“True.” Theo felt oddly hurt from this small rejection, and his mouth sharpened with cold superiority, protecting himself. But then he grinned, unguarded, looking over Jack’s tense body, and melted a little. “But honestly, I—you’re all right. I think I can put up with you.”

“Oh.” Jack softened, put one finger through that loop again, leaned over their basket, and kissed him. “Ditto.”

If Theo had known—well, no, he knew himself pretty well, and if he had known how badly Jack needed reassurance and praise, he would have tried to wreck him even more. And the temptation was always there, a leftover shard of their animosity. Jack had always seemed so proud, preening in the affection of his friends and teachers and coaches, and Theo had tried to find every gap in that armor to rip him apart. He hadn’t been able to stand the way the world seemed to bend around him. It was easy to belittle him for his lack of money, his worn clothes, because those were the only flaws he could access. He hadn’t understood, during their years at Gwynns, that Jack’s poverty was the smallest part of what had damaged him.

And he had loved to mock Jack’s relationship with Margaret because it did look so flawless and because—because he wanted it. He understood that better now, the bitter envy. Jack had seemed so content with her.

But this Jack, the Jack he knew so intimately—he blossomed with every kind word. He kept checking in, demanding affirmations, hoping that it was all true. That anyone could really care for him, for who he really was.

Theo—he wasn’t sure that he liked the fact that he did care so much.

He had fallen in too deep.

He cleared his throat. “Why do you keep putting in all these digestives, anyway?”

And now Jack blushed again. “You need to eat more,” he mumbled.

“I—”

“I think you’d forget to eat if I weren’t here.”

Theo’s mouth opened, as if he could respond and deny it, but he didn’t know what to say. It was true—before Jack had been here, he’d eaten only when he was so hungry that he was dizzy, and the world took on a gray tinge. It just—food didn’t seem that important until his body demanded it. What he craved wasn’t food.

He tried for a light tone. “You have some sort of feeding kink?”

Jack frowned at him, maybe a little angry. “Look, I—” He let go of Theo, took another step back. “I just know what it’s like to be—to not eat enough. I don’t like it when you do that, not when you have the option to eat properly.”

“Oh.” He felt a little warmth in his stomach and put his hand on Jack’s neck. Pressed their foreheads together. “All right.”