone farewell.
Southern Connecticut State University. Jess's new home—or, rather, living quarters. He hasn't found a home yet, but he figures this can work as a temporary space. It's nearly impossible for him to come to grips with the fact that he's here—being a university student had never been in the cards for him before. It's new. It's a point he's never even bothered to dream about getting to, because there's no reason why he ever would. Well, there was no reason why he ever would.
He looks at Luke, some rising sense of apprehension and emotion close enough to overpowering him that he figures it's his cue to be some kind of asshole again. "You're not gonna miss me, are you?"
Luke waves his hand dismissively. "Are you kiddin'? The party's tonight, and no, you're not invited."
They share a brief laugh, but it hangs over them, what this is. The weight of it. Jess knows he's always welcome back at the diner—Hell, he's probably gonna visit every weekend considering Rory's gonna drag him over. Still, pretty much everything he owns of importance is in the suitcase and duffel that he and Luke are carrying between them, and there's no… reason to go back. To actually stay in the apartment instead of swinging by for a little bit. Luke knows it. He knows it. He doesn't know what the procedure is supposed to be.
"I'm… I think I left a couple CDs back at the apartment," Jess says, scratching the back of his neck. "Remembered where I put them on the drive over. I'll, uh, probably get them this weekend."
"You're free to come stay whenever you want, Jess," Luke says, and for once, there isn't a shred of irony in his voice, in his face. He's being sincere, and warm while he's at it. It's almost enough to make Jess throw up.
I don't deserve this, he thinks, as he takes the duffel from Luke and pushes down the door handle. "I'll see you this weekend."
"Jess," Luke sighs, and he turns, the door slightly-open. He can hear a stereo blasting inside—just bass, not enough for him to figure out what it is.
"Yeah?"
"I'm proud of you. Of this."
Jess pauses in the doorway, half-tempted to throw everything on the ground and get in his car, get away before he can commit to all this, figure it all out on the road. Run away, run away. He thinks the urge will never leave him.
"Okay," he says, at a loss for a better response. Luke smiles, giving him a quick nod before he starts off, back out of the campus. That's where Rory and Lorelai would've hugged—no, Lorelai probably would've come in, first, and maybe tried to mess with a couple college boys before they would've hugged and cried. Hell, Lorelai may well not leave.
He's glad Luke isn't clingy; it would make things a lot harder for him in case he has to fall back on one of his contingency plans.
Chase Hall is twice as big as Jess had expected, and already rather populated. There's a few people gathered on the couch, some chatting, some reading. He rushes past them, trying not to look at any faces, trying his best to ignore the rising feeling of non-belonging as he gets to his dorm room.
"Hey."
His roommate's sitting cross-legged on one of the two beds in the room, his back pressed against the wall that has the window in it. Jess spies a familiar cover in his hands, and when one of his fingers budge up just a little bit, he recognizes it as Little Women.
It's almost comedic, how instantly relief floods him. He'd teased Rory for her anxiety about roommates, but he'd been panicking himself—he hadn't known how he'd deal with a jock or an uber-nerd or some kind of health freak. But judging by the book, he's not a jock, and judging by the unorganized pile of books on the adjacent desk, he's not an uber-nerd, and judging by the fact that he's got an empty bag of chips already sitting next to him, he's not a health nut. Jess exhales, shutting the door behind him and dropping the duffel onto the unoccupied bed.
"Hey, yourself, Jo March."
He keeps his voice relatively monotone, but the guy's face breaks into a smile, goofy and a little lopsided. Jess figures he'd probably like him if he gives him a chance, but he's afraid of the other option.
"I'm Matthew," the guy says, tossing aside the book and sliding out of bed. "Sorry if you wanted to pick a bed or anything—"
"Don't care," Jess shrugs, setting his suitcase down on his bed and unzipping it. "You care where I put my clothes?"
"Not as long as they're separate from mine," Matthew shrugs, and Jess can feel his eyes on him as he gathers up most of his clothes and dumps it all into the right end of the closet. "You got a name?"
Right. "Jess." He manages a half-smile, hoping he comes off more as uncaring than petrified. He isn't sure he's succeeded at either when Matthew crosses the room and swings open the door.
"I got a couple more friends on this floor, you wanna meet 'em?"
"Pass," Jess shrugs, now picking up an armful of his books and scattering them across the unoccupied desk. He can organize them later—for now, the priority is to make sure everything is out of his suitcase and in the room. Like he's taking up as much space as possible, like he's promising the damn university that he's here to stay. He's not a fuck-up anymore—well, not as much, anyway.
Matthew hesitates in the doorway, then nods and leaves. Jess sighs to himself, zipping the suitcase back up and dropping it unceremoniously on the floor to make room for him flopping down into the bed. It's comfortable—well, more comfortable than the bed at Luke's, anyhow.
He pulls out his cell, a small smile playing on his lips as he makes good on his promise. The phone barely rings before there's an excited voice on the other end, widening his smile significantly.
"Jess?" There's the faintest bit of uncertainty in her voice, and he rolls his eyes, unable to fight off the smile that's threatening to take over his entire face.
"No, this is Southern Connecticut State University administration, calling to let you know that Jess Mariano is—"
He can barely get through the sentence before Rory's laughing, effectively cutting him off. "Oh, you're a regular prankster, aren't you?"
"I try, I try," Jess says, tossing his jacket towards the foot of his bed and sinking comfortably into the mattress.
"Yes, yes—now, tell me all about it!"
"Well, I just got into my room, so there's not much to tell. I think Luke cried on his way out, though."
"Oh, I'm sure he was just blubbering," Rory says, and Jess can hear the smile in her voice, feels a little proud of himself for pulling it out of her. "Did you meet your roommate?"
"Yes, but it's nothing as exciting as Paris Geller and the shrink," he warns, managing to bring another laugh out of her. "He was reading Little Women when I got here."
"Ooh, that's a good sign!"
"As long as he stays out of my business, I don't really care what he's like."
"Jess," she sighs, and she's got that tone that tells him that there's an Expectation (capital 'e') incoming. "You might as well make some new friends, y'know."
"Sorry, what was that? F…fries? Fiends, was it?"
"Oh, ha ha, you're a real riot."
He can sense the puppy-dog-eyes, even through the call, so he elects to concede early. "I'll try to make some friends."
"Promise? And you'll try to befriend Beth March?"
"Promise, and I think he's more of a Jo."
"I always thought I was more of a Jo," Rory says, sounding rather thoughtful.
"No, you are more of a Beth."
The door swings open, Matthew barging in with a grin. "Alright, man, you're gonna come fraternize."
Jess tries to wave him off, hearing Rory say something indistinct on the other end. "Sorry, what was that?"
"Everything okay?"
"Come on," Matthew insists, getting his hands under Jess's shoulderblades and trying to push him out of bed. "Meet the neighbors! We're playing pool."
Jess allows himself to be moved out, mostly because he doesn't want to get into a fight within the first few minutes of being here. "I'm being forcibly escorted outside by Jo March."
"Who is that, girlfriend?" Matthew asks.
"Who is that, Jo?" Rory asks.
"Yes, and yes," Jess says, sidestepping Matthew before he can be pushed out of the room. He glances outside, seeing a couple of laughing figures waiting around the pool table. One of them—tall, wickedly curly hair, oversized jacket—makes a hand gesture at Matthew, who returns it with a shrug. And next to oversized jacket guy—
He curses as he stumbles over the threshold of the room, not watching where he's being pushed by Matthew.
"Jess? You okay?" Rory sounds concerned, and Jess isn't sure how to respond for a few moments.
"I'm good, but I—hey, I'll call you back tonight, okay?"
"Okay, but are you okay?"
"Worse than Paris," Jess mutters, before he hangs up.
Because, in front of him, setting up the balls for a game of pool, is Dean Forester.
"Forester," he says before he can stop himself. Dean looks up from the table, and Jess catches the exact moment where Dean's expression freezes completely.
"Oh, good, you know each other?" Matthew chirps, clearly oblivious to the tension. "That's really great, because Chris over here and I've known each other for…"
Jess tunes him out entirely as he continues to stare at Dean, his chest tightening. This can't be real. Or rather, of course this is real. His great, fresh new start—new friends, Rory had said—all a joke, everything in his fucking life is a joke.
He’s been improving, lately. No stray thoughts; he’s been happy with Rory, and if his relationship with Lorelai is of any indication, he’s actually been a halfway-decent socialite of late. He’s managed to console Luke on account of the whole accepted-into-a-good-college thing, and while the town still treats him like a fucking pariah on the whole, it’s been… manageable. No fights. Less smoking.
And, as he’s sure everyone’s been aware, even if no one’s pointed it out—it’s all because of Dean. Or rather, the lack thereof. He’s been pointedly not running into him, though whether that’s been his own work or Dean’s is impossible to tell. As a result, though, he’s actually been feeling… not broken. Like maybe there isn’t anything horribly wrong with him, like maybe he can live a life that’s halfway decent despite his… predicament.
But no: one look at Dean and everything else seems to pale in comparison. Even Rory—wonderful Rory, beautiful Rory, brilliant Rory—blends into the background, right where she had been before he’d started getting his shit together.
He hates that he’s like this. He hates that he was ever shipped off to Stars Hollow, hates that he got a taste of a normal life, one where he’s only slightly an outcast; hates that he has to bear it, hates that he has to keep his head down or fear it gets lopped off. He hates all of it. He wishes he could be normal. He wishes he could’ve grown up someplace where he didn’t have to wish he could be normal.
“Why the hell are you here?” Dean says, and he says why, but Jess can hear that he means how. It shouldn’t hurt, especially coming from him of all people, but—maybe because of how much time he’s spent getting used to not seeing him, maybe because of how much time he’s spent accepting his feelings—it stings like a motherfucker.
“Why are you here? Not like there’s anything in it for a sports scholarship for you, yeah?” He should regret it the moment it leaves his mouth, before he even finishes thinking it, but instead he takes some perverse glee in seeing the way Dean’s expression shifts for just a brief, infinitesimal moment. It’s barely noticeable. Maybe he and Rory are the only ones who could notice it.
He and Rory and Lindsay. Christ, he’s going to get fucking married. He keeps forgetting—not that he’s been mulling it over—and it keeps sending the same rising panic through him each time he remembers. He isn’t sure if it’s because he feels like he’s running out of time or because it’s never even occurred to him that it’s something he could do. Get married. To a woman. He tries to imagine Rory in a wedding gown and comes up short—not because she wouldn’t be beautiful in one, but because he can’t think of a single man in the entire damn world who could deserve her.
Certainly not him.
“Hey, uh… everything cool?” Matthew’s obliviousness is almost admirable. Jess can’t tell if it’s idiocy or optimism and doesn’t know where the line blurs.
“Just fine,” Jess mutters, looking away from his fucking face. God, does he hate how much taller he is than him. As if a single word out of his mouth has ever been threatening. As if it matters—Dean could still reduce him to a pulp.
Chris, who seems at least a little more shrewd, even if he’s clearly trying to smooth over the kind of tension that’s knotted into the surroundings, clears his throat. He’s holding a cue—entirely incorrectly, but still holding it—with another behind him, leaning against the wall. “Game?”
Dean does that transformation he always does when he’s faced with anyone that’s not Jess. Goes from looking like he’s just eaten a lemon from hell to someone you could introduce to Grandma during Thanksgiving. “Yeah, sure, but only if you can figure out what it is we’re playing.”
Jess clenches his teeth when he’s offered a cue, taking it a little more firmly than necessary and standing next to Matthew. He watches as Dean helps Chris, arms reaching around either side of him. His stomach roils, the taste of bile scalding the back of his throat. He wishes he’d never come here. He needs to call Rory, because Rory always keeps the thoughts at bay, one way or another. Rory, his one form of impulse control; Rory, who deserves so much better. Better than anything he’s ever going to be capable of giving her.
He glances up at the ceiling, aware for the first time of other voices in the place, laughter and arguing and discussion. The sounds of intellect and stupidity alike. He’s in college, and all he can think about is how he wishes he wasn’t.