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potato-girl99981 · 1 year

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I melted

5 times Hangman got older + 1 time he got wiser, too

synopsis It’s about time Jake realised that what he feels for you is love. (childhood friends to lovers, Jake ‘Hangman’ Seresin x fem!reader)

wc 7.6k

Jake Seresin had always been someone who fought for what he wanted.

The finest bicycle—training wheels notwithstanding—the newest PlayStation with all the best games already loaded. The greatest model airplane, the sweetest set of kicks, one desire replaced another almost immediately after its acquirement. An iPod at eleven became an iPhone at twelve; as a freshman in high-school, this sole ambition transformed into a spot on the football team. And then, to become the youngest captain they’d seen. Success and success, before he stumbled across an old album of film in his senior year. It contained photos of his grandfather decked out in navy beige, a riot of badges sewn onto his jacket, the backdrop of each scene a fighter jet. New goal. Jake’s thirst for the best thus decided on his career — a military grade aviator, the very best in the game, with TOPGUN based training before his deployment.

As the girl-next-door, you’d stood witness to all of his aforementioned triumphs. Not to mention, countless more that didn’t quite make the cut — his first kiss with Jenny Sheehan, the same year as you and him, the junior he lost his virginity to at the end of sophomore year. The fact that he was well-established as golden boy of your district; favourite to win Prom King, a state-champion level football player.

If Jake Seresin were to put his mind to something, he was guaranteed to achieve success.

The only thing was, it required a conscious effort. If he didn’t know to work for something, it was bound to evade him.

I. eighteen

“You know,” you say, sending him a meaningful glance, “those football dudes have probably already got a whole party planned in your honour.”

Jake’s trying not to look too pleased by this revelation. He turns his head to face you, his green eyes glinting with excitement. “Yeah? A surprise birthday thing?”

You’re sprawled out on the grassy expanse of your back garden, Jake to your right, a tantalising inch of space between your wrist and his. You swear, when you were younger, similarly recumbent statues, that the distance felt larger, each centimetre longer. Perhaps it’s the fact that Jake isn’t four foot five anymore. He’s grown enough in height and width, with solid muscles like body-heat furnaces, to skew the longitude and latitude between your pinky-fingers by a bit. Make them shrink. You shift in place absentmindedly, the bony prominence of your ankle knocking his. The grass is dry, prickly on the underside of your thighs.

“Duh,” you return, turning your head in tandem. You raise your eyebrows. “They’re like, obsessed with you.”

“And you?” He asks, grinning handsomely.

“Me?” You let out a bemused snort, though there’s no real fire in it. “In your dreams, Seresin.”

He rolls his eyes, reaching up to bump your chin with his knuckles. He tends to do this often; when he’s teasing, when he’s looking for an excuse to touch you. Not that he’s aware that he may have an ulterior motive — you’re one of his best friends, and your relationship has always been purely platonic. His subconscious is still figuring out a way to dispute this. “You’re going though, right? To this party that may or may not be happening?”

“Hm.” You crinkle your nose disdainfully. Though he’s drawn his hand back to his side, the heat of his touch lingers. “Not really my crowd.”

“C’mon,” Jake pouts playfully, nudging his shoulder against yours. “It’s my birthday.”

“Exactly,” you agree, propping yourself up on your elbows. You angle your torso away from him as you reach into your pocket, retrieving a black box made of velvet, dusty and lint-ridden. “Which is why I’m spending it with you now, instead of later when you’re fucking wasted.”

Jake’s eyes widen as they land on the box in your palm, his forearms sliding back in an attempt to scramble up. “Hold on there, ace,” he says faux-gravely, raising his eyebrows. “You’re not proposing, are you?”

He lets out a chuckle as you shove him backward, raising his arms in surrender. “Hey now. Just making sure.”

“Don’t worry,” you scoff, scrubbing that spot on your chin, still hot as static from Jake’s rough knuckles. “That’s absolutely never happening.”

Jake slaps his palm over his chest, pretending to look affronted. “What happened to our twelve year plan?”

You send him a glare. “I’m calling it off.”

“Oh, c’mon darlin’,” he returns easily, reaching forward and swiping the box from your grasp. “You know it’s more for your benefit than it is for mine.”

“Careful, Seresin,” you reply, narrowing your eyes. “I’m not like all those girls at school that you’re wooing. You don’t get to call me darlin’ like it’s nothing.”

“Ace,” Jake corrects, passing the box from palm to palm.

You nod. “Better.” And then you pause, frowning a little. “And hey, rude. I’m going to find a sweet, Southern boy well before we’ve hit thirty.”

“Right.” He doesn’t sound like he believes you one bit.

“You’re going to be the one who hasn’t settled,” you hedge, frowning harder.

“Doubt that.” Jake sends you a meaningful look. “Girls love a guy in uniform.”

“Still have a few years till you get one of those, hot-shot,” you snort, raising your eyebrows.

“Right,” Jake agrees, unperturbed by the reminder. “But when I do,” he grins up at you self-assuredly, shuffling his broad torso closer, “I’ll finally have everything I’ve ever wanted.”

Something in your chest twinges. You ignore it. “Everything?”

“I mean, probably,” he answers dismissively, propping himself up to eye-level. He’s close enough, now, for you to catch the shadow of stubble on his jaw, the rough slant of it as he smirks. He holds up the velvet box expectantly, cocking his head to one side. “Permission to open?”

“Granted,” you respond, sitting up fully with your legs crossed. When he does the same, his knees press into yours firmly. The afternoon sun is a bulb of light above you, bathing him in a lemon-yellow hue.

He undoes the box’s clasp slowly, his nimble movements as odds with the rough calluses on his palm. Inside it is a shiny silver fighter jet badge, the smooth, metal ridges gleaming in the sun. You watch his green eyes widen before they’re lifting to your features, softening into something fond.

“And don’t expect another present at graduation, because —” Your deflection is cut short as Jake bowls you over, his strong arms encircling your waist as he buries you in an embrace. You can feel his warm breath fan over your hair, the firm pressure of his biceps, the sheet of muscle on his torso as it pressed into yours.

Your back’s against the grass when he does finally pull back, large hands splayed either side of your shoulders. Maybe he doesn’t realise how close to something more this is — him on top of you, him so proximate, him with skin touching skin and lips near enough to warrant a kiss.

“How’d you know?” He asks breathlessly, lingering for a beat before peeling himself off you. In the split-second between holding you and pulling away, he’d been afforded the luxury of squeezing a bare expanse of soft waist. And to sear the visual of you beneath him into his brain. You know, in that aforementioned, purely platonic way.

“I saw you eyeing it last week,” you shrug, straightening up too. “It’s no big deal, really. Just thought you deserved a little more than a cake this year considering I probably won’t be seeing you until after you’ve finished at UT.”

Jake frowns a little at that, something wistful about it. “I’ll be back here for the holidays.”

“But I might not,” you reply, voice lower. “Not till I’m done, at least. Not till I want to settle down.”

“That doesn’t mean it’s the end.” Jake closes the box carefully. “We’ll make time.”

“Maybe.” A pause. “Or maybe… maybe we’re just high-school friends. Maybe you’re going to get your degree, and go to TOPGUN, and forget all about me and this dead-end town.”

“I could never forget about you, ace,” Jake teases, not quite catching the sad edge to your voice, the weight of the insinuation as it falls from your lips. “Besides, we’re guaranteed to meet at least one more time after graduation.”

“Oh yeah?” You frown. “When?”

“When we’re thirty, obviously,” Jake bumps your chin playfully, his cheeks all fond and flushed. “When I’m settled down with two kids and you come find me about our pact.”

You swat his hand away, sending him a glare. “You’re the worst, you know that? Happy birthday and good fucking riddance.”

Jake grins roguishly. “You love me.”

“Unfortunately.”

“Fortunately.”

You fold your arms across your chest expectantly, still glaring up at him. “This is the part where you tell me you love me back, by the way.”

Jake furrows his brow in mock-confusion, reaching up to scratch the back of his neck. “You’re asking me to lie to you, now?”

“Jake,” you groan, ducking away when he makes a swipe for your torso. He manages to find purchase on your waist and pull you close, your head pressed into his chest, the low rumble of his laugh vibrating through your bones. He smells like vetiver and old-spice, something else, something deep and musky that’s so very him. You try to memorise it.

“Course I love you, ace,” he says casually, amicably. Platonically. “We’ve been best friends since we were eight fucking years old. You really still need me to tell you that I do?”

“Well,” you grumble back, scowling up at him indignantly, “you are leaving for college in like, a literal week —”

“Which is why,” Jake interrupts, raising his eyebrows meaningfully, “you should come to this thing tonight, whatever it’s supposed to be.”

Your expression falters, and you pull your bottom lip between your teeth. “Not really my scene.”

“Hm,” Jake shrugs, seemingly unperturbed. “Alright, fair enough.”

When there’s so many other things to think about, worry about, plan for, anticipate, it’s easy to ignore the odd feeling in his chest, the way his heart aches at the thought of pulling away. A week until he’s gone. Another until you are, too. Three years until you’re back for good. He won’t be, though. Four years of training as an aviation officer, four years of chances that you’ll have found someone else and settled. And then more schooling, if he’s lucky (or unlucky, he isn’t sure). Thirteen weeks of leave for TOPGUN when he’s done. You’ll probably have forgotten about the pact by then. And then finally, deployment into the armed forces after that, and God knows how long that’s bound to take.

But it’s okay. Jake’s only just turned eighteen. He has his whole life ahead of him, people to meet and girls to kiss and long-standing goals to achieve.

When you break free from his grasp, his heart twinges again. But it’s okay. He has plenty of time to figure out what that means.

“Have fun, though,” you say. And then, “I’ll be here.”

Jake shakes his head bemusedly, trying for light-hearted and landing on maudlin. “Christ, you sure are sentimental.”

“Don’t do that, Seresin.” You raise your eyebrows appraisingly. “I know you’re going to miss me.”

“Maybe a little.”

“Maybe a lot.”

Jake grins that stupid, fond grin. You take a mental photograph. “Guess we’ll find out in a few years, huh?”

II. twenty-one

“So the prodigal son finally returns, huh?”

It’s a voice that Jake thought he’d forgotten. He can’t remember the last time he reached out to you over text, let alone spoke to you like this, up close and in person.

Admittedly, college has been a whirlwind adventure for the pair of you. A flurry of new friendships and lessons disguised as romantic relationships, you’d had your hands tied, any prior hometown promises long forgotten.

So you’d drifted apart, something you’d sworn against in high-school. It was a blameless truth, one that he’d long made peace with.

But hearing that soft timbre again, especially amongst aisles of childhood candy, brings forth a callow ache in his chest, his shoulders relaxing instinctively.

He turns around to find you smiling up at him, an empty trolley standing between him and an embrace. “Well, well,” he drawls out, his Southern twang lower than you remember, rougher around the edges. A pause as his gaze skates over your figure slow, agonisingly slow, lingering on your bare legs before smirking indulgently. “Look who got unbearably beautiful.”

You let out a playful scoff and discard of your trolley, stepping into his arms and wrapping your own around his torso. “Not you, that’s for sure,” you return, angling back and placing your chin on his chest. “You haven’t changed one fucking bit, you know that?”

Jake hopes to God, as he grins down at you, that his face displays the casual nonchalance that he’s trying to convey. Because he’s feeling the opposite—feeling a lot of you, at this stage—the closeness and skin-on-skin making it difficult to concentrate. It’s like all the platonic love that he had for you in high-school has grown ten-fold; intensified, ballooned, turned into something greater. Probably the distance, he decides, it’s made his heart grow fonder. Platonically fonder. Friends definitely love hugging friends as much as he is in this moment.

“You have,” he teases, looking over your pretty features, from your wide eyes to your soft lips, the pert nose between them. “How many broken hearts have your name on ‘em, darlin’?”

You make a face. “None.”

Jake’s heart soars without meaning to, a fleeting sense of relief. “Liar.”

“Says you,” you argue, narrowing your eyes faux-defensively. “How many girls have you trapped at UT Austin?”

“Too many,” Jake answers honestly, grinning that same, roguish grin that you remember from high-school. Your pulse lurches.

“All blowing up your DMs since this morning, I imagine,” you add, raising your eyebrows. “Honestly, Seresin, expected to find you on aisle six, today, if anywhere at all.”

Jake’s features soften a little. “You remembered?”

You shove him away reproachfully, as if insulted by the question. “Just because we haven’t spoken in a while doesn’t mean I’ve forgotten your fucking birthday.”

Somewhere in the back of his mind, he thinks, best one I’ve had since I left. Sure, his fraternity has hosted many a party in his honour over the past few years, but nothing quite beats the sweet simplicity of a hometown reunion, the same eyes and pretty smile he’s had memorised since he was eight. “More than a while,” he says quietly, his voice gruffer now. “It’s been three years, ace.”

“You say that like it’s my fault,” you reply, your traitorous heart leaping as the sound of your old nickname. “Keeping in touch is a two-way street, you know.”

A pause. He’s still holding you close, his strong arms wrapped around your waist and squeezing. There’s more shoulder on him, now, a sharper jaw, darker stubble than you remember. In the artificial light of the grocery store, you can catch bright specks of yellow within his green irises. You clear your throat awkwardly, forcing yourself to pull away from him. He aches.

“Whatever,” he dismisses after a beat, reaching forward and bumping your chin sheepishly. He grins, and the heat of his touch washes over your in waves, never-ending jolts of vetiver warmth. “Doesn’t matter. Good to see you today, anyway.”

“And how are you celebrating twenty-one, hot-shot?” You ask, smiling in tandem. “Surely a party. Your other hometown friends know you’re home?”

Jake doesn’t miss a beat. “The only hometown friend I care about is you.” He balks, combing his fingers through his neat hair until it’s wild, unruly. “Uh… I mean — you know what I mean. Point is, I’m staying in. Will probably crack open a beer on our deck with the old man.”

“Oh,” you say.

Another pause. Jake looks over your features carefully, trying not to sound too hopeful as he asks, “Are you free?”

Your eyes widen momentarily before they’re relaxing into something fond, and you reach forward playfully, giving his shoulder a punch. “For your twenty-first birthday?” You nod. “I’ll make myself free.”

And you do, of course you do, drop everything to reconnect with the boy-next-door. It’s how you find out that he’s only home for a week, his naval training take him to a distant shore of Lake Michigan, several miles north-east. His twenty-first birthday, and the six days that follow. If you’re disappointed by this revelation, you make sure not to show it.

Jake realises that he wants you to, selfish as that is. He looks over your soft cheeks and softer lips, beer-slick, and realises that he’s disappointed by it, even if it isn’t reciprocated.

It’s strange. You haven’t had a proper face-to-face in three, long years, but he’s certain he’s going to miss you when he’s shipped off to boot camp. His chest twinges again, a poignant sort of ache. He’s going to miss you more that he will his frat brothers, his roommates, the college flings that seem meaningless, now, all the pretty girls he’s hooked up with. He’s going to miss you more than he should a friend. But his heart isn’t quite ready to accept it.

“It’s going to be different this time,” he decides, tipping back the rest of his beer resolutely.

You furrow your brow. “What do you mean?”

“We’re going to keep in touch.”

You balk. As much as you’d like to back his resolve, the rational part of your mind protests, calling his bluff. “We’re going to try,” you correct.

“No.” Jake turns to face you fully, the mirthful glint in his eyes long gone. “We’re going to keep in touch. Texts, calls, whatever. Up until I’m done.”

“You’re going to be busy, Seresin,” you warn.

“So are you,” he returns. “It doesn’t matter. Once a month, even. Once every few.” He allows for a purposeful pause, his lips pulling up into a lopsided smirk. “I mean, c'mon darlin'. How else am I gonna make sure no one else traps you by thirty?"

You let out a scoff, shoving him sideways playfully. The palm to bicep contact feels different than it used to, less amicable with more of a skin-burning tension. The heat lingers. “I'm not your darlin', Seresin,” you say, taking a generous pull of beer. Jake's gaze falls as the column of your throat shifts.

“Nine years till you are, ace," he teases, a little distracted now.

"Till I'm forced to be," you correct.

Jake raises his eyebrows. "You love it."

"You wish, buddy."

He leans close and clinks his bottle neck to yours, his torso folding over the deck chair's arm rest. When his proximity is so evident, you find it harder to keep the banter going. He does too, not that he'd ever think twice about it. Jake has this perplexing idea that the way he feels about you is completely normal — the lingering glances, the fact that his gaze keeps dropping to your lips without meaning to. Darkening some. He twines his forearm underneath your arm rest, tugging you closer in one, deft motion. Platonically. "You've missed me," he adds, trying for self-assured and landing on diffident.

His body-heat presses over you in waves. "Maybe a little,” you say.

"Maybe a lot."

III. twenty-two

Javy slides the shot glass along the sticky counter, his own held up, clear liquor sloshing over the rim. A salt shaker gleams in the dim, sconce lighting, discarded lime wedges privy to the exchange.

"Drink!" He urges, raising his voice to be heard over the clamour of bar patrons.

Jake eyes it faux-warily before sending Javy a grin, swiping it up and clinking the lip against his. "To twenty fucking two!" He exclaims unabashedly, tipping it back in one, swift motion. When he slams the glass back onto the counter, his face has crumpled into a grimace, the throat below it tequila-singed. He barks an appreciative cough, his gaze falling to his blank phone screen instinctively.

Twelve. Javy began the tally when he first noticed Jake do it this morning. In the time between their dismissal from the day’s training and now, the frequency with which his friend’s checked his phone has increased an alarming amount. He raises his eyebrows as Jake’s head lifts again, regarding him with something akin to mild amusement. “You expecting a call, Hangman?”

Jake balks, a momentary crack in his otherwise blithe demeanour. “What?” He scratches the back of his neck sheepishly, avoiding eye contact. “No?”

“Oh shit,” Javy wolf whistles triumphantly, garnering the rest of the squad’s attention. “Expecting a girl’s call, huh?”

Natasha pipes up then, ducking her head around Javy’s torso to better survey Jake’s features. Behind her, it appears that Bradley’s also tuned in, his head cocked to one side curiously. “A girl, you say?” Natasha asks, raising her eyebrows. “Oh, I gotta hear more.”

Jake lifts his in tandem, grinning handsomely. “You jealous, Pheonix?”

“Not quite.” Natasha’s well versed enough in his brash manner to know better than to rise to the bait. “But you are blushing, Bagman. Who is she? Someone from your hometown?”

Jake’s silence speaks for itself. He’s about to supply them with some choice expletives, deflect some more, when he’s interrupted again, his callous persona disintegrating. “Well, shit,” Bradley hollers, his face splitting into a devious grin. “She is, isn’t she? What’s her name, Seresin?”

“Don’t know what you idiots are talking about,” Jake coughs out, swiping his phone off the counter adeptly. He turns around and smacks his large hand down in it’s place, perhaps a little more frustrated than he’s going for when he adds, “Gonna need another bud light quick sharp, honey.”

Natasha cocks her head to one side, her brown eyes glinting with mirth. “Bit touchy, are we?”

“Not touchy,” Jake lies, trying for nonchalance. “Not waiting for a call, either.”

Javy raises his eyebrows skeptically, clearly unconvinced. “Why do you keep looking down at your phone, then?”

“Uh.” Jake flounders, grimacing helplessly. The truth is, Javy’s right — he is waiting for a phone call, but not the kind that they think. Because though you’re a girl and it’s you that he’s hoping to hear from, he knows that the group will misunderstand if he confesses this. He’s distracted by a platonic desire, not one that’s romantic. It’s not going to feel like his birthday until he’s heard you acknowledge it as such. “Shit, I don’t know,” he finishes after a beat, avoiding eye contact. “Checking the time?”

Javy sends him an assessing look. “You’re the shittiest liar I’ve met in my life.”

“Alright, subject change,” Jake announces then, ignoring him. He clears his throat awkwardly. “We planning on getting wasted or what?”

Natasha and Bradley share a meaningful glance, the latter still smirking deviously, not quite ready to let him off. “Listen, Seresin, if you don’t tell us who it is, we’re going to have to —”

He’s forced to stop mid-sentence when Jake’s hand flies to the phone vibrating in his pocket, his once nonchalant demeanour giving way to anticipation. “— huh, doesn’t matter,” he finishes, wolf whistling approvingly. “Looks like it won’t be necessary.”

Jake flips him off dismissively before shouldering past the group; it’s a fruitless attempt at separation, the three of them too curious to allow him to go far. They follow him into a deserted corner of the bar, still well within earshot when he does finally pick up.

At this stage, Jake’s too preoccupied with finally hearing your voice to particularly care. There’s a crackle of static because its sweet timbre rings through, his features visibly softening as it presses over his eardrum. Bradley notices. Javy definitely notices. Even Natasha, who attests that Jake doesn’t possess a romantic bone in his body, is astute enough to catch on to the fact that his voice is lower, softer when he responds.

Several miles away, the familiar din of a bar blares through your phone. “Shit, you’re out, huh?” You ask, grimacing sheepishly. “Sorry. Am I calling at a bad time?”

Jake isn’t sure such a thing exists. He thinks it’s normal for any time to be a perfectly good time, as if an eleven pm call would be acceptable from any of his other friends. Realistically, if it was one of his frat brothers on the line, he probably would’ve greeted them fleetingly before hanging up. With you, however, he’s almost considering leaving the establishment. Platonically, of course.

“Oh c’mon, ace,” he teases, his features relaxing into something fond. “You really think that I was plannin’ on spending tonight at home?”

“Yeah, yeah,” you reply, an edge to your voice that tells him you’re probably rolling your eyes right now. His heart pulls. “I’ll let you get back to your girls in a sec, alright? Just calling to remind you that you’re getting fucking old.”

On Jake’s end, Bradley’s mouthing the nickname ace through a sly smirk, and Natasha’s scrolling through his Instagram followers furiously beside him. “What’s her name, Bagman?” She demands loudly, not bothering to look up at him.

It’s near imperceptible, but it’s there enough to register. “Your friends don’t know who I am?” You ask abruptly, a little unsure, a little disillusioned. Something about the fact that you aren’t important enough to mention makes the close in your ribcage shrink, poor heart aching in a way that it shouldn’t. It’s pathetic. You know you can’t really hold it against him. But for all you know about his naval training buddies, you thought he might’ve shared even a morsel about his hometown friends.

Hometown more than’s. Not that he’s come to terms with that just yet.

“Should they?” Jake returns, equally taken aback.

You balk. “I guess not.” In the distance, one protests, “Of course we fucking should! She’s making you blush, buddy.”

Jake glares at the perpetrator, Bradley Bradshaw, furiously, flipping him off again before ducking his head. “Listen, I better go before this lot eats me alive.”

“Didn’t realise that you were capable of blushing.” It’s hard for him to be mad at the goading remark when it comes out so sweet and fond. “Happy birthday, Seresin.”

You can hear Jake’s roguish grin in his voice, almost imagine it if you close your eyes. “I’m capable of a lot more than blushing, darlin’.”

“Hanging up now.”

“Uh huh. Hitting a fuckin’ ace.”

At the sound of the dial tone, Jake replaces his phone into his front pocket, his split-second delight turning into chagrin as he meets the trio’s knowing gaze.

“Huh.” Javy wolf whistles appreciatively, one corner of his lips slanting up. “Never thought I’d see the day.”

Jake scrubs the back of his neck with a frown, the skin perplexingly too-warm all of a sudden. “What are you talking about?”

“The fact that you’ve got the hots for hometown girl, you cheeky fucker,” Bradley supplies, raising his eyebrows. “How long have you been in love with her?”

“What?” Jake sputters, huffing a nervous laugh. “Bradshaw, you’re delusional.”

“No, buddy, you’re delusional,” Bradley replies calmly.

“Okay,” Natasha says then, holding her phone up to Jake’s face. “It’s her, isn’t it?”

Jake’s green eyes flicker with recognition before they’re widening, disbelief transforming his features. “How the fuck did you manage that?”

Natasha smiles triumphantly, bringing it back to her chest before he’s able to swipe it from her. “Easy. She’s the only girl you follow that’s made it onto your feed.”

“What?” Jake frowns, roughing his fingers through his hair distractedly. “No she isn’t. You’re on there.”

“Alone, I mean,” Natasha adds. “And sober. She’s in the first photo you ever posted on Instagram, dumbass.”

She pulls up the image in question for Javy and Bradley, a snapshot of the pair of you at high-school graduation. Jake has an arm wrapped around your neck and tugging you into him, your own crossed over your chest, tandem smiles on your faces. His gaze skates over all the guileless points of contact — chin on hair, rough fingers on waist, torso pressed to back as if it didn’t mean anything to eighteen-year-old him. He blinks.

“Because we’re friends,” he defends after a beat, no real fire to it.

“Just friends?” Bradley asks, raising his eyebrows.

“Just friends,” Jake affirms. Lie.

Natasha doesn’t believe it for a second. She shares a meaningful look with Javy before acquiescing, clicking out of your profile and replacing her phone into her pocket. “Right. Because it’s normal to wait all day for just a friend to call you.”

Jake shrugs, like this makes perfect sense. “I mean, we’re pretty darn close, Pheonix. You wouldn’t get it.”

“Oh I get it alright,” Natasha mutters, her gaze flitting to Rooster momentarily.

“I’ve known her forever,” he adds, more in an attempt to convince himself than anyone else. “It’s always been purely platonic.”

“Right.” Bradley cocks his head to one side, regarding him for a moment. “So you won’t mind if I slide into her DMs, then?”

Jake scoffs amusedly, shaking his head. “Be my guest, Bradshaw. She’s gonna reject you in a heartbeat.”

“And why would she do that?”

“She’s so out of your league,” so out of my league, “that it’s a goddamn embarrassment.”

IV. twenty-three

When Jake invites you to base on the eve of his birthday— a little wistful, a lot homesick—he doesn’t actually expect you to make it happen.

It’s more on a liquor-heavy whim than anything particularly plangent, which is why your swift arrival to the Northeast Coast is that much more surprising.

That much more difficult to decipher.

Turns out, you’ve been planning this trip long before Jake suggested it. After finding your Instagram at last year’s celebration, Natasha had the bright idea to DM you and keep in contact. In her defense, it wasn’t as though she had much choice in the matter — it wasn’t her fault that Jake had painted you as such an enigma, and he couldn’t really blame her for wanting to know more about this all-elusive, ‘just friend’ from his hometown. Who was capable of making him blush. And smile a smile that was actually genuine, for once. Amongst other things.

It’s how he finds himself staring—gawking—at you not twenty-four hours later, a party hat on your head and a tequila shot in your hand. Though you’re surrounded by the rest of the Dagger squad, save Coyote, it’s Bradley proximity specifically that has his pathetic pulse reeling.

It’s perplexing. He watches you down the shot at full tilt before Bradley does the same, the way his face crumples in tandem to yours pulling a peal of laughter from your chest. You inch closer. The vice-like grip Jake’s exerting on his low-ball is a seconds away from causing it to shatter.

“So I tell her —” Javy falters bemusedly, registering Jake’s taut jaw with a frown, “— yo, Hangman. You listening or what?”

“Or what,” Jake mutters back, tipping back his whiskey grimly.

Javy sends him a perplexed look, following his gaze to your figure by the bar before it clicks. He raises his eyebrows. “Oh. Rooster and hometown girl, huh?”

“What?” Jake’s still glowering at the pair of you. “What about them?”

“Oh, come on,” Javy answers, resisting the urge to roll his eyes. “You’re fucking jealous.”

“Fuck off, coyote,” he carps lowly, discarding of his empty glass before shouldering past him. You and Rooster are even closer to each other than you were a second ago, elbow to elbow with a look-don’t-touch inch between you. He ducks his head down to whisper something imperceptible in your ear, and you throw your head back with laughter, the glowing column of your throat on display. Jake’s stomach lurches. No way Bradley fucking Bradshaw is actually that amusing.

“Seresin!” You exclaim when he’s an earshot away. “There you fucking are. Here,” Bradley passes you another shot, which you pass to him, “have a birthday shot.”

Jake accepts the brimming glass with a clenched jaw, still glowering at Bradley beside you, the non-existent inch between your figures. As he replaces the one you passed on with another of equal calibre, the rough underside of his palm lingers over your smaller, softer one. Too close. Too long. It makes Jake clench his jaw harder, as if that’s fucking possible.

And though you’re far too inebriated as this stage to particularly notice, Bradley’s acutely aware of the cracks that are beginning to show in Jake’s demeanour.

So maybe his closeness to you in purpose.

Ever since that fated phone call that alerted them to your existence, the Dagger Squad have had many a conversation about your ‘just friends’ status. Namely, about the fact that it’s total bullshit; there’s this effect you have on him when you call—endearingly touted, the ace phenomenon—that just wouldn’t happen if this situationship was purely platonic. There’s no way just a friend is capable of begetting that lovesick grin.

Hell, Natasha would’ve once sworn that Jake Bagman Seresin wasn’t capable of the emotion. If they were to crack his chest cavity open, she would’ve once sworn there wasn’t a beating heart within it.

Now she realises that it’s because he’d given it to you long before she’d got to know him.

Bradley clinks his shot glass against Jake’s, smirking a smug, unperturbed smirk that makes him furious. “Happy fuckin’ birthday, Bagman!” He cheers, tipping it back with ease. By the time Jake’s doing the same, Bradley’s attention has returned to you. “Here, let me take that glass off your hands, sweetheart.”

You raise your eyebrows at the pet-name, a traitorous heat roaring through your cheeks. “Uh,” you hiccup, glancing over at Jake momentarily. “Right. Thanks, Bradley.”

“C’mon, ace,” he winks good-naturedly, taking it from your grasp, “we’ve been through this. Call me Rooster.”

Jake coughs violently, the tequila burning as it goes down. “Ace?” He sputters out, pushing his way between you and Bradley. “Alright, Bradshaw, you’ve had your fun. You mind fucking off now so the two of us can catch up?”

“Aw, shit, right now?” Bradley pretends to think about it, his brow furrowing in mock-deliberation. “But you already know everything about her. I, on the other hand, still have a lot to learn —”

“That won’t be necessary,” Jake interrupts.

Bradley raises his eyebrows, his mirthful gaze darting to you momentarily. “Huh. Why not?”

Because she’s mine. “Because,” Jake deflects, throwing his arm over your shoulder possessively, “it’s my fucking birthday.”

He tugs you against his torso firmly, his arm snaking around your neck to hold you there. The rough calluses on his palm press into your bare shoulder, and Jake can feel the osculate of your collarbone on his forearm. That pathetic, heart-lurching feeling is starting to acquiesce. You tilt your chin up to him in a daze, the heady mix of tequila and his cologne making it difficult to concentrate.

You don’t realise you’re tilting until Jake’s other hand drops to your waist, folding over it on instinct. “Woah there,” he says, his voice quieter now, solicitous. “You good?”

“I’m,” you hiccup again, “drunk.”

Jake grins down at you fondly. “Clearly.”

“Hangman,” you say then, looking back over at Bradley. “You have, like, really nice navy friends. Why didn’t you tell me that all your navy friends are so nice?”

It’s the first time you’ve addressed him by his call-sign, so naturally, Jake Seresin forgets how to breathe for a second. In a platonic way. It’s a split-second jolt of static to his pulse before the rest of your words register, pulling forth an uglier emotion from his chest.

He isn’t proud of what he says next. “If you’re talking about Rooster, he’s a douchebag. Big-time unavailable. Just…” he combs his fingers through his hair nervously, “…uh, just went through a break-up.”

You gasp, faux-scandalised, cutting Bradley a playful glare. “A rebound, Bradshaw? That’s why you’ve been flirting with me all night?”

Jake narrows his eyes menacingly, the ugly emotion intensifying ten-fold. “All night?”

Bradley decides against disputing the last minute lie Jake’s spit out, raising his arms in surrender instead. “So?” He asks, feigning confusion. “I mean… I’m single, she’s single —”

“It would never work,” Jake interrupts firmly, his hand dropping back to your waist. Squeezing absentmindedly. Your heart jolts, and you become acutely aware of all the too-warm, skin-on-skin. Back to broad torso, the rough-on-soft juxtaposition. You swallow.

Bradley cocks his head to one side. “Why?”

“It just wouldn’t, alright?” Jake pulls you even closer still, and your pulse whirs alive in anticipation. He glances down at you indulgently, his gaze skating over the planes of your pretty face. “For one, you’re way out of her league, Rooster.”

“Oh, fuck off,” you scoff playfully, though when you attempt to break free from his grasp, his hold on you only tightens further. His large palm splays the top of your shoulder, agonising over how soft your skin feels.

“And,” he adds meaningfully, the corners of his mouth twitching. “I wouldn’t wish dealing with her shit on my worst enemy.”

Bradley slaps his hand over his chest, pretending to look affronted. “You telling me I’m not your worst enemy, Hangman?”

But Jake isn’t listening. He hasn’t looked up since his gaze fell on your features, and as you meet it in tandem, you swear you catch it deepen. “Not to mention,” he says then, his voice lower now, gruffer. Pensive. “You’d always be doing long distance.”

You have a funny feeling this conversation is no longer about you and Bradley. You murmur, “I don’t care about that.”

“You should.” Jake really doesn’t want to let go. He doesn’t know why, but he thinks he’ll die if he does so. “You deserve better.”

“And if I don’t want better?”

“Well.” A pause. “That’s what our pact’s for.”

V. twenty-five (+1)

When Jake returns home on his twenty-fifth birthday, it’s to find you on his porch in your PJs.

There’s a sultry, summer heat that presses over him in waves, the scent of cut grass and sweet honeysuckle permeating. Cicadas trill noisily.

With the promise of velvet dusk on the horizon, the ceiling flares above you are his only source of illumination. They bathe your dozing figure in a lemon-yellow hue, your bare arms and legs on display as they glow. The singlet you’re wearing has ridden up some, exposing a rectangle of soft skin that was created to torture him. His palms grow clammy.

He’s late. Turbulence and heavy rain had delayed his flight by an hour, and the traffic on the free-way had extended this by another. He’s late, and you’re waiting. His heart pulls. You’re beautiful.

He’s always known that you were—a fact of life, at this stage—but never before has he felt it like a blow to his chest, confronting enough to debilitate him.

Confronting enough to feel less than platonic. God, he’s known you for how many years? How has this feeling evaded him when he’s been so close for so long?

His head’s spinning, now, and he’s beginning to agonise over your pretty face. Romantically. There’s this immense, terrifying emotion attempting to break free from his ribcage. When you were eight years old, he used to think it was his protective instincts. At ten, it became his fidus Achates, and twelve was the year he mistook a blossoming crush for best friend-ship. In high-school, you were the girl-next-door that provided him solace from the popular crowd. More solace than he’d ever publicly admit to, more heart-rending tension than anything close to amicable. And though his feelings have magnified significantly over the past few years, he’s managed to stave them off, plead innocence in the name of having known you forever.

As if it’s normal to think about kissing ‘just a friend’ whenever you’re around them. His heart pulls again. It never does that with anyone else.

It’s like everything he’s overlooked is coming to a head all at once. The endless, late night rendezvous’ in your youth, the calls during training, the flights you booked to check in on him. The promises and inside jokes and platonic flirting that just wasn’t; Jake doesn’t think he’s had a happy memory without you playing a part in it, and it’s as he gazes over you that he realises that isn’t a coincidence. He still has the badge you gifted him on his eighteenth birthday secured onto his uniform collar, moored indefinitely. Several more decorate the beige fabric on his chest, but it’s that one he points to when people ask after his achievements.

Shit. The Dagger Squad were right, weren’t they? Jake Seresin is absolutely in love with you, and has also been an absolute idiot about it.

He drops his bag to the ground with a resounding thud, his muscles aching as he jogs forth to greet you with an embrace. It doesn’t matter that he’s exhausted and hasn’t slept in fucking days. The ache in his chest is stronger. Your closeness is like oxygen to him.

When you stir, it’s to Jake’s broad figure folding over you. There’s a split second where you startle before your features relax into something fond, and you leap up to wrap your arms around him, his own encircling your waist tight.

“About time, Hangman!” You say in lieu of greeting, burying your head in his chest with a smile.

Jake takes a deep breath in and closes his eyes, his tense shoulders visibly relaxing. Soap, lavender shampoo, faint notes of bergamot from your fading perfume. Skin like the summer sun, coconut sunscreen and fresh hibiscus from your back garden. Home. He blurts out, “I’m in love with you, ace.”

A pause. Jake grimaces when you tense in his arms; it wasn’t meant to come out so unceremoniously — he had a clear plan in his head, something that involved flowers and chocolates and a fancy date in town square. Something extravagant, impressive, of the calibre you should expect from potential suitors. Not this, not a blunder that makes his feelings sound like an afterthought.

You angle back gingerly, looking up at him through wide, disbelieving eyes. “What?”

There’s no way he’s being for real right now. Your heart has long since abandoned a steady rhythm, whirring in place like a spin-cycle, his solemn expression only making it whir harder. You become acutely aware of the rough hands he has on your back, the forearms pressed to bare waist. The torso to torso proximity. You add, “Don’t fuck with me, Seresin. I’m serious.”

Jake visibly softens, a flicker of hurt crossing his features. “You think I’d joke about something like that?” He murmurs.

“You’ve joked about far worse,” you mutter back, averting your gaze.

“Darlin’,” Jake reaches forward and pinches your chin between his thumb and forefinger gently, tilting it up, “I’m being so serious it fuckin’ hurts, right now.”

Your breath hitches. There’s more leather and cologne in your personal space than you’re used to, Jake’s arm holding you up, the other pressing into your skin. And his gaze is all fond and heavy like molasses, more pupil than iris on display, vivid viridescence. The way he’s looking over you right now—like you’re the only girl in the world—is doing something funny to your chest. You ask, a little bashful, “How long?”

“Since I’ve known?” Jake grins sheepishly. “One second.”

You roll your eyes, attempting to wriggle out of his grasp to no avail. “What did I just say about fucking with —”

“Since my heart’s known?” He adds, backing you up against the wall to press himself closer, the fingers on your chin acquiescing. He places his hand on the ridged timber beside your ear, body-heat emanating from his too-close bicep. “Fucking years.”

Your eyes widen. “Why didn’t you tell me sooner?”

“Shit… because I’m an idiot?” He pauses, shaking his head bemusedly. “Because I thought it was normal to want to kiss you all the time?”

“I —” you balk, your poor pulse jolting, “— you want to kiss me all the time?”

Jake’s gaze drops to your lips, and his licks his own absentmindedly. “All the time.”

“You’re an idiot, Jake Seresin,” you murmur, pressing your palms into his chest. “D’you know how many opportunities you’ve had to make a move over the years?”

Jake grins then, all sweet and roguish. “Yeah? You’ve thought about me making a move?”

“Don’t do that. You’re the first guy I ever loved.”

Jake’s turn to balk. His green eyes widen in surprise, the ceiling flares bringing forth specks of brighter yellow. “What?”

“Shut up.” You screw your eyes shut abashedly. “I was totally—totally—head over heels in high-school. You really didn’t know?”

“Of course not,” Jake breathes out, his hand moving to cradle your jaw. “Shit, ace. And how about now?”

You look up at him, brow furrowed. “How about now what?”

“You head over heels for me now?”

“I — uh, I don’t know,” you lie, swallowing slightly.

Jake’s gaze falls to the soft column of your throat momentarily before he’s composing himself, lifting back to your lips. “Right, yeah,” he agrees sagely, looking faux-solemn. “Me neither. Probably gonna have to kiss each other to be certain, huh?”

“Hangman,” you warn, no real bite to your words.

“C’mon, ace,” he murmurs, dipping his head a little. An inch between your lips and his, now. “Don’t you want to bring our deadline up by a few years?”

He doesn’t wait for an answer before attaching his mouth to yours, this deep, sloven pressure that has you gasping into the kiss. His lips move with an urgency that renders you lightheaded, weak-knee’d in his arms, and it takes absolutely everything in you not to moan in sweet relief. When his mouth drags over to your jaw, your throat, he lets out an appreciative groan, and a needy ache sears through your core. He’s everywhere, all at once, and still feels as though he hasn’t tasted enough.

Jake Seresin kisses you like a man starved, and you realise that it’s a culmination of several years of unrequited love.

When he pulls back, it’s with kiss-bitten lips and a bruised smirk on his face. “Fuck, guess you kept your word after all, huh?”

“About?” You prompt, raising your eyebrows.

“You know…” Jake gesticulates vaguely, still grinning, “…settling down with a sweet, Southern boy well before thirty.”

You bite back a laugh and furrow your brow instead, looking over his shoulder in a show of mock-confusion. “Sweet Southern boy? Where?”

“Ha ha,” Jake returns, ducking his head to press a teeth-scraping kiss to your neck. “You’re lucky you’re cute.”

“You love it,” you sigh out.

Jake’s low voice rumbles through your skin. “Unfortunately.”

“Fortunately.” You smile, sweet, unabashed. “Happy birthday, Seresin.”

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potato-girl99981 · 1 year

Text

Omg this is going to be sooo goood!!!

THE LIES WE TELL 🃟 ONE 🃟 FIRST IMPRESSIONS

🃟 add yourself to my tag list(s) here 🃟

pairing 🃟 CEO! Hangman X Bodyguard! Reader

warnings 🃟 swearing, Jake seresin being a little shit (affectionate), javy machado needs a hug

a/n 🃟 the beginning! Here we gooooooooooo!!!! As always please reblog and comment, feedback is very much appreciated 💜

The towering structure of the Seresin Technology building casts a dark shadow over the space where you’ve parked your car. The sleek colours of the logo, despite being muted and dull, make you feel nauseous but that’s more than likely due to lack of sleep. Over the past week you’ve been staying up late in order to perfect the plan on how best to protect your mark whilst also maintaining a solid cover so he doesn’t suspect a thing.

Your saving grace throughout the preparation for this job has been Javy. His in depth knowledge of Jake’s life means he’s been there with valuable suggestions to help you. But despite his input being most helpful, you’ve never met someone as meticulous as Javy. He’s spent the last week spamming your emails with anything he thinks you might need to know in your dual role as Jake’s secretary and bodyguard. It never occurred to you to expect to be bombarded with as much information as you have been, as evidenced by the list of questions in your bag alongside a copy of the company’s procedures Javy had sent to the Dagger security office a few days ago.

Exiting you vehicle, you take a deep breath before strolling with faux confidence into the building. It’s something Mav always says to you ‘fake it til you make it’ .

After obtaining a temporary pass from the front desk, you check your phone for the directions for Javy’s office. Walking in what you hope is the right direction, you twirl the business card given to you by Javy between your fingertips as a way of calming your nerves. You’re due in the office to meet Javy at 9am sharp. It’s only 8:30 but you like being early and as it turns out so does Javy.

As you walk into his office, you see him hunched over a laptop, tapping furiously at the keyboard with his face fixed into a frown. He’s dressed in a sleek grey suit, the jacket of which is draped haphazardly over the back of his chair. The sleeves of his white shirt are folded unevenly up his arms, with one being above the elbow and the other slightly below. Engrossed in his work, the dark haired man doesn’t appear to have heard you knock so you clear your throat as you enter and he looks up, his expression softening slightly as he takes in your appearance and mutters a soft “morning”.

Javy rises from his desk and crosses the room to close the door behind you. “Sorry,” he apologises, going back to typing when he sits back down on the expensive leather of his desk chair, “we’re having some renevations done on one of our office buildings and there were some burst pipes so, absolute shit storm as you can imagine.”

You smile softly at his bewildered state, stating softly “It’s alright, I’m early.” Javy checks his watch and nods, sighing softly in relief. “Is there much damage?” You ask, sliding into the seat across from him.

“Not really,” he says, sliding back into his seat. “It’s just, we’re supposed to be moving in there soon . Jake had a big input into the design of the building.” Another three successive pings sound and Javy frowns at his phone. He continues, “It’s supposed to be a more secure place for the development of our new technology.” “He’s getting really paranoid about having everything in one building.”

“That’s understandable.” You say, taking a quick glance around the room. It’s a pretty standard office, no personal items of note on Javy’s desk apart from a paper weight in the shape of a dog which you assume has to have been a gag gift that he’s just never gotten round to getting rid of. The man sat in front of you doesn’t seem like the type to have knickknacks and family pictures- too much of a workaholic by your observations.

“Yeah well, his paranoia isn’t exactly unfounded.”

Frowning, you question, “What do you mean?”

“I told you about the letters right?” You nod in reply. “Well they didn’t just threaten Jake. There were some specifics about the company. Stuff that an outsider wouldn’t - couldn’t know.”

“So you’re saying…”

Javy finishes your sentence for you, “I’m pretty sure it’s someone within the company who’s sending these damn letters.”

“Who?”

“Well if I knew that, I’d know who the fuck I need to fire.” Your eyes widen at Javy’s outburst as he winces at the volume of his own voice. “Sorry,” he mutters quietly. “What with everything going on, I’m a bit on edge,”

You nod in understanding. “I get it, and I can keep an eye out for anyone suspicious but my priority is protecting Jake.”

Javy nods vigorously. “Of course! That’s exactly what I hired you to do.” He says, “I’ll work out who it is that’s sending these letters and you focus on -“

The door swings open as Javy is speaking, actively cutting him off. It’s lucky he didn’t continue what he was saying as the man who walks into the office is the last person you’d want to hear it but with the way Jake Seresin breezes into the office with his nose basically planted into his smartphone, you decide it’s unlikely you need to be worried about him having heard anything.

Despite it being only you and Javy in the room, his presence automatically commands respect. Maybe it’s his 6’0” frame with what you’re sure is lots of muscle covered by the expensive material of his suit. Looking over him appreciatively, you come to understand why Jake has topped the ‘Hottest CEO’s in California’ list for 5 years running. Those green eyes and stubble covered jaw have probably got him many perks over the years, and not just the cover of a few magazines.

Noting Javy’s indifference at his friends entrance, you conclude this must be a regular occurance for Jake to glide into his office, as the man sat behind the desk doesn’t even flinch at the intrusion aside from his pause in speech. Javy doesn’t raise from his seat like you do, which gathers the blond man’s attention enough to tear his eyes away from the screen in his hand.

Instead of addressing you, he speaks to Javy. “Thought you said 9am man.”

Taken aback by his blatant ignorance, you decide to make yourself impossible to ignore and before Javy can reply to his friend, you interrupt moving to stand directly in front of your new boss. “Early is on time, on time is late.” You say simply, quoting another of Mav’s famous ‘sayings’ as you hold your hand out in Jake’s direction. “Y/n” you state your name sharply.

He turns to you, a smirk on his face at your outwardly irritated demeanour. Pocketing his phone, he turns to you fully. “Jake Seresin.” He sticks out his hand in return, his navy blue suit riding up slightly higher on his forearm as he extends his palm to meet your own.

His handshake is firm and his silver watch clinks as your hands move. No sooner has he shook your hand, his phone chimes in his pocket and he retracts, fishing the device out and frowning at the screen much like Javy does. “No offence sweetheart, but there’s a lot to learn here, maybe you should take a couple of days, read over the procedures of the company.” He barely looks up from his phone, tapping away at the screen as he talks to you. “You’ll need to know them like the back of your hand if you’re working with me,”

Clearing your throat, you almost roll your eyes as Jake raises a finger and continues typing. It’s only when there’s a whoosh indicating a sent email that he glances your way. You give him a sickly sweet smile. “You mean these procedures?” The folder given to you by Javy is gripped in your hand, the bright red of the cover practically glaring in the face of the man in front of you.

A mild look of shock crosses Jakes face as his eyes snap to the binder in your hand. It turns into his signature megawatt smile so quick that you nearly don’t catch it but it’s there, you’ve gotten to him.

“ I figured I should know my stuff ‘like the back of my hand’ if I’m going to be working closely with you.” you use finger quotations to mock him and although the grin stays fixed on his face, his eyebrows raise slightly in mirth.

“Touché” he drawls, looking you up and down in intrigue. Usually, an action like that would make your skin crawl but Jake isn’t doing it to check you out. It’s almost as if he’s fascinated by you. As if to prove your point, Jake keeps his eyes on yours, his gaze never wavering as he addresses his best friend.

“Where’d you find her Javy?”

“Uh,” The man sat at the desk hesitates and you’re pretty sure your heart stops beating. ‘C’mon Javy’ you think ‘don’t blow this before it’s even started,’.

“She’s a family friend.” He blurts out and you can barely contain your sigh of relief. Jake doesn’t seem to notice, or if he does, he doesn’t comment on it. The mention of being someone reccommended by his best friend seems enough to satiate his curiosity for the time being.

Jake hums in thought and finally tears his gaze away from you. “Javy, I’m gonna put a call in to Bella and get a laptop and phone ready, would you chase up Dan and get the log in details and clearance through the system for y/n?”

“I’ve been trying but Dan keeps stonewalling me.”

“That’s because I hadn’t met her yet,” he nods to you. “When you have everything, come find me. I’ll be in my office all day so we can go over some things.” You nod, taking note of how cautious he is with people he doesn’t know.

Jakes phone starts ringing then and he pats his friend on the shoulder muttering a “thanks man,” before he puts the phone up to his ear and heads out of the room.

As soon as the door closes, Javy lets out something akin to a loud sigh and slides down in his chair. “I hate lying to him,” he says, his voice muffled by the hand he’s running over his face.

You take the seat across from him once again and kick your feet up on his desk. “Well, suck it up buttercup. We’ve got a long road ahead of us.” You say, and Javy looks up with a small scowl on his face. “Now how about you get me set up on all the systems so I can do what you’re paying me to do,” you suggest sassily and Javy picks up the phone in front of him.

As he holds the phone to his ear, waiting for the person he’s dialling to answer, he taps the toe of the shoe that’s closest to him. “And how’s about you keep your damn feet off my desk, huh?“

You chuckle and mock salute him, retracting your legs from where they’re laid across the mahogany. “He’s pretty paranoid, huh?” You say and Javy frowns.

“Uh-huh, lucky he likes you though.”

“Likes me?” You scoff, “he barely spoke to me,”

Javy starts typing again whilst he talks to you, the phone still balanced between his face and shoulder. “Listen, I’ve known Jake since we were kids and trust me if he didn’t like you, you wouldn’t still be standing in my office. You’re already part way there. Just get him to trust you and you’ll be fine.”

“Any tips on how to do that?” You ask, “I get the feeling he doesn’t trust many people,”

“Just be real with him,” Javy says and you nearly laugh.

It’s solid advice- but there’s just one problem running through your mind: ‘how am I supposed to be real if I’m lying straight to his face?’

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