Warnings: prepare for your heart to ache.
Requested by a lovely anon on tumblr <3 thank you.
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Hanging out with Jake was one of your favorite things in the world–after all, he was one of your closest friends. You could have fun with him doing just about anything–getting coffee, even though he would harp on you about going to chain coffee shops because they don't have the "right" beans; kicking a soccer ball around in the backyard when boredom had superseded everything else; baking cookies or brownies or whatever other mixes you could find in the middle of the night when you couldn't sleep.
Jake was fun. Jake was fun and you loved him, loved him more than you knew you should and, as you two had gotten older, there were fewer fun times with just the two of you. At first it was okay, since you loved Josh, Sam and Danny too, but then Jake started getting girlfriends, or at least girls he was hanging out with who weren't you, and he was busy with them, or he'd bring them around to hang out with all of you. You weren't so fond of that. It was hard to see him with his arm around someone else; hard to see him kiss a girl, as you'd imagined him kissing you a thousand times.
But Jake had been single for a little while–finally–after a string of girlfriends that, for one reason or another, just didn't work out. You jumped at the opportunity to have some alone time with him, and there he was, kneeling on your floor and looking through the crates of records in your living room.
"How do you not have any Eric Clapton?" he asked, his fingers rifling through the records quickly. "How have I not given you any Eric Clapton?"
You sank down next to him. "How have I not told you I don't actually like Eric Clapton?"
Jake turned to you, pursing his lips and raising his eyebrows. "How dare you, Y/N."
You snickered and leaned over him to grab the record you knew you wanted to play, your hip brushing against his shoulder. "You'll like this, I promise," you told him, standing up and taking the record out of its sleeve. When the music started to play, with its airy drums, languid guitar and bluesy vocals, you bobbed your head and then went to the kitchen. "Want a beer?"
"Please," Jake called back. He was sitting on the couch when you returned, handing him the bottle, and he held it up to you. "Cheers."
"Cheers," you agreed, clinking his. "To drinking beer on a Sunday afternoon."
He laughed. "It's pouring outside. I think we're justified."
You took a sip. "I agree."
As the first song led into the second, Jake nodded. "I do like this, actually. What's the band?"
"Alabama Shakes," you answered, smiling triumphantly to yourself. "I told you."
Jake smiled to himself, looking out the window, slightly bobbing his head to the music, too. You watched him as unobtrusively as you could, just wanting to look at his face. You loved his face. You loved his dark eyes and how they flashed hazel in the light; his cute nose, and you imagine how that would feel gently nudging against you if he ever kissed you; the carved cheekbones and carved brows to match, his face all angular yet so soft at the same time.
He caught your glance and chuckled. "What are you looking at?"
You looked away. "Nothing, Jake. Sure as hell wasn't looking at you," you said mockingly.
He laughed and put his hand on your thigh, though he quickly removed it and gestured to your beer. "Hey, finish that. I don't want to be ahead of you all day."
"I'll finish it," you said, picking it up and working on the last bit. "But you have to dance with me."
Jake stood up, taking your hand, and brought you to the center of the living room. The rain was coming down hard, pattering against the windows and the roof, intercepting the sound of the music. But when you both started to sway, a little awkwardly, trying to work into a groove, the rain felt faraway. You were looking at Jake, watching him move, and letting yourself get loose. It took a minute but then your body was fluid with the song, your muscles light and free. Jake was dancing a little stiffly still, so you took his hands and moved him along with you.
"I haven't danced in a long time," he said, glancing down at the floor before looking up at you again.
"You never danced with your girlfriends?" you asked, not meaning to pry but feeling genuinely curious. It wasn't often you and Jake danced either–it was more often than not you and Josh–but you knew if you were dating Jake, you'd want to be dancing with him all the time.
His cheeks flushed a bit, from embarrassment or the exertion of dancing you weren't sure, and squeezed your hands before putting his on your waist. "Not really," he answered. "Should I have?"
Jake's hands on your waist had changed the tempo of your movements, so you placed your hands on his shoulders and kept your hips swaying. "Well, I really like dancing with you," you replied. "Even if you sort of suck at it."
He bit his bottom lip and gently pinched your side. "Maybe that's why I don't dance, Y/N."
The next song began and as soon as you heard the first few lyrics you felt yourself blush, your grip on Jake's shoulders wavering.
How was I supposed to know you was a heartbreaker?
I didn't know, I couldn't know.
Jake kept his eyes on you, though you preoccupied yourself with the floor for a moment, but when you looked up you met his gaze. He moved in close to you, wrapping his arms around your waist and resting his head on your shoulder.
Was it by your sweet face or your eyes?
Oh, Lord, how was I supposed to know you gimme my heart aching?
You stilled for a second, confused by his actions. Jake had never been a touchy feely friend, as much as you'd always wanted him to be. You always knew he never liked you in that way. It was other girls he put his arms around, other girls whose hair his fingers trailed through, and you were always wanting to be those girls.
Mama couldn't tell me about the feeling,
and all them lovesick songs,
well, they got true meaning.
When Jake stayed like that, gently swaying with you with his body flat against yours, his arms around you and his face against your neck, you weakened. Your arms moved from frigid on his shoulders to around his back, lightly digging your nails into his shoulder blade, your other hand was seemingly unable to stop itself from going for his hair, running your fingers through it, down his back. You rested your head on his shoulder, the two of you almost becoming one totally meshed form, and breathed in the scent of his hair and his skin, a deep sensory experience you felt you'd waited forever for.
You both were lost in the moment, just gently swaying and holding each other until the song ended. When it did, Jake eased back, moving one hand back down to your waist and the other one to the back of your neck, looking at you intently.
"Jake–" you started to say but stopped yourself. It would be a confession of your feelings if you kept talking and, even with whatever all that was, you didn't think he felt the same. You sighed and stepped back. "Want another drink?"
As soon as you turned around you felt Jake's hand on your wrist, then his arms were back around you, his hands over your chest, his chin on your shoulder. "You don't want to keep dancing?" he asked softly, enveloping your even tighter, sighing against your neck.
You reached up and laid your hands over his. You'd imagined a moment not unlike that one before and the real-life, tactile experience of it was overwhelming. "Yeah, Jake," you answered, lacing your fingers together. "I want to keep dancing."
He began to sway again and hummed quietly against your neck, his lips so close to your skin that you felt your heart ache. You went with him, moving your hips, the music still playing, though you started to sway to the rhythm of his heart against your back instead, listening to his soft breaths next to your ear.
"I think I only like dancing with you," he whispered, nudging some of your hair away with his nose so his mouth was actually against your skin. "I'd like to do it again sometime."
Your heart felt like it was going to stop entirely. You took a breath, your chest rising and falling under his hands, and turned your cheek a little to try and get a glimpse of him. "I would love that, Jake," you replied, reaching one hand up to run through his hair and pause on the back of his neck. "You're actually a really good dancer."
You felt him smile against your skin, keeping one hand flat on your chest as the other ran up to your throat, then your jaw. He gently eased your face closer to his, you giving in with your whole body feeling completely enraptured by him, and placed a soft, lingering kiss to your cheek. "You're better."