His Econ professor drones on in the front of the classroom. These days Jackson zones out so often that his voice sounds more like the buzzing of bees than human words.
As he tunes out the lecture, knowing the PowerPoint will be posted online a day later, his eyes focus on Hunter, who sits closer to the front of the classroom in his new seat far away from Jackson.
Hunter's hair has been gelled to spike up and Jackson's pretty sure he sees glitter at the pointy ends. Multiple earrings line both ears, ending in large sparkly hoops. His black skinny jeans have rips and if Jackson leans forward a little he can glimpse shiny combat boots.
He looks as stunning as ever.
The first time Jackson met Hunter, he thought he'd be a theater major, possibly a music major but that sounded a little too unfair, and with those hips swinging like that as he walked, Jackson hadn't thought much of him except that he was hot.
But while Hunter didn't look it, he was very smart. Something Jackson immediately liked about him when discovered, but also something he took for granted, only using his intelligence when it suited him and turning Hunter into a dumb, dramatic diva when he couldn't let go of being right.
A long time ago, he had asked Hunter if he'd ever fall in love.
"Would you notice if you did?"
Jackson thinks he might have been falling for a long time now.
☆★☆
The team didn't have a game this Saturday, so Jackson went ahead and scheduled a private session with his coach. He got an email reply that said about time, son.
Jackson likes when Coach Nels called him son.
"Son, I think we should talk first."
They are standing on the sidelines of the field. Jackson had come jogging back from the equipment shed with a stack of neon orange cones when Nels had put a hand on his shoulder.
"Coach, I'm not trying to change your mind anymore―"
"Jackson, son. Listen to me. You should be disappointed that you're not captain anymore. I would be worried if you weren't. While that decision was final, if you prove to me that you still have the same passion as I saw when you first came on the team, I'll make some adjustments. I just wanted you to know that."
Jackson sighs. "I understand. I'm seeing a therapist now. Things are...getting better. I think. I hope."
"That's good. Talking is good." Nels nods, then looks as if he's about to say something, changes his mind, and then clear his throat. "You can talk to me, too. I might not be a therapist but I know my fair share about life."
"Thank you. That means a lot." Jackson hopes he doesn't sound sarcastic.
Nels hesitates. "I sense some tension between you and Caleb. It's not my business, but I gotta say, I miss your bantering. The team misses it."
"I miss it too," Jackson admits. "I should try to make amends, I just don't know where to start."
"If I may, I'll impart some of my hard earned wisdom." Nels takes a deep breath in as if to prepare himself, and Jackson feels his heart open up at the gesture. "Friendships are valuable things, son. Even more valuable than relationships, most times. But it takes work, just like anything else. When pride gets in the way, or wanting to be right, you risk the friendship, and for what? You don't get a prize for being right, just loneliness. At the end of the day, there are people who will be there for you and people who won't, and it's up to you to keep the good ones around."
☆★☆
On Sunday evening, Wes texts him and Jackson is absolutely livid.
Meet me at 3rd and Main. 9pm.
While Jackson's angry at Wes for thinking he can barge into his life again after going M.I.A. without warning, he's even more angry because he knows he'll meet him anyway.
To make matters worse, Jackson cannot focus on his Econ paper, which he had been trying to write when Wes texted him. The words he already cares little for begin to blur and all he can think about is what he'll say to Wes the moment he sees him.
How dare you ask to meet. Nope, too dramatic.
So is this how it's gonna be? Also dramatic.
Tell me about this "business trip". Absolutely not.
Jackson wishes he could talk to someone about this. Is it degrading to meet him? Caleb would know, or at least have a good joke ready. He misses Caleb so much these days that it can get hard to breathe without crying or throwing something heavy at the wall. That constant, ridiculous sense of humor he was so happy and just proud to have in his life as his best friend. You risk the friendship, and for what? Jackson didn't want to be right anymore.
When Jackson arrives at the meeting spot, he texts Wes.
I'm here.
He feels just a little pathetic writing it, and he scowls after he sends it. Then a car rolls up to the sidewalk where he's standing with his arms crossed, and Jackson can't even scowl anymore.
The window slides down slowly. Wes doesn't even look at him.
"Get in."
Jackson thinks of a couple things he could say but when 'Yes, Your Majesty" is the best one he opts for silence instead and gets in the car.
Wes has both hands carefully placed on the wheel. No, not carefully, for that implies caution. While Wes seems overly cautious at all times, Jackson has learned the better word is precision. He knows exactly what he is doing.
As the smooth engine now familiar to Jackson rolls the road under them, he looks at Wes and tries to read his face. But of course, it's impossible to read cold stone.
"You were gone." Jackson didn't know what else to say or if there was anything else to say. The car turns right and Jackson stops himself from asking where they're going. Wes wouldn't tell him anyway.
"I had a business trip." The words sound clipped, like a fact, but Jackson only cares for pretty lies. I had to get away and think. I wanted to make you miss me. I needed space to realize how much I love you. But Wes never lies. "It had nothing to do with you."
"Yes, I know," Jackson says quietly.
"How was the office without me?" Wes asks, his tone lighter but still matter-of-fact. Still just business with him, and it would do Jackson good to remember that.
"Sofia was more obnoxious," Jackson says. "Without you to annoy, she moves on to those most easily accessible. In that case, me."
Wes raises an eyebrow. "She still managed to blackmail me into buying her a thousand dollar purse. But I considered that child's play."
"A thousand dollars?" Jackson isn't surprised, but he is shocked Wes would actually pay for it. "What did she blackmail you with?"
"You already have too much power, Jackson, for me to freely hand over a weapon such as this," Wes says, almost smiling.
"Power?" Jackson echoes.
"Do not play innocent. It's unbecoming."
"But I am innocent," Jackson says slyly, but his hand is already moving to the other side of the console. His fingers brush cold metal and he takes his time.
"And I am driving." But he doesn't tell Jackson to stop.
☆★☆
The car slows to a stop after driving uphill for a good ten minutes. Or maybe twenty, Jackson had a little difficulty keeping track.
Jackson gets out of the car and smirks when Wes takes his time. Back down the road there's a large house with a pool overlooking a view of the city. At the top of the hill a locked gate prevents the car from driving any higher. It's a dead end, where rich gated communities border protected parks.
"Where are we?" Jackson asks. He hears the trunk open and he turns around. Wes takes out a blanket. "Is that a blanket?"
"Yes," Wes says. He leads Jackson up the street and to the right of the gate where he slides through a small gap.
"Trespassing, Mr. Sawyer?" Jackson follows after him anyway.
The gravel bleeds into packed dirt, and then narrows into a bumpy trail that winds in curves on the edge of a steep drop down the mountain. It looks like a nice hiking trail for bikers and runners and the occasional family outing, but since it's chilly and dark, no one's here. Jackson turns on his phone's flashlight.
Soon Wes stops and throws down the blanket on a flatter stretch of grass bordering an even steeper drop down. He lowers himself down smoothly and leans on an elbow—a draw-me-like-one-of-your-French-girls position—his silver watch glinting in the pale light.
"You look expensive," Jackson says, his eyes roaming the neatly pressed suit, the shiny watch, the dark leather dress shoes. Even his expression looks moneyed, slightly bored and yet narrowed with focus, the straight nose dividing a perfectly symmetrical face except for a down turned corner of his mouth.
"I am expensive."
"Arrogance looks very becoming," Jackson says, smirking.
"Come here," Wes demands in his level tone that artfully hides his impatience. But Jackson's come to hear it well. He drops to the ground on his knees a good two feet away, and Wes arches a sharp, dark eyebrow.
"Give me a reason to," Jackson challenges.
"Your command is my wish," Wes replies, then sits up and shrugs off his jacket. The long stripe of buttons glints down his chest dauntingly, but Wes pulls the dress shirt over his head in a single motion.
"Persuasive," Jackson says, thoughtfully eyeing the curve of his neck and the swell of his biceps. He moves forward and settles himself in front of Wes, tracing his collarbone and then sliding down to his navel. Wes's chest rises and falls steadily. Too steadily. Precision.
"I try," Wes says, his voice a controlled monotone.
"Oh you do try," Jackson murmurs, before sliding his hand down Wes's pants. Wes sucks in a sharp breath.
"Jackson," he groans, like a warning but also like a please.
And then they're kissing. The pants fall off effortlessly, easily, like nothing. It's nothing, nothing, nothing, Jackson's cheek pressed up against the soft blanket, rough grass underneath, his hands grasping at the ground and holding nothing, nothing, it's all nothing, this is nothing, it all means nothing.
But some days nothing is just another word for everything.
☆★☆
Wes holds him from behind, his arms around Jackson's waist. With effort he twists around so he can see Wes's face, their lips an inch apart but Jackson feels the miles and years and dollars of distance between them.
"Why didn't you tell me?"
Wes looks confused, then understands. "The trip?"
Jackson looks down at the small stretch of blanket between them.
"I was scared," Wes says softly, and Jackson looks up at those sad blue eyes. He thinks he understands that sadness just a little more. "Scared that if I told you, I wouldn't go."
"So you told me nothing."
"So I told you nothing."
Nothing, nothing, nothing,
But they both know he told Jackson everything.
********************************************************************************************
a/n: and here's some Wes and Jackson content. Wasn't gonna make you guys wait a week for it! <33333