You must be dreaming. The alcohol must have finally kicked in, causing a Miller-Lite induced mirage. That's the only explanation for what – or who – you find at your front door.
"Jake?" you blink, shaking your head as if that might wake you from whatever dream you found yourself in; as if that might make him disappear into the night. It's strange to see him looking so pedestrian, jeans hung low around his hips, his hair free of gel, the most unkempt you've ever seen, but still just as – if not more – handsome.
"Sorry to drop by unannounced."
Your body connects with his before your mind has time to process, to think about or even consider the consequences. You simply can't believe he's here, in front of you. You knew he returned safely with the rest of the bunch, but you were certain you wouldn't see him again and definitely not tonight. You don't know why he's here, but as you wrap your arms around his shoulders, tugging him inside, you realize it doesn't matter much anyway.
The fabric of him is exactly the way you remember – maybe better as this time you're unrestrained with your embrace, gripping him tightly. He follows suit, wrapping his arms around your middle, squeezing you. For a second you feel your feet lift from the ground and you laugh; half at the feeling and half at the spectacle the two of you were making despite still practically being strangers with unconfessed feelings. You decide not to question it, following the intuition of your body.
His body is warm against yours as you breathe in the scent of him, your head neatly tucked into the crook of his neck. You fold into each other with such ease that you wonder why you've been fighting it all this time. It was painfully obvious now, the ache in your heart suddenly gone, that your invisible string is knotted firmly to him now that he stands so close. You might not let him go, not if he gives you the chance.
He doesn't say anything and neither do you, your quiet breathing the only sound in accompaniment to the chorus of crickets outside. That is, until you lean back for a moment to admire the soft fabric of whatever he's wearing. You place your hand on his chest, letting your fingers toy with the strings of his hoodie.
"Nice sweatshirt," you laugh, your eyes raking over the gray US Navy logo.
"Figured it would be a good way to break the ice," he replies, fully releasing you from his grasp as he exhales.
"Jake, I'm sor-"
"You don't need to apologize. If anyone does, it's m—"
"No, Jake I do," you interrupt, crossing your arms over your chest. "I want to." You nod in the direction of your living room and he raises his eyebrows, following you to the couch. The two of you settle down and you take a breath, lifting your eyes to meet his. "I'm sorry."
His eyes map every inch of your face as you work to connect all of the words you want to say from your brain to your lips, hoping to get them working in tandem. He doesn't say anything, just watches – waiting – the knuckles of his right hand gently grazing your naked knee.
"I'm sorry that I ran to Bradley that night, I don't know what I was thinking." You watch him suck in a breath but you continue on despite it. "Well, maybe I do know what I was thinking. I knew what you said during training would hurt him and I needed to make sure he was okay. That sounds stupid, I know, but I care about him and I thought that if I showed up for him that maybe he'd change his mind. Maybe that would flip some switch in his head about me."
You stop for a moment to catch your breath and gauge Jake's reaction. He sits before you, his brow slightly wrinkled as he processes your words.
"I was so worried about what Bradley thought of me and about trying to change him that I pushed everything – and everyone – else away. I didn't realize what was right in front of me. The whole time I was on base I felt this, this...pull at my chest whenever you two were around and I think I got lost in the nostalgia, mistaking that feeling for wanting the past: wanting Bradley. I didn't connect the dots until it was too late, until I'd pushed you so far away that I couldn't feel it – you – anymore," you lift your hand to your heart and let out a sigh. "When you said you felt second to Bradley and when you left, I felt awful. I thought about you every day, played our conversation over and over in my head, thinking about what I wish I would've said or I wish you would've done. You might hate me now, but I–"
"I don't hate you," he mumbles. Jake raises his hand, placing it over yours where it rests on your chest.
"I feel it too." He runs his thumb softly over yours. The feeling of his callused skin over your knuckle is warm, electric, sending a current of want rippling through your body. It's him. A touch that small having such an effect could point to little else; it would be nothing from anyone else but him. "The pull, I mean."
He shifts in his spot on the couch, tugging your hand away from your chest to rest in his lap.
"I wanted to ignore it," he says, shrugging his shoulders, "figured it would go away with time, if we just had it out."
"So that's why you were so eager to get me into bed," you tease, your voice just above a whisper.
Jake shakes his head, chuckling. "Yes and no." His tongue darts across his lips before he speaks again. "I wanted to take you home the minute I saw you in the bar, before I even kissed you. That confirmed it." His eyes are intense, glimmering in the dim light of your living room. He smiles to himself, as if replaying the memory of you two meeting that night at the Hard Deck back in his mind. His breathing is quiet, shallow as he looks for a hint of emotion on your face. The bright headlights of a car pass by the open window across the room, bathing the two of you in light for a fleeting moment; all you see is the blush of his cheeks and his wet smile. That stupid, lopsided, pretty boy smile.
"Then you were around all of the time and the more I saw you, the more we flirted, the more I got to know you, I knew that I wasn't going to be able to just move on like before. I knew if we had sex I was going to fall for you." His eyes catch yours again and he squeezes your hand. "I don't know though, I might have been falling anyway."
"That sounds incredibly cliché," you reply.
"Always have to cut me down a peg," he chuckles.
"Someone has to keep you humble, Hangman."
There's a beat of silence while you both just sit and stare, taking the other in. You're still not certain what you're experiencing is real: neither is he. Jake wasn't sure he'd get to this point; even after he worked up the courage to ask Phoenix where he could find you, then drove here to see you and stood outside your door for a full fifteen minutes before finally ringing the bell. Even after all of that he thought you genuinely might not want to see him. He worried the last thing he'd see was you, slamming the door at the sight of him and he wasn't sure he could carry on after that; it's what made deciding to come back to you so difficult. He expected to grovel, not for you to pull him through the door the way you did, the scent of your perfume washing over him, comforting him the moment your hands landed on his chest.
Damn, when did he get so soft?
"If I may, I'd like to keep going with my cliché – I'm sorry, amazing – apology." He raises an eyebrow, taunting you.
"Oh, is there an apology here after all?" A light laugh escapes from your lips and you gesture for him to continue with a wave of your hand. "Please, the floor is yours."
"I'm sorry for running. When you left that night to see Rooster, I shut down because I," he pauses to swallow, inhaling a deep breath, "I'd just worked up the courage to tell you how I felt. Then I saw your bags packed and saw how upset you were about what I said and I knew I fucked up. I took it out on you, made it out to be your fault and blamed it on the mission because I was scared of rejection. Scared of how much I liked you."
"Liked or like?"
"Wouldn't you like to know?"
"I think I have an idea."
His eyes flash something mischievous under the light, his lips lifting into a sly smile. "Enlighten me, then."
You roll your eyes and release his hand, leaning back into the leather of the couch. It's strange, how natural your banter feels despite having been apart and how normal the sight of him in your home feels to you. It's a sight you could get used to, him resting amongst the throw pillows and blankets, a sight you'd quite like to come home to: night after night.
"Well, you showed up at my house without a warning – which I know you had to humble yourself and ask either Tash or Bradley for – so that ticks off the 'grand gesture' box."
"Wait, what is the 'grand gesture box'?" he asks, leaning into you, curious to hear more.
"Think about every romance movie you've ever seen, or book you've ever read," you say, turning to look at him. He's smiling as he watches you talk, his cheeks pink. You continue. "There's always a check-list of sorts that helps you realize the couple is in love."
"And one is the grand gesture?"
You nod. "Which you did tonight. Bonus points for showing up unannounced. Double bonus points for it being after a long time apart."
"So, I'm doing pretty well, then?"
"We've ticked a lot of boxes," you laugh.
"Tell me more."
You lift your hand, raising each individual finger as you list things off. "Late night drunken talks. Witty banter. Stolen glances."
"The pull," Jake adds, his eyes drifting to your chest.
"The pull," you repeat, lifting another finger.
Sitting up, you find yourself only an inch from Jake, your noses practically touching. The last time you were this close to him, you were in his bed dressed in his sweatshirt – the very one he's wearing right now. Heat rushes to your cheeks at the memory, or perhaps it's from your current proximity. "But there's one box we haven't ticked off yet," you breathe. Your eyes falter from Jake's eyes down to his lips, admiring the subtle curve of his bottom lip. His eyes flit upwards, pulling you back to him as he hums low.
"Mmm, what's that?"
"The confession."
"Does a kiss count?"
His lips are on yours in the next second and god, it's glorious. You sink into him, pressing gently against his chest as he lets out a soft moan, deepening the kiss. His hands cup either side of your face, cradling you between his palms. You smile into him, laughter bubbling to the surface, breaking the kiss. He rests his forehead against yours, your ragged breathing filling the silence of the room. It's the most gentle moment the two of you have exchanged, nothing forcing the two of you together other than true, honest desire. Not a drunken lust. Not a revenge-filled plot. No rush; just you and Jake.
Jake shifts his weight and moves his hands from your cheeks to your waist, holding you steady as he leans back into the couch, taking you with him. You now lay atop of him, your hands on his chest propping you up, granting you access to continue looking at him. You'd like to look at him like this forever, beneath you, his body warm against yours, his hands wandering the land of your back.
"I really like you, Hangman," you whisper.
"Good," he replies, lifting a hand to tuck a stray piece of hair behind your ear. "I really like you too."
It's a blissful moment, one you hope will last forever. Or, at the very least, a few more hours. You feel light, almost as if you might not really be experiencing this at all, as if you're actually floating above it all watching it happen to someone else. But, as you breathe in the scent of Jake and press a stray kiss to the base of his jawline and hear him sigh, you're reminded it's real.
You tuck yourself closer into him, resting your cheek against his chest, the sound of his heartbeat echoing in your ear. The beat is soft and slow, calm. In the quiet of the moment something tugs at your chest as you breathe, a question bubbling up your throat and out your lips.
"So are you finally gonna tell me?"
His heartbeat fastens and you smile to yourself, suddenly aware of the influence you hold on him.
"Tell you what?"
"Whatever you were planning on saying that night," you explain. "Before everything went to shit."
"Well," he says, clearing his throat, "I was going to ask you out. Formally."
Your breath catches in your throat when you realize what you'd turned down when you ran away. You knew he had something to say, something to ask you, but you were so upset with him and with yourself, so hung up on wanting to reinvent the past that you never really considered that Jake wanted you in that way: that his feelings were sincere. That he wanted to know you, to be with you on a deeper level, not only superficial, drunk makeouts at the Hard Deck.
"What did you have in mind?" you press, running your fingers along his torso. He shivers under your touch. You bite down on your lip gently as he moves underneath you. A giddy feeling flows through you at your newfound ability to touch him without restraint, without guilt.
"Dinner. An actual dinner. I thought it might be a good send off. We'd dress up, I'd pick you up, we'd eat, and I'd tell you that I'd like to see you again after the mission and hope you would say you felt the same way."
You sit up, a stupid grin plastered across your lips. You can't help it or wipe it away despite how cheesy it feels. Jake looks up at you, his green eyes shaded by the length and curl of his eyelashes, that same smile on his lips, too.
"I think I have some leftover takeout in the fridge and an unopened bottle of wine," you suggest, pointing in the direction of the kitchen.
"Are you asking me out?"
You nod, holding back laughter.
"Then it's a date," he whispers, sitting up to kiss you.