Jackson got his first A on a Calculus quiz, and he figures it's time to celebrate. He invites Caleb and Lauren, and extends an olive branch to Hunter by asking if he's free to join them at the normal club. Hunter doesn't respond, but Jackson shrugs it off. His loss.
The lights of the club's sign burn bright against the Friday night sky, slightly cloudy from the recent weather. Caleb and Lauren hesitantly begin to flirt again, thanks to Jackson's intervention. He's torn between regret as the third wheel again, and pride when he catches the small smiles on their faces when they talk with each other.
Jackson tries to shake off that familiar slithering loneliness that creeps into his chest as he follows them into the club, allowing the heavy music to cloak him like a warm hug from a friend that's always there for him.
He tries, but he's just not in it. Caleb and Lauren fail to notice his dampening mood, and it only gets worse as they order some shots.
"We're going to dance, want to join?" Caleb half shouts into his ear. Jackson smiles and shakes his head.
"No man, she's all yours. I'll scout the area. Probably won't come home tonight." And as Jackson says it, he feels the loneliness burrow further within him, making itself at home and sucking all the life out of him.
He wants to go home. I should go home, Jackson thinks as he downs another shot. I should go home and watch a movie and sleep and not get wasted and wake up in a random apartment—
"Jackson." Hunter sits beside him at the bar. Jackson feels his head spin and he dips towards Hunter before finding his balance again. Ah, too late.
"You came!"
Hunter looks at him with a grimace, or maybe a smirk, he can't tell anymore. "Yes, but I'm starting to regret it. Drunk already? You really need help."
"Hey! You should get drunk too, then we can fuck and throw sparkles every where," Jackson says, and he whispers the last part and leans in, brushing his knuckles against the smooth fabric on Hunter's leg. He looks down and gasps.
"Don't," Hunter warns, but his tone has gone playful and Jackson knows he's got him right where he wants him. Jackson looks down at the long silky skirt that falls down to Hunter's ankles.
"Are you wearing a skirt?" Jackson asks, and he wants to say it teasingly but there's nothing really funny about it anymore, because Jackson has an idea and they have to try it now. He takes Hunter's arm.
"What are you doing?" Hunter asks. "I haven't even had a drink yet."
Jackson pulls him close and bunches some of the skirt up with his fingers.
"I need you. This skirt—" Jackson's voice almost breaks and he licks his lips which taste like lime and Hunter follows the movement and lets Jackson lead him to the bathroom and into a stall with no other word of protest.
"Jackson," Hunter whispers, but stops when Jackson drops to his knees and holds both of Hunter's slim, bare ankles.
"I like this skirt," Jackson says, hearing Hunter breathe sharply as he slides his hands up, the skirt riding up with him. Then he ducks his head under the fabric and everything's dark except he can make out that Hunter has nothing on underneath and he closes his eyes and finds Hunter by touch, already hard, and Jackson doesn't hesitate.
☆★☆
An alarm blares loudly and Hunter swears crisply and viciously, despite having been in a deep sleep only a moment before. He shrugs Jackson's arm off.
"Wake up asshole and shut up that stupid fucking alarm."
Without lifting his head, Jackson fumbles in the dark for his phone. The alarm ceases, then starts up again, somehow louder and more urgent.
"What the fuck is taking so long Jackson? Open your eyes first then maybe you can see where the hell your phone is."
"Just shut the fuck up Hunter and give me a second. My phone got lost in the sheets." Jackson finds the phone and opens his eyes to stop the alarm. He sighs and curses again under his breath.
"I mean, what the fuck?" Hunter says in disbelief, and huddles back under the covers, shaking his head. Maybe Jackson's tired, or jealous that Hunter gets to sleep, or the hangover has muddled the filter between his thoughts and his mouth, that prompts the next words to be said.
"You know, unlike you, whose whole identity revolves around being a dramatic, bitchy gay diva, some people actually have a life and accomplish things," Jackson says, and after he says the words out loud, he knows they sound so ridiculously stupid and immature, but at this hour and with this headache, he knows both of them will take it seriously.
Hunter sits up and stares at him with his mouth slightly open, hair mussed and eyeliner smudged. If Jackson didn't feel such anger and resentment towards him, he'd find his present look very hot.
After a beat of silence and a heavy, almost resigned sigh, Hunter speaks, his voice sad and hurt. "You know, I knew guys like you in high school. I bet you were very popular. I bet everyone loved you, and when you came out, somehow everyone loved you more. Well, when I came out, I was bullied. And I knew guys like you. And they weren't very nice to guys like me. They were actually the worst ones, because they saw in me everything they hated about the gay stereotype, the things they didn't want to be associated with."
"Hold on—"
"No. Let me finish. I'm proud of who I am, even if it's a stereotype, and because of it, I've become a stronger, more confident person. When I met you, I thought, never in a million years. But you were friendly and interested, and I took that as maturity. Turns out I was wrong. You're not proud of who you are, and you still see in me everything you fear about yourself and how others see you. And because of that insecurity, you won't let yourself fall in love. Jackson Cooper, afraid to fall. I hope you learn to love what it means to be gay, because if you don't, you'll live a very lonely life."
Jackson hears the words distantly, like a rock thrown into a lake, the ripples shimmering and then lying still. After a final shake of his head when Jackson says nothing, Hunter faces the opposite way and pulls the covers over his head. Only then does Jackson gather his belongings. He stops at the door, and considers a few sharp comebacks, but he's too late, the opportunity to reply passing long ago.
And, mostly, he's worried Hunter will hear the tears that choke his throat.
☆★☆
You're not proud of who you are...
Jackson runs the drill, feet flying around the cones, but his mind stays put in Hunter's room, pouring over the words he said as if they contain a hidden message he has to decode.
You won't let yourself fall in love...
The words stick in his mouth like a bitter aftertaste, but the meaning passes through like water, holding nothing. Nothing, nothing, nothing.
Jackson Cooper, afraid to fall...
Fall. Jackson's foot hits an uneven patch of turf and he flies forward in the most uncoordinated movement he has ever made, falling hard on his hip and groaning when the grass tickles his cheek.
"Are you okay?" he hears Caleb ask him, rushing over and out of breath. Jackson takes a few breaths before pushing himself off the ground. Coach notices the commotion and starts walking over.
"Shit," Jackson says. Caleb glances at him and Coach Nels worriedly, biting his lip. "I'm fine." A few teammates are gathering, so he says it louder. "I'm fine guys, really." But it's no use, the coach comes over anyway, and his frown creases sharply in his leathery face, tanned by the sun, and his head shakes with every other step in deep disappointment.
"Jackson, follow me."
And Jackson follows. Coach Nels leads him away from his teammates to a more private corner of the field.
"Yes Coach? I'm fine, I promise, I just slipped."
"Slipped," his coach says, and he holds his hands out and then drops them, like he was about to explain his frustration with them and then didn't know how. "Jackson, you've been slipping a lot lately, and not just on the ground." And Coach Nels can't help but laugh a little when he says that, and Jackson notices his face softening, and a calloused hand comes to rest on his shoulder. "Jackson."
"Yes Coach?"
"Look, I understand at your age, life can get...overwhelming. At any age really. Maybe you're scared for the future. Or you feel alone."
Hunter's voice echoes again. You'll live a very lonely life...
"I understand all that. But you can't let that get in the way of what you want to accomplish. You can't let it get in the way of training. You will regret it later if you didn't give one hundred percent. Trust me. And as captain, you have to set a good example. Lately you've been, well, slipping."
"I understand Coach."
"Understanding is the first step. Doing is the next."
"Yes, sir."
Coach smiles warmly. "I believe in you." Then he slaps Jackson's arm. "Now get out there and fight! Our first league match is next Saturday and we can't have you slipping up!"
He laughs as Jackson runs back to the field, and once Coach can't see him, his smile drops. It's the first match of the fall season, and Jackson can't muster up any excitement for it, his mind firmly rooted in the early morning argument.
Caleb reaches him and Jackson waves him off. Nothing to worry about, Coach gets paranoid before league matches.
"Are you sure?"
Jackson wants to tell him about Hunter, and then realizes Caleb is the last person he wants to tell. He wouldn't understand. Honestly, who could?
For a moment, his mind shifts to a cold, smooth voice and confident presence on a throne-like office chair, and then it returns to the mud it was stuck in. But in that brief moment, he felt like he was breathing fresh air.
"Let's race and I'll show you how sure I am."
☆★☆
He swears he won't contact Hunter for the rest of his life. And before lunch, he totally stands his ground. But after cheap tacos with Caleb when practice ended, and a few useless attempts at starting an essay, Jackson begins the long mental deliberation on whether to let his pride go, or feel miserable and alone all night.
His mind casts itself back to Hunter in the bed, looking worn out but sharp, in his sexy, diva way. You used that against him, his brain snidely remarks, and Jackson groans, head falling in his hands.
Jackson shouldn't have said that. Obviously. But in the moment he just couldn't resist, the temptation to project his pain onto someone else too seductive at that early hour. But Hunter looked so sad and hurt.
I knew guys like you.
And despite how much he wants to deny it, Jackson knows what Hunter is talking about. In a twisted, almost uncomfortably accurate way, Hunter understands Jackson at his very core. He feels exposed and vulnerable in a way that makes him squirm, and he wants to shut Hunter out until he can think freely and clearly again, without Hunter's voice in his head reminding him of his many shortcomings.
Fuck, he needs to apologize. Jackson knew it all along, but he didn't want to admit it. Now, though, the afternoon light wades into his room softly and his sheets, boyishly brought up and over the pillows in some rush to class, invite him with a mocking emptiness, and Jackson's hand brushes over his stomach.
His phone automatically ends up in his hand and he calls Hunter. And to his surprise, Hunter answers.
"What do you want?" He sounds exhausted.
"I'm sorry. About earlier. Let me make it up to you," Jackson says, and he looks at his bed and thinks of them on it, and he sort of smiles, sort of smirks.
"Just like that, huh," Hunter says, and it sounds like he's smiling, however reluctantly. Jackson grins wider.
"Yep. I am an asshole. I agree. But I just have to see you in my bed right now." Jackson honestly never has to beg, and if he does, it's foreplay and always an exaggeration. His yearning hope floods his stomach and it feels foreign, somewhat unsettling, but also exciting.
"You know, I don't think I will. Sorry Jackson," Hunter says and just like that the smile wipes off Jackson's face. "It's just...I'm a little caught up with school stuff...you know, accomplishing things." Hunter half laughs when he says it but it sounds forced, even over the phone. Ouch.
"Oh. You're not...I mean, do you not want to do this anymore? I mean, obviously I was an asshole today. But in general, I feel like you don't want to be around me anymore. This whole last week you've been acting distant and colder. You didn't even reply to my text to hang out last night. I mean, if this has gotten to be too much..."
"No. Stop, just..." Hunter sighs. "I am definitely not in love with you. Don't worry. It's not that."
"Then what?" Jackson asks, slightly harsh, because he's an ass and because Hunter has been messing with his head lately and he wants to inflict some sort of damage, despite his good sense warning him he's done quite enough.
"Jackson, did it ever occur to you that I don't want to see you all the time?" Hunter asks, and it's not even said cruelly, just with honest curiosity, which shocks Jackson above all else.
"I get it. I'm this bully and an asshole and you deserve better, even if it's just for fucking. I get it. I've been here a thousand times," Jackson says, hating the bitterness in his voice, and the sigh he hears on Hunter's end.
"I'm your friend. I care about you. But sometimes, you don't seem to care about me. It's just, you have to treat people with basic respect," Hunter says, with a tone of maturity that Jackson hates. What gives him the right to act like he's the mature one?
"I didn't realize we had to care about each other to fuck," Jackson replies, viciously, and Hunter sighs again.
"No, we don't, but is that what you really want?" Hunter asks, and Jackson hangs up on impulse.
"What a moralising son of a bitch..." Jackson mutters to himself, and then slams his hand down on the desk with a shout of rage. Fuck, he feels like an animal. An animal that needs to run and run until all he can do is sleep and forget about everything.
For a few minutes he stares at the desk, at his phone, at his half written essay spouting bullshit about economic theories he cares nothing about, and then his phone rings and he can't believe Hunter would call him back.
But it's not Hunter. It's Robin.
"Hello?"
"Oh, Jackson! Hi," Robin laughs sort of pathetically. "Didn't think you'd answer," he says, somewhat under his breath, but Jackson still hears it, but it means nothing coming from him.
"Hi Robin. What's up?" He doesn't have time for this. But...doesn't he?
"I was just wondering...I'm free tonight, and I thought maybe you'd want to come with me to a bar. A gay bar, actually."
"Oh." Usually Robin asks for lunch or dinner. And usually it's Jackson who plans the bar dates. At this point, does he have anything to lose? "Yeah, I'm free."
***********************************************************************************
a/n: okay we are all caught up with the new changes to the lengths of the chapter. if you noticed you were reading stuff you already read, that's because I made previous chapters shorter and turned them into new ones! sorry for the inconvenience but it will help things over all
please vote and comment <33333