Re: Tory & Jamie: the Apartment
Jamie hadn't been like, wunderkind. He'd been good, which for a boy was better than a girl, who had to be spectacular to get anywhere. He'd been potential, which was kinda the point, the frustration, the eliding of old passion and motivation and determination into nothing, the copious blank space of futility. There was no one to tell him he was good, or he had promise. The promise was kinda dried up, even if he did clock enough ballet classes that his knee ached semi-permanently, and the guys asked him reasonably regularly about trying out for something.
But yeah, relationships - Jamie's sucked. He was hazy, tequila lurching warm and steady and mulching the rancid block of anger that had been heavy in his gut, into liquid, and he was kinda okay with the reckless, friendly nature of inviting a stranger into his apartment and teaching him the basics of ballet barre, and Tory's giggling thing? Was sort of charming, in a weirdly young way that took all the possibility of intimidation over the guy's smarts right out of the way. Jamie laughed with him, a little. It was kind of indulgent, and kind of amused and a little silly, because the whole thing was ridiculous, and Tory was biting his lip like concentration could make physical coordination when you were half-way to like, wasted on tequila, a thing.
And yeah, predictably, the guy went down. It was trying to restart half-way that did it, Jamie threw out a hand, laughing so hard he couldn't breathe to try to say stop, because yeah, he knew how it would play before Tory ended on his ass. "Maybe you should stop drinking tequila shots. No more Tokyo for you," he said, amused, and he held out a hand to haul the guy up and yeah, Jamie liked the guy. Maybe it was rooting through a memory that was as important as an old photograph rather than one the guy had forgotten about, maybe it was the guy's willingness to give in to ridiculous. It felt young, and kinda okay, and Jamie held out a hand and decided like, right there, that even if the original intent had been spur of the moment, and curiosity over whether a three-year dry-spell would turn into take-up of an offer he kinda hadn't even meant all that much before he'd seen Tory, he found the guy affable, and a little silly, and his company was easy, despite the ridiculous smarts.
"So we've worked out you're not like, a dance prodigy when drinking," Jamie's grip was surprisingly strong, if Tory took it. He'd spent like, the last decade learning to throw 90 pounds of girl around, so it was probably self-evident, but. "I like the socks," he'd decided, with the immediacy and effortlessness of being half-way to wasted himself, and he grinned.