Swing for the Fences
by Little Buddha
Chapter 5
The rest of the day passed in a haze of classes, hallway chatter, and a tennis practice so intense I was sure my legs would never forgive me. By the time I got back to the dorm to change for dinner, I was drenched in sweat and half-asleep on my feet.
Jack was already there.
He sat cross-legged on his bed, a sketchbook propped on one knee, one earbud in. He didn't look up when I came in, just kept dragging a charcoal pencil across the page with fast, practiced strokes. There were smudges on his fingers and a light dusting of black on his cheek, like he'd forgotten he was touching his face.
"Hey," I said, peeling off my tennis shirt. "Dinner soon. Want to come with me?"
He paused, pencil still for a beat. Then: "Nah. I'm not in the mood. I'll just grab something from the Grab-N-Go later."
"You sure?"
He nodded, still not looking at me. "Yeah. Just tired. Got stuff."
"You want me to pick you up something then? Cheese pizza? A sandwich? Hot dog?" I asked hopefully
"Nah, I'm good. But thanks."
I didn't press. But after I took a quick shower, I pulled on a clean shirt and tossed my sweaty clothes in the hamper, I kept watching him from the corner of my eye. His shoulders looked tense. Not like they had that morning – when we were half-asleep and warm and tangled up in a way I still hadn't fully processed – but like he'd folded back in on himself again.
I thought about asking him what he was drawing. Thought about sitting beside him. Thought about hugging him. But I didn't. Maybe I should have.
"I'll see you later," I said instead.
He gave me a little wave without looking up.
As I made my way across campus to the dining hall, the guilt kept tugging at me. Maybe I should go home for the weekend. Get a reset. See my mom. Be normal. But then again… Jack would be here. Alone. And even if he said he was fine, something told me he wasn't. Not really.
But if I stayed, there'd also hopefully be more time with Noah.
The thought made my stomach flutter in that now-familiar, confusing way. Part nerves, part… hope? But lingering in the back of mind was still this question of Noah or Jack? Jack or Noah? Neither had said they were gay, but there were definite signals. Signals that were hard to ignore. I kind of felt like Bella from Twilight , "Team Jacob" or "Team Edward." Which team was I going to be? At least neither of my crushes were likely to rip my to shreds or drink my blood.
When I got to the dining hall, I spotted them right away – Noah, Mark, and Emery – already halfway through their trays and mid-laughter about something.
"What'd I miss?" I asked as I slid into the seat beside Noah.
"You missed one of the most revolting things to ever happen in this school," Mark said, eyes wide with awe. "Like, we may never emotionally recover."
I blinked. "What does that even mean?"
"No, brace yourself," Emery said, already breath-laughing. "Mason Haynes weaponized a protein shaker bottle – but scientifically ."
Mark nodded. "Yeah. He filled it with warm canned oysters, two rotten eggs, sardine oil, a rancid fish, expired yogurt, and some expired chocolate milk that was already turning into a solid. He even managed to get his hands on some Surströmming , a very strongly fermented Swedish canned herring. They won't even let it on airplanes because of its propensity to explode. But when you're rich like Mason, you can get your hands on just about anything. They say it is the foulest stench known to man."
"Oh my God," I muttered, already gagging.
"And then," Noah said, wiping tears from his eyes, "he left it under a heat lamp in the biology lab all weekend."
"Who even thinks like that?" I asked, equal parts horrified and impressed.
"When Mr. Cleary came in on Monday," Mark continued, "he opened the door, and before he even stepped inside, the smell physically staggered him . Like, hand-to-chest, gasp-for-air, nearly-puked staggered."
"He turned gray," Emery added. "I swear to God, gray. Like TV static."
"They had to evacuate the whole hallway," Noah said. "Custodial staff showed up in hazmat suits. Someone actually pulled the fire alarm."
"There were flies ," Mark whispered. " Flies , dude."
I buried my face in my hands. "Please tell me Mason got caught."
"Oh, he did," Emery said, still cackling. "Said it was for science. A quote-unquote 'biological experiment in olfactory warfare.'"
I was laughing so hard I had to set my fork down. "That's foul. Completely disgusting. And kind of genius."
"Legendary," Mark confirmed.
I felt Noah's knee brush mine under the table, and the world quieted a little. He leaned in just slightly. God, I wanted to touch him so badly. Just to run my hard across his smooth face and stare into those beautiful, captivating eyes.
"So," he said, his voice lower now, more casual. "You sticking around this weekend?"
I nodded. "Yeah. I was thinking of going home, but… I don't think I want to."
He nodded, like he'd hoped I'd say that. "There's a movie trip Saturday. A bunch of people are going."
"Oh, cool," I said, trying not to sound too eager.
He gave me a little smile – soft, maybe even a little shy. "You should come. We could go together."
Together.
He didn't say it like it was a group thing. Not exactly. And he didn't look away when he said it. He just held my eyes and let the silence do the rest.
My heart skipped a beat. "Yeah," I said. "I'd really like that."
He looked pleased. Not cocky. Just… content. Like the moment had landed the way he wanted it to.
Across the table, Mark and Emery had moved on to arguing about who was worse at calculus, but I barely heard them.
Noah nudged my foot with his under the table – just once, just lightly – and my whole chest lit up.
"So, it's a date?" he whispered.
"It's a date," I confirmed.
Whatever this was becoming, I didn't have words for it yet. But I was going on a date ! My first date ever!
I could hardly contain myself!
That night, during prep, Jack barely said a word.
No random movie trivia. No absurd hypotheticals about whether octopuses had souls. Just silence and the faint scratch of his pencil as he worked through what looked like geometry problems. It was so unlike him that I kept glancing over, waiting for some snarky comment or weird outburst to break the tension.
But it didn't come.
I stared at the same paragraph of my history reading for what felt like ten minutes before finally breaking the quiet. "Hey," I said. "Just so you know, I'm staying this weekend. Thought maybe we could hang out or something."
Jack didn't look up. "Cool."
That was it. One word. Flat.
My stomach sank. After everything – the quiet movie night, waking up wrapped around each other, that sleepy little "just a few more minutes" – I thought we were… maybe not super close yet, but at least getting there. Heading toward something more than just cohabiting semi-friends. The truth was, I wanted close. I wanted best-friend close. The kind of friendship where we could talk about anything, laugh at dumb inside jokes, crash in each other's beds without thinking twice. I wanted someone to turn to when things got hard, someone who'd turn to me too. I wanted all of that – and I wanted it with him.
But now he was cold again. Distant. Like I'd imagined it all.
I watched him underline something in his textbook and then rub his eyes, hard, like he was trying to push something out of his head.
I didn't know what to say. What to do .
When prep ended, I grabbed my towel and shower caddy and headed to the bathroom, letting the hot water pound against the back of my neck until my thoughts started to unravel a little.
I didn't go back to the room right away.
Instead, I stopped by Noah's.
He was stretched out on his bed, barefoot and in a rumpled tee, scrolling on his phone. When he saw me, he smiled and scooted over.
"Roomie troubles?" he asked, half-joking.
"Kinda," I said, sitting down beside him. "Jack's just… off. Still."
Noah nodded. "He's been through some stuff, I think. Might take him a while."
I picked at a loose thread on the hem of my shorts. "I just thought… I don't know. That we'd turned a corner."
"Well," Noah said, stretching, "people are weird. Especially boys our age. Especially boys who sleep in only their boxers."
I laughed under my breath.
"Speaking of weird boys," he added, "my roommate's out right now. Plotting revenge."
I blinked. "Revenge?"
Noah grinned. "Yeah. Someone in Benton spiked his body wash with dog shit. Like literal, from-the-ground, unrecycled dog shit. They mixed it up with water and hand lotion to get the right consistency."
"Oh God ," I groaned. "That's… actually evil."
"It's kind of a thing here," he said with a shrug. "The prank wars. They get creative. And disgusting."
I shuddered. "I really hope no one ever picks me as a target."
"Well," Noah said, bumping his shoulder against mine, "you've got me. I'll warn you if something's coming."
"Good to know," I said, smiling before I could stop myself.
We spent the next half hour just talking – about stupid stuff mostly. Favorite books, our worst teachers, whether pineapple belonged on pizza (Noah said yes, which made me question everything). He was easy to be around. Effortless. Every time I looked at him, it felt like the world slowed down just a little. And I always caught him looking at me, smiling. It made me feel giddy . All I could think about was hugging and kissing him. I had It bad.
By the time I headed back to my room, I felt more like myself again. Calmer. Steadier.
Jack was already in bed when I got back.
The lamp on his nightstand was on, casting a warm glow across the room. He was lying on his back in just his boxers, as usual, reading something on his tablet, earbuds in. He didn't look over when I entered.
I changed quickly, peeled off my shirt, climbed into bed, and turned off the main light. The room fell into a soft hush, lit only by the pale blue glow of our screens. I scrolled aimlessly through my watchlist, not really absorbing any of it.
I thought about saying something – Are you okay? or What's going on with you?
But the words sat heavy in my throat.
What if he just blew me off again? What if I pushed too hard?
So, I said nothing. I picked a movie, popped in one earbud, and tried to focus.
A few minutes passed.
Then I heard the soft creak of a mattress. Footsteps. A pause.
And without a word, Jack climbed into my bed.
He didn't say anything. Didn't ask. Just slid under the blanket and settled beside me, resting his head against my shoulder the same way he had the night before.
I froze – just for a moment.
"I wish I knew what was going on in that head of yours," I whispered to him.
"No, you don't, Nick. It's a screwed-up place."
Finally, I let myself exhale and wrapped my arm around him, slowly, gently, and then pulled him even closer. His skin was warm, his hair slightly damp from his own shower, and he nestled in without hesitation, like this was just... normal now.
My heart beat loud and fast in my chest.
I didn't understand him. At all.
But whatever this was, whatever it meant – I wasn't going to pull away, because it sure felt amazing. In fact, like with Noah, all I could think about was hugging and kissing Jack.
I was in a real bind. Of course, it didn't help that I didn't even know if Jack was gay. Noah definitely gave off the gay vibes, but Jack was a mystery.
And as I stared up at the ceiling in the dark, my arms wrapped tightly around Jac, I couldn't help thinking about Noah. About maybe doing this with him someday – falling asleep beside him, holding him close, knowing it meant something.
And then the doubts crept in.
What if I was wrong?
What if I was just reading too much into all of it?
I closed my eyes and held Jack tighter, but my mind stayed tangled in a different kind of longing.
Friday felt like it would never end.
I must've looked at my watch a dozen times during every single class. It was like time had decided to crawl just to mess with me. My pencil taps got faster, my foot bounced under the Harkness table, and even my teachers started giving me that look . The one that says: Please, for the love of God, stop fidgeting.
I couldn't help it.
Somehow, I'd made it through my first full week at Harrison West – through orientation, homesickness, early mornings, the whirlwind of new people, a complete emotional implosion from my roommate, and whatever weird closeness had been sparked with Noah and Jack. All of it. And now the weekend was finally within reach.
At lunch, I sat with Noah, Emery, and Mark again. Conversation was lighter than usual. Everyone seemed a little tired, a little restless in that end-of-week way, like we were all collectively running on caffeine and anticipation.
"So, what do you guys usually do on weekends?" I asked, trying to sound casual.
"Sleep," Mark said immediately.
"Catch up on work we ignored all week," Emery added.
Noah smirked. "Depends who you ask. A lot of the older guys sneak off campus. There's this performing arts school not far from here – some of them meet up with girls there. Or they go to parties, smoke weed, hook up, whatever."
I blinked. "Wait—like, actual parties?"
"Oh yeah," Noah said. "Off-campus houses, lake bonfires, empty faculty cabins in the woods if someone swipes a key. It's a whole underground thing."
"That feels... insane ," I said. "Don't they get caught?"
"Sometimes," Mark said. "Then it's chapel speeches and phone calls home. If they're caught with alcohol and drugs, then it's a one-way ticket home, although that's not always enforced, especially with the jocks."
"Or, you know," Emery said, "hospital visits for alcohol poisoning."
I stared at my sandwich. "Great. Looking forward to that."
Noah grinned and nudged me under the table with his foot. "Don't worry. Stick with us, you'll survive."
"You never answered what you like to do on the weekends," I said to Noah.
He shrugged his shoulders. "Hang out with my friends, go on dates sometimes, that kind of stuff."
Mark and Emery glanced at each other and chuckled when they noticed how hard I was blushing.
After my last class and another brutal round of tennis practice, my body ached in that satisfying way – exhausted but earned. I headed back to the dorm for a shower and a few minutes to just breathe before dinner. Maybe even satisfy some personal urges if Jack wasn't around. That was one of the trickier parts of living at a boarding school – finding the time and a place for a little "self-love."
Jack was there when I got back. Sitting on his bed, still in his uniform, scrolling on his phone with his headphones in. He glanced up for a second when I walked in, gave me a noncommittal nod, then looked back down.
Well, there goes that plan , I thought.
I changed, showered, toweled off. Still nothing.
It made my blood boil.
I dried my hair, pulled on a hoodie, and stood there watching him for a minute, fists clenched without realizing it.
"Okay, seriously," I snapped.
He looked up, annoyed. "What?"
"What the hell is going on with you?"
He pulled out one earbud. "What are you talking about?"
"This!" I said, voice rising. "The silence. The weirdness. I don't get it. One night we're basically cuddling and falling asleep together, and the next you act like I don't exist!"
He stared at me, unmoving.
"You think I don't notice?" I continued, heart pounding. "You shut me out all day, you say nothing to me during prep, and then you don't even care enough to lie when I ask what's wrong?"
"I'm not your responsibility," Jack said flatly.
"That's not what I said!"
"Well, maybe I don't want you hovering over me like I'm about to break again!"
"I'm not hovering, I'm trying to be your friend! " I yelled.
"I never asked you to be."
The words hit hard – harder than I expected.
I stared at him. "Wow. Okay."
He stood up now, eyes flashing. "You think I need some golden boy savior to fix me? Just because I had one bad night?"
"That's not what this is, and you know it!"
"Do I?" Jack said bitterly. "Because you've been watching me like I'm a damn science experiment ever since. Like if you just do the right thing, I'll magically be normal and grateful and – what? Confess all my secrets to you?"
I took a step forward, breathing hard. "You don't get it. I'm not trying to fix you. I just thought we were… I thought we were something. And if we're not, if it was all just in my head, fine. But at least say it. Don't pretend none of it happened."
Jack's expression flickered for the first time – pain, maybe, or guilt.
"You can't say there's nothing between us when you've come crawling into my bed several nights now and you want to be held. There's obviously something you want or need, so why don't you just tell me instead of playing these games with me," I practically shouted.
Jack's expression changed entirely. From standoff-ish to meek and scared in a matter of seconds. "I don't know how to do this, Nick," he muttered. "I don't know how to be friends. I don't know how to express how I feel or how to put it into words. No one ever has taken the time to want to listen to what I have to say anyway."
"Then learn! " I snapped. "Start small. Talk to me. Don't shut me out and act like I'm crazy for caring. Because you obviously have to know by now that I care about you or I wouldn't be trying so hard and getting so frustrated. I just want to be real friends with you. It shouldn't be this complicated!"
He exhaled hard, dragging a hand through his hair, his face red now. "I'm trying , Nick. I swear I'm trying. But I'm not like you."
"No," I said, chest tightening. "You're not. Because I don't go around lashing out at the people who give a damn about me."
We stood there, both breathing hard, the silence sharp and ugly between us.
Jack finally looked down. His voice was lower now. "I do want to be your friend. I just… really don't know how. It's complicated."
I didn't answer right away. I was too angry, too hurt, and too confused by the way my heart still ached for him even after everything.
Then, just as I was about to speak, he added, "But Nick... Noah isn't who you think he is."
My entire body stiffened.
"What?"
"He's not a good guy."
I stared at him. "What the hell is that supposed to mean?"
Jack shrugged, but there was something defiant in his eyes. "You'll figure it out."
My jaw clenched. "You don't know anything about him."
"You don't either," he shot back.
That was it.
I couldn't take it anymore. The anger, the contradiction, the weird mix of care and cruelty that always seemed to pour out of Jack like a leak he couldn't plug.
I groaned, grabbed my phone, and stormed out the door without another word.
I needed dinner.
I needed space.
And more than anything, I needed someone to make sense.
At least I got all of that off my chest, though, and that made me feel a little relieved, and now he knew where I stood. Whether he would do anything with that, well, we'd have to wait and see. But God I hope he did, because despite the endless amount of frustration that Jack seemed to cause, I still really, really liked him.
Dinner was quiet.
It was taco night, which was unusual in that it was much nosier and crowded than previous meals, with stray pieces of ground beef, lettuce, tomatoes, and taco shells strewn across the floor. I sat with Noah, Mark, and Emery, but I wasn't really with them. I was still fuming.
Every time I thought about Jack's voice – flat, accusatory – telling me that Noah wasn't a good guy, I wanted to scream. Who the fuck did he think he was? What gave him the right to say something like that?
I stabbed at my taco with my fork until it collapsed into a sad pile of ground beef and shredded lettuce.
"You good?" Emery asked from across the table.
"Fine," I muttered.
Mark tilted his head. "You seem pissed."
"I said I'm fine."
They exchanged a glance but didn't press. I was grateful. And also kind of wished they had.
After dinner, as we dumped our trays and headed out, Noah nudged my shoulder with his. "You want to hang out again after prep?"
I hesitated. My mood was trash, and the last thing I wanted was to drag Noah down with me. We'd been hanging out a lot the last few days. I really liked it. And I needed it.
But then I remembered Jack's face. The weird mixture of guilt and defiance in his voice. And I thought – no way . I wasn't going to let him screw this up too. Whatever was happening between me and Noah? It mattered. It felt real. And it wasn't Jack's to mess with.
"Yeah," I said. "Sure."
Back in our room, prep dragged on.
Yes, even on a Friday night, we had to sit at our desks for two full hours under the pretense of catching up on homework. Hall monitors made random rounds, making sure we weren't playing games or texting or sleeping. Or, in my case, murdering my roommate.
Not that I was doing any of those things. I was just... stewing.
The tension in the room was like wet wool. Heavy. Scratchy. Impossible to ignore.
Jack didn't say a word. Neither did I.
I could feel his presence beside me, could hear the occasional page turn or pen scratch, but it all felt forced – like we were both pretending this wasn't unbearable.
The moment the clock hit nine, I slammed my book shut and stood up like the chair was on fire. I didn't say anything. Didn't look back.
I just left.
When I got to Noah's room, I knocked lightly.
"Hey," he said, opening the door. "Bad news – my roommate's back. Still working on his revenge plot. I think it involves rotten pig guts, a humidifier, and fake fart spray."
I blinked. "That's… diabolical."
"He's been testing airflow patterns with a mini fan all night," Noah said, deadpan. "I think he's trying to simulate scent distribution."
His roommate, across the room, was hunched over his desk like a mad scientist, scribbling something on a folded piece of graph paper.
Noah gave me a helpless look. "Wanna go outside?"
"Yeah," I said. "Please."
We walked across the quad and found a small patch of trees near the back of the science building. The air was cool and smelled like leaves and cut grass. I sat on the ground, cross-legged, the chill biting into my skin through my thin gym shorts and t-shirt.
Noah looked at me for a second, then pulled off his sweatshirt and handed it to me.
"Here," he said. "You're shaking."
I hesitated for a second – something about taking it felt intimate – but I slipped it on. It was warm and soft and smelled faintly like his body spray. Or maybe like him.
We sat in silence for a few minutes, just listening to the wind rustle through the branches.
"You want to talk about it?" he asked eventually.
I picked at the hem of the sweatshirt. "Not really."
He waited.
I sighed. "Jack and I got into it. Like... really into it."
Noah nodded slowly. "Makes sense. He's... intense. There were rumors last year that he had some mental health issues. I feel bad for him. It must be tough dealing with that hehre."
I looked over at him. "You know him?"
"Just in passing. He's not exactly a people magnet."
I gave a humorless laugh. "Yeah. I thought we were getting somewhere. Then today he just shut down again. And when I called him out on it, he basically blew up. Told me I wouldn't understand. That he doesn't know how to be friends."
"That sounds about right," Noah said.
I leaned back on my palms, staring up at the stars. "It sucks. Because I really was trying. I really want to be friends with him. I just don't get why he doesn't. He says he likes me, so then what's keeping us from being friends. It just doesn't make any sense whatsoever."
"Some people push away the ones they actually want close," he said softly. "Doesn't make it fair or right, but people can be complicated. Especially the ones who have demons. And I think Jack has a lot of demons."
I didn't say anything.
And I left out the part about the movie nights. About waking up with Jack curled against me, wearing nothing but his underwear. About holding him and thinking maybe we were something . I didn't tell Noah what Jack had said about him either. I wasn't sure I believed it, and I wasn't about to poison the one good thing I had going.
But it still gnawed at me.
"There are a lot of people out there who would love to be friends with you," Noah continued. "Why do you seem so caught up in Jack? He's just your roommate; you don't have to be best friends; you just have to get along well enough to not try to kill each other in the dorm room. It sounds to me like you've done the best you can, and maybe it's just time to let it go."
What Noah said made a lot of sense, but I didn't see myself as being quite ready to just abandon Jack. It wasn't so much at this point that I needed a friend, it's that he needed one too. Living your life away from people seems like a pretty horrible existence, although there was a time not too long ago where I kind of felt the same way – until I met Jack, Noah, Emery, and Mark. So, my views were shifting.
We sat there until the wind started to pick up, colder now.
"You ready?" Noah asked, standing and brushing off his hands.
"Yeah."
The walk back from the quad was quieter than the one out. The air had gotten colder, and I hugged Noah's sweatshirt tighter around me. He didn't say much – not in a distant way, just… steady. Present. Like someone who didn't need to fill the silence to make it matter.
By the time I reached my dorm, I felt slightly better. Not fixed. Not calm. But slightly less on fire.
Before we entered the dorm, Noah pulled me into a warm embrace, holding it much longer than what I thought would be appropriate for "straight pals." But it felt good. So good. And I immediately wanted more of that feeling.
I opened the door slowly, not sure what I'd find, hoping – just hoping – not to walk into another emotional landmine.
It had gotten so uncomfortable and so distracting for me that I was seriously considering going to Mr. G to request a room change. Jack was too much for me emotionally, and I needed to be able to focus on my schoolwork. That's what I was here for, after all.
When I entered the room, Jack was on his bed, in nothing but his boxers, sketchbook open on his knees. He was drawing fast, aggressively, like he was trying to drag something out of himself and trap it on the page. His charcoal pencil scratched furiously across the paper, smudges on his hands, his thigh, even across the bridge of his nose.
He didn't look up when I walked in.
I stood there for a second, still wearing Noah's sweatshirt, the backpack I took everywhere with me half-slipped off one shoulder. I thought about saying something – anything – but the words just dried up in my throat.
Maybe it was time to stop expecting this to make sense and let go, like Noah suggested. Why did I care so much anyway?
Or maybe I wasn't ready to admit to myself yet that the same Jack who drove me absolutely insane sometimes… also drove me crazy in a completely different way. Practically all he had to do was to kiss me, and I would be his. But I didn't see that ever happening with him.
Whatever Jack and I were doing – if it even counted as something – it wasn't working. I'd tried, more than once. Every time, he let me in just far enough to mess with my head, then shut me out like I was never supposed to be there in the first place. And all I wanted, honestly, was to be his friend … maybe even hug away some of the pain if he'd let me.
Yeah, maybe it was better to stop trying. I was just a fourteen-year-old kid and I didn't have the emotional tools to be able to handle this. Maybe we'd never be friends, not really. Hopefully we could just call a quiet truce. Co-exist like civilized humans. No more drama. No more false hope.
I changed in the communal bathroom, brushed my teeth, ambled my way back to our room, and climbed into bed without a word.
Lights out wasn't until 11:30 tonight, but I didn't feel like staying up. I was drained. Completely. Emotionally hollowed out.
I turned off my lamp, pulled out my tablet, and queued up something dramatic and bleak – something that would match my mood, which was somewhere between pitiful and numb.
The glow of the screen lit up the room in shades of blue. Jack's desk lamp clicked off a few minutes later. We lay there in the kind of silence that hums – tight, awkward, like the pause before something breaks.
I didn't even bother trying to focus on the movie.
And then – just like that – I heard the soft creak of the floorboards. The almost-silent shuffle of bare feet across wood.
I didn't look up.
I didn't have to.
The blanket lifted, and Jack climbed in beside me without a word, same as before. He smelled faintly of soap and charcoal dust, the way he always did after drawing. His skin was still warm and slightly damp from his shower, and when he settled against me, his head found its way to my shoulder like it had a right to be there.
Like he needed to be there.
Like I was his anchor – and he hated himself for needing one.
I stared up at the ceiling, my pulse thudding in my ears.
What the hell are you doing, Jack?
Why do you keep doing this to me? Why do you keep confusing me?
While those thoughts spiraled and tangled in my head, Jack reached for the hem of my shirt and gently pulled it up and over my head. His movements were slow, almost careful. Reverent, even. Then he curled back into my side like nothing had changed, fingers drifting across my bare chest, tracing slow, uncertain shapes. They lingered – almost too long – over my heart. Like he was making sure it was still beating.
At this point, I was trying to will him to kiss me. Just one kiss to show me how he really felt. One kiss is all it would take, and he'd have me.
I wanted to scream. I wanted to shove him away. I wanted to grab him by the shoulders and demand to know what he wanted from me. Why he kept doing this – coming to me in the quiet, stealing closeness like it was oxygen, only to shut me out the moment the sun came up.
Did he just want warmth? Touch? Control? Was I his only comfort? Was I a crutch?
Was I a goddamn replacement for something I couldn't name?
The questions were loud in my chest. They had been for a while.
But I still didn't move.
I just let out a shaky breath and wrapped my arm around him. My hand came to rest just above the waistband of his boxers, where his skin was soft and warm and trembling slightly beneath my fingertips. I pulled him closer, until our legs tangled and our breaths synced and my brain was a swirl of confusion and want and fear. For the time being, though, there were no more thoughts of just dropping Jack. I would miss these nights too much.
We said nothing. Though the silence was thick with words we didn't know how to say.
The movie flickered on in the background, forgotten.
And still we lay there – too close, too charged, too much – wrapped around each other like we didn't know how else to get through the night.
"I really don't understand you, Jack," I finally whispered.
His voice came back low. Fragile. "You said you wanted me to try… so this is me trying."
He paused, then added, "Doesn't this feel good?"
God. It felt like everything.
"Mmmhmm," I hummed, too full to speak. The lump in my throat was too real, and my heart was doing somersaults I couldn't stop.
I didn't understand Jack. I didn't understand how someone could crave closeness so desperately and then shove it away the second it got too real. I didn't understand how he could bury his feelings so deep and still cling to me like I was the only thing holding him together.
But I held him anyway. Tighter than before.
Because I didn't know how to let go, either.
Because even if it made no sense – even if it might hurt tomorrow – I wanted him close tonight.
And maybe that was love.
Or maybe that was just what love looked like when two broken boys didn't know any better.
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