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hangmanssunnies · 1 year

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Double Tap

House We Share: Double Tap, Sfumato, Good Comes In 3

Summary: You were hesitant when your friends told you about their other friend who needed a roommate. Living with a man, let alone a Naval aviator, isn't your ideal living situation. However, you are desperate to get out of your current house. So, you will have to suck it up and make a deal with Jake "Hangman" Seresin. Now you just wish he would stop doing things that make you fall in love with him.

Pairings: Jake "Hangman Seresin x Fem! Civilian! Reader, minor Javy "Coyote" Machado x OC

Word count: 19k

AO3 LINK

Warnings: Abuse (Implied and mentioned), confrontation with Abuser, Child abuse (mentioned), Slow burn, Implied calorie counting, routines and compulsions, Jigsaw puzzles, taxes, Neurodivergent coded! Hangman, Fiscally responsible!Hangman, Protective!Hangman. Please let me know if I missed any for this part, I know it is a long one.

Authors Note: This got so completely out of hand. It started as one scene and then grew a mind of its own. Part two is written, just not edited, I'm planning on having that done later this week. Hangman Coyote BFF supremacy. I apologize for writing the most hyper-specific!Jake you have probably ever read. 85% of his personality is just things I find attractive in men.

Thank you so much if you take a chance to read this work. I hope you enjoy it. My inbox is always open if you want to let me know your thoughts. Reblogs with your thoughts, opinions, and tags are gold to me. I love reading through them.

You had been at your friend Marlee's house for almost an hour before she couldn't stop herself from confronting you. She had at least let you get settled and offered you a drink while pretending to be distracted by the lasagna she was making. She had spun towards you expectantly when it was in the oven, having reached her limit on waiting.

"What happened?" Marlee asks.

"It's nothing." You respond.

"It is something. I don't want to reread your texts back to you, babes."

"Marls," you sigh, briefly closing your eyes, trying to fight the exhaustion you feel.

"You can't live there anymore. We need to get you out."

"Yeah, let me just move and find a place to live. It's not that easy, Marlee."

She sighs heavily. "I know, babes, but at least stay here with Javy and me. If he touches you like that again."

"It was just a one-time thing," you quickly cut her off. But, from the pitying look in her eyes, she knows it hasn't been just this one time.

"If something happened."

"Nothing is going to happen." Marlee was too bright and too good of a friend. She knew something had already happened, and she knew things had been happening. Her frown and eyebrow raise say it all.

"I can't just crash here," you say.

"You are always, always welcome."

"You are," a voice pops up, and you both look over to the couch. You thought Marlee's husband, Javy, was thoroughly invested in the game he was playing on his Xbox, but it turns out he had an ear on your conversation.

It wasn't something that bothered you. You loved Javy, he had been an excellent partner to Marlee, and you considered him a friend. He was fun and easygoing, something you hadn't expected from a Navy man. You also weren't bothered because everyone knew they were the type of couple that told each other absolutely everything. So, Javy would have found out one way or another.

"I know that. Thanks, you two." You tell them, trying to get them off your back.

"Marlee is right. We can't have anything happening to you."

"Nothing is going to happen to me, Javy," you say, now trying to reassure them and stop this unnecessary worrying.

"You know. I have a friend who has actually been looking for a roommate." Javy says.

"You do?" you ask, surprised you hadn't heard about this sooner.

"Yeah, I mean, he can be a lot. But he is a good guy and a great roommate."

"Who ?" Marlee cuts in.

"Jake."

"Hangman?"

"Yeah, Hangman." The two of them stare at each other, and you can see that they are having one of those conversations of glances and small expressions you weren't entirely privy to understanding.

Marlee then shrugs, nodding, and looks back at you, "It would be a nice safe place."

"I mean, it's an option and would be a nicer place to stay than anything else you'll find. Plus, someone who is not a total stranger as a roommate." Javy tells you. He pulls off his headset and makes his way to the kitchen. He sets his hand on your shoulder and gives you a kind smile.

"I'm not sure about living with a man."

"If you don't want to live with Jake or you aren't interested, we will find somewhere else. Or you stay here with us, but you can't stay there anymore." The seriousness behind Javy's smile isn't lost on you. So you start to slowly nod.

"I guess I could at least chat with your friend if y'all think it's a decent option."

"Yeah, for sure," Javy said with a grin. "I'll ask him about it, then maybe y'all can meet this weekend. We are still having a big bonfire on the beach. I'm sure he will be there."

"Oh, I wasn't planning on going to the bonfire." You start to say, which makes both Javy and Marlee frown.

"Why aren't you coming to the bonfire?"

You tried to think of a valid excuse beyond that being in open public spaces was terrifying to you right now. An excuse past the fact that you knew your bruises wouldn't be gone by Saturday.

"I've just been stressed about finding a place to live, you know." You gave them both a weak smile, but neither of your friends seemed appeased.

"Well, now you have a reason to come," Marlee says.

"Yeah, exactly, and I'll talk to Jake." Javy presses a kiss to your forehead and then a lingering one to Marlee's lips. He returns to the couch, but not before looking at you seriously. "You know if you ever need anything, you call us?"

"Sir, yes sir," you tell him with a laugh, making Marlee giggle too.

Even with Javy's reassurances, you are unsure about this whole idea. However, whoever this friend Jake is, you know he had to be better than your current living situation. After dinner, Marlee and Javy both reiterate their feelings on the whole issue before you leave their house. You did your best to wave them off and tell them you would see them in a few days.

When Saturday rolls around, you head to the pin Marlee sent you for the bonfire. You are thankful it is a cooler day and will only be colder once the sun sets. It allows you to not look so out of place in your conservative clothes, ensuring all your bruises are covered.

You arrive purposefully late and park far from the beach. By the time you make it to the group of people, you have sufficiently hyped yourself up to interact with the others. You decide to ease yourself into the party. You walk around the different coolers, opening them and investigating the available drink options.

You are in the middle of shuffling through one when you hear a voice behind you.

"Anything specific I can help you find, sweetheart?" You turn around and are met with one of the most attractive men you have ever met. He is tall, with dirty blonde hair and a pair of sunglasses perched on his nose.

"I'm just browsing," You tell the man with a shrug, proud of yourself for being able to put together a sentence.

"I think I know what would be perfect for you, sweetheart.

"Oh really?"

"Yeah," He says, flashing you a grin. His smile makes something in your stomach swoop a tiny bit.

"And, what would that be?" you say, raising an eyebrow.

"Me, of course."

You can't help the shocked laugh that falls out of your throat. Which just makes his handsome smile widen.

"I was thinking something a bit stronger, actually."

"I know I look like a tall glass of water but let me tell you, I won't disappoint you."

"Well, looks certainly can be deceptive."

"That's true. Are you really as sweet as you look?"

Before you can answer, you hear Javy's voice to your right. "Oh good, you two already met."

You turn your head to see Javy jogging over. He stops next to you with a smile on his face. You process his words and feel your stomach drop. The incredibly handsome man you were trying to flirt with was Javy's friend. Javy's friend he thought you could live with.

"There haven't been any formal introductions," you say.

"Jake Seresin," he says. He sticks out his hand, waiting for you to shake it. You take his hand, give it a firm shake, and share your name. He repeated it softly, giving your hand an extra squeeze before letting go.

"Javy said you are looking to move," Jake says casually. Your voice seems stuck in your throat. You examine Jake's handsome face again and know you can't do this.

"Yeah, she is. Soon, too." Javy says after you haven't said anything leaving an awkward pause.

"I have lots of space."

"Oh well, you know." You say, trying to figure out what to say by saying nothing at all. Jake nods along with you, but his eyebrows pull close together while his eyes narrow.

"Plus, Jake is really clean," Javy adds.

"That is good to know. Maybe Jake and I can talk about it later?" You say, giving both of them a smile. You turn back to the coolers and grab the first drink you see.

"Yeah, we can talk about it later. Javy owes me a spike ball game anyways," Jake says. He flashes you another smile while grabbing a High Noon out of the cooler, gesturing for Javy to do the same. You leave them to find Marlee and chat with some other people at the party.

You are considering how to best say goodbye and leave the party while sitting next to the fire later. You stare into the flames hoping they might provide you answers.

"You would actually be doing me a huge favor by moving in, "Jake says to you casually. You are startled by his sudden presence, and you look over at him, quirking an eyebrow in response.

"Oh really?"

"Yeah. I haven't had a roommate for a while, and I would prefer someone who isn't in the military. I don't want to bring work and ranks home. You know?"

"Oh yeah, sure, that makes sense," you say, following his line of logic.

"Also, rent these days is," Jake doesn't finish the sentence, instead just whistling quietly.

"Yeah, rent is expensive," you laugh. You find it much easier to talk to Jake if you don't have to look directly out at him.

"You don't have to let me know right now, but I don't have any issues with it."

"We haven't talked about it much," you tell him, surprised he had decided so quickly.

"There is this saying that beggars can't be choosers."

"I would want a roommate contract. Is that okay?"

"Yeah, that would be fine by me, Sugar."

"Okay, cool, but we should think about it."

"Tonight is a party, and we are supposed to be having fun. Not doing business. So, why don't you text me, and we will hash out the details this week. Plus you can see the place, which you would probably want. Maybe you could move in next weekend if we can work it all out?"

Part of you thought you shouldn't look a gift horse in the mouth, so you decided to text Jake throughout the week to hash out the details. And the next thing you know, Javy, Marlee, and Jake are helping you move your stuff.

Living with Jake wasn't as hard as you worried it would be. In fact, it was much easier than you were anticipating. Jake led his life with strict regiment and routine. It was something that stretched beyond that he was in the military.

Jake would wake up in the mornings and go on a run before coming home, making breakfast, showering, and going to work. Then he would come home, change and go to the gym, come home, shower again because he needed to, and then eat dinner. Every night if you were home while he was cooking, Jake would always offer you some. That leads you to find out he is a phenomenal chef.

Then Jake would read in the large armchair in the living room and half-watch whatever you put on the TV to watch yourself. He only requested to use the TV when one of his sports teams was playing or on Wednesday nights, where he would spend an hour and a half playing Animal Crossing with his niece while they facetime.

You had told Jake that the TV was his, and he didn't have to ask you to use it. Jake just laughed and shrugged before telling you he wasn't the biggest TV guy. Jake had been telling the truth when he said that. You realized that Jake was more interested in his books. If he wasn't reading a book, he sat silently with one of his sudoku puzzles and country music playing on vinyl. Then Jake would go to bed after whatever chores he deemed he should do.

It was a strictly followed pattern, only differing on Fridays when he would sometimes go out to a bar with the guys or sometimes Saturdays. However, even on the weekends, he would follow the schedule closely. Regardless if he had gone to the bar, he would still wake up outrageously early in the morning, work out, do chores, and then go to the gym again. Sometimes Jake would venture out of the house to see his friends, but more often than not, he was reading or in the workshop in the garage with some project.

Marlee had not prepared you for how amazingly hot Jake was. When you moved in, he had been very polite, if a bit curt. Never venturing to flirt with you again like when you first met. As the weeks living with Jake passed, though, he definitely warmed up to you. But still never pushed the roommate line between you.

You worked hard to push your attraction for Jake to the side or shove it into a safe in the back of your mind. That was a challenging task to accomplish because, just like Javy said, Jake was very clean. It wasn't that he was a clean freak per se, but he was definitely an orderly and well-kept person. Everything in the house had a place it belonged.

Jake always did his dishes and tidied up after himself in your common areas. He also never leaves any of his laundry waiting around. You had watched in a mix of awe and horror the first time he pulled out clothes from the dryer within five minutes of the machine going off. Then Jake started folding, halfway through the laundry, stoping to pull out an iron and ironing board.

The sight was all so attractive that you had to excuse yourself upstairs. That was something that you often had to do. Anytime you felt heat build in you towards your roommate, you would quickly excuse yourself. You knew giving into your attraction for Jake in any shape or form would not lead anywhere good. You needed a place to live, and this place you had with Jake was way too good to risk anything.

Given his career choice, it was not entirely surprising how regimented Jake is. However, what did surprise you was when he started to incorporate you into his routines in small ways. Jake would automatically set out an extra plate for you when cooking, and picks up snacks you like from the store. One day you come home and find a second shoe rack by the door just for you. On the days you had to be up for work, you would find that Jake had already put your morning drink together for you when he returned from the gym and was making his own breakfast. You like the steady rhythm and consistency that living with Hangman provides you. It's seamless and easy to fall into step with him.

You had been living with Jake for a few months, and things were going really well, almost too well you sometimes felt like it was too good to be true. Your nightmares weren't as frequent. You get full nights sleep and feel comfortable here with Jake. The only times you don't feel content are the times that you think about how hot Jake is. Or when Jake does something that makes it hard not to try and smash your lips against his in a heated, passionate kiss.

Then one day, you get home from work, and worry suddenly sweeps over you as you glance at your phone and realize what time it is. The house is completely dark and quiet. Jake should have been home several hours ago and on his way to the gym already. In fact, right about now was when he should have been getting home from the gym.

You resist the urge to call Jake and check that he is okay. You know that action would be overstepping the roommate boundaries that exist clearly between you. You tell yourself it's silly to worry all because he wasn't following the schedule you made up for him in your head. It's not like Jake had ever written down his routine and given it to you. Maybe today was a special anniversary, or maybe he had after-work plans you didn't know about.

Your worry is eased about twenty minutes later when you hear Jake's truck pull into the driveway, followed by the garage door rumbling open. You find yourself easing further into the couch, some of the tension you weren't wholly conscious of easing out of your body.

Jake comes in, and you cut your eyes over to see him still in his flight suit. He doesn't say anything to you as he unlaces and kicks off his shoes. He passes you while walking to the stairs and manages a short but gruff hello. Then, without another word, he is gone. You stare after his back in shock. Something is definitely not right with Jake.

He left his shoes sprawled on the ground by the door. It was not a sight you had ever seen in the house, not even the times Jake had stumbled home drunk and giggly. Jake always pulled off his boots, neatly tucking the laces in and then setting them up on his small shoe rack by the door.

You get up from the couch and walk over to fix his shoes, tucking in the laces. You tell yourself it is so no one will trip over them, not for any other reason. Then you hear Jake's shower turn on, and the water runs much longer than the twenty-minute showers you are used to him taking. It all feels so odd and out of place. You decide to make some pasta for dinner, convinced Jake is planning on not eating at all with how far he is off his schedule.

You are just finishing dinner when the water in his bathroom finally shuts off. Then fifteen more minutes later, Jake comes downstairs in a pair of plaid pajama pants and a thread-bare Annapolis shirt. He appears to be looking around downstairs, almost a bit dazed and lost.

"I made dinner. How about you have some?" You call out to him from the kitchen. Jake follows your voice to the kitchen and looks at the food you have made and dishes up. Hesitantly he sits down at the table.

"If you don't mind."

"Of course not. I know this may shock you since you normally cook, but I can do it too."

"I've never thought that you couldn't cook." Jake quickly responds.

"I know, Jake. I'm just teasing you. Now eat up."

Jake follows orders and takes a bite of the pasta, letting out a small groan. "So good," he mumbles before taking another bite.

"Do you want the macros?" You ask him conversationally after eating in silence for a few minutes.

"Oh. No, thank you. I appreciate you making something and sharing. No need for you to put in extra work. I will be fine not tracking my macros for one meal," Jake says.

"Okay," you say and give him the kindest smile you can think of. You don't want to push him on why he isn't okay. However, you can't stop yourself from sliding the piece of paper you wrote the macros on across the table to him anyways.

Jake stares at the note card for a long moment and then looks up at you. It's not a look you have ever seen on your roommate's face before. You aren't entirely sure how to decipher the way his green sea-glass eyes are gleaming back at you. He folds the paper once before putting it in his pocket.

Jake clears his throat, and the edges of his lips quirk up. "Thank you."

"Of course, anytime, Jake," you say back. He puts away his plate a few minutes later after finishing his food. Then packs up the leftovers into some tupperware.

"I'm going to bed," Jake tells you. Jake doesn't even stop to grab the current book he is in the middle of from where it is placed next to his chair in the living room.

The moment Jake disappears up the stairs, you are frowning again, considering his behavior. It bugged you, something clearly was off, but you weren't in the position to ask him what it was. As you start to settle down for the evening, you notice that Jake had put it in the laundry basket next to the washer that morning. Seeing that you knew he originally had every intention of starting it before going to the gym that night something that never happened.

You briefly considered that maybe it isn't normal how you have memorized his routine, but also maybe that was just part of living with Jake. You didn't even think before you were throwing his laundry in the washer for him. You stay up to put the clothes in the dryer. Then you find yourself folding items and hanging some of them, not confident that you could iron them correctly. About halfway through the chore, you stop realizing just what you are doing but finish it out, imagining the look on Jake's face when he sees his laundry done. You are in too deep to back out at this point.

🏡🧩🏡

You knew it wasn't the best idea that morning when you had left to go pick up some of your remaining stuff and random mail from where you used to live. However, you didn't expect it to go as badly as it had. You were still shaking from the interaction you had when you got home. Every moment of the interaction repeats over and over in your head. You hazardously throw your keys into your little key bowl, not caring to notice Jake's there as well.

You were still trying to take calming breaths and push away the tears streaming down your face. Standing at the entrance to the living room frozen, you aren't sure if you are actually at home or back there with him.

You startle and jump, letting out a small shriek, hearing a sound in the kitchen. You turn slowly, shocked to see Jake staring at you dressed in his NWUs instead of his flight suit. You are equally surprised by the sight of him home in the middle of the day, in a uniform you rarely see him wear.

The adrenaline of being scared forces your brain into letting go of the nerves and panic you had barely been keeping in check. Tears spring freely from your eyes as you take gasping breaths. J ake sets down the knife he is holding and takes long strides across the room to quickly reach your side. His hands hover near you but don't actually touch.

"What's wrong?" Jake asks in a deep voice.

You just shake your head at him, unable to respond, instead focusing on getting air into your lungs.

"Can I touch you?" Jake asks then, and that does seem okay, so you jerkily nod your head yes.

First, his hands settle lightly on your shoulders. Once it seems like you are okay and comfortable with that. Jake goes a step further and wraps his arms around you, pulling you flush against his chest. You press your face into the material of his shirt. Your hands come up to bunch it slightly on his chest as you find purchase to clutch him closer.

He makes gentle shushing noises but otherwise doesn't say anything while holding you. He is so warm, and his arms feel strong around you. Jake's hold on you doesn't waiver once while you cry. Only relaxing slightly when your sniffles and crying start to level out and you let go of his shirt.

You take one more deep breath of him. Jake smells of a pleasant mix of his body wash, y'all's fabric softener, and his cologne. Letting the calming effect of the smell flood your system before letting go of your hold on him completely, only then does Jake let his arms slip away.

Pulling away from the hug, you shyly look to see Jake's face. You find that he is already looking at you. For one of the first times since you met him, you don't like how Jake's face looks. There is a soft and sad demeanor that you see in his eyes. His eyebrows crease and his lips are pressed into a flat line. You feel embarrassment and shame flood you. The way that you just broke down and cried on your roommate, fully processing in your muddled tired head.

"You're home," you eventually say, trying to break the ice and put a brave face back on.

"Yeah, I'm not flying today. So, I had the time to come home for lunch."

"Sorry to interrupt." You say, looking down to examine your feet.

"You didn't interrupt anything," Jake reassures you. He goes back to the kitchen, and you watch as he continues to cut ingredients for his salad.

"Do you want me to make you anything?" He asks.

"No, thank you. "You say not feeling even a little hungry.

"Do you want to talk about it?" Jake asks next.

"No, thank you," you say again and settle at the kitchen island to watch Jake cut the veggies and toss them in a big bowl.

"Okay," he says. You like that Jake doesn't push you for things. He respects the boundaries you set and doesn't even try to toe up against them.

"Am I allowed to know why you aren't flying today? I thought someone had broken in. Plus, I hardly recognize you out of a flight suit."

"You don't like these?" Jake asks, looking at the Navy camo print he is wearing as if this uniform suddenly offended him.

"I didn't say that," you tell him, giving a small laugh. Obviously, Jake could make anything look good, even things that shouldn't.

"Can't fly every day." He says with a shrug. "Also, I'm going through some maintenance stuff and checks with my sailors."

You hum, but otherwise, don't comment watching Jake wash the knife and cutting board he had been using then. Then, after he drys them and puts them away, he turns back to you.

"There isn't anything to be embarrassed about," he tries to venture lightly.

"You don't come home and cry on me," you say, frowning.

"You sure about that one?" He asks, shoving a mouthful of salad into his mouth.

"Pretty sure that I would remember such an occasion."

Jake just hums. One of those sounds that makes you feel like he doesn't actually agree. A few bites of his food later, he sets his bowl down. His green gaze is trialed on you, but then he glances at his watch, huffing in annoyance.

There is a slight caving feeling inside you. You feel bad. How much of Jake's lunch have you taken up? You had never actually seen him come home for lunch before, so he must not get a long time.

"I do all the time. Maybe just a bit less of the wet physical crying." Jake tells you, putting a container lid on his bowl.

"You could," you utter to him, a little embarrassed.

"Yeah?"

"Yeah, wouldn't bother me if you ever needed to. You know. I'm here for you."

"Thank you, Darlin," Jake says. Then glances at his watch again. "I got ten minutes before I have to go. What would you like to do?"

"I'm fine," you tell him. "You should use that time to eat."

"I'll munch while I'm doing some paperwork later."

That was a lie. You knew that Jake would never eat around paperwork. However, it was the kind of lie that settles warmly. It was one of those lies born with good intentions and made to be soothing. You could never be upset that he is even trying to comfort you at his own expense.

"I don't want to talk about it, Jake." You reiterate again.

"I know, and you don't have to. I won't ask again. However, if you ever decide that you do. I'm here for you too. Always."

"Thank you, Jake. You're a really good roommate."

"I hope you can consider me a friend too?"

"Of course, we are friends too," you reassure him. Jake's lips quirk upwards, his dimples flashing upon hearing that.

"Now, I can't go back to work without seeing at least one smile."

"That's a pretty tall order."

"Well, they don't call me the best for nothing."

"Do they really call you the best or is that something you just tell people?" You ask him, mostly joking. Jake pretends to take offense, pressing his hand dramatically to his chest.

"Ma'am, you wound me," Jake says, pouting.

"I don't know. I think it is a pretty legitimate question."

"I am the best."

"And how do they determine that exactly? Who the best is."

"Well, there are a lot of ways. Many different factors to consider."

"Oh really?"

"Yup. Also sorts of stuff, but they get us all together once a year, and we have a competition."

"What kind of competition?"

"Only the elite members of the Navy participate. We all take turns sliding."

"Sliding?"

"Yup," Jake confirms, sounding one hundred percent serious. "We set up a huge slip and slide on the carrier runway. You only get three tries, and then we add them for scoring. I may have ripped off all the skin on my chest last year, but it was worth it to win."

You can't help but let out a laugh. You picture Hangman competitively sliding down a yellow tarp that doesn't have enough water on it. It's such a silly concept you aren't sure where he came up with it.

"Ahh there she is," Jake says with a broad smile.

"I never would have thought that was a skill the Navy values."

"Yes, Ma'am. It's actually the second part of the Naval academy mission," Jake tells you, still maintaining a serious tone despite his smile. Then Jake stands up straight to his full height in parade rest.

"To develop Midshipmen morally, mentally and physically and to imbue them with the highest ideals of duty, honor and loyalty in order to graduate leaders who are dedicated to a career of naval service and have potential for future development in mind and character to assume the highest responsibilities of command, citizenship and government." Jake repeats dutifully and then adds. "In addition to putting these ideals to the test by hosting the world's most competitive slip and slide competition. Weirdly, people don't talk about that second part much."

You only laugh harder, shaking your head at him. "Yeah, an absolute mystery. I can't believe that isn't common knowledge."

Jake chuckles along with you. Then you two are interrupted by a timer going off from Jake's phone. He sighs and silents it.

"I'm sorry. I've got to go, sugar. Are you going to be okay?"

"Yeah. I promise I'm okay. Thank you, Jake."

He bites his lip and nods at you going to put in his shoes and lace them back up. "Are you going to be home later?"

"Yeah, I'll be home."

"We could do something if you're feeling up for it. Or I can pick up takeout."

"That's sweet, Jake, but you really don't have to."

"I want to," he says with a shrug. Then checks his reflection in the mirror, making sure he is presentable to go back to work. After that, he turns back to you.

"I'll think about it." You tell him before playfully shoving him out the door so he isn't late. You try not to melt when Jake gives you another hug. You catch his hand just before he is too out of reach.

"Thank you, Jake. For making me smile."

"It's the prettiest thing I've seen all day," Jake says, squeezing your hand with his own. His words muddle your brain a little bit. You don't get to say anything else before he heads off to his truck, waving at you one more time and driving off.

You also pretend you aren't screaming on the inside when Jake comes home from work that night with your favorite food and ice cream. The night feels easy and warm, sitting and eating with Jake. The events of that morning can't cross your mind while Jake tells you all about some of the weird contraband he found in the junior sailors' barracks that day. He is no less than spellbinding.

🏡🧩🏡

Jake is sitting at the kitchen table when you get home from work. He is surrounded by neatly organized papers spread all along the table in various piles. Jake is wearing a button-down, tie, and slacks that make you do a triple-take on him.

"Welcome home," he says, glancing up from his laptop that is open in front of him. That's when you see he also has a pair of glasses on.

"Thank you," you say, slowly making your way to the kitchen but still looking at him.

"What are you working on there?" You ask.

"Oh, I'm doing my taxes," Jake says while giving you one of his winning smiles.

"Taxes?"

"Yes, Ma'am"

"I guess that makes sense," you say while looking around the kitchen for a snack.

After a few minutes of silence, you decide to ask another question. "Do you have a date later?"

You knew Jake dated. A man who looks like that has to date. However, you had yet to see him ever bring someone home, which felt odd considering everything about Jake, and the persona he liked to put on as Hangman.

"No. What makes you ask that?" Jake asks you.

"Oh. I don't know. You're dressed like you are going on a date."

"No, I'm not," he says, looking down at himself.

You laugh at him and shrug. "If you say so."

"I would never wear this on a date," Jake mutters, clearly offended.

"Well, then, why are you wearing it?"

"I'm doing taxes," he says again.

"Yeah, we have covered that. What does that have to do with your clothes?"

"I'm dressed like an accountant," Jake tells you. You can't hold back your giggles at his phrasing and bring a hand up to your mouth to try and stifle them before giving up entirely.

"What? What's so funny?"

"Two things," you say, holding up two fingers, finally biting back your giggles.

"One, the fact that you got dressed up to do your taxes. The second is that being an accountant is a euphemism for being a sex worker." Jake chuckles at your explanation but shrugs.

"Well, Mrs. Celeste said I should always dress for the day. It helps you present your best self. If you dress the part, it helps you act that part." Jake says that like a well memorized and treasured quote. A saying he clearly remembered with much fondness.

"And today is my tax day, so I am dressing like a tax professional. I will have you know. Since I started doing them myself, I have never had one problem with my taxes."

You couldn't help but chuckle more at his explanation and give him a fond smile. Sometimes the way Jake was so perfectly built and attuned for the military was endearing. Of course, a career Naval man would think a uniform was essential for each different activity.

"So, are the glasses part of your tax uniform too?"

He made a show of pushing the said glasses further up his nose. "Yes, Ma'am. They also are blue light blocking, which helps prevent migraines."

You nod along to his explanation. You finish putting together your snack and lean against the kitchen counter while munching on it. "Who is Mrs. Celeste? A teacher?"

Jake's lips flatten slightly before the expression relaxes just as quickly. "No, Mrs. Celeste is my Babula."

"Your Grandmother?" You guess.

"Yeah, sorry. My grandma, but she was strictly Mrs. Celeste growing up, only Babula occasionally."

"I don't think I've met someone who calls their grandparent by their first name."

"Well, not really her first name. You have to be respectful and throw the Miss in there with it. She is a very particular lady."

"Is it a southern thing?"

"Yeah, maybe," he says with a small laugh. The edges of his lips quirk up, and you have to look away from Jake to distract yourself. It is easy to fall into the trap of how beautiful he is, with the sparkle he can get in his eyes. Or how even the smallest of his smiles makes you want to grin back.

"So, how are the taxes?"

"Oh, it's good. I'm almost finished up."

"Awesome, congrats Jake."

"Have you done yours?" He asks you.

You shake your head and roll your eyes at the idea. "No, I definitely haven't."

"But you got your W2s in the mail last week."

"Jake, are you snooping through my mail?"

He raises both his hands up in defense. "No, I'm not! W2s just have a very particular look."

"I'm just kidding. I know you wouldn't snoop through my mail. Yeah, I got them, but I've been busy. I guess I should make a Tax Masters appointment or something."

That crease in between Jake's eyebrows appears, the one that haunts you, that you pretend you don't obsess over. Followed by a small frown.

"Tax Master?" He asks, clearly appalled. You shrug back at him, not entirely seeing the issue.

"I could do them for you," Jake says, then quickly adds on. "I mean, I can help you do them. If you have the time. I'm already dressed for it, and I won't charge you or anything."

"Oh no, Jake, that is so sweet, but I can't ask you to do that."

"No, really, I wouldn't mind. I think it would be fun. Plus, then you will have it done, and you won't have to worry about it."

"Really, thank you so much, but it's fine."

Jake's frown deepens at your answer, and he seems almost genuinely upset at your denial of his help. The warm feeling in your chest likes to flip over and grow a little bit more each time he is too sweet in moments like these.

"You know Javy warned me that you were an asshole when I was going to move in. However, you have not once lived up to that. You could stand to be less nice to me, Jake." You tell him. You mean it to come off as almost flirty and a bit of a joke. However, it doesn't seem to land with him that way.

The change that comes over Jake isn't something entirely tangible. It is almost like a shift in the air around him rather than anything physical. The way Jake looks at you just feels heavier and more charged. The confidence he always exudes seems to double with how he sits up just the smallest bit straighter but then leans back against his chair casually.

"Go get your W2s." He tells you in a perfectly level tone, but it has a demanding edge.

"Jake," you start to say and roll your eyes at him.

"Nope," Jake says, popping the p. His voice takes on a lower candace, leaving no room for arguments. "I'm not giving you a choice. We are going to do your taxes."

"No, we aren't doing my taxes."

"Yes, I am. I can't be caught not living up to my reputation. So, I'm not going to be nice and accept that you don't want to. This is one of the few situations I won't take no for an answer."

"It was just a joke."

"No, it wasn't," Jake says, giving you a small shrug. You can't tell if he is actually hurt by how he is acting, but you suspect some part of him was twinged at his best friend's description.

"It really was, Jake. Javy adores and trusts you. I'm sure he never would have suggested me moving in with you if he actually thought you were an asshole."

"I know I'm an asshole. It's fine, sugar, don't worry. I'm not going to tattle on you telling me that to Coyote."

"You aren't an ass, though. That was my whole point."

Jake just shook his head at your answer. "I am one, and I don't want that to be a surprise when you inevitably witness it."

You aren't sure how to respond to that, so you are relieved when Jake changes the topic. "Now, get your tax stuff, so it doesn't take us all night."

"Okay," you sigh, giving in to defeat. Jake gives you a mega-watt smile, and looks back at his computer screen.

As you are walking up the stairs, you hear him yell across the house. "Dress like your best accountant self!"

"I won't be doing that," you yell back.

"Please! It's important." Jake yells back.

When you are in your room getting all your stuff and paperwork pilled together. You find yourself opening your closet and pulling out an outfit that you could imagine wearing if you were an accountant.

You also spend several minutes too long wondering what would happen if you went back downstairs in the most provocative lingerie you own. After all, Jake didn't specify which type of accountant to dress up as. You wondered if it would be tempting to Jake. Could you provoke him into falling into lust with you? Tempt him enough that he took you on the dining room table on top of all the Tax paperwork? Jake has expressed attraction to women before, so there must be at least some part of him that is at least a little attracted to you.

You smash down your thirsty thoughts and try to screw your head back on straight before it can drift too much off on track. When you get back downstairs, Jake is still at the table. You dump all your stuff on an empty spot there.

Jake looks up from his computer and smiles at you, quirking an eyebrow. Then, Jake speaks to you teasingly, "And here I thought you might dress up as the other type of accountant you were telling me about."

Your brain has no choice but to start short-circuiting, and you open and close your mouth twice. Jake starts shuffling through your paperwork, looking at what you have brought him.

"I ordered us some pizza too," he says before you get out a proper response or say anything teasing back to him.

"Yum. I'm excited," you tell him sliding into a seat and opening up your own laptop.

He stops his shuffling and examination of the papers to level you with a serious look. "Thank you for indulging me, by the way."

"Anything for you, Jake," you tell him and mean it. Unfortunately, the way you feel about your roommate is rapidly spiraling out of the tight control you tried to keep it in.

"I like when we do fun things like this together," Jake says to you, grinning.

"Me too," you tell him. Then add, "Only you would find taxes fun, though, Hangman."

"I am about to show you just how fun taxes can be and how you can get a great return," Jake says, taking your words in stride.

Jake does your taxes almost entirely by himself, only asking occasional questions. He also then organizes all of your paperwork in an extra accordion binder he has. The taxes aren't fun, but spending time with Jake is.

"Thank you," you say to Jake daring to press a soft, affectionate kiss to his cheek. You linger for a moment, the prickle of his end-of-day stubble ticking your lips, but you don't mind it. When you pull back to gauge his reaction, Jake looks almost pained and upset. You worry for a moment that even just a cheek kiss could make him react this way. You briefly thank god you didn't actually try to seduce him earlier.

"Always, anytime." He finally says. However, Jake is now glaring down at his keyboard and not looking at you.

"I hope it wasn't too much trouble," you venture, confused by this mood shift.

"Sugar?"

"Yes, Jake?"

"I don't think you should pay so much rent."

"What?"

"Listen," he runs a hand through his hair, pushing it all out of sorts. "I just don't think it's fair for you to pay so much."

"Of course, it's fair. I live here," you explain.

"Yeah, but no. I get BAH, and I don't have any student loans from school. Plus, the Navy pays me plenty as an officer. I was paying for this place all alone before you moved in anyways."

"I'm not going to pay less rent because you saw my financials and feel bad." You tell Jake quietly, trying not to actively become upset.

"Please don't be so stubborn," he pleads with you.

You cross your arms over your chest, "Take your own advice."

"I'm the one being stubborn?"

"Yes! You are. You are the most stubborn man I have ever met."

Jake's frown deepens, and that sad look in his eyes at your words starts to break through to you. Then he responds, "I'm sorry. I guess I'll try and work on that."

Jake starts meticulously putting things away into different folders. He moves through each of his piles on the table and doesn't spare you a second glance. It leaves a crushing feeling in your chest.

"I'm sorry for snapping at you."

"There is no need to apologize. I'm the one who is sorry." Jake says, shrugging off your apology.

"No, you don't need to apologize. I understand why you said what you did. I know you were trying to be sweet." You start to say but are cut off.

"I wasn't trying to be sweet."

"Oh my god. Okay, fine, trying to be nice, then," you say, rolling your eyes.

Jake sets down the folder he is currently holding, and it thumps a little bit on the table. The force and loud sound make you flinch.

"I'm not sweet, nice, good, or kind. Okay? I'm not any of those things. I call things how I see them. I look at facts, figures, and numbers. Then I run calculations and act accordingly."

"And how is it mathematically possible that me paying less rent possibly works out for you, Jake? You will be losing money." As he shakes his head, he huffs at your words a little bit like they are funny.

"You could do a lot and make a lot of gains if you paid less rent, and I don't mind picking up the extra amount. You might be one of the few people I haven't hated living with. I don't want you figuring out you need to live somewhere cheaper and moving out on me. So, I'm not being nice. I'm being a selfish asshole." Jake clenches his fists hard, and you see his knuckles start to turn paler. With a deep breath, he relaxes and shrugs. Loosening the tight coil of his muscles, Jake gives you a curt tight lipped smile with a nod. "I'm just a selfish asshole, okay?"

"Please stop. Don't say that."

"Why not? It's true," he says, rolling those beautiful eyes at you.

"It's not true. Also, I would prefer if you don't use the word selfish around me, please." You say in a surprisingly steady voice. You don't really want to get triggered right now, and you could only hope that you wouldn't have to explain triggers to Jake. It takes him one moment to think and another to process before he says anything.

"Oh fuck. I'm so sorry. I won't use it again." Jake promises, no questions asked. His words blow up a balloon in your diaphragm, making it feel like your breath is about to catch. Then he adds on, "If there are any other words…" He looks around and grabs a loose pen and one of his notebooks. Jake slides them across the table to you. "Write them down. Maybe? If you can."

The warmth Jake inspires in your chest is unparalleled and drowns out anything you can think of aside from how endearing he can be and how fond you are of him. Jake doesn't take the lack of response from you well.

"I'm sorry," he apologizes again. You spring from where you had been sitting, walking slowly and deliberately toward him. You make sure to give him plenty of time to protest and say something.

Jake looks steadily back at you. However, he looks like he is preparing himself to be slapped or punished, holding perfectly still. Instead, though, you wrap Jake in a tight hug. He is stiff as a board beneath you. After a long moment, as you consider pulling away, Jake relaxes and wraps his arms around you. They are wrapped loosely at first but then tighten in small intervals until Jake is practically clinging to you.

"You are so good," you whisper to him, a little dazed. You are almost stunned by how desperately Jake tries to pretend otherwise.

"Don't say that," Jake whispers in a broken voice, hugging you a bit tighter.

"Too good." You left the words for me unsaid, but you felt them.

"I'm really not."

"It's okay if you don't see it. I see it for you. I'll make sure everyone else sees, too," you tell Jake curling your hands into a fist in his shirt.

He doesn't say anything but keeps holding you tightly. You don't know how long the two of you stay embraced like that until Jake finally eases his grip on you, and you reluctantly pull away from him as well.

He presses a lingering kiss to your forehead. "Please stop paying so much in rent," he requests again.

"That will not be happening, Hangman."

"So stubborn." He sighs. Jake kisses your forehead again. He leaves his lips lingering, and you start to count the breaths memorizing how warm his lips are. Three breaths later, he is pulling away. Jake grabs his laptop and a stack of folders heading upstairs without another word to you.

You stare after him for a while, trying to parse out the mystery Jake presents, and coming up a bit short, just like you always did. He is one of the most outwardly confident men you have ever met. Yet, other times, Jake is the first person to make a self-deprecating comment about himself. You swallow down how much you desire more from him, wishing for more, knowing you can't and shouldn't have it.

🏡🧩🏡

You and Jake were lounging on the couch. He was scrolling on his phone, avoiding going to the gym, half-heartedly trying to convince you to go with him. You were also scrolling your phone while deflecting Jake’s offers.

That was when your doorbell rang, followed by heavy knocking. You and Jake both look up at each other. He raises his eyebrows, and you just shrug, having no idea who could be at the door. Jake looks back to his phone, clearly ready to ignore it, when the doorbell rings twice more, and the pounding on the door gets louder. Jake sighs and gets up, walking across the house towards the noise.

“Hold your horses out there!” Jake yells towards the door before opening it.

You wait for a moment, trying to hear who it is, curious about who would be so rude and what they needed. However, you don’t hear anything from where you are on the couch. So you stand and follow Jake into the entry hallway.

“Sir, I am going to have to ask you to leave.” You hear Jake say. He is standing at his full height in the door frame.

“What the fuck did you just say to me?” You hear from on the other side of the door.

Nervousness shoots through your whole body hearing that voice. Anxiety immediately pops up, and your stomach drops. You know that voice. You have heard it a thousand times before. Why was he here? How was he here?

“I asked you to leave, Sir.”

“Just tell that little bitch that —”

Jake steps further forward onto the front porch. “Now, we don’t speak about ladies like that where I am from. And I’m going to ask that you act accordingly while at my home, Sir.” Jake cuts him off with that well mannered southern military niceness.

“I don’t give a fuck where you are from.”

You flinch at his tone of voice, feeling bile rise up in your throat. You lean against the wall slapping your hand over your mouth, trying to prevent yourself from throwing up.

“I asked you politely to leave. I won’t ask again. I can call you a taxi or an uber. But don’t you dare take one more step on my front porch.” Jake says in a deep tone. You are hit with the sudden, horrifying realization that he is going to hurt Jake, and that is something you just won’t let happen.

You are trying to go through possibilities in your head. Anyway, this could shake out; it would be bad for Jake. Jake would either get hurt and get in trouble, or he would kick ass and gets in worse trouble. This would end badly; either way, Jake is going to get in trouble, and it would be your fault. You would be responsible because you caused this situation. Jake was going to pay the consequences all because he was trying to protect you. You were roommates, so Jake must think he has some obligation to protect you.

You feel swamped in stress knowing how easily Jake can escalate a situation and provoke someone; sometimes, all it takes for him is one well-placed smile. That stress is finally what unfreezes you, and you stumble towards the front door.

Jake’s large, broad form still mostly hides your view of the other side, but you cautiously approach and set your hand gently on the back of his shoulder. You feel how tense Jake’s muscles are under your hand and can see it in the line of the back of his neck.

“Sugar, I’m not going to tell you what to do,” Jake says in a deep voice. He doesn’t budge an inch or look back toward you. “But I would like to suggest that you go back inside. I have this handled.”

You want to cry. You want to cry for so many reasons: cry because you are in this situation, that you have to deal with this again, that you feel so small. However, you mostly want to cry because Jake “Hangman” Seresin is such a good man. It’s startling sometimes, not because it’s really unexpected, but rather that it is so completely and bluntly genuine.

Having Jake here defending you, trying to protect you from the person who has probably scared you most in your life, it feels so silly to pretend like you don’t have feelings for him, to pretend that you aren’t more in love with him than you ought to be.

The realization doesn’t really feel shocking; it is closer to acceptance. A given truth that is part of your life now. An empowering truth that swells in your bones like a swift tide, filling up the spaces that have been empty for so long.

You love Jake more than you are scared. The warmth of affection towards him is so hot it burns out the freezing ice in your veins and the numbness in your fingers. You love him, and you will be damned if you let Jake be hurt, touched, tainted, or affected by this man who has hurt you. It seems cliché that loving someone like this is enough for you to finally break through the barrier of fear you have lived your whole life in. However, now it just feels so simple.

Your heart is beating hard. The adrenaline is pumping through you so strongly that you can hear it echoing in your ears. Your hand slides up Jake’s back to his bicep, and you give him a gentle push. Jake shifts with the movement. He slides to the right so you can finally fully see the front porch. However, he doesn’t move enough that you are fully exposed. Jake’s body is still partially concealing you from view.

Then you hear your name, and your attention snaps away from its hyper-focus on Jake. You turn it forward and brace yourself. You drift your eyes to the ground, landing on the feet of your visitor, staying there for a minute before meeting his burning eyes.

“Hello, Dad.”

“Ah, so she is here,” your father says, throwing his hands up and glaring at Jake. You can smell the booze on him from the doorway. It makes your stomach turn. You resist the urge to wretch, squeezing your hand, which is still on Jake’s bicep. He flexes, and his bicep digs into his shirt as your nails also dig in. You don’t like those angry, hateful eyes on your Jake. Jake doesn’t budge an inch or react to your nails on his skin.

“What are you doing here, Dad?” You ask him. Your hold on Jake acting like an anchor point for you.

“You don’t bother to answer my texts or anyone else’s calls and texts. Just because you moved out doesn’t mean you get to be a selfish bitch” your dad spits out.

“I’ve been pretty busy,” you defend yourself in a small voice.

“Oh, I bet you have been so busy. What are you doing these days?” He growls at you. “You know it doesn’t really count as moving out if you are spreading your legs to pay for it.”

You flinch, your hand falling from Jake’s arm and balling into a tight fist at your side. You hate how easily he can make you feel small, even when you are angry.

“Watch your mouth,” Jake hisses, rejoining the conversation. You glance at him, and Hangman is shaking with contained rage. You know this is not a good situation; anytime, someone could blow up.

“You should go inside, Hangman,” you tell him gently.

“Absolutely not,” Jake responds instantly.

“So you are playing the part of a pathetic little whore wife for this pretty boy.” Your dad says, cutting in.

You grit your teeth as he continues on. “Come on. I thought you gave up pussies after our talk when you were in high school.”

With the reminder of just what he is referring to, You are overcome with anger, and you finally can’t take it anymore. You recognize his words for what they are, a direct bait at Jake and undercutting you. It makes you so angry you start shaking. Tears burst from your eyes, trying to let off some steam bubbling inside you. It boils up, so you can’t take it anymore, and you whisper, “Shut up.”

“What?” Your dad asks, clearly shocked. You take a step forward fueled by your anger.

“Shut the fuck up.” You pronounce each word slowly. Then continue on, “I’m tired of this. You don’t get to be mean to me and still expect a relationship with me. You don’t get to hit me, yell at me, and abuse me just to show up at my house on your bullshit. And you sure as fuck don’t get to say anything about Jake.” You suck in a rapid breath, the words fueling the fire in you. Your angerburning brighter with every word.

“You made me think that kind, decent men didn’t exist, Dad, but Jake is good. He isn’t a pretty boy. He is smart, sweet, strong, and kind. I will not hear you say one more thing about him. Ever.” You punctuate the sentence with a jab of your index finger at him. He looks like he might be cowed, and before you can even finish a prayer that he will be done, the fire in his eyes lits again.

“You could have at least found someone who stands up for you. A real man.” Your dad isn’t even looking at you when he says it. Instead, he is staring at Jake.

“That’s a rather rude thing to say about an active duty Naval Officer,” you hiss. Your dad takes a step back, his eyebrows raising, reexamining Jake. He shifts his weight between his feet nervously.

“You aren’t welcome at our home. So leave and crawl back into the bottle you drank before coming here. Don’t come back, Dad. I don’t want to see you.”

You try to force your body to relax, but the adrenaline is still pumping hard in your veins. So, you start to walk backward back into the house. Jake still hasn’t taken his eyes off your dad, and he makes no move to come with you back into the house.

“Jake?” You ask.

“Just give me a minute, sweetheart. I need to have a talk with your old man here and make sure that he makes it home.”

“I don’t want him near you.”

Your dad still looks blown away by this turn of events. Like he is scrambling to put words together. He keeps looking back and forth between you and Jake.

Jake breathes out heavily through his nose. He turns his head enough to glance at you. Whatever he sees on your face must break his resolve. Jake clenches his jaw, and you watch the muscle flex once, then twice. After that, he rolls his shoulders, and it’s like Hangman is physically able to just shrug the tension of the situation off.

“Get home safe, Sir. I suggest doing so soon. MAs are known to drive down our street.” Jake says it in a light, easygoing tone, border lining on cheery. Then, plastering that practiced, perfect smile on his face, Jake nods his head toward your dad and comes back into the house.

Jake closes the door but doesn’t move, staring out the frosted window on the front door. His body is tense again, standing rigidly at his full height. You are still shaking from anger. You slump against Jake’s back, letting your body weight shift into his. One of his arms bends backward a bit awkwardly, sitting on your waist. His large palm is burning hot. You can feel it through the fabric of your clothes. Then Jake’s fingers flex to give you a small squeeze of reassurance.

When Jake finally does move, it is just to turn away from the door and wrap you tightly in his arms. You enjoy the warmth of his strong embrace, feeling exhausted as the adrenaline starts to fade. Jake is still shaking, though.

“He’s gone,” Jake says into the crown of your head. You let a little sigh escape you, feeling a bit more of the tension release.

“Good,” you manage to tell him.

“I wanted to defend you. I wanted to slam his face so hard into the porch that he wouldn’t ever be able to open his mouth again. Wanted to tell him how you are—”

“I’m glad you didn’t,” you cut Jake off before he can continue. You don’t want to know what he thinks about you right now. You can’t handle whatever words could spill out of his mouth next.

“I’ll make sure he never comes back here,” Jake says, his voice dropping, and you feel the rage contained in him, the subtle shake and heat coming from how tense he is.

“I don’t want him near you. If something happened to you because of him….” you trail off. Your hands wander the expanse of Jake’s back in an almost soothing motion. However, you don’t know who it is soothing more, you or him. “I wouldn’t be able to live with myself.”

He takes a deep breath and then releases it in a heavy sigh. “What if you just give me his full name and social security number? You wouldn’t have to know about anything else.”

“Jake,” you whisper in a tone that is almost reminiscent of amusement.

Jake sighs again. He draws back from your hug and cups your face. He swipes his thumb across your cheekbone, wiping away the tears that have been lingering.

“You are the kindest, most compassionate person I have ever met,” Jake whispers. Considering how he is looking at you with a glimmer in his eyes, it’s clear the emotions of the situation are still running rampant. That look, paired with how he is holding you, makes you think Jake might be about to kiss you.

“No, No. Stop.” You don’t know if you are trying to ask him not to kiss you or to stop talking. Either way, you feel like you might explode if this interaction isn’t over soon.

“Yes,” Jake says. “Let me, please.”

His thumb is still tracing along your cheek, and you can’t help yourself from leaning a tiny bit into his palm. An action that momentarily freezes his thumb before it picks up steadily again. Not hearing an explicit no from you again, Jake continues on.

“That man has no say over you. Who you are is so stunning. You never deserved to be treated the way you were. I am so sorry you ever had to go through that. I am so sorry he showed up here. You don’t owe him a single second of your time or attention. You are valuable. You are amazing. He is trying to make you small because he sees how good you are.”

A shudder racks through your body, hearing Jake’s words, and fresh tears start to fall unprompted from your eyes. As soon as they do, though, Jake pushes them away. “I am so proud of you for getting away from him. You are so strong and brave. It makes me awed. I’m so glad that you moved in here. You are…” Jake doesn’t finish the sentence, he seems to lose his train of thought. His mouth parts a little bit, and his eyes flash down to glance at your lips.

Jake is going to kiss you, and it might possibly be the worst thing that could happen. If he kisses you right now because of your dad, you know you might break into a million different pieces. You don’t want Jake to kiss you for any reason but pure desire and affection. You don’t want him to kiss you in comfort, or pity, or convenience, or as an outlet. You don’t want him to kiss you just because emotions are running high from the incident that just happened. Most of all, you don’t want Jake to kiss you and not mean it. You don’t want him to kiss you without the intention of kissing you again.

So, even though you are desperate to feel his lips, and memorize their shape, how they feel against yours. Desperate to discover what he tastes like, curl your fingers in his hair and take comfort in the form of his body. You know you can’t, it has the power to break you, and you already feel so broken and exhausted.

You cover the hand Jake has on your face with your own and pull it away. However, you don’t immediately let go holding his large palm. Hangman takes your hint and steps backward, giving you a little space so that he is pressed against the door again. You decide to thread your fingers with his. Jake’s skin is still almost hot to the touch in your hand.

“Thank you, Jake,” You finally say, meeting his piercing green eyes again. You squeeze the hand you are holding. He gives you a tight nod and then tips his head upwards, so he is looking at the ceiling. Jake rests his head against the door as well and closes his eyes.

You observe him for a moment, then you go to release the hand you are holding. Jake stops you, though, his hand tightening as yours loosens, and you try to pull away. You give a little tug, and he tightens his fingers even more. Jake’s head is still tipped, and you hear him sucking in a deep breath before blowing it out.

“Please don’t let go,” he begs you. Jake’s eyes flash open again, and he is looking down his nose at you. “I just, I need you.”

You inhale sharply at his phrasing, and he sighs heavily. “I might do something terrible if you let go of me. If you don’t need me here, there won’t be anything to stop me.”

“You’re not going to do anything terrible,” You say, retangling your fingers with his. Jake’s hand flexes in yours, and he takes another big breath.

“I’ll make sure he loses our address and forgets it too. Make sure he doesn’t remember anything at all anymore. I’ll—”

“You’ll stay right here, Jake.”

He lifts his head so it isn’t tilted against the door anymore and stares down at you. He looks like he is holding on to every word you are saying to keep his sanity. His skin is flushed from anger, and his palm shakes slightly in yours. You were in awe he was able to hold back this reaction so long, remaining calm and collected throughout the entire encounter.

“You will stay here with me, Jake. I need you.”

“Yeah?” He asks shakily.

“Yeah. Need your help, Jake.”

There is a low rumble in his chest, almost resembling the hum it was probably supposed to be. You step closer to Jake, once again closing the gap between you.

“Tell me what you need.” It comes out as a demand, and he seems to realize that when he adds on a small quick “Please.”

You look at him then, trying to read his face and those eyes that haunt your dreams. You examine the creases and lines his face makes with the severe angry look he has plastered on. You take the time to observe how his hair is hazardously falling out of place for how many times he has run his hand through it. You don’t really find any of the answers you are looking for. You just find Jake. And Jake is an oh-so-wondrous thing to find.

You step closer to him and tug the hold he has on your hand again. His nose scrunches for a moment, and his frown tightens. His eyes lift upwards towards the ceiling again as his jaw clenches; he lets go of your hand. Jake’s hand falls heavily back until it hits the door making a smacking sound. You flinch at the sound but take another step forward, crowding Jake against the door. You lift your hand up to trace over his neck and then settle on his face, encouraging him to adjust his gaze back to you. He follows direction and leans into your hold, just like you leaned into his earlier.

“Need you to stay with me,” you start slowly, encouraged as Jake nods his head in a small jerk.

“I need you to leave the front door.”

He considers your words for a moment, then shakes his head. “I don’t think I can do that. I’m sorry, sugar. I need to protect you.”

“There is no one in the world I feel safer with than you, Jake.” He squeezes his eyes tightly closed at those words and pulls in a ragged breath. “So, you can’t leave me alone here.”

He nods again but still has his eyes closed. “Ain’t leaving. You need me.”

“Yes, I do.”

“Can I hold you?” Jake asks, then once again remembers his manners throwing out another small, please.

“Yes, please,” you whisper. Jake doesn’t waste a moment before wrapping an arm around your waist and pulling you snuggly against him. The change of angle causes your hand to slip from his face, so you wrap it around his neck instead, your fingers drifting against the short hairs there. You go to wrap your other arm around his waist but instead awkwardly hit the front door. You hiss out a small breath at the momentary pain.

Jake responds to the sound. He starts walking forward, making you walk backward. Walking while he is wrapped around you proves to be difficult, and you stumble a little. That seems to be all Jake needs; he wraps his arms under your ass and lifts you.

You are terrified at the concept that Jake is going to try to carry you, and you open your mouth to protest. However, with only one small grunt that honestly sounded more like pure sex with how low and husky it is, Jake is carrying you down the hallway. You wrap your arm around his neck more securely, adding a second one for more leverage.

Jake doesn’t stop to set you on the couch like you had expected. Instead, he continues up the stairs and right into his room. He sets you on his bed gently, and you unwrap your arms from his neck, letting him pull away. Jake goes back to the door of his room, closes it, and clicks the lock into place. You raise an eyebrow at his action.

"That’s rather presumptuous, Hangman.”

“What?” He looks at you confused before he looks back at his door. “Oh no, I’m sorry. I wasn’t, I’m not.”

You shush him motioning towards yourself to try and get him to come closer again. “I know.”

Jake comes back to your side. Now that you have been given the temporary clearance to freely touch him, you cannot stop yourself. Jake sits next to you on the bed, and you are scooting closer so that your thighs are flush side by side. Jake throws an arm across your shoulder, pulling you even closer to him.

“Do you need to talk about it?” He asks you softly. You let a hollow dry laugh at his question, your laughter starts to devolve until it’s nearly hysteric giggling. Jake takes it in stride, holding you close and his thumb drawing small soothing back-and-forth shapes. After you are almost breathless and heaving, you finally start to recover.

“I don’t want to talk about it, but I definitely need to. Not with you, though, Jake.”

“Why not me?”

“Because it’s the kind of fucked you talk to a therapist about.”

“I’m a great listener.”

“I know you are, but this isn’t your baggage to pack around and deal with, Jake.”

“Baggage? Sugar, that’s why we have the attic. If that isn’t enough space, or you fill it up. I’ll build a shed in the backyard.”

“What if that’s not enough room?”

“Then we have the garage. We’ll just park in the driveway.”

“You would give up your shop?” You ask, thinking of Jake’s favorite place in the house.

“Yup,” Jake says without hesitating. “And after that, well, I’ve never been too fond of the extra guest room anyway.”

“If that’s all not enough?”

“Then we’ll move. Or we go through it until we find some we can let go of.” Jake says, his free hand crossing his body to settle warmly on your knee.

“It’s not physical baggage.”

“I know it’s not.”

The feeling of affection you feel for him grows even more. Every time you think that there is no way possible you can fall further in love with him, Jake turns around and proves you wrong. He does some kind, funny, sweet, unexpected thing that makes you fall a little harder.

You lift your head and look at him. Jake’s eyes meet your own, the severe stormy look in them a little less present. He is a bit more at ease, no longer shaking with anger. You let your eyes fall to his lips. You briefly think you love him so much it might be worth the risk to shift forward and kiss him. That maybe it wouldn’t lead to disaster like you’ve convinced yourself it would.

“What’s your favorite comfort movie?” Jake asks, breaking you from your trance. You shift a bit further away from him but not far before giving him an answer.

The two of you watch your favorite comfort movie. You are cuddled into Jake’s side the whole time. The two of you had shifted back into the bed, cuddled close while watching the wall-mounted TV in Jake’s room. Exhaustion hits you like a wall as the adrenaline leaves your system, accompanied by the heat radiating off of Jake, the way everything smells like him, and his Tempurpedic bed; you relax more than you have in a long time.

As you start to drift asleep against Jake’s chest, his heartbeat has a steady, soothing rhythm under your ear. You think out of all the times you have dreamed of falling asleep with Jake in his bed, none of those fantasies come even close to how good it actually feels. None of your dreams prepared you for how safe you would feel.

Your dreams also didn’t prepare you for sneaking back to your room at three in the morning when you woke up. Or pretending the next day that nothing had happened. After all, nothing had happened except some tense moments and Jake getting a glimpse of your past. You don’t say anything, and he doesn’t, either. You catch him watching you closer than he would typically for the next few days.

More time starts to pass, and you are thankful that nothing was risked or changed between you and Jake or has affected you as roommates. There are only the slightest moments when both of you are much more casual about physical affection. Hugging Jake was now a commonplace part of your day, and you occasionally catch yourself daydreaming about what it felt like to fall asleep in his bed.

🏡🧩🏡

You had started to pick up what the signs were when Jake wasn't okay, and something was bothering him pretty early into moving in. He had some pretty obvious tells. However, something had been really really bothering him for a while now. He didn't say anything to you, but he didn't have to; Jake's mannerisms gave him away. Jake wasn't following his routine and had started obsessively cleaning.

The other night, he knocked on your door, bursting open seconds after you told Jake he could come in. Then Hangman had all but begged you to let him deep clean your room. When you told Jake no, he gave you a look like you just insulted his Babula and stalked out of the room. Half an hour later, he was back in your doorway, asking the same question phrased slightly differently. You had finally given in after his second time double-checking. However, you insisted that you helped and supervised his cleaning. Once you agreed, Jake had done his happy dance. It was so cute it managed to cover the embarrassment that was crawling in you at letting someone else, let alone the man you loved your roommate, clean your room.

The next day Hangman decided to reorganize all the bookshelves. First by color, then by genre, and even one time by the number of pages. His last reorganization was to put them all back to by author's last name. This was only after Jake talked to you for over an hour about the pros and cons of the Dewey decimal system in modern library science.

After the books, you come home, and there is a puzzle on the table. A 2500-piece puzzle of the painting Meeting On The Turret Stairs. Jake works on it constantly. Only stopping to go to work and the gym. For three days, he doesn't read and doesn't do his sudoku. Jake doesn't sit with you in the living room at night. Instead, he just works on his puzzle, blowing past his typical bedtime every night. Then he stops going to the gym, and a day after that, he cancels his weekly call with his niece. That's when you know without a shadow of a doubt that whatever is bothering Jake must be significant.

Finally, you can't bite your tongue or try to keep your nose out of his business anymore. The concern you feel is too much to handle. You had gotten up at 3 am for some water, and Jake was still puzzling at the table.

"How's it going, Sport?"

"No, I'm Hangman," Jake answers in a quiet voice.

"What?" you ask him, confused.

"Not my callsign," Jake mumbles to you. You squint and try to piece together what he means in your still half-asleep brain.

"You know someone named Sport?"

Jake just shrugs his shoulders, engrossed in his task. "There are worse callsigns to have."

"Like Hangman?" You tease him. Jake finally looks up at you when you say that. Jake's eyes are bloodshot, and he has a hurt look. The small frown, paired with his glassy tired eyes, makes you feel like you just kicked a puppy.

"Hangman is cool," Jake protests.

"Hangman is very cool," you tell him placatingly, holding up your hands in surrender.

"You don't actually think it's cool," Jake whispers, his tired eyes falling back to his puzzle. Jake sounds so sad about it that your feet are moving before your brain, and you are sliding next to him on the bench for the long side of the table.

"Hangman is cool," You say and then nudge him affectionately with your shoulder. "You are cool."

His lips quirk upwards from his frown before falling again. “Well, I am the Hangman.”

"How is the puzzle going?"

"Fine, good. I like puzzling."

"You have done other puzzles?" You ask.

"Yeah, I have a whole box full."

You hum at his words, tiredly wiping your eyes. "You should have been Puzzleman."

Jake's eyes flash over to yours, slightly worried. "Do not ever say that around Coyote."

"Hangman, It's three AM." He looks surprised to hear the time, and you watch him turn his wrist to confirm the time on his watch.

"Go to bed," You add softly.

"I like when you call me Jake."

"Then why do you listen better when I call you Hangman?"

"Hmm, maybe because that's the name I hear most often. Maybe because it's easy to be Hangman."

"Is it hard to be Jake?" You ask him gently.

Jake is quiet for a long moment after your question. Before answering, he sets the piece he had been holding back in its color pile. All he gives you is a whispered, "Sometimes."

You aren't sure what to say, so instead, you put a hand on his shoulder and squeeze it. "It's time for bed, Jake. It'll be here in the morning."

Jake nods his head, listening to you. You get the water you initially came downstairs for and wait until Jake starts up the stairs. Following behind him, you make sure he goes into his room. You aren't really eased about the situation when he shuts the door. However, you are glad he will at least get some sleep.

Before you go back to bed, you shoot your group chat with Marlee and Javy a text.

Have you ever seen Jake do a puzzle?

You wake up to texts from Javy and Marlee, both asking all kinds of questions like: what you meant? What kind of puzzle? With how many pieces? And, how long has Jake been working on it?

From the questions alone, you gather that your worries are correct and Jake puzzling is not a good thing. Getting out of bed, you make yourself presentable enough to venture out of your room and downstairs.

In the mid-morning light, you are once again greeted with the sight of Jake hunched over his puzzle. A steaming cup of tea sitting next to him, and Chris LeDoux playing from the record player.

"Good morning," you say.

"Morning, sugar," Jake says back. You are glad to get a response, but the worry is still gnawing at you. You start putting together your own morning drink, and your eyes keep drifting back to him.

"Jake, are you okay?"

"Yeah, I'm good." He says, not looking away from the puzzle piece he is currently studying.

You stop leaning against the counter, taking your drink with you and walk over to his side. Jake is completing this puzzle concerningly fast; you notice examining his progress this morning alone. He keeps staring at the piece in his hand, unblinking even as you approach. You watch him for a few more moments before deciding it's time for you to intervene.

"Do you want to talk about it?" You pose cautiously. His eyebrows crease, and he still doesn't look away from the puzzle.

"About the puzzle?" he asks you in a hopeful tone.

"No, Jake. About what's bothering you."

He finally does spare you a glance, and you don't like how dull his green sea glass eyes are. The normally vibrant, mischievous glint isn't present, and they are slightly bloodshot and red, even after you forced him to get some sleep.

"It's fine. I'm fine. Just work stuff. I've got to finish this puzzle." He tells you, then looks away.

You frown at Jake's answer. Puzzles are supposed to be fun, and you don't think this is actually a healthy, cathartic activity for Jake anymore. You almost preferred his book reorganization or when he went to every door and oiled the hinges, the top and bottom hinges twice but the middle ones only once. When you asked why not the middle one twice? Jake had told you something about middle children that had made you laugh.

While Jake normally released stress through organization, order, and control. The frenzy and energy he has with this puzzle is different. This wasn't like the month after you moved in, and he decided to rearrange his shop in the garage. Jake had reorganized his tools, labeling where they all went. After that, he made you a booklet of where everything in the garage was located, just in case you wanted to use something. Jake was very genuine about it, too. As if he really believed you were about to start borrowing his screwdrivers, saws, wrenches, lathe, and various other tools.

Your frown deepens, and you pull out your phone, shooting a text to your group chat with Marlee and Javy. Answering some of their questions from the morning and shooting back a request of your own.

After texting with them for a few minutes, you set your phone down on the table, taking the spot next to Jake. He gives you another short look but doesn't say anything. You take a moment to look at the piece he has been staring at for over five minutes at this point.

Taking it gently from his grasp, you examine it yourself. A moment later, you place the puzzle piece into the correct spot. Jake ghosts over the piece you just placed and taps it twice as your hand retreats.

"You got to tap it into place," he tells you softly. Then Jake is back digging through his piles, looking for the next piece.

You help Jake with his puzzle for a little bit, pleasantly surprised at the textured surface of the pieces, enjoying how tactile they are. You know this must be a very expensive and nice puzzle. Any time you place a piece, you make sure to tap it twice for Jake. Each time you do, Jake gives a small nod of approval. The one time you forget, his fingers quickly find the piece again and tap it twice with a small annoyed huff. You don't try and coax Jake into a conversation again, simply enjoying just being with him.

Y'all's work is broken a while later by the doorbell ringing. The sound startles Jake, and he jumps in his seat and his head snapping towards the door. You place a hand on his shoulder again to try and ease the sudden tension.

"It's okay," you tell him quietly, giving his shoulder a slight squeeze. "I'll go get it."

"No, I can get it," Jake says, starting to stand up. You know he doesn't like you to answer the front door anymore. He hasn't ever since your dad showed up unannounced. Jake has never explicitly told you he doesn't want you to answer the door. However, you have picked up on it because he has not let you answer the door once since the incident. One time Jake had even sprinted across the house to beat you to the door.

"Don't worry. I know who it is," you say. Jake gives you a concerned look but then nods a little bit. His eyes trail after you as you make your way to the entry hall.

You open the door to Javy's tall form and are immediately wrapped in a tight warm hug. You lean into his embrace, enjoying the comfort for a moment.

"Is it really bad?" Javy asks you in a low voice when you pull away from his hug.

You shrug but then follow it up with a nod. "Yeah. I mean, I don't know. Maybe not? But it's the worst I have ever seen."

Javy gives you another reassuring squeeze before he saunters into the house towards the living area. Jake's eyes are trained on the hallway, clearly waiting for you to come back. However, when he sees Javy, he blanches, dropping his eyes back to the puzzle. Jake's shoulders hunching tight almost up to his ears.

"Hey, Hangman," Javy hums.

"Machado," Jake says gruffly, fiddling with a piece.

Javy shocks you by not immediately going over to Jake. Instead, he meanders over to your TV. He shocks you even more by opening a drawer in the entertainment center and pulling out an Xbox. Javy starts hooking up the console, and you shift your eyes to Jake again.

He is still sitting there digging through his puzzle pieces. You aren't sure what to do. If you should leave the two of them alone, join Javy in the living room, or go back to the table with Jake. So instead, you end up in a weird middle ground lingering in the hallway. Finally, when Javy has everything set up, and the Xbox booted on, he goes over to Jake. Coyote sets his hands down so hard on Jake's shoulders that it jostles the blond a bit.

"Wow, buddy, this is a nice puzzle," Javy says casually.

Jake just hums in response, placing a puzzle piece and tapping it twice. Only answering once he picks up another piece. "It's a watercolor by Frederic William Burton. He painted it in — "

"It's time for a break, Hangman," Coyote says, cutting him off mid-sentence.

"Naw, you see this section," Jake gestures generally towards the entire surface area of the puzzle. "It's almost done."

"Nope, it's break time," Javy repeats more firmly.

Jake's shoulders hang, and it looks like it takes him physical effort to stand up from the table. Jake's joints and back audibly pop from the action, and he raises his hands above his head to fully stretch.

You try to root yourself in concern, not thinking of the flash of skin you saw where Jake's shirt rode up a bit. Jake blinks a few times, and when he finishes stretching, he turns to fully look at Javy.

"How long are you staying?" Jake asks, daring to glance back down at the puzzle. Javy snaps his fingers in front of Jake's face twice and then points aggressively toward the couch.

"As long as I want to," Javy responds with an upbeat tone and a wide grin. He gives a light shove, and Jake shuffles over to the couch. Jake looks at you as he walks, and you can tell that he feels betrayed.

"I'll leave you to it," you say, ready to retreat into your room.

Jake looks away from you then, and you don't like the flash of embarrassment on his face as he does. It's been odd seeing Jake so completely out of his element and uncomfortable in his skin the last few days. Embarrassed wasn't a look that fits well on Jake. It made you want to rush in and remedy the situation.

"You don't gotta go," Jake calls to you.

"Javy came over to hang out with you, Jake." You say plainly. You want to give them space to talk and hang out.

"Yeah, bro, feeling the love," Javy says jokingly. It earns him a sharp jab to his side from Jake. The action just makes Javy laugh, though. "Don't worry so much, Hang. Marlee is coming by later with dinner, and then all four of us will kick back, but right now, it's me, you, and the Master Chief."

"You'll hang out with us later, though? Or are you doing something tonight?" Jake asks, ignoring Javy.

"There is nothing I would rather do tonight than hang out with you," you tell him. Jake's eyes snap up from where they had drifted to the left, lowered just enough not to meet yours. The burning bright color in them is startling after the dull, distant look he has supported the last few days. You can't stop the words you say next, needing to try and back peddle. It takes a long beat before you say, "and Marls and Javy. I don't know if you've ever had Marlee's green chile enchiladas, but they are to die for."

"They are so good," Jake agrees enthusiastically and looks down at the controller he is holding for the first time. Javy then shoots you a smile with a thumbs up, and you are reassured enough that you head upstairs and into your room.

You hear Javy's voice behind you, "You know Marlee only cooks for two reasons."

You close your door before hearing Jake's answer and resist the urge to eavesdrop. A few hours later, you hear loud yelling and laughter from the living room. Then get a text from Marlee to send the boys to help her get the food out of her car.

The rest of the night is mostly light, and Jake almost passes for his normal self. He jokes with Coyote, eats two helpings of Marlee's enchiladas, and with you... well, with you, he is hot and cold. One moment Jake will be flirting with you in a heavy bravado, then the next, he falls into a quiet, contemplative silence. Javy has to herd Jake away from his puzzle three separate times. It gets easier to draw Jake back in every time; the last time only took a question directed toward Jake to draw him back to you guys.

It is a good night, and everyone seems happy at the end. Jake hugs Javy and Marlee goodbye and leaves you to walk your friends out. You let out a small sigh of relief, seeing Jake walk up the stairs and not back to the dining room table.

You talk with the couple for a few more minutes on the front porch, then hug them goodbye. You are thankful for them, to have such good friends who are willing to be a support system, for you, for Jake, and for their other friends too. It warms your heart, and it feels a lot like family.

Jake's puzzling is less frenzied after that night, and he starts to reign back in. He has full conversations with you again and goes to the gym after work as well. He follows Javy's rules that had been texted to you both and doesn't puzzle by alone again.

For the next week or so, Javy and Marlee end up in your living room in the evenings. Keeping Jake from becoming too obsessed, you also notice that he won't let Javy or Marlee touch his puzzle pieces. But when Jake does work on the puzzle, and you are home, he always invites you to join him.

Jake makes an effort to converse with you while working too. The conversations you two get into range from academic to childhood memories, favorites — books, movies, foods, bands, animals— funny stories, and anything else that would pop in your heads. Of course, each puzzle piece must still be double tapped into place, and you are meticulous about following that rule.

Puzzling in the evenings with Jake surprisingly becomes one of your favorite times of the day. Sometimes you would even just sit there at the table with Jake, scrolling on your phone while he works on the puzzle.

Hangman's presence is a comforting steady grounding force, so much so that you can only hope you provide half of that for him. You knew you were roommates, and Jake may not carry the same romantic feelings you do. However, you couldn't deny the plain platonic affection that poured from him, so much you sometimes think M aybe . Maybe he does feel more.

When you enter the kitchen, you see the puzzle is finished. You go to examine it and realize two pieces are missing. You feel a bit of worry creeping up in you, not sure how Jake will react to having lost pieces and being unable to complete the puzzle.

You start to look around, checking every chair and bench to make sure a piece hasn't fallen. You shine a light under the couch in case they slipped under there. Then you are flipping up the edge of the rug in the living room and trying to think of any other feasible place the pieces could have disappeared.

"What are you doing?" you hear, and you snap your head to see Jake standing on the other side of the couch, looking at you bemused.

"Sorry, I was just looking for your missing pieces," you say, straightening up and fixing the rug.

Jake quirks an eyebrow then he follows your gaze to the table where his puzzle is. Jake's mouth drops open, lips barely parted, and a soft "Oh." falls out like he didn't even make the sound intentionally.

"No luck so far, though. I'm sorry. I'm sure they will turn up. Only so many places they could have gone," You say, making sure to project an upbeat, positive tone and attitude.

Jake looks between you and the puzzle twice before suddenly you are graced with the rarest of Jake Seresin's smiles. It is one you have only seen a handful of times. It's different than his smirk and his confident panty dropping smile. It's not the smile that he gets when he laughs, and his eyes crinkle around the edges or the mouth wide open smile. It's not his practiced perfect smile he uses for pictures.

No, this smile is closed-mouthed, those pearly whites hidden from view. It's a quirk of his lips like Jake is trying to hold it back from showing it on his face but he isn't entirely successful. His bottom lip is tucked a little bit between his teeth as if he is physically trying to bite back the expression, none of which prevents Jake's dimples from popping up.

It's a smile that always leaves you a little stunned, and this is no exception. Not that there are many things about Jake that don't leave you feeling that way. This smile, paired with the soft look in his eyes, makes you want to melt into the floor.

"I have the pieces," Jake tells you then. It takes you a few moments to process his words.

"Oh, you do?"

"Yeah, I do," he says and pulls out a ziplock baggie from his pocket with the two pieces in it.

"That's great!"

"They weren't lost. I was saving them, actually."

"Saving them for what?"

"For you. Well, for us."

You don't think you are able to hide your surprise at his words. "For us?"

"Yeah. You know, so we can finish this puzzle together. We worked on it together. So, we should finish it together. Few things match the feeling of putting the final piece of a puzzle into place."

God, you want to kiss him. You want to grab his face and smash your lips against his. You want to taste him and thread your fingers in his short dirty blonde hair. The little fantasy starting to form in your brain is cut off by Jake walking over to the table.

You follow him there, and Jake sets the last two pieces on the table, letting you pick which one you want. Once you make your selection, Jake grabs the other one.

"Okay, on three," he tells you with a grin. At his countdown, you both place the pieces of the puzzle. Automatically you double tap your piece into place. Jake was right; it is an extremely satisfying feeling finishing the puzzle and seeing it whole for the first time.

Your gaze drifts over the puzzle, and you look up to see Jake staring at you instead of the finished piece. After a moment, you realize what is wrong. Your hand reaches across and gently nudges Jake's to the side. Then you tap Jake's piece twice, realizing that for the very first time, he seemed to have missed that compulsion of his. However, you knew it would bother Jake when he realized he had forgotten, so you make sure to complete the ritual.

Jake's gaze snaps down to the piece you had tapped for him. Then his knuckles purposely brush against the back of your hand, sending shivers up your arm.

"Thank you," spills from both of your mouths at the same time, which makes you laugh.

"Jinx," Jakes says in a rushed voice, making you laugh harder. That odd tension in the air between you two disappears.

You walk into the kitchen and grab a white claw from the fridge, bringing it back for Jake, handing it to him. Jake is a strict enforcer of the jinx soda pop rule. The two of you look at the puzzle for a few more minutes. Taking in the stunning painting, the yearning and sadness of it never fails to impact you.

While the two of you had been working on the puzzle, Jake had told you many different facts about The Meeting On The Turret Stairs. How it was a watercolor painting by Frederic William Burton, the poem it was based on, the era it was painted in, and its place in Irish art.

When you asked Jake more, he surprised you by knowing hyper-specific details and answers off the top of his head. Intrigued, you learned how he had double majored at Annapolis in Aerospace Engineering and History. However, because Jake was golden boy Midshipman Seresin, he had gotten away with his final history thesis being art focused. Hangman more than understood how to be charming when he needed to be.

"What now?" You ask him.

"What do you mean?" Jake asks, confused.

"What do we do with the puzzle?" you ask. It sounds much better than what you wanted to say. What now between the two of you? What were you going to do to keep spending time together?

"We take it apart." Jake shrugs.

"No," you gasp, horrified thinking of all the time you had put into the puzzle just to undo it and throw it back in the box.

"What else would we do?" Jake asks you. You think for a moment before smiling at your own idea.

"Let's Mod Podge it, and then we can hang it up. We have some pretty bare walls in the house, and it is a stunning piece of art," you suggest.

Jake doesn't even take a moment to think it over before saying, "I love that idea."

So, you two are driving to the craft store to get cardboard and Mod Podge. A week later, the puzzle has been cemented and hung on the wall in between your and Jake's rooms upstairs. After the puzzle is finished, Jake is back into his sudoku and his various other reading books. He still lingers near you in the evenings, waiting longer than he used to before retreating to his room for bed.

One night almost a month after you two had finished the puzzle, Jake brings the subject up again. You two are lounging on the couch, he had just gotten home from watching the Army-Navy game at a bar with some of his friends, and he is definitely a little bit tipsy.

"I am going to build us a puzzle table," is the first thing he had loudly declared, walking in the door.

You were instantly worried about why Jake might want to start a new puzzle. "Is everything okay?"

Jake doesn't seem to hear you, though, as he continues on. "A really nice one that opens and closes with velvet or something so we don't have to worry about losing pieces, and maybe I can even make it an adjustable height?" He is talking to himself more than to you.

You watch as he grabs a notepad and pencil out of a drawer. Then he slumps on the couch. Before you know what's happening or can stop it, Jake has his head on your lap and is sketching design ideas, potential measurements, and materials.

"How are you doing?" you ask him again, staring down at his face, unable to contain your enamored smile. Jake just nods his head and keeps sketching while mumbling.

You run a hand through his soft hair tentatively. It is a bit longer than usual right now, almost out of regulation. He will need to get a haircut this week, but the strands are so soft, and you can't help but enjoy that there is a bit more there to run your fingers through. His eyes instantly close, and he hums contently at your touch.

"Hangman?" you ask him almost teasingly, halting your movements.

"Yes, sugar?"

"Are you okay?"

He blinks his eyes open and looks at you. Their gleaming sea glass green color is a little glazed over and so very soft. His mirth is open and obvious to you. "I'm so great. Navy won."

"That's great. Go Navy." A wide grin splits his face wide, and Jake's eyes actually crinkle closed, hiding their unique color from you again.

"That's right, Honey. Ooh ahh!" Jake responds automatically, making you both laugh, and maybe you had been drinking a little bit of wine before he came home; perhaps you were warm from that, or maybe Jake was the most beautiful man you had ever seen. Your eyes lock with his, and your hands pull out of his hair. You let one drift trace his face helping him relax the furrow in his eyebrows.

"Why do you want to start a new puzzle?" You ask.

"No new puzzle. A new table." He corrects you. Jake taps his pencil on the notepad pointedly.

"For a new puzzle?"

"You liked doing a puzzle with me, right? Well, after the first bit, you liked it?"

"I loved it." The words slip out of your mouth before you can amend the sentiment to come off less forward.

"Me too,"Jake says and trails off for a moment. Then he continues asking, "So you would be open to doing another one with me? Just for fun this time, not my mental health." Jake doesn't say the last sentence with any bit of shame or embarrassment, which you admire. However, the vulnerability is obvious and glaring.

"Yeah," you confirm, once again having to run your fingers over his brow to relax his face.

"Perfect. I'm building the table, then. You can pick the puzzle this time."

You can't help but let your hands slip back into Jake's hair, and he returns to sketching on his notepad. It was a moment of quiet peace you knew you didn't ever want to let go of.

"Javy said that you don't like to do puzzles with other people, and that's what helps you pull out of the pit."

Jake's eyes don't leave his notepad, and he turns the page. You watch Jake start to scrawl the pros of a dovetail joint versus a dowel joint before he starts to draw it out as well. You almost don't think he will say anything back by the time he finally does.

"You aren't other people," Jake tells you, as he starts drawing in shading, which is completely unnecessary for anything beyond aesthetic. He bends the lines from a basic blueprint to a detailed drawing of a realistic table joint. It was distracting watching the engineer in him flow into the unexpected artist.

The idea that you ever had thought his talent for art and engineering were such radically different things was a bit funny. Now that you see him dance between the lines back and forth so elegantly that you understand it wasn't two competing sides of Jake. It was just him. It was how he worked and operated.

It was how he was Hangman and also Jake. It was how he could fill out sudoku then go to bed at 9 pm and how he could shoot pool until closing with the squad. It was how he was a cowboy and a pilot. It was how you wanted to cry a little bit, knowing he enjoyed you there, knowing you weren't like other people.

And you are struck with the thought that you don't ever want Jake to do a puzzle with anyone but you. You never want to see him sitting alone at three am with bloodshot eyes putting pieces into place again. And you don't even want to consider him explaining animatedly why he believes a piece goes in one color pile and not the one it was originally sorted to anyone but you.

You want to be selfish with Jake. You want to have him, and you want to keep him close, never letting go. Surely you could convince Jake to be yours. It was a selfish act that could be forgiven if you promised to cherish him. After all, there were worse things in the world than loving someone, so entirely the fact they might not love you to the same degree didn't hurt so much.

Jake flips to the next page in the notepad and starts to sketch out the living room. As he works, the living room table starts to look significantly different than your current one.

"Oh. It's for the living room?" You ask him.

At first, he just hums in response, but when he finishes rounding out a line, Jake lifts his pencil from the paper. It pauses there, poised and frozen, as he asks, "Do you want the dining table instead?"

"No." As you continue, the pencil falls back to the page, "It just wasn't what I was originally thinking."

"I could do a dining room table too. They could even be made of the same wood." Jake says. His green eyes broke from the page to glance up at your face for the first time in a while. He searches your face trying to gauge your reaction to his suggestion.

"Two puzzle tables?"

"Think of all the possibilities. We could do two puzzles at once." Jake gasps. You kind of hate the excited timbre that Jake's voice picks up at the idea, but you actually mostly love it.

"Just one puzzle at a time, please." You say, giving his hair a teasing gentle tug, ignoring the sharp inhale of his breath that immediately follows. You refuse to give away the unexpected thrill sent straight through your body that settles at your core. You have to consciously make sure your words do not fall out rushed, "I think it would be nice to have out here, comfier."

"I thought the exact same thing."

"Oh really?" You ask, amused.

"Yes, Ma'am. I've got two words for you, puzzle naps."

You huff a small laugh at him and bite your lower lip. He flips back to his first page of notes, where he had a small list of wood. He adds cherry to his list after oak.

"Juniper is really pretty," you suggest. He immediately starts to write down your suggestion with a little heart next to it. When Jake starts to shade in the heart, you feel like the one in your chest might actually burst out. Something very similar to butterflies was fluttering around in you, but it is much less nervous and rather born of pure fondness.

"Sounds beautiful. I'm sure it's perfect," Jake tells you.

"Let's pick one together, though. It should be our choice."

"No," Jake says, drawing an elegant oval around juniper. Then he goes back and strikes a straight line through the other options. "No one else has ever remembered to double tap."

Jake spends a few more minutes detailing the design before his eyes start to get sleepy, and his pencil marks become light and halting. It doesn't take much from you to encourage him to go to bed, just a whispered suggestion.

He stumbles up from the couch and places a kiss on your forehead. Jake puts his notebook on the counter in the kitchen. After that, Jake circles back to press a second lingering kiss to your forehead. You watch him go all the way around the house to double check the locks, the front door, the garage, and the back door. Finally, after sending you two finger guns, Jake drags himself up the stairs, humming Anchors Aweigh.

"Until we meet once more, here's wishing you a happy voyage home!" You loudly hear him sing. You listen to Jake as he hums his fight song while randomly peppering in other lyrics. When you finally hear him close his door, your mind makes a decision on the war it's been having.

You are going to do whatever it takes for Jake Seresin to agree to be yours. Potential consequences be damned; Jake is worth the risk.

#jake seresin x reader #hangman x reader #jake seresin x you #Hangman imagine #Slow burn #Roley Coley's writing #part 1 #Double tap #Hangman x you #house we share

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hangmanssunnies · 1 year

Text

Sfumato

House We Share: Double Tap, Sfumato, Good Comes In 3

Summary: Loving Jake Seresin isn't difficult but accepting that he won't ever love you back is. So you have to decide if what Jake does give you is enough. Can you with it? Can you love him enough that it fills the gaps in between? After all, how much does a confession really matter? At this point, you're pretty sure it can't rival how it feels to help Jake paint coyotes flying planes.

Pairings: Jake "Hangman" Seresin x Fem! Civilian! Reader, minor Javy "Coyote" Machado x OC

Word count: 23K

Playlist

AO3 LINK

Warnings: Abuse (Implied and mentioned), confrontation with the abuser (mentioned), Child abuse (mentioned), Slow burn, routines and compulsions, Jigsaw puzzles (mentioned), Rejection, Drinking, Lying, Arguments, Yearning, Deployment, communication, hyper-specific!Jake, Neurodivergent coded! Jake. Please let me know if I missed any for this part; I know it is a long one.

Authors Note: I am not sure what to say about this. I agonized over this for 8 drafts, and now I just I hope you enjoy at least some part. Thank you for your patience in waiting on this second part. Coyote and Hangman BFF supremacy.

++++

It wasn’t that your attempts to convince Jake to be yours weren’t going well. It’s just that they didn’t seem to make any difference. You baked his favorite dessert which ended with the two of you dancing in the kitchen together to a slow song he had thrown on the record player. Just when Jake had been about to kiss you, his phone rang, and it was work so he had to take it.

Another time you had been sitting with him in the garage, while he worked on your car. Jake had been wearing overalls, and you found it so hard to think that before you knew it you were pressed as close to him as his sharp elbow would let you, asking how you could help. If Jake hadn’t been covered in grease, and dirt you would have kissed him right there. Again, it just didn’t seem like the right time. These moments kept happening so frequently you had practically given up at this point. You decided that you two would happen eventually. You just had to keep doing the small stuff, so when the time came you would have plenty of supporting evidence for your case. Enough evidence that it would be impossible and illogical for Jake to not want you back.

“Sugar, would you mind helping me out?” You hear Jake call out.

“What’s up?” You call back to him already standing from the couch and walking towards the laundry room. Jake smiles widely once he spots you near the doorway.

“Would you mind taking those upstairs?” He asks, nodding towards a pile of towels and sheets.

“I absolutely cannot do that for you,” you tell him, sounding dead serious. However, you are already gathering the laundry up in your arms, earning a laugh from Jake.

“Can you just put them by my sink? I would do it but,” he gestures to the heated-up iron he is holding.

“No problem, Jake.” You tell him. You make your way upstairs with the laundry and into Jake’s room. It is as clean and tidy as it’s been all the other times you’ve seen it

Although when you step into Jake’s bathroom you have the sudden realization you had never been in there before. It’s clean, of course, which is no surprise. You set the towels and sheets down on the counter. As you turn to leave, something catches your eye and makes you gasp: Jake has a bathtub.

He doesn’t just have a normal bathtub, no, it’s a large luxurious looking porcelain claw foot bathtub. The walk-in shower and double sinks don’t even catch your interest after you’ve seen this. Almost immediately, you are flying out of Jake’s room and down the stairs, sliding to a stop by the laundry room’s doorway again.

“You good?” Jake asks, confused by your sudden reappearance and slightly elevated breath.

“Jake, you have a bathtub!”

He nods his head and looks confused. “Yeah, and?”

“Why did you keep it a secret from me?”

“I thought you knew.” He responds with a small shrug.

“I had no clue.”

“Honestly, I rarely ever use that thing, but I keep it clean. So, anytime you ever want to take a bath you're more than welcome to go right ahead.”

“Really?”

“Yeah of course. I got Epson salt, some soap that’s supposed to make bubbles, and those bath bomb things in that chest next to it. Which, please use.”

You want to ask why Jake would have all those things if he isn’t a bath guy. The answer seems obvious to you though which doesn’t make it less of a stab to your heart. The only thing that’s better than a bath after all is a bath with someone else.

“You wouldn’t mind?” you ask him, double checking.

“No, Ma’am. You go right ahead.”

“Thank you, Jake!” You exclaim walking to his side. You make sure you’re careful of the iron’s cord, so you don’t trip. Jake is leaning downwards waiting for his cheek kiss before you even reach his side. You place a quick soft kiss there.

“Anytime. There’s also a speaker under the sink if you want music.” Then he starts ironing again, and you linger at his side longer than necessary enjoying his closeness.

Just after you leave the laundry room and start down the hallway Jake calls after you. “Yell or text if you need anything.”

Jake’s bathtub is just as nice and luxurious as you had anticipated it to be. His chest of bath items had a much wider selection than you were expecting. It was just like Jake to be over prepared with all the variation.

You soak to your heart’s content, and you are fully relaxed before getting out of the tub. After that and your post bath needs you throw on some lounging clothes and head downstairs again. You feel warm and happy. You wonder if you’ll be able to coax Jake into cuddling with you on the couch.

It normally doesn’t take much effort on your part. An offhand comment that you’re cold, or telling Jake he will really like the show you are watching with a pat on the seat next to you. Oftentimes it won’t take any effort at all, you simply just make yourself close and Jake would naturally gravitate to your side.

When you get downstairs though you pause, hearing a dripping sound. Following the sound to the downstairs guest bathroom you gasp at what you find. There is a huge bubble in the ceiling with water dripping out. Luckily enough it’s mostly dripping into the shower. However, it looks like the rest of the trapped water could burst at any moment.

You stare at the compromised ceiling as if keeping a watchful eye on it will prevent anything from happening. And you yell out “Jake!”

You don’t hear anything, so you yell again a bit louder this time. “Jake, I need help!”

You hear a door slam just as Jake calls out for you. “Sugar?”

“In here,” you call back.

“Are you okay?” Hangman asks as he comes down the hallway. His eyes scanning your body closely looking for anything amiss.

“I’m okay,” you reassure him. Then you point to the ceiling. “That, not so much.”

Jake’s follows where you are pointing to the bubble and water in the ceiling. He lets out a low whistle, at the sight.

“Well, this definitely isn’t great news,” Jake says. He sets his palm on your back to gently urge you to the side to enter the bathroom. His chest still brushes against your side as he passes.

He starts to look more closely at water bubble. He pokes it experimentally and the whole things reacts by sloshing and shifting.

Jake hums and steps back around you in the doorway. As he does it, he doesn’t even seem fully conscious of the choice to press a kiss to your brow while muttering a low thank you. You turn and follow his retreat with your eyes. When he comes back from the garage with various tools. Jake steps around you again but you don’t make any attempt to shift for him. He doesn’t seem to mind brushing so close though.

“You might want to move, darlin.” Jake says to you this time. You have to make an effort not to pout when you aren’t gifted a kiss as he passes.

“Why? What are you doing?”

“I’m going to cut open the drywall, well wet wall now, and let the water out.” Jake chuckles at his own joke, clearly pleased with himself. “It’ll probably get messy.”

You heed Jake’s advice and step backwards out of the doorway planting yourself in the hallway instead. You watch as Jake cuts a hole in the ceiling over the shower and the water releases in a rush. Once most of the water has drained, Jake investigates enough to determine that there isn’t an active leak occurring. Just as Jake predicted he is dirty now, soaked and covered in wet drywall.

“Okay that’s fine for right now. Sweetheart, can you bring me a towel and a change of clothes? So, I don’t track so much of this gunk everywhere.

“What do you think caused it?” You ask him while turning to the laundry room and grabbing his requested items. When you come back to the bathroom Jake has stripped down to just his boxers.

You try not to let your eyes wander. You see Jake scantly clothed around the house less than you have fantasized when you first moved in. He is almost always fully dressed. Really the only times you saw him shirtless was days he went on extra-long runs in the mornings. He would come inside heated sweaty with his shirt draped around his neck.

Those sightings were always so early in the mornings though. They were always tinted with glowing, sleepy haze, sometimes making a question if you were still asleep, and this was just another dream.

Right now, there is nothing deniable about the way his body is on display, and by the time you force yourself to be respectful and focus on his face. Jake’s smug smirk tells you he has absolutely no shame or ounce of self-consciousness in him about this aspect of himself. The way you were staring doesn’t seem to have bothered him either. That bottom lip of his tucking in between his teeth, almost taunting you.

You ignore the bloom of desire in you and hold out the towel first. Jake rinses his hands and forearms off in the sink before grabbing the towel. The fact that it’s disrespectful only bothers you the tiniest bit while you watch him clean up. You don’t say anything the whole time or when you hand him the change of clothes, too worried it would break the spell.

Jake catches your eye while he is dressing. The way he stares at you is so intense, it makes goose flesh prickle on your arms. You had always known how charged and heated taking clothes off was, but you had never imagined that putting them on could be just as much so.

“You didn’t hear a thing I just said.” Jake says.

“Hmm?” You hum.

“You know why I call you Sugar?” Jake asks you breaking the silence while he takes the plain black t-shirt you are holding and pulling it over his head.

“Because you can take the boy out of Texas but not Texas out of the boy.”

“Hey, I ain’t no boy unless you’re putting cow in front of it,” Jake says, and it’s a tone that more than borders flirty. He has been doing that more lately, flirting with you outright. You are still stuck deciding between if he actually has become receptive to your efforts to impress and entice him, or if he has finally wholly become comfortable with you around so he isn’t so strict on his filter.

“Oh of course Jakers. I’m sorry,” you say dramatically.

“I can’t stay mad at you,” he says affectionately. His thumb grazing your chin tilting your face. “No, even though we both know I’m a Texian through and through. But the reason? It’s because you are so sweet to me. Sweeter than sugar honestly.”

Jake’s voice takes on an almost musing tone. His hand drifting and settles on the side of your neck. And you want to melt, his words repeat over and over in your brain melting any other thought. Your own hand reaches up and grips his wrist almost tightly. Mostly as a way to ground yourself because you feel like you might float away, and partly because you want to hold Jake in place scared that he will pull away.

“Maybe I should be calling you honey instead. I might like that even better.” Jake continues. His thumb swipes across your pulse point and your breath hitches.

“Which do you like better? Sugar, or Honey?” He asks you purposely and slowly drawling out each word. Part of you wants to back out of this interaction before it can tread into any more dangerous waters. However, this is just the kind of moment you wanted and were desperate for; times that gave you a glimpse Jake might have some sort of want and need for you.

“I like both those just fine. However, there is a third option which I would like most.” You respond after thinking over the two pet names.

“Cupcake?” Jake guesses.

“Nope.”

“Sunshine?”

“What are these callsigns?” You ask him playfully. That earns you a small chuckle and Jake inches even closer to you.

“Darling?”

You hum in appreciation but shake your head. “I do love darling, but not what I’m thinking of.”

“Fine, I give up. What is it?” Jake sighs admitting defeat. You have the word ‘yours’ ready to say it’s there on the tip of your tongue finally about to be out in the open.

However, before you can there is a creaking ripping noise as a chunk of the wet drywall falls and slams hard and loud onto the floor below. Jake is turning to asess the situation while simultaneously gently urging you behind his frame in a quick reaction. It’s yet another moment that sucks all the tension out the air. The ones you and Jake can’t seem to avoid running into at inopportune times.

“Jake, this isn’t something we can ignore. We should call the landlord to come out and fix it.” You say peering around his shoulder to look more closely at the mess that’s been made.

“Oh, don’t worry too much, Darlin. I will take a look at it in the morning.” Jake says with a shrug putting his hands on his hips. “It needs to dry out anyways.”

“I know that you are capable and can deal with it. But this isn’t something you should have to bother with.” You explain to him.

“Yes, it is. Who else is gonna do it? I ain’t paying someone to fix this when I know I can and have the time.” Jake says, shaking his head at you with a laugh. You stare at him a bit confused and then suddenly you feel a realization start to dawn on you.

“Jake, I’ve got a question.”

“What’s up?” Jake’s hands are on his hips, and he takes a few steps back into the bathroom towards the hole.

“Who is our landlord?” You ask cautiously.

“We don’t have one.”

“We don’t?”

“No, sugar.” Jake says, peering at the hole thoughtfully.

“How is that possible?” You ask.

“I own the house.” He says it in a duh voice, like this is something you should know.

You snap your mouth shut, your teeth click together and stare at him. It is your silence or the intensity of your almost glare that tips him off and Jake looks away from the damage in the ceiling to you. You meet his green sea glass eyes, and his eyebrows draw close together a frown pulling the edges of his lips down. You slowly shake your head and back away from Jake out of the bathroom.

“Sugar,” he says soothingly. He takes a small step towards you, but you continue backing up quicker. Once you hit the hallway you spin on your heel ready to book it back to your room. Jake catches up to you on the top of the stairs clearly having taken them three at a time.

“What’s wrong?” Jake calls after you.

“You never needed a roommate. Did you Jake?” You ask him desperately hoping you’re wrong about the story you’re building in your head a mile a minute.

Jake's eyebrows lift up his forehead but the way his eyes cast down to his toes and his tongue darts out to wet his lips you don’t even need to know his answer, it’s evident.

“No,” the word is finally uttered. You have to squeeze your hands tightly into fists to release some of the hurt at hearing it confirmed. It’s like everything around you is shifting but you are frozen in place helpless to watch it change. Your perception of who Jake is threatening to bend with it.

“So, I was a pity project to you?”

“What? No. It was nothing like that!” Jake denies.

“Javy told you about his wife’s poor sad friend who was down on her luck, and you couldn’t help but jump on the chance to play savior. Wanted to be a big macho hero. That’s what you live for isn’t it, Jake?”

He stops looking shocked, and you see anger at your words spark up in his eyes instead. You are glad; You want to make him as angry and hurt as you are feeling right now.

“You would like that wouldn’t you?” Jake responds in almost a condescending tone. You are almost shocked he didn’t throw a nice bless your heart on top of it.

“No, I wouldn’t actually! I don’t want to be seen as some fucking damsel in distress. I didn’t need saving.”

“Yes, you did!” Jake cries back throwing his hands upward. The knot that forms in his jaw when he clenches it appears as he grinds his teeth in frustration.

“Wow,” you laugh shaking your head. You turn to go to your room needing to get away from him.

“Wait, listen. Please.”

“I don’t want to listen to you right now, Hangman.”

“That’s not very fair,” Jake huffs at your answer.

“Is it an apology?” You ask, turning to face Jake once more while standing in the doorway to your room.

“No. It’s not.” Jake responds. You can hear the annoyance in his voice which just makes you feel angrier.

“No?”

“No,” Jake confirms. His fists are clenched so hard at his side that his knuckles are white. “I would never let anyone stay in the situation you were in. There isn’t anything wrong with getting help getting out.”

You stare at Jake wide eyed he had never been this direct with you before. He never brought up you past or why poked at why you moved in. Not even after your dad had shown at the house and he refused to reference any of it. So, it’s startling to have it open in front of you both. Jake not pretending that he didn’t know or wasn’t aware anymore. Jake pulls his hands through his hair making it stand up at awkward angles.

“Listen you can be mad at me. That’s fine, but don’t be mad at Javy and Marlee. They only wanted you to be safe. We all just wanted you to be safe.”

“You didn’t even know me.”

“Why would that matter?” Jake asks coldly. Then after a few beats where you don’t say anything he continues.

“I was never more thankful in my life than when I was able to move away from my father. How the hell could I have stood by and left you in that situation?”

You start a little bit in surprise at his words. Only able to breath out a quiet, “Oh, Jake.”

“I don’t care if you don’t like it. I don’t care if you feel like it was pity or a handout. I don’t care that you’re mad. I wouldn’t change it. It was the right thing to do,” Jake says steamrolling forward ignoring the hand you reach out towards him.

“My feelings never mattered then?”

“That’s not what I’m saying. I shouldn’t have to explain to you that the thing I care about, before anything else, is that you are safe. Once someone’s safe there is time and space to deal with everything else.”

“How can I feel safe with someone who lied to me?” You ask him venomously.

A soon as he fully processes your words Jake recoils in hurt. It’s what you wanted but you don’t feel any satisfaction from it. Jake looks disappointed as he shakes his head at you, which makes you feel even worse. Then with a sharp nod and grimace he tries to play off as a smile Jake spins on his heel and goes down the stairs.

You go into your room shutting the door securely. Then you lay on your bed and try not to cry. Trying to think with any sort of a clear head proving impossible. You can’t stop wondering how you let such a nice night turn so sour. You are also plagued by thinking over every moment you have had with Jake looking to see if there was a layer of pity to him that you had just been oblivious to.

The next morning you feel extremely nervous to venture out of your room. You had lived on egg shells before, and the feeling was sickening. The anxiety of the situation crawled up your throat strangling you a little bit. You and Jake have never had anything even close to resembling a fight, or whatever you wanted to call what had happened the night before. Despite the nausea gnawing at you, by mid-morning you finally work up the courage to venture down stairs.

Cautiously you look around, but you don’t see Jake in the living room, dining room, or the kitchen. So, you tiptoe into the kitchen to look for food. Standing there you hear music coming from the garage. It takes you several more minutes to hype yourself up enough to peek into Jake’s workspace and confront him.

As you open the door and step out the sound of rock music immediately envelopes you, your eyes scan the area until they land on Jake. He is measuring a sheet of drywall, making marks on it with a square pencil.

If he noticed you enter the garage, he doesn’t indicate it in any way, continuing the task. You make you way over to one of the comfy Ergonomic Camping Chairs that Jake had set up in the shop. Sitting there waiting you are unable to take your eyes off Jake. The garage which was clean and orderly yesterday in now a whirlwind mess. Both your vehicles have been moved out presumably into the driveway, Materials for at least three different projects are strewn out. When Hangman finishes drawing the outline of where he is planning on cutting, he finally looks at you.

Tucking the square pencil on his ear, Jake turns the volume of the speaker low. He doesn’t say anything, just leans back against the workbench and looks at you. While waiting his fiddles with the toothpick sticking out of his mouth. When Jake flips it before biting down again you decide you're going to have to say something first.

“Good morning.”

“Morning,” He responds tersely.

You don’t know what to say, so silence descends again. Jake remains perfectly still waiting, the only movement is the occasional wiggle of his toothpick. You look at the wall behind him seeing it covered in new taped up project plans and half-finished sketches.

“Can we talk about it?” You ask cutting through the silence again.

Jake crosses his arms over this chest but nods his head in agreement. “Yeah, we should. If you feel up to it.”

“So, you always knew why I needed to move?”

“Yeah. Javy and Marls told me in not so many details. They knew I had a lot of extra space, and that I would never let anything happen.”

“So, the three of you were conspiring behind my back.”

“Conspiring,” Jake scoffs in a sharp sarcastic tone. “We got you out of an abusive situation and home. We are such assholes.”

“The point is you lied to me. You didn’t think I would want to know you owned the house?”

“You never asked,” Jake says, defending himself.

“Typically, people like to know they are living with their landlord, Jake.” You snap back and rub your face tiredly.

“It didn’t seem like it mattered. I’m not your landlord anyways. We are friends.”

You consider his words and suck a breath in through your teeth. “Please tell me what I'm thinking is wrong.”

“What are you thinking?” Jake asks.

“That you have been giving me an outrageous discount while living here. How when you told me to pay less in rent you were already subsidizing me living here.”

Jake’s lips tighten and he holds his gaze past your shoulder. If you weren’t watching him intently you would have missed the small nod.

“Are you at least using my rent to pay any of the mortgage?” Jake’s bottom lip tucks in-between his teeth for a moment and you know he is preparing to lie to you. Exasperated, you warn him, “Don’t lie to me.”

“It’s been going into a high yield savings account I set up for you.”

“Jake!”

“What? I don’t need your money. Plus having a strong savings and an emergency fund is important.”

You groan loudly and cover your face. It was ridiculous. It was honestly so hard to stay mad at him when he was like this. How he was caring and sweet but going about it in the wrong way.

“I’m moving,” you say, throwing your hands upwards.

“Why?” Jake asks, his eyes widening in alarm. “Because if it’s about the money that’s a stupid reason.”

“I’m not running away from anyone anymore, and while I appreciate your kindness, Jake, but it’s time for me to go.”

“You won’t find somewhere cheaper.”

“Apparently not, when I haven’t been paying rent at all!”

“Have I been a bad roommate?” Jake asks, he has that same look on his face as he does when he is trying to palace a particularly confusing puzzle piece. One he would often wear when he broke out the magnifying glass, he kept in his puzzle chest.

“No, you’re a good roommate.”

“What is it then?”

“Jake,” you sigh exasperatedly.

“I need a reason besides money,” Jake requests.

“It’s not just the money.”

“Ah, Just. So, what else is it?”

It’s how you are embarrassed, it’s how you love him, ache for him. How Jake makes you happy to come home. “I still don’t understand what you are getting out of this. Isn’t your sense of honor bound duty fulfilled?”

“Flew past honor and gentlemanly a long time ago, actually,” he replies slightly snarky. You roll your eyes at his answer.

“Okay,” you say, drawing out the syllables.

“Sugar, there is something you just don’t seem to understand. You make everything better,” Jake is plain in how he says this. The sunsets in the west, otters hold hands when they sleep, and Jake Seresin thinks you make everything better… It's that simple.

You are stunned. You blink back at him owlishly trying to process his words. When you don’t respond Jake runs a hand through his hair pulling at it.

“I did need a roommate,” he starts wanting to fill the silence. “Having someone else here helps me. It gives me a reason to check the locks, use my shop, and talk to someone when I get home. I used to just sit here; you know. When I got back from the gym at night I would just sit alone, mostly in silence. Sometimes I would read, or do sudoku, other nights I would just stare at the wall waiting until it was finally a justifiable time to go to bed.”

That image is a punch in the gut. A quiet dark house, with a lonely quiet Hangman in it. You try to imagine what would happen when he enters a stress phase, but he is here alone, no one to reign him in, no one to tell Coyote that Jake needs help. Even if you’re hurt and mad, you love him.

“Okay, Jake.”

“Okay, what?” He asks you.

“I won't move, but you need to let me pay my share.”

He grinds his teeth at your answer contemplating it. “Is that a deal breaker?”

“Yes,” you tell him.

“I’m sorry. It’s a no then.”

“No?” you gasp shocked. “You were just begging me to stay.”

“I will beg on my knees if you want. Money though? I’m sorry, Sugar. I won’t compromise on it.”

“Why are you so difficult?” You ask.

“Mama always said I was more stubborn than a mule. I can’t make my Mama a liar, sweetheart.” Jake says, he looks less sullen now that he seems to understand getting you to stay is possible.

“We can’t have that can we?” You finally respond, deciding to give in. Jake whoops, and later once he wakes up from the nap you forced him to take, he doesn’t stop checking on you like he expects you to disappear.

~~~~~~~

A few weeks later things seem to be back on track and normal between you and Jake. There was a full week where Jake seemed to be watching you nonstop, hypervigilant to everything about you. He has eased up though, and you were glad to have him at ease again.

Jake had just finished his post morning run shower and come downstairs munching on a snack in the kitchen. You are on the couch and beckon for Jake to join you. Wordlessly, he bee lines to you only stopping momentarily to grab a blanket out of the blanket basket. Jakes sits next to you. He spreads the blanket over you first and then goes to tuck it over himself as well.

However as soon as Jake does, he shoots up out of place, shoving the blanket off him. He flips it over and examines the underside. He frowns heavily at the white lining that doesn’t match the dark blue hyper soft outside.

“What is this?” Jake asks you.

“It’s sherpa?” you say looking at the blankets lining too.

He reaches out to touch it again and it makes his nose wrinkle with a stern frown. Then Jake looks like he is at war. He eyes flick from your side to the blanket again.

“What wrong?” you ask reaching out a hand for him and making a grabby hand.

“I don’t like that,” he says waving to the fabric.

You laugh at Jake, but it is born of pure affection. You refold the blanket quickly, and a bit sloppily and hand it back to him. “Then go get a different blanket.”

“We don’t have to.” He says. Jake is looking at the blanket as if he is mentally preparing himself to deal with the discomfort.

“We have lots of other blankets, Jakers. I don’t care which one we use,” You wave back towards the basket.

“No, no. It’s fine,” Jake insists. He starts to unfold and tuck the blanket around you again, not leaving any for himself. You frown at this choice, since it means no cuddles.

“Jakobi Seresin, go get another blanket.” You order, push the blanket off of you as Jake is simultaneously pushing it off.

“It’s fine. Just a blanket, I’ll get over it. ” Jake tells you sharply. You don’t think his frustration is directed towards you. You take a deep breath resisting the urge to flinch.

“You don’t have to live in discomfort to prove a point,” you argue evenly. Jake sighs, your name exasperated. It’s such a rare treat for him not to fall into a pet name. It tells you that you need to press the point.

“We should feel safe in our home. You’re always telling me that right?”

“Yes,” Jake confirms.

"Well, that includes being comfortable. So, you should be comfortable here.”

“I’m not uncomfortable in our home,” Jake protests.

“I have a question for you.”

“Well then I imagine I have an answer,” Jake responds sarcastically, it was a known fact he hated when people asked if they could ask a question because that in itself was a question.

“If I didn’t like this blanket, would you switch it?”

“Yes, of course,” Jake responds immediately.

“Thank goodness,” you sigh, “Because I hate this blanky so much.”

He stares at you frozen. You wait patiently this time for him to react. Finally, after he has thoroughly examined every inch of you Jake’s frown melts away. Wordlessly, he trades the blanket out for a grey one in the basket. You watch him flip a corner to check the inside and make sure this one doesn’t have a lining. After confirming that he hold it up for you, clearly seeking your approval. You nod three times, and even give him a thumbs up.

“I didn’t like how that stuck to my skin. It felt like it was a million tiny hands pulling at it.” Jake explains not embarrassed, because he rarely is, but something that shares a border with embarrassment.

“I’m sorry. I didn’t know we felt that way about it.”

“I don’t think I did either,” Jake says unfolding the newly chosen blanket.

"We," you correct him.

"We think this one is softer anyways," he supplies.

"Yes, we do," you agree.

He is once again tucking the blanket, fluffing it around you comfortably before claiming his own half. Jake sits there a moment and then readjusts the blanket again evening out the sides a bit. He starts to readjust again, stopping halfway through, he harshly pulls the blanket balling it up tightly. Jake huffs frustratedly as he starts again.

You patiently wait unbothered and unhurried. Simply content while he gets comfortable. Only humming sweetly each time he tucks your side of the blanket in. Once he determines it is even Jake sighs clearly pleased with the soft texture of this blanket. Jake sinks back, relaxing into the couch, and you notice the distinctive space he places between you.

Since the two of you had passed into the realm of touch being an easy given between you, Jake hardly ever didn’t take the chance to lean into it. You watch him pick up his Sudoku book, open it up to a page stare at it for approximately 30 seconds before he closes the book and trades it out of the sketch pad he has on the table. Even as he opens his and starts working, he doesn’t lean closer.

You tentatively reach over and rub his shoulder. “You good, Jakers?”

“Yes Ma’am.” He responds, as his pencil scribbles along the notepad.

His response feels short enough that you pull your hand away from him, even going as far as to scooch a little further away on the couch. You wonder why he even joined you on the couch, while you resist the urge to pout. After turning your show back on, you try to ignore the distance between you and Jake but it bothers you nonetheless.

“What are you sketching?” You decide to ask him a little while later.

“You,” Jake responds without missing a beat.

“Me?” You ask shocked. Leaning over, you see sure enough, Jake has sketched you. It is a flattering but accurate rendition, that is surprisingly realistic.

“Oh wow,” you breathe. Jake hums in agreement moving his hand out of the way so you can get a better look.

“Thank you, Jake. You created a very nice portrayal.”

“Art’s easy when your subject is so beautiful.”

You fight against the warmth that blossoms in you at his compliment. “Aren’t you a sweet talker.”

“It’s true!” Jake says.

“If you say so,” you tell him.

“God, I need to take you to a museum. I can’t believe you don’t believe me. You are prettier than any of those artist muses.”

“Is that what I am then? Your muse?” You ask him playfully.

“You are absolutely my muse. Nothing inspires me like you do, sweetheart.”

God, you could faint at Jake’s words or kiss him. You don’t do either though, instead you just lean into his space until he naturally throws an arm around you, letting you settle close to his chest. He glances down at where you have cuddled against him.

“Is this okay?” he asks gently. At first you aren’t sure what he is talking about. However, when you feel his arm start to shift from where it’s wrapped around you catch his wrist holding him in place.

“Yes, always okay.” You tell him. Jake does still move his arm out of your grasp though. You feel confused, trying to consider if you have crossed any of his boundaries. Physical touch and affection was so natural and commonplace between you two that you didn’t even really give it a second thought anymore.

“Is it okay with you?” You ask checking in.

“It is, but only if you are okay with it.”

“Not really how that works,” you tell him.

“That’s always how it works between us,” Jake says.

“Don’t say things you don’t mean, Jake.”

“I won’t,” he tells you with conviction.

“Do you promise?”

“I promise,” Jake says, kissing your forehead. You can’t stop yourself from pressing a small kiss to his clothed chest. You try to disguise it by leaving your face there, breathing in Jake’s scent.

He doesn’t comment on it. Jake just readjusts the blanket around you again, tucking it in around you until he is content. His arm wraps around you again pulling you even closer to his chest. With a little more shifting he is situated and goes back to drawing.

It’s one of those nights that leaves you with the feeling there is nothing in the world you really have to worry about, not when Jake is at your side.

— — — —

"Do I look okay? I can't decide if this is too dressy," Jake asks you as he walks into the living room. Once he is standing fully in front of you, he adds, almost sheepishly. "It's for a date."

Your eyes snap to Jake, and you inhale sharply, caught off guard by his words. You try to play it off, scanning him from head to toe. He is wearing a patterned button-down with the sleeves neatly folded to his elbows, and the top two buttons are undone. You could see the peak of his dog tags underneath. Jake has paired the shirt with some dark-wash jeans. He, of course, looks undeniably good. It doesn't help how your stomach is stuck on one of those whirly fair rides. You gulp down your bubbling emotions, trying to keep level and at bay.

"You look great. What are you doing?" You ask casually.

"We are going to some coffee shop," Jake tells you with a shrug.

"Oh wow, that should be fun. "

"It'll be something," while he sounds confident, Jake doesn't really sound excited.

"Normally, you are supposed to be excited about a date, you know."

"Yes, Sugar. I am aware of that." He says, rolling his eyes.

With how hard you had been trying, you think that Jake would have acted on any secret or partial feelings he had for you. This felt like the final nail in the coffin. He wasn't going to love you back; he wasn't going to pick up any of your hints. All signs pointed to that he would never feel that way towards you. It seemed all other excuses now evaporated. It wasn't that he wasn't dating right now. It wasn't that he was too busy or wasn't looking for anyone. It was simply because it wasn't you, and it never would be you.

God, he was so handsome; even in the trenches of your hurt, you can't help but think so. "It's your hair."

"What?"

"Come here," you tell him, motioning for him to come closer to your side. "It's your hair that is making you feel that way."

Jake comes to your side and crouches down. You reach up and touch the gelled-back strands. Ignoring the product's texture, you run your fingers through it so that it falls much more loose and free.

"You aren't going to work; you don't need your hair slicked back like this." You explain to him kindly. You fiddle with one of the strands absently, trying to decide how you want to place it. Jake's eyes flutter shut while you play with the strands.

"Thank you," Jake says softly, his hand settling on your waist, holding you steady while you fix his hair. You ignore how big and warm his hand feels. It's like his touch burns you with how much it makes you want to cry. You pull away and lean back, making his hand fall back to his side.

"Anytime, Hangman," you whisper. He pulls back from you and sits in his comfy chair.

"So, tell me about it," you say after a minute of staring at him.

"Well, she asked me out the other night at the bar."

The last time Jake went to the bar was on Thursday. That was four days ago, and he hadn't said anything. You feel the knife in your gut twist even deeper.

"Well, how did it happen?" You don't know why you are doing this to yourself. You know that if you don't ask him any more questions, Jake will sit quietly and content in his chair on his phone until he has to leave.

"Ah, she complimented my shirt. She is from Texas too."

"She just complimented your shirt, and now you are going on a date?"

"Yeah, I mean, she asked, and I didn't have an excuse to say no," Jake explains to you. It's true he didn't have an excuse; after all, the two of you were just roommates and friends.

"Oh, well, that's nice. She sounds bold," You respond.

"Bold's definitely one way to put it."

"What do you mean?" You are confused by his tone.

"Well, to put it plainly, Sugar. I think that she really only wants one thing from me." Jake gestures down the length of his body before pulling his toothpick case out of his pocket and popping one out to use.

“Gottcha,” you answer.

Jake sits there with you for another ten minutes, bouncing his leg the entire time before he tells you he has to go. You manage to force out a polite goodbye telling him to have fun. You are anxious for Jake to get back. You try to distract yourself, but nothing seems to work. Finally, a few hours later, you decide it would probably be best for you to try and get out for a while. However, when you get to the garage, Jake is there.

You are startled and set a hand on your chest, trying to calm your breathing back down. He is wearing a pair of earmuffs and hasn't seen you yet. You notice that he has changed clothes since you last saw him. Now he is in one of his ratty garage shirts and jeans.

Walking across the garage, you call to him loudly, "Jake!"

He catches your movement out of the corner of his eye. He raises his hand in greeting and pushes off the earmuffs, then takes out the headphones he had on underneath.

"Hi, Sugar," Jake says.

"Jakers! I didn't know you were home. How did it go?" You ask. Despite having prepared yourself to be happy for him, your tone doesn't quite hit as easygoing as you hoped.

"Yeah, I got home a while ago. It wasn't the best date I've ever been on," Jake says, throwing the cloth he has in his hands over his shoulder.

"No?" You question trying to fish for details.

"No," he sighs and rubs his face. His hair, you playfully mused earlier, is now almost messy, telling you he had been messing with it.

"I'm sorry," you apologize.

"No need to be. I only went to be polite anyway." Jake says, giving you a smile. His answer raises your heart from where it had been residing on the floor. You drift over to the bench to see what he is working on and gasp.

"Oh my god, Jake, is this it?"

"Yes, Ma'am. One puzzle table, almost done."

You appreciate the stained juniper and the design that Jake made for the table. It folds open, and the top is removable as well if you want it completely out of the way, not just folded. It has a soft white felt fabric on the inside. On the sides, there are a few hidden drawers to store pieces. You can tell it's impeccably made. The table looks almost exactly like the final sketch he had shown you for your approval and feedback before buying the materials.

"It's amazing, just like your design," You sigh, going to run your hand over the smooth-looking wood. Jake stops you, his hand catching your wrist in a gentle grip.

"The stain is still drying," He warns you before letting go of your hand.

"How did you get so good at all this?" You decide to ask him, turning your admiration of the table back to him.

"Miss Celeste."

"No way," you say, shaking your head at him in disbelief.

"No, it's true!"

"Why exactly did Mrs. Celeste know about all this?" You ask, waving towards the table and bench.

Jake chuckles as he twirls a square pencil in his fingers. "She is a very talented woman. But the reason she learned about woodworking was because she fell in love."

"Don't leave it there, Jake."

"Well, one day Miss Celeste drove into town to go to the store. And while she was in the tool store, she had gotten all turned around. That's where she met my Pop, Mr. Russell, he was also there and asked if she was lost. Now, Miss Celeste would rather die than admit she was in the wrong, or ignorant. So she told him she was exactly where she needed to be. So he asked her, what she needed the wood for, and what was she going to do with it? Then she looked him dead in the eyes saying she was building a new bed frame. And poor Mr. Russ had been so shocked that he laughed."

"He laughed?" you ask.

Jake grins widely towards you at the memory of the story. As he chuckles at his grandmother and shakes his head. "Miss Celeste was so mad that she decided she had to do it. She made him carry all the wood she picked out and to the register and then also to her truck. Pops didn't complain once about this small polish woman meeting him and immediately bossing him around either. After all the wood was all loaded up, he wished her good luck."

"Miss Celeste doesn't believe in luck." You say, thinking of some of the other stories Jake had told you.

"No, Ma'am, and neither do I."

"She told him that, didn't she?"

"Of course, and she said she didn't need luck, because she had skill and work ethic," Jake's voice dipped into an extra twist of accent that somewhat replicated his grandmother's unique polish southern twang you would hear on the other side of Jake's phone sometimes.

"Mr. Russ just shrugged, helped her in her truck, and told her that he would believe it when he saw it. And it drove her a little crazy. She became obsessed with figuring out how to build a bed frame. Not just anyone but a good one. She went to the library, checked out a bunch of books, and even took some classes. When Miss Celeste finished it, she had no idea what to do. All she knew about him was he had been in a tool store, and his name was Russell.

"Miss Celeste went back to the store and tried asking around after Russell, but no one knew anything."

"What happened?" you ask him.

Jake's eyes absolutely twinkle, and sometimes when he talks about the things he loves, he nearly glows. He turns towards his bench and grabs a trunk off the top shelf.

You lean close to his side as he opens it. The chest has a few different photo albums and other keepsakes. You spot a watch, a compass, some pins, and some patches. Tucked in the corner, you see a cello bridge you desperately want to ask Jake about.

However, before you can jump topics, Jake traces over the photo album's spines until he grabs one with a dark leather binding. Flipping open the scrapbook, Jake starts turning pages before he stops on one and shows the page to you. You follow where he is pointing. Saved in the scrapbook is an aged newspaper clipping. It's an advertisement for two handmade bedside tables; payment only accepted in one matching bed frame.

"He put an Ad in the paper?"

"Every single Sunday after he met her, for months." Jake sighs and runs his fingers across the paper.

"So, Miss Celeste finally saw it?"

"Yeah, she contacted him and invited him over. Pops pulled up to her house with two bedside tables that matched the bed frame. Miss Celeste demanded that he put the bedside tables in her room to go with the frame. He asked her if they could go on a drive and dinner after. She said absolutely not. They had to test out how sturdy she made the frame. Pops was a smart man who said yes, ma'am, and followed orders. They have spent every day since then madly in love."

"Wow, that's such a beautiful love story they had."

"Yeah, it was something."

"So, you are close with Russ too?" you ask.

"I am, even if he ain't my grandpa," Jake says.

"What? He's not your Grandpa?" You ask surprised.

"My actual blood grandpa, the one I'm named after, died young. Mr. Russ and Miss Celeste fell in love later. He always bothered my Da', but Russ is a good man."

"And good to you?"

"Yeah, and good to me too."

Jake turns the page, and you see the couple. They are sitting in two rocking chairs side by side, holding hands. Celeste has a neutral, if almost stern, look on her face, but Russell is grinning wide, his face happy and bright. The only thing that gives Celeste's true feelings away is that she is leaning towards him. It reminds you vaguely of how the sunflower can't help but turn in the direction of the sun.

"He's the reason I applied to the naval academy. Helped me get my congressional nominations and write my application. My namesake was in the army, but Russ is a navy man, just like me." Jake turns the page again.

The next picture is a huge barn with Celeste and Russell standing proudly in front of it. Russ has an arm thrown around Celeste's shoulder. She has a hand on her hip, and a hammer in the other. Celeste has a pleased look but not an actual full smile, while Russell is once again grinning. You reach out slowly without thinking and touch the picture. While Russell doesn't look like Jake, there is something you can see in the picture that is reminiscent of him. They have the same sort of aura around them.

"He is your grandpa, then."

"Yeah, he's my Pops." Jake says, his fingers brushing lightly against yours.

"They built a barn?"

"Yes, Ma'am, and it's still standing today," Jake answers proudly. Then he closes the scrapbook and puts it back in the trunk. Before you can jump on the opportunity to ask about anything else in the trunk, Jake snaps it closed and puts it away.

"Thank you for sharing with me, Jake." You tell him.

"Thank you for listening."

"One of my favorite things," you answer almost cheekily. You glance over to Jake and find him already staring at you.

"I can't imagine and don't understand people who settle for anything less than what my grandparents have," Jake says seriously to you.

"Is that why it didn't work out tonight with your date?"

Jake is quiet for a minute, like he is contemplating your question. "I guess you could say it's something like that."

"Wow. You really don't want to tell me about your date." You laugh.

"You don't tell me about your dates," Jake says, a bit annoyed.

"Maybe that's because I haven't been going on any," you defend yourself.

"You haven't?" He asks.

"No."

"Oh," he responds. Then his eyes drop down to the puzzle table. He twists the top of the stain off and dips a rag into it. Your nose wrinkles a little bit at the smell, but you stay close next to Jake's side.

"I would tell you about them," you finally say.

"You would?"

"Of course, I would. I always want to tell you everything, all the time." You admit this like it's a secret.

Jake sniffs before he bumps his elbow playfully into your side. "That's one of my favorite things, Sugar. Now, so this whole day isn't wasted, will you throw on some tunes and hang out while I finish this?"

Your mouth feels a bit dry at his words but you quickly reorient yourself. "Do you need help?"

"No, just company. Plus, now that the table is done, you have a job to do."

"What job do I have to do?" You ask, turning on the speaker in the garage and connecting your phone.

"Honey, it's your turn to pick us out a new puzzle," Jake says.

"Are you seriously going to let me?"

"Of course, I'll grab my puzzle chest for you to look through in a minute."

"What if I don't like any of those options?"

"Then we'll order one you do like," Jake shrugs.

"What if you don't like the one I pick?"

"I'll like it," Jake says reassuringly.

"Yeah, but what if you don't?" You ask again.

"If you pick it out, I will like it, sugar," Jake tells you more firmly this time, leaving no room for questions or argument. It's reassuring and a warm sentiment, and it makes it difficult for you to stop grinning when you start digging through the handmade chest and examining the different puzzles in his collection.

^^^^^^

It's a scene you wouldn't normally involve yourself with. However, it is Javy's birthday, so exceptions do have to be made for the holiday. You had never known how seamlessly Jake and Marlee could work together until watching them pull off this surprise party.

Jake had stayed up until two am the previous night finishing the banner. It said, "Happy birthday Javy!" with several planes on it, all being flown by very realistic depictions of Coyotes, the animal that is. You had been enlisted in helping put everything together, which you didn't mind, but Marlee and Jake had really taken the brunt of the work.

Now, here you are in the bowling alley Jake had rented out, which is now filled to the brim with people enjoying the night. You knew Javy was funny, sociable, and well-liked, but this was genuinely so many people you were shocked. More than any of the bonfires or other parties the Machados threw.

You were even actually having a lot of fun at first. You enjoyed talking and laughing with your mutual friends who had come to celebrate. You were still grinning from the feeling that had swept over you, watching how widely Javy smiled when Marlee walked him in, and everyone shouted surprise. After Javy kissed his wife silly and started to greet people, the high-five Jake and Marlee shared was so loud your own hand hurt watching it happen. It didn't make the scene any less heartwarming. Nothing quite paralleled the feeling of seeing the people who mattered most in your life together and having fun. All your enjoyment came to a screeching halt when you heard a conversation that definitely wasn't meant for your ears.

"Showboating at someone else's birthday is a bit much, don't you think?" you hear coming from the conversation a few men were having near you. Curious, you followed where their gazes were turned. They were looking over at Javy, Marlee, Tazina, their little sister, and Jake. The four of them were playing doubles pool, and Jake was laughing at something someone had said while knocking balls into pockets effortlessly.

"Showboats at work, during class, and PT, showboats at the bar. That's Hangman for you. I don't know why you are surprised. I don't think he can help himself, honestly," one of the men responds.

"I don't know if his being dick helps anything or anyone."

"Naw, man, you are just mad he nailed that maneuver before you last week."

"No," the first guy defends himself. "It's not that, dude. Plus you know I was flying earlier in the morning, and the weather was shifting."

"Oh yeah, Amber, you told us all about it." The third guy says, sounding exasperated like he had heard the excuse a million times.

"I don't know. Haven't you noticed something off about the guy?" Amber continues on, turning to more fully face his friends and you inch closer to hear better.

"What do you mean?"

"The guy is an asshole. He's always making fun of everyone and then showing them up. The other day he had the audacity to tell me he already had the new manual memorized. We haven't had those longer than a week."

"Just ignore him, Amber."

"Hard to ignore him when he is so loud and never shuts up."

Jake did draw the eye and attention, oftentimes to an edge you knew he didn't even notice. Jake was high-fiving Tazina, after which he he picked her up and spun her around the table, gloating about their win loudly. It looked like a genuine celebration, though, not designed to specifically rub in anyone's face. And even though it was Javy's birthday, with his arm wrapped around Marlee and sipping a drink, he didn't look anything other than happy. You didn't like people talking about Jake; it made your skin crawl. They were the ones who could take a moment to celebrate whose birthday it actually was.

"Yeah, I don't know why Yote is always keeping Hangman around." One said. The comment shoots anger through you and short-circuits your brain a little bit. That was just one step too far over the line on these guys' part.

You knew exactly why Javy kept Jake around. You knew just how close Hangman and Coyote were. You knew about the unbreakable bond they had foraged, brothers in every way that mattered to each other, wingmen, and best friends for life and death. Jake often joked that he and Javy would be bunked up together in hell just like they had been back in college.

You knew about the time they went hiking, and a freak blizzard had trapped them together for two whole days. You knew the calls and hours they would spend together. You knew how Javy would pull Jake back from the edge, and Jake would do the same for Javy. The hours they would spend reading over a manual long after it was memorized, trying to find any hidden details together and discussing technicalities. You had been there before when Marlee called Jake, begging him to bring Javy home. Jake had gone to the gym to collect the aviator, who had been on the treadmill for hours. Times they were both struggling, Hangman would take Coyote to a wing restaurant there they would eat and have a beer before returning Javy home to his wife.

The implication that their friendship was anything less than the bond of brotherhood, that Hangman somehow didn't give as much as he got from Coyote, was enough to boil your blood. The anger builds more and more, so much so, you decide that you have heard enough of the slander. Walking confidently over, you stop at the little partial circle they are standing in.

"You guys are wrong," you tell them with a frown, capturing their attention.

"What's that, sweet thing?" One asks you, clearly confused.

"Hangman is the one who put this together for him and flew their little sister out."

"Okay, and?" Another one of the guys asks.

"I heard what you were saying, and you are wrong. Hangman is the least selfish person I have ever met. If you can't keep up with him in the sky, that is a different issue. Maybe you shouldn't be paying so much attention to other pilots, and you might fly better. I understand not having a photographic memory must be hard for you, but I promise there are worse real handicaps people have to get over every single day."

All three men's mouths fall open shocked at your words. One of them opens his mouth as if he is going to try and tell you off, but you don't give him a chance barrelling on.

" And it's a real low blow for you to bring his brother into it like that on the man's birthday, too. You can talk shit about Hangman, and he will laugh it off any day. Say something about Yote; that's a different story. So, maybe y'all are the ones who should focus on the birthday boy while drinking the liquor Hangman paid for." You add sharply, nodding to the drinks in their hands from the open bar. All three men stare at you for a long moment, and you are surprised none of them has jumped into being an asshole to your face. You are a bit pleased when they all avert their gazes and look at least a little

"Sorry, ma'am," the one in the middle utters, lowering his head.

"I'm not the one you should apologize to." You say with a point towards the pool tables. The group nods and then scurries away and over to Javy, greeting him quickly and striking up a conversation.

"You didn't have to do that," you hear a familiar voice say. You turn around, shocked to see Jake lingering close.

"What's that?" you ask, pretending to be confused, smiling at him. You aren't sure how much he heard or how long he had been there.

"I don't care what those guys think, and Javy knows I care about him."

"I know," you say, and it's true. You know Jake cares very little about the opinion of people he doesn't deem impressive in their own right or part of his inner circle.

"I don't like hearing them say things that aren't true, though."

"Unfortunately, whatever they were saying before was probably more on the side of truth than you want to believe," Jake says.

"Hmm, maybe not about Hangman. They are wrong when it comes to Jake, though. And regardless, even Hangman cares about Coyote."

Jake gives a full belly laugh at that statement, "Yes, that's true, Jake or Hangman, Coyote or Javy. We go together."

"Machado and Seresin, two peas in a pod."

"Wingmen for life," Jake confirms.

"Best buds. In fact, y'all are so close I think that you are the only person that Marlee would get jealous over."

Jake only laughs more, but he doesn't disagree. "You didn't have to defend me. I've heard worse, and I'm sure they have said worse."

"Of course, I will defend you, Jake. You would defend me," you say with a shrug. As far as you are concerned, it is easy math.

"I wouldn't put up with you being lied about. If someone was saying something about you, I would do more than just defend you, sugar."

"I know you would," you say, taking a step closer to Jake. Jake welcomes your closeness and leans toward you as well.

"I'm worried you don't know that I'm a bad guy." Jake suddenly says. He takes a pull of his drink and finishes it in one smooth motion. Setting his empty glass on a nearby surface, Jake steps even closer to you. The two of you are almost chest to chest now, only a few short inches between you.

"You aren't a bad guy." You say, shaking your head at his words.

"God damn it," Jake groans and rolls his eyes. He turns away from you and to the open bar full of alcohol behind you. He grabs a glass and starts to pour himself a shot. Jake throws the tequila back without flinching and licks his lips slating those intense eyes back on you.

"I am, actually. You don't got to—" Jake says, but you cut him off. You don't want to hear anything less than nice and praiseworthy about Jake for the rest of the night, least of all, from him. It makes you too upset.

"You are good." You say insistently, needing him to understand. Jake just starts to pour another shot, his jaw clenching at your words. However, when he doesn't protest, you continue on, "I don't know who convinced you otherwise, but I am going to have a talk with them.

"I would never let that happen," Jake says in a surprisingly forceful tone.

"No?"

"Nope," he pops the p sound. "I would never have let him within a hundred feet of you, sugar. Let alone close enough to have a conversation."

"Oh, Jake. Who?" you ask, trying to press him for details on the subject that has come up glancingly several times now.

"Naw, I don't want to actually talk about it. I just wanted to set the record straight."

"You could talk to me, though." You set your hand on his arm, stopping him from hastily throwing back his next shot.

"It's nothing for you to worry about, sweetheart," Jake grits out.

"I'm sorry," you start feeling a little bad. "I won't push you anymore on it, but you can always talk to me."

He does take the shot he poured, but it's much more deliberate and controlled than the first. When he sets the glass back down, he reaches for a lime slice and bites into it. After which, he finally utters a quiet "Thank you."

Jake doesn't stay down for long. As often happens in social situations he blossoms, earning easy and casual attention by simply being himself, a feedback loop that puffs him up more, making his natural draw that much stronger.

As the evening continues, everyone is pulled together to sing Javy happy birthday while he blows out candles on the massive cake Marlee had ordered. Once the cake is cut, everyone starts drinking more than any other activity, but the whole atmosphere is happy and warm. As the party starts to wind down and people leave. You observe and enjoy the atmosphere when an arm is wrapped around your shoulder.

"Thank you," Javy says as his arm curls pulling you into one of his famous bear hugs. You squirm a little bit, trying to find breathing room, and laugh at him.

"Your callsign should have been Bear because of your hugs."

Javy finds this suggestion hilarious, and you attributed that more to him being drunk and less to do with your joke. As his chuckles start to enter the giggle category, you join in with him.

"What are you thanking me for, birthday boy?" Once you two manage to stop laughing.

"Thank you for being so good to Marlee and Jake. I love them both so much. It's nice to have someone I know cares about them as much as I do." Javy says sincerely.

"Well, they sure make it easy," you said with a shrug. Both you and Javy turn to look for the pair. Most people have left now, leaving only a handful of Javy's friends left as well as Marlee and Jake. Neither of you are surprised to see them sneaking over to the bar and picking out shot glasses together.

"When are you going to give Marlee what she wants?" You ask Javy conversationally, settling an arm around his waist but pinching his side affectionately.

"When are you going to give Jake what he wants?" Javy throws back just as casually.

"Jake doesn't want anything from me," you say, deflecting that comment away. Javy just laughs and rolls his eyes. His laugh dies down, and he starts fiddling with his wedding ring.

"I've been trying to give her what she wants. Well, I should actually say we have been trying for what we want, just no luck yet." Javy says it lightly, but you know your friend well enough to tell this is something that's weighing heavily on him.

"Oh. I'm so sorry, Javy. Marlee didn't tell me." You rush out, feeling bad for bringing up the topic.

"No apologies allowed. We have been keeping it on the down low. Just until there is something to tell, you know. If there is ever something to tell. It's been hard on us, though. Marlee feels like there's something wrong with her."

"That's not how it works," you say as concern fills you for your friend.

"I know. We know. But I'll say this, you and Jake will probably be some of the first people we will tell.'

"Oh, Javy, we'll be so excited for you. I'm here, you know. If y'all ever need anything. If she ever needs anything."

"Yeah, we know," Javy says and kisses your forehead. "Thank you for helping them put together this party. I know you helped more than you will admit."

"Anything for you, Coyote. You've had fun?"

"Yes, I have had so much fun. But I think that it is time for me to get the missus home."

"Not before you have another shot. It's your birthday!"

"That's true," Javy says with a wide grin. "But only if you take one with me." You agree, as that had been your intention from the start. You tug a bit on his hip to get momentum going as you let go and move away from Javy.

"Come on, before we miss another round," You say, starting to walk towards where Marlee was deliberating between different liquor bottles. Javy falls in step with you no hesitation.

"It'll only happen when you say you are ready, you know." Javy throws your way.

"What will? Shots?" you ask him, confused.

"No, what I'm saying is there is no rush with you and Jake. He is going to keep waiting. At this point, I'm pretty sure he will wait forever, as long as you need."

"Coyote," you sigh. "He doesn't feel that way for me." Javy doesn't acknowledge what you said with anything more than a frown that quickly melts away. A few feet later, he throws his head back and howls at the ceiling tiles.

The sound makes Jake's head snapped up and towards you two. With a wide grin, Jake throws his head back as well and howls in response. Jake is at your favorite stage of drunk, where he is giggly and overly affectionate. His eyes light up, seeing Javy.

"Coyote," Jake says gleefully, borderline yelling.

"Hangman," Javy replies, grinning back.

"Where did you go? Jake asks, a pouty frown replacing his smile. He looks so upset you have to resist the urge to pull him into a hug and pet his hair.

"I made sure Tazina got in her taxi safely, but then I was just over there, bud." Javy gestures generally in the direction that you two had been before.

"Do you want to do a shot?" Jake asks, already pouring the drinks.

"Yes, we do." Javy agrees, gesturing towards you. He pats Jake's shoulder, giving him a little turn to face you better. Jake shifts his eyes off Javy to consider you for a moment, and his grin reappears. Once Jake moves, Coyote slips over to wrap his arms around Marlee, kissing her soundly on the lips.

"Missed you," Marlee says, pulling Javy closer into a kiss that quickly starts to become less than PG-friendly. You snap your eyes back to Jake and away from your friends. Jake is completely oblivious to them, or more likely, it is that he is better used to their PDA.

"Sugar!!" He says enthusiastically. "Thank god you're here. I have a huge problem."

"Oh yeah, what's that?" You ask Jake with a laugh. Marlee pulls her lips off of Javy's and turns to Jake wide-eyed.

"Oh my god, Jakers! You are brilliant." Marlee gasps. You feel a tiny twinge of jealousy in you at someone else, even Marlee, using your nickname for Jake.

"Marlene, of course, I'm brilliant. Has it taken you this long to realize that?" Jake says back to her sassily.

"Hey, you don't be mean to my wife!" Coyote says, glaring at Jake. Javy untangles himself from Marlee, and then a few moments later, the two men are playfully roughhousing. Marlee drifts to your side, and you wrap an arm around her waist in a half hug. She immediately follows in kind, wrapping you in hers.

"Love you," you tell her quietly. Marlee grins, pressing a kiss to your cheek, and squeezes you a little tighter.

"I love you too, bestie."

You both watch Jake and Javy playfully shove each other a few more times. When Jake goes to put Javy in a headlock, you decide to intervene.

"Hangman," you say. His attention is pulled off Coyote and to you instantly, his eyebrows drawn close together.

"Yes, ma'am?"

"What's this problem you were having?" You ask, directing the question half toward Jake and half toward Marlee.

"Well, you see, Marlee and I have been trying to finish this alcohol, and we just desperately need help."

"That is something I think we can help with," you say, and Javy nods enthusiastically, which makes Marlee and Jake cheer loudly.

The four of you all take some final shots. Then you ordered Javy and Marlee a ride home. Javy and Jake hug for almost five straight minutes while waiting outside for the taxi. You make sure to take several pictures, sending them in your group chat with the guys and Marlee. You are already looking forward to hearing them try to explain their behavior in the morning. You imagine that Jake will give a long-winded explanation about how it was Javy's birthday and there is nothing wrong with hugging his bestie on his birthday.

Once your friends are headed home safely, you and Jake, who is still shockingly coordinated, clean up the remaining decorations, drink water, and settle up everything with the venue. Then you call a taxi for yourself. Now you two are waiting outside for your taxi.

"We should repaint," Jake decrees.

"Repaint?" You clarify.

"Yeah," Jake says, and he hugs you from behind. His arms wrap around you snuggly, pulling you close.

"What are we going to repaint?"

"The kitchen, your room, the whole house. Everything, anything." Then he hums in your ear. Dragging his nose up your neck, giving you a small nuzzle. "Whatever color you want."

You take a moment, then think of Javy's words from earlier in the night. How Jake is just waiting. You wonder for a moment if that's true and what he could possibly be waiting for. What more did you need to show him for him to be convinced that you love him and it might be worth his time to love you back? You had been putting in the work and done everything you could think of. Not that the things you did for Jake were only to win him over, you did them because you loved him, of course. It just all seemed so obvious.

"I don't get you, Jake," you whisper to him.

"Well, that's just not true. Honestly, I think you understand me more than anyone else," Jake says, squeezing his arms around you a minuscule bit tighter.

"No. I don't think so. You build me tables, you cook, you make me laugh, and you cuddle with me. Now you want to let me choose the paint for your house. Why?"

"Why?" Jake echoes, sounding just as confused as you felt.

"Yes. Why?" He spins you around, his hands find purchase on your hips holding you steady.

"How could you not know why?" Jake looks visibly distressed, and his hands squeeze your hips almost tight. He is searching your eyes and face frantically, trying to understand. Then closes his eyes like he is trying to do some really hard mental math.

"I need to detail your car." He says a minute later with a solid nod. Then he turns you around and hugs you close again.

"No, Jake. I don't need you to do that," you squawk, having no clue where that idea even popped into his head from.

He just hums against the crook of your neck where he settles his head. His breath is warm against your neck, making shivers run up and down you.

"Seriously, don't," you reiterate.

He nods his head against you, "It's happening, Sugar."

You are at war with yourself. You want to be upset at him; you want to love him. You want to shake him hard and make him see, really see you.

"Jake, how drunk are you?" you ask.

"Hmmm, why?" He wonders. Jake doesn't get actually drunk very often. Normally he drinks in measured, careful amounts. Rarely brushing completely out of his limits of control.

"Because I'm wondering."

"I'm not very drunk. I've been layering in water all night." He tells you, and it's a relief to hear. Because maybe Jake not completely in control, is what you needed. There was a difference though, between letting loose and being entirely inebriated.

"I have a question for you."

"I have an answer," Jake replies easily. You are still deciding if you are going to take the jump when your taxi pulls up. You start to wiggle out of Jake's arms to greet the driver, but he holds you still.

"What's your question, sugar?"

"I'll ask you when we get home," you say gently.

Jake accepts that and unwraps himself from you. Once you two are settled in the back seat together, it is like a switch flips in Jake. He is alert, and if you hadn't been watching him do shots and drink all night, you would believe he was sober. He confidently gives the driver your address and makes an easy casual conversation.

You can't take your eyes off of him, admiring what you can see in the dark. Your eyes flick down, and you watch as his hand slides across the seat, it is a confident movement. Jake's palm flips over, where he leaves it there open and waiting.

You hesitantly brush your fingers against his but don't settle them. Jake's whole hand flexes, clenching, going to hold you but coming up empty. Then he relaxes again, letting his fingers spread a little wider. You look up and meet his gaze, which is now pouring into yours. He is still making casual conversation, but you know he is lasered in on you.

So in the dark, in the back seat of the cab, you settle your hand into Jake's. As soon as you do, Jake curls his hand into yours, slotting your fingers. It's not the first time you have held hands, but it feels so charged and intimate that your breath hitches just slightly.

Jake's thumb draws against the back of your hand the whole rest of the drive. It's a slow, steady repetitive movement. You try to figure out the pattern, and when you two are nearly home, it hits you that he is drawing a question mark, tracing it into your skin.

You are home. Jake had let go of you only once, and it was to jog and open your car door for you. Your hand was placed back in his as he helped you out of the car. He hasn't let go of it again since then.

Neither of you says anything as you make your way into your home. Jake stares at you expectantly, and you are considering chickening out of your earlier plan. Even more so when the time has stretched awkwardly that you've stood in the entry, and Jake pulls his hands out of yours.

However, before the panic can settle at the loss of his skin, Jake is bending down on his knees, helping you out of your shoes. He massages each foot and then your ankles. You can't help the sigh of satisfaction that falls out of your lips. After which, he places your shoes on your shoe rack. He is much more methodical and quick about shucking his own shoes. Placing them in their spot, Jake stands and pulls off his jacket, still not saying anything.

Part of you wishes that he wasn't letting you out of it so easily, but the part of you that is scared, and a bit of a coward, is thankful, glad even. You expressed gratitude too soon.

"Sugar," he says, following you as you start to make your way to the stairs. You turn to face him, swallowing down the nerves you feel. However, you don't say anything yet.

"I have an answer," Jake reminds you steadily. His eyes are burning bright despite the dim hallway; only one of the nearby living room lamps you had left on provides light.

"But you don't know the question." You tell him. Jake's eyebrows crease, and his lips purse.

"I think I do." He says carefully. His bottom lip tucks between his teeth for a moment, and you watch intently as he bites it a few times before letting go. "Why don't you ask it anyways."

"What's the answer?" You ask him.

"What's the question?" He repeats.

You clench your fists tight and drop your eyes to the ground, trying to steady yourself. He has never been explicit with you about any feelings and what you want to ask is a big jump. You try to think of how you can ease him into it, how you can entice him, let him know what you want, and spur him into action. You stare into his green eyes, looking for answers, and he gives you a tiny encouraging nod.

"Do you care about me?" You finally ask.

"Yes," Jake says almost before you finish the question. When he processes it fully, he nods his head again as if deciding that was actually true. His answer helps ease some of the tension you feel, and you feel slightly more confident.

"I have another question."

"I have an answer," he replies playfully. You step so you are close to Jake and rest your hand his chest. He dips his head down a little bit to get a better look at you. He adopts a soft sweet smile while putting his own hand over yours. You can feel the steady pace of his heart pumping.

"Jake?"

"Yes, that's me, Honey."

"Do you want me?"

"Yes," he responds steadily, and the balloon of hope in you raises so high you think you might float.

"Would you like to fuck me?" You finally manage to ask. The soft smile on Jake's face melts, and he physically takes a step back from you. Your hand falls limply to your side. Jake shuts his eyes tight and scrubs over his face a few times. Then he pulls at his hair before looking at you again.

"No," he responds quietly.

"Oh," you whisper.

"No," he repeats more firmly and adds, "I don't want just to fuck you."

You try to think of something to say, but there is nothing. All you can do is force the closest thing to a smile you can muster on, and you nod your head shakily at him. You watch Jake's eyes widen as his eyebrows draw together. He starts to lean towards you, but you can't bare it. To feel his warmth close to you at this moment is the worst thing you can imagine. It feels as if you have hyperthermia; all the heat has been sucked out of your body. Jake's gentle touch would be like throwing you in the bath, the only thing you want and the thing that would only kill you faster.

You hurt. You ache. You want to cry and scream and maybe some other dramatic reaction. You want to do anything that would help you get some of this hurt out. You know you can't finish this conversation. You stumble back a little bit. You briefly and wryly think it would have hurt less if he had physically hit you. Bruises fade from view; you just got to give it a few weeks. You don't think that your heart will recover this time.

As you back up, your heel hits the first step of the stairs. You quickly turn, grab the railing, and start to step up the stairs. Right now, all you can think to hold yourself together is that you need to get away and be alone.

"Wait," Jake rasps and steps quickly after you. His hand catches your elbow, pulling you back a little bit, but you refuse to turn to look at him. He presses his face into your arm. All you can do to hold your sobs in is take short, gasping breaths. You couldn't fathom how he could touch you so tenderly after having just rejected you.

"Stop it, Jake!" You beg him tugging on your arm. Jake lets it fall from his grasp. It's a slow movement, halting and trailing. You turn to see his eyes there, waiting to capture yours. His eyes burn looking into yours, the edges rimmed in red.

"Just, stop." You sigh, again barely holding the lump at the back of your throat down.

"I don't understand," Jake whispers to you. His hands reach towards you but drop back to his side quickly. Where he clenches them open and closed repeatedly. Jake's hands then fist into his hair and he rips at it as his leg bounces restlessly. You can't stop yourself from caring about him. You can't stop yourself from reacting. No matter if he just shattered your heart, you won't let him hurt himself.

"What don't you understand?" You ask as you pull the hair elastic off your wrists and hand it to him. Jake takes it from you, and his fingers start working and fiddling with it.

"I don't understand your reaction. Why are you mad at me?"

"I'm not mad at you, Jake." You take a deep breath and release it slowly, "I'm mad at myself."

"Were you wanting me to say yes?"

You just shrug and step back up another step of the stairs putting more space between you. Jake follows, not allowing more than two stairs to separate you.

"It's a yes or no question. I need you to be direct with me. Did you want me to say yes?"

"The question wasn't about what I wanted, Jake. It was about what you did."

"Can I change my answer?" He asks you almost timidly.

"No," you whisper. You are unable to stop the few tears that slip down your cheek. Your eyes are burning from trying to keep the rest of them at bay.

"But it didn't come out the way I meant," Jake tries to explain.

"It was a yes or no question, Jake. It's okay that you said no," you rationalize, trying to use that as a balm to your own hurt.

"But, if you let me explain," Jake says as he pulls the hair band so hard it snaps.

"I don't need an explanation. I just needed the answer, and you gave that to me." Then after a small pause, you add, "Thank you, Jake."

"Please," Jake says in that same small voice. He has his lips pressed tightly together, and you see that this conversation has also upset him.

"You are hurting my feelings," you whisper to him. Jake staggers three steps backwards down the stairs as soon as he processes the words. You take another step up the stairs, and he doesn't pursue after you this time.

"Are we going to be okay?" He asks solemnly. You think about his words and what had happened. Sure he rejected you, but it was probably one of the kindest and easiest ways it could have happened. Plus, now you had your answer. You didn't have to wonder anymore. Now you and Jake could just be best friends and roommates. You would never stop carrying a torch for him, you knew you would always love him, and you would get to keep Jake in your life at least, which isn't such a bad thing.

"We'll be fine in the morning," you tell Jake pushing away a few more tears. He nods but otherwise doesn't say anything. You nod back and go finally are able to finish your escape into your room.

What you said is true too. In the morning, you and Jake are fine. Neither of you mentions what happened the night before, except for Jake complaining about the picture you took. You tease him back about if he really didn't like them, why did he save them to his phone's camera roll. Jake still details your car and provides swatches of different colors for your approval. It feels like you are both grateful that you can move past what happened. And beyond that gratitude is a lot of heartache.

=======

You had seen all the signs again for a few weeks now. It was yet another one of those times that you could tell something was stressing Jake out, but you didn't know what. It wasn't hard for you to assume it had to do with his work, either. Surprisingly, usually, if Jake could talk about something that was stressing him out, like his sports teams, family, friends, or the store running out of the specific brand of yogurt he liked, he would tell you about it. Now that you knew what the signs were, it was easier for you to try to intervene and suggest Jake use one of his outlets. He was always grateful when you did, one time having explained to you that he really didn't notice sometimes until he was in the depths.

You could tell this one was gearing up to be bad. Jake had cleaned the house from ceiling to floor, literally. He had washed the walls and scrubbed baseboards. Then he power-washed the driveway. The cleaning wasn't enough. You could see it in how he circled around the house like a shark as if ceasing to move would cause him to suffocate and die. He was staying up and working on projects in the garage until midnight. He went through every single box and chest in the attic. He also forced you to climb up the ladder so you would see the entire section he cleared out and left for you.

What finally set you into action about intervening though was when you came home and Jake had baked 300 Pierniki mini cakes for the Big Brother Big Sister program he was involved with. When you asked if there was an event, he told you his little brother, Ryland, had a bake sale. Checking the flier that Jake had put up on the fridge, you saw the sale wasn't happening for a month and a half. You had sat with Jake in the kitchen as he baked, cooled, and packaged the Pierniki so they could go into the freezer while he cleaned. All the while found and ordered a gift you thought Jake might really enjoy as an outlet.

When the package arrived, you spent more time wrapping it than you had any other gift in your life. You made sure that every one of the corners was folded and taped perfectly straight, as well as the bow. You were so excited you couldn't wait to tell him like you originally planned after dinner.

"I got you something," you tell him, trying hard to hold back the excited grin that was threatening to give away your feelings. You wave Jake over, asking him to join you in the living room.

Jake, who is fresh from a shower, has wet floppy hair and then his eyes take in the wrapped box on the table, and he almost looks alarmed. He approaches the box cautiously and guarded.

"What is it?" He asks.

"It's a surprise!" His expression doesn't change hearing that, so you add on, "If you really want to know, I can tell you what it is before you open it. Or unwrap it for you."

"Is it a good surprise?"

"I think so."

"Did you spend a lot of money on it?"

"I will not be disclosing that information," You answer in an overly sweet voice. It makes the expression on Jake's face crack, his lips quirking in a half-amused smile.

He is reverent about unwrapping the gift. You can see the hesitant excitement on his face as he methodically unties the ribbon and finds each seam to pull. However, once Jake gets a peek at the box underneath, the wrapping is tearing before he has a second thought. He spares the paper a mournful glance. You just nudge the large box towards him, silently telling him it wasn't anything to overthink.

"An aircraft carrier?" Jake's eyes drop to the model ship box as he takes in the details, analyzing the picture on the front.

"I know that it isn't the same as yours, but —"

"Sugar," Jake says, cutting you off. However, you barrel onwards anyways.

"Listen, I can tell things have been hard for you lately. I don't know what's wrong, and I know if I ask, you can't tell me what it is. But," you sigh, frustrated, trying to remember the planned speech you had been practicing for when he opened this.

"I don't want it to get so bad I come home and find out you jumped the gun on starting our next puzzle," You say. Jake laughs wryly and grimaces at that reminder.

"Not that would be bad if you wanted to, I wouldn't stay mad about it, I promise. But I thought this could be something different for you to work on with the stress. I think models like this could be right up your alley." you finish with a forced smile.

A minute of silence grows from one to two then three. Jake hasn't looked away from the box once, gripping the cardboard so hard there are indents now.

"Jake?" you ask cautiously, confused by his reaction. He ignores you and stays frozen there.

"Jake?" You ask again, a little louder.

"Hangman," You finally try.

Hangman's eyes snap up from the box and meet yours. "I'm shipping out, and I haven't figured out how to tell you."

"Oh." you are so shocked you have no idea what to say. The box falls from your hands, and despite Jake's death grip, it slips out of his, too banging against the table. Neither of you pays it any mind.

"When?"

"Got about two weeks left, now."

Now. Jake said, now. It clicks for you, and can pinpoint it. You know the exact day that he must have gotten the news, about three weeks ago. He had come home after being at the gym for an extra hour and made one of your favorite meals. Jake hadn't said much and had scrubbed the kitchen after until it sparkled clean.

"Oh, that isn't enough time for us to do this or a puzzle," is what you finally say, gesturing to the model box. Because what else can you say? You can't be mad that he hadn't told you, not really.

"I was going to tell you, I promise. I've just been finalizing a lot of stuff and getting all the ducks in line."

"What kind of stuff?"

"I," he goes quiet and then clears his throat. "I updated my will, and I've been setting all my bills on auto-pay, making sure most of the maintenance around here is taken care of for a while. You know, all the checklist stuff."

"How long are you going to be gone?" You wonder out loud.

"I don't know, six, maybe nine months," Jake responds clinically. Your heart clenches. Six months without Jake. Six months alone in this house.

"I'm going to miss you." You eventually manage to whisper out. Jake inhales sharply, hearing it.

"I'm mad about it," he responds in a similarly delayed manner.

“No, need to be mad Hangman. You know better than me how the Navy is. You would be just as well off being mad at God." Your joke is rewarded with one small chuckle, but Jake's serious face returns just as fast.

"I've got so much stuff I've been working real hard on," Jake admits.

"And you will be able to keep at it when you get back."

"There is no guarantee of coming back with the Navy either, Sugar."

"You'll come home, Jake."

"You think so?" Jake asks you. You are slightly comforted by the playful tone he adopts.

"Yes, or else I'll reorganize all your books," You say.

"Hmm, I don't think I would care if you do. Put them any way you like, sweetheart."

"I'll use your tools in the garage then."

"You are more than welcome to the shop anytime. Don't forget the color coding system." You both chuckle and take the moment to draw a steadying breath in.

"I won't ever change the batteries for the fire alarms ever again." That one does provoke a reaction from him. His eyes dart to his watch. Jake stares at it hard.

"Good reminder. Thank you, I'll text Yote the battery schedule. He will take care of it." Jake then loosened his watch's dark leather band by one notch; he shook his wrist out after, and the watch twisted out of place 180 degrees being so loose.

"I'll do the new puzzle with someone else," you say, deciding you have to break out the big guns.

"You wouldn't dare." Jake snaps. His attention was drawn entirely back to you. He plays up the part of mock outrage with impressive theatrics.

"I certainly would." You wouldn't, actually.

"Well, that's it then. I have to come home to you."

"You never have to do something you don't want. There is no 'have to.'" You remind him, throwing air quotes in around the words.

"Yes, there is," Jake tells you plainly and honestly.

"What can I do to help you get ready to leave?" You ask to steer the conversation back on track.

"Nothing and I don't want you acting differently on me out of nowhere, please. I understand if you need space because I kept it from you. But leaving is just part of my life; it doesn't need to be the end of our universe."

"I'll try not to be weird, and I'll have months of space later," you console Jake.

He looks at you, hopefully. Clearly, Jake had been expecting you to have a more adverse reaction. When you don't, and you open your arms to hug him, Jake melts into you. As you pet Jake's hair, you use it as a distraction to not think about the fact that he didn't say he would miss you back. It was probably just another one of those things that he didn't want from you.

"You got us a new puzzle?" He asks you quietly after a while.

"Yeah, it was also going to be a surprise. I originally got it as a birthday present for you. But I also thought it would be a good backup in case you didn't like the model."

Jake shifts on the couch so he is lying down and buries his face into your tummy. His body starts to shake, and alarm shoots through you. You don't know what to do except continue playing with Jake's hair and occasionally running your hand down his neck and back in what you can only hope is a soothing motion.

"What kind of puzzle?" He asks when his shudders die down. His head is still pressed into you, the words muffled.

"I had it custom-made."

Jake pulls his face away and looks up at you, his eyes slightly puffy and rimmed red. "A custom puzzle?"

"I found this company that makes high-quality jigsaw puzzles out of real wood and then does a replica painting on it." You explain to him. Jake makes a sound closely resembling a whine and buries his face into your tummy again.

"What painting? Can I see it?" is the next thing he asks.

"Do you really want to know what it is?"

"Maybe not." he finally says after long quiet contemplation. "Then I probably wouldn't stop thinking about it."

"Don't worry, I won't touch it while you are gone. It'll be here waiting for you." I'll be here waiting for you, went unsaid, but you were sure he must feel it; he must know.

Jake sits up then, and he is so close to you, only inches away. He is staring at you intently, his breath mingling with yours. You smell the lingering mint that his toothpicks always leave. It takes all of your willpower to resist leaning forward those last few inches to finally find out how much the taste lingers as well.

Jake's green eyes examine your eyes keenly. Then he is leaning forward, and everything else freezes. Your breath hitches in anticipation, and your heart beats so loudly it drowns out all other sounds. You part your lips the smallest bit in anticipation. At the last moment, Jake turns millimeters to the left, and his lips catch your cheek and just the smallest corner of your mouth. Jake's nose drags up your cheek slightly, almost a nuzzle, as he shifts to press a kiss to your forehead as well.

"Thank you for the model. It's a thoughtful gift. I'll find somewhere we can store it." Jake whispers into your skin.

Jake's warm body pressed against yours saps the strength, and you lean heavily into him. It seems to be what Jake had been waiting for when he pulls you down on his chest and pulls the back of the couch blanket over your form, tucking in the edges.

"Why did you pick this specific aircraft carrier?" He eventually asks, his hand smoothing down your back. You press your face into the crook of his neck and shoulder, sighing and relaxing even more.

"It's the same one Mr. Russ was on. I saw it in one of your pictures." You explain slowly to him, hoping he won't be upset you did a little snooping for your gift. He isn't. Jake makes a hum of acknowledgment but otherwise doesn't comment.

"What do you need? What can I do for my favorite girl before I go?" Jake's asks, also sounding tired. His Texan twang deepens to a level you have only heard when he is half asleep. You would bet if you were to remove yourself from this embrace, you would find Jake's eyes had already drifted closed.

"I don't want you worrying over me when you have 100 other things to think about."

"So stubborn," Jake sighs. It's quiet then, and you relax more into Jake, starting to walk the line between napping and still awake.

It was one of those naps you never wanted to wake up from. If the universe was kind, it would have let you stay there forever, or at least until you had your fill of Jake. But that request would be a bit longer than forever.

Two weeks is a much shorter amount of time than you had previously thought. You could only hope the time would keep flying by when Jake was gone. There was packing, doctor's appointments, meetings, and so many goodbyes. Every day there seem to be more goodbyes happening than there were before.

You had asked him one day as Jake was throwing together some lunch how he stood it. Jake shrugged at first, saying that he got used to it, and now it was just part of the process. Then he had opened up to you and admitted that goodbye sometimes could still exhaust him, and it felt like he was handing out more farewell memories than he had left in him. Jake tried to explain to you that he knew most of the goodbye weren't about him but rather the people he was leaving, so he made time for it.

"I'm sure your barber would understand if you canceled the dinner with him after your next appointment," You suggest to Jake, trying to see where more time could be made for whatever his secret project out in the shop he had been staying up way too late working on.

"Honey, I don't think you understand how important a man's barber is."

"Okay, okay." You say placatingly. Better to leave Jake alone concerning the 2 and ½ hour appointment he scheduled for that.

"Okay, well, I only see two other times you can cut into," You tell Jake, scrolling through the schedule he had made for his remaining time.

"Yeah?" He asks from where he is standing by the stove.

"Tomorrow, when Javy and Marlee come over, or you have this blocked-off time on your last night. The whole evening is blocked off. It doesn't say with who, though." You tell Jake while locking his phone and setting it lightly back on the countertop.

"Those are the two worst things to shorten," he mutters. Jake blows out a long-frustrated breath.

"Sorry, Jakers."

"I'm glad you looked because I was setting that time aside for me. For us to say goodbye to each other."

"Just us?" You ask.

"If you're free, yeah." You hadn't thought about confronting your own goodbye with Jake. Well, you had, but anytime you did, the emotions you were trying hard to bottle up would threaten to explode, rattling violently behind your ribs.

"That works out perfectly, then. We will push back hanging out by a few hours, giving you plenty of time to finish your project." You grin at him, pleased you were able to figure it out together.

Jake picks up his phone, frowning. "Yeah, absolutely not. I would beg to monopolize you for the whole day if I knew you didn't have an appointment."

"Jake, what are you talking about? I cleared out that whole day." You check your own calendar to confirm this and run through your mental one as well.

"I know you did. That's why I'm treating you and Marlene to relax and get your nails at the spa."

You blink at him, not sure that you heard that correctly. He is typing on his phone, but you see the cheeky look he has every time he looks up. Jake is very pleased with his surprise for you.

"I think I would rather spend that time with you," you tell Jake honestly. He softens hearing that from you. His dimples make a full appearance, and Jake seems less exhausted and more alert.

"I appreciate that, but I think it will be good to relax for a bit. I've been worried that you've been more worried and stressed than I am. It's important to think of your own needs." Jake reminds you gently.

"Wow, thank you."

Jake's large hand is warm when it covers your and gives you a quick squeeze. "I'll be an hour or so late with the Machados, but they will understand."

"It'll all work out, Jake," you tell him confidently.

"Yes, Ma'am. I think it will." Jake responds, but he breaks eye contact before saying it, making unease creep its way under your skin.

Now, it was his last day. By this time, the next day, Jake would be gone. You had a lot of fun at the spa. It was mostly relaxing. Marlee knew the best ways to keep your spirits high and your mind from wandering too far. Jake had asked that you texted him when you were on your way home. You had but never heard anything back. Even once you got back to the house, you didn't hear anything. You got dressed in something cute but comfy, which Jake had told you was the dress code. After waiting a bit longer, you finally decided to seek him out.

Downstairs, You hear some banging in the garage, which leads you there. You half push open the door but not so wide you risk ruining whatever surprise could be there, waiting a moment before calling his name.

"Yes, Ma'am?" Jake says after a decent pause. Then you hear the slamming of three different heavy lids, probably one of his trunks, you assume.

"Is everything going okay? Is there any way I can help?" You ask while opening the door wider. Before you commit to stepping out into the garage, though, a hand stops the door's movement. Jake standing right in the doorway with you now.

"Just some last-minute list things," he says almost too cheerily.

"I thought we checked everything off the list?" Just the day before, you and Jake had crossed off the last items on his pre-deployment checklist. Both of you had been glad to have things done a day early. After a high five, he had picked you up and spun you around the room twice before letting your feet touch the ground again.

"We did," Jake responds, reassuring you. "This is just something that popped up in my head. Not a big deal or anything you need to worry about. Plus, some of the last-minute stuff for tonight."

"Jake, I thought we were just being comfy, hanging out, and saying goodbye?"

"We are," Jake confirms.

"You aren't going to elaborate, are you?" You ask.

"I don't want to. But if you really can't take it being a surprise, I'll tell you." Jake admits. You think about it before shrugging and stepping back into the house. Jake follows you in and shuts the garage door firmly behind him.

"I can wait," you sigh with a pout. Your answer makes Jake smile, though, so you can't really be upset.

"I am going to change. Will you be ready in fifteen?"

"Sounds good," you confirm. Jake gives you a thumbs up and starts to jog up the stairs, but halfway up, he comes back down three at a time.

"I'm sorry. I forgot to ask about your nails." Jake exclaims, shifting his gaze expectantly. You show the design you choose to Jake. He compliments them several times, pleased you had a fun time before he ran up the stairs again.

"I have a question that's going to shape our whole night. Do you want to go on a drive?" Is what Jake asks you when he returns in a different set of clothes.

"Sure. Let's go for a drive." You agree. You know Jake has the whole night planned, a fact that makes you a little giddy. It also makes the idea that he built choices for you into the plan even sweeter. He guides you out the front door to where his truck is waiting before helping you inside. Then you two are on the road driving, and an almost painful tense silence descends.

"This is nice," you finally say, fiddling with your seatbelt.

Jake shoots a small smile at you like it is a hard thing to do. A harrowing sight on the face of a man born to grin. Jake's mouth never knew when to quit; whether a sarcastic remark quip or an easy smirk, it was up to something.

"You can't relax, can you?" You ask when he still doesn't say anything. Jake's shoulders slump at your question.

"No, I can't. My mind is flying faster than my jet."

"Do you want to talk about it?"

"No, thank you."

You hadn't expected him to take you up on the offer, but you had hoped he would.

"Let me help you," you beg softly. Jake's hands tighten around the steering wheel, and his knuckles whiten.

"Six months is a long time. Nine, even more. I could come home in nine months, and you could have a baby."

"A baby?" you splutter. Jake nods back solemnly.

"A baby, a husband, new friends, a different car. You could have a whole new life." Jake says these like each one is not only in the realm of possibility but also that he expects them all to happen simultaneously.

"Well, I'm not planning for any of those things to happen. And I can tell you, with certainty, there won't be a baby or husband."

"Never say never."

You did want to say never, though. You wanted to hammer that point home to him. The idea of having either of those things without Jake intrinsically involved isn't even fathomable to you anymore. You can't say that out loud. You can't open that conversation because, in a matter of hours, he will be gone. It was beside the point to tell Jake that you already had a whole new life, one with him.

"Okay, Justin Bieber. Never say never." You tell him by throwing air quotes around the phrase with an eye roll.

Jake cracks a weak chuckle at your joke and settles back in his seat, fighting the urge to fidget. Then he summarizes, "It's a long time."

"It's not so very long. Less time than I've lived here." You mention. Jake nods along with your words, but they don't seem to help him feel any better.

"Come, Jake, what's really bothering you?" You pry again.

"I'll tell you, just give me some breathing room, Sugar. Please." Jake requests.

You apologize for being pushy, which Jake instantly forgives, and silence descends. Jake drives until he finds somewhere to park the truck for y'all to look at the stars. He had carefully led you across the uneven ground to the back of the truck. You gasp when you see the setup.

In the truck back, you find a blown-up air mattress filling the space, along with ample blankets and pillows. There is also a cooler and picnic basket in the back corner. Jake helps you get in the back before anything else. As you get comfy, he rolls the canvas top of his soft-shell camper back, revealing the quickly approaching night sky. It's a beautiful setup, and your compliments over it are waved off by Jake nonchalantly. However, he can't completely hide the pink that dusts his cheeks either.

Once on the bed, Jake settles infuriatingly far away from you, leaving a large gap. No part of you is even close to touching. He stares up at the stars, looking troubled. You have already tried to push him to talk to you tonight, though, so you won't again. Instead, you simply enjoy the moment and look up at the stars.

"Thank you," Jake says a while later. You don't ask what for. It doesn't feel necessary. You also worry about how long he might drag out a list.

Jake slides his hand across the space between you. You are alerted to it when you feel the light brush of his pinky along yours. You turn your hand and let it catch his. As always, Jake wastes no time taking what he is given. He threads his fingers with yours, and his thumb starts up tracing along the back of your hand and wrist.

"Is this where you draw all the constellations out for me and wow me with your impressive knowledge of astronomy?"

Jake huffs a small laugh, "Not this time, sugar."

"Have I finally found something you don't know about, Jake?" You playfully gasp.

"Oh, please, honey. You know me better than that." Jake chastises, turning his head away from the sky to give you an unimpressed look.

"Yeah, I do. You are probably about to tell me how you did an internship at NASA." Jake opens his mouth with a tiny smirk pulling at the edge of his lips. Your eyes widen, and you speak before he can say anything. "I swear you better not be about to tell me you did have a NASA internship. I will lose my mind."

Jake snaps his mouth shut, but the small smug smirk doesn't fade from view. You move, so you are more propped up to see more of his face. You try to analyze any hidden information on his features there.

"Goodness. Jake, no way. Did you actually?" You ask. The longer Jake leaves you hanging, the more unsure you are.

"Do you know what my dream is?" He asks you, ignoring your question and changing the topic. You huff in annoyance. It's not annoying; you can't feel that when trying to be some porous surface attempting to absorb as much as possible. The fact that he will be gone haunts your every movement and word in hours.

"What's your dream, Jake?" You respond good-naturedly.

"To go on Jeopardy," he answers automatically. It's a quick, instant response. You laugh at him, and his chuckles join in moments later.

"We could probably make that happen." You say when you can breathe properly again. You picture getting Jake on the show, where he would insist on wearing his whites.

"It's not my only dream, though," Jake says warmly.

"Is it not?" you say lightly.

"No," Jake responds in a much more serious tone. You abandoned the pretense of looking at the stars. Turning on your side, you stare at Jake instead of trying to memorize him. The slope of his nose and of the line of his neck.

"Has it always been your dream? When you were a little kid, did you want to grow up and be on Jeopardy?"

"It was one of them," Jake reveals.

"What were some of the others?" Jake's hand goes loose in yours, and you think that he might pull away. That you had overstepped.

"Common Jakers, you can tell me. It's okay if you want to be something weird."

"They aren't worth mentioning, and I don't want to trigger you with anything, sugar."

"Why would I be triggered?" You ask him, giving his hand a small squeeze.

"Not everyone would call my childhood warm, but it could have been worse. I know that isn't the best topic."

"I want you to tell me, Jake. I'll stop you if it's too much, okay?" You say after thinking of your boundaries and the likelihood something would trigger you.

"You promise?" He asks. Jake turns his head again to meet your eyes deadly seriously.

"Yes, I promise. Now, what was little Jake's dream job?"

"It was to be a pilot."

"You're living the dream job, then?"

"Yeah, I sure am. However, back then, I wanted to be a pilot, so I could fly far away." The weight of his words isn't lost on you.

"Jake, what happened? You can tell me if you want." He heaves a heavy hard sigh at your kind words. He is clearly preparing himself to speak about something difficult.

"My dad wasn't a good man, and my mama let him break her. He broke me too. To the outside world, he seemed like the perfect loving husband and father. At home, it was a different story. My dream was to be free, be a bird finally let out of my cage.

"The older I got, the better I was at taking the beatings. There was this one time I was 13 years old and chopping some wood for Miss Celeste. I was doing it wrong, I guess, so he threw a log at my head. It hit me so hard that I saw stars, and my ears rang for two days after. Tali had to superglue my head closed enough that I would be able to walk over to see Miss Celeste and get it properly stitched up." Jake reaches up his hand, and it ghosts along the back of his head, remembering the age-old hurt. His eyes briefly press tightly closed, shutting out the memory.

"After that, I figured I could take any beating, any lecture, any mean word. I could take it all. So, I did take it all. I wasn't going to let him hit my ma or my sister. I learned how it wasn't hard to capture his attention. Especially if he was already worked up."

You want to cry for him. You can't get the picture of Jake as a young, bruised, beaten, and bloody child out of your head. That boy walking the five miles to his grandmother's house, half stumbling, half running. Jake having poked at his dad before a hand came down on his mom or sister. How it was probably a common occurrence.

"Jake, I am so sorry." You squeeze his hand sympathetically, feeling your heartache painfully for him.

"When I finished my first year at USNA, I decided enough. After plebe summer, I was probably the most fit I have ever been in my whole life. It's funny how he raised me to go to a military academy, and that was the same place that would be the end for him. I went home for winter break, and everything had changed. I was bigger than him, stronger, quicker. I knew I was better in every way than him. I hadn't just done well at USNA. I had excelled, thrived even. There was absolutely no reason to cower and take it anymore. So, the next time he tried to hit me over winter break, I took it, but I warned him. I said I'm a grown man. You hit me again; I'll hit you back."

"And?" You gasp.

"I stayed true to my word like any half-decent man would. The next time he hit me I hit him back." Responds Jake not able to completely keep the hint of satisfaction out of his voice. Your fingers flex in his, and Jake takes a long-measured breath. He shrugs nonchalantly but you can see the tension he is holding.

"I would always goad his anger onto me. If I found him already mad at Ma or Talia, I would find some way to make sure his attention came back to me. I could take a punch in the face, a slap, or some other punishment. It was easier to explain that Jakobi is scrappy and gets into fights with the ladies and church than for my mom to try and claim she fell again or some other half-ass excuse."

"Everyone just pretends like nothing is happening," you say quietly.

"Yup. They don't want to address it, but how could they not know?"

"Exactly," you confirm, thinking of similar situations you went through growing up.

"It was my first-time home since Winter, and Miss Celeste and Mr. Russ were even coming over for dinner. Dad didn't like how Ma set the table, it wasn't hard for me to step in. Then the next thing I know, he is in my face screaming everything under the sun. Mind you, not any of it was good, and then he tried to punch me.

"I hit him back, and I didn't fucking stop. Not until there was blood, and then I kept going for a bit more. After taking it over and over for my whole life, I snapped. Don't know what would have happened if Miss Celeste and Mr. Russ hadn't shown up."

Jake is squeezing your hand hard. Even though the air is cool and fresh in the back of the pickup, it feels tainted, full of long-past memories and hate. Jake takes a moment, clearly needing a breather, regulating the old emotions bubbling in him.

"It was stupid and risky. If he hadn't been so ashamed, if he wasn't so full of pride, my Da' could have ruined everything for me. Wouldn't have been hard to get my ass thrown in jail and kicked out of the naval academy. 18 years of work and my future and life could have been down the drain in one fell swoop. I am lucky. He knew how that would look reflected back on him. Beat within an inch of his life by his own son, and then that same son was dishonorably discharged. It is probably the only reason I got away with it."

Jake shakes his head wryly; you watch as he uses his free hand to pull his toothpick case out of his pocket. He secures one tightly in his teeth, the minty smell drifting towards you as he snaps the case shut.

"He deserved it. He deserved every blow, and a million more still wouldn't have been penance for what he did. I think he learned his lesson, in the end. He didn't try to fight me unless he was very drunk after that. Was better to Tali and Ma too."

"And now?"

"Now, he is dead," Jake says plainly, not betraying any grief or sadness over that fact to you.

"Oh," you say. You think maybe you should say you're sorry, but that wouldn't be the truth. Instead, you are glad that this man who committed such evil and was so terrible to Jake is no longer around.

"He died four months before I got my wings."

"Oh, Jake. That is so much. I'm sorry you had to deal with all of that." You whisper. Pulling your hand, he still has clenched in his grasp up to his lips. Jake presses a lingering kiss to your pulse point.

"No need to be sorry. It's in the past. I wish I could have stopped it sooner. Protected Tali and my Ma better. They never deserved to go through that."

"You didn't deserve to go through that either," You add to Jake's statement.

"I don't know. It was my responsibility to take care of them. I never should have let that all happen in the first place. I could have stood up to him much sooner. I will say, at least it gave me a leg up in basic." You try to contain your cringe hearing that mentality from Jake.

"No, Jake, stop. You don't understand. You didn't deserve to go through that. You still would have made it through Plebe year just fine. And you're wrong. It was never your responsibility." You try to impress upon him.

"Of course, it was my responsibility," Jake protests.

You sit up, no longer able to handle the nonchalance of lying down for this conversation. He keeps your hand in his, not letting you pull away from him. Jake needs to know this, though. You need him to understand. Cupping his cheek with your free hand, you make sure his eyes aren't anywhere but on yours.

"You were a child, Jakers. A kid. I don't care if you're a boy or the oldest. You were a child. You had adults around you. It was their responsibility to protect you. It was your Ma's and Miss Celeste and Mr. Russ. They should have been the ones helping you. It was their job to do that, not the other way around."

Jake's mouth drops in as he processes your words. Then he whispers. "I guess I was just a kid."

"You wouldn't expect Franny to do what you did. Would you?" You ask him gently. At the mention of his niece, Jake's teeth clench together. You can practically see the anger bubbling in him at anyone even saying something unkind to his niece, let alone what he went through.

"No, I wouldn't," he grits out.

"No, you wouldn't," you agree with Jake's answer.

His stubble prickles at your hand, but you ignore the feeling and continue watching him. His green eyes meet yours steadily as Jake tilts his face to kiss your palm. After which, he closes his eyes, taking a deep breath like he is preparing himself for something.

"I have to tell you something. I can't leave before apologizing or having this conversation. You deserve me to be fair to you, and you deserve to be treated right. So, I need to put something out there in the open, just in case you haven't figured it out or it hasn't been made clear yet."

"You can tell me anything, Jake." You tell him steadily despite that extremely ominous intro. You hope it will help him feel at ease, but if anything, he tenses up more. Moving so that he is sitting up, Jake's face is pulled from your hand. He retracts his hand from yours as well. Your palm feels cold without his and a little sweaty, which only adds to the overall chilling effect.

"I am broken, Sugar. I think I know what you want from me, but I am too messed up. I can't give that feeling back to you like you deserve. I want it to be clear it's not you. I don't think I can truly ever feel that way. I don't know if I'm capable."

You briefly consider what you are hearing; Jake knows you love him and has probably known for a while. It doesn't hurt as much as you thought it would. What hurts more is that he feels this way about himself. You do your best to swallow down your own feelings and put them in the corner to unpack and deal with some other time when you are alone.

"Oh. I see." You finally manage to stutter out. Jake does look genuinely apologetic and upset as well, which is some small consolation.

"I just. I can't. I'm not built for it. Whatever that part is in people that lets them feel and talk that way, I'm missing that piece. I don't think it's even missing. I never had one to start with. I wish I could. I wish for you, but I am broken, Sugar. I am so sorry."

You want to protest. You want to shake Jake and tell him he isn't broken. He can love, he should love, and he does love all the time. You see that aspect of him constantly. You see it when he calls his niece every week. His phone calls with his Ma and Mrs. Celeste. The way he worries over his junior officers. You see it when he spends time with Javy and Marlee. More often than not, Jake is almost bursting at the seams with love.

You suck in a deep breath as you consider how Jake can express love. You can't help but consider how he is with you. Jake has been showing he cares about you. You have never once questioned if he had any affection or positive feelings for you, only if any romantic ones were mixed in. That all the actions you thought were hints, a slight implication he might feel the same way, were actually declarations.

And now here Jake is saying that is all he can give you. How Jake has loved you all along. He is trying to tell you, 'Here it is. Here is my affection. This is the best I can do. You won't ever get more than what you have right now.

You think about that for a minute. You would never get more from Jake. He will never say the words he loves you, and he will never romantically love you. There won't ever be rings, or a honeymoon, no anniversaries. There won't be a cute baby with a mix of your and Jake's features.

So, you have to decide if what he does give you is enough. Was doing puzzles with him enough? Was talking for hours on end? Was cuddling? Maybe not, you briefly think. However, when you think of the feeling of safety, he provides that you had never experienced anywhere else. You think of that, and you have your answer.

You accept it. You can live with it; you can love him enough that it fills in the gaps. Knowing he loves you at all, even a little bit, even if he cannot say it. It's enough. It's enough to get to keep him. It's enough because even if Jake believes he isn't capable of love, that's part of him, and if it's part of Jake... well, water is wet, isn't it?

"You aren't broken, Jake," you finally say after long and quiet deliberation.

"I am," he disagrees. "I'm twisted and broken. I can't be good for you."

"God, Jake. You already are. Sweet man." You firmly reach out to hold his cheeks in both hands, staring hard into his eyes. Your grip is firm. "Handsome, you already are a good man to me."

Jake shakes his head against your hold and slams his eyes closed. You soothe your thumb across the stubble on his cheeks, tracing extra softly under his eyes. However, he refuses to open them for you again.

"Listen to me, Jake." He screws his eyes even tighter at the request. It reminds of a little bit of a petulant child, and despite your own heartbreak, you just want to smooth the lines of his face out and make sure this isn't hanging over him before he goes.

"Jakobi," you beg in the softest, sweetest tone possible. You wait for him to open back up before going on. You hate trying to gauge his emotions when you can't see his face. He does eventually open them, with his gaze trained on you. In the dark, you can't wholly make out the green of his eyes, but that's okay.

"You are good, and you are a gift, an absolute marvel. You are not broken. You don't have to feel any which way for me. You do not have to be anything more than you are right now. You could never change or completely change, but I will still love you the same."

"Thank you," he says.

"No need to be thankful for the truth," you tell him kindly.

He shocks both of you by crying. You are so surprised by it that your hands fall from his face. A tear falls down Jake's face, and he pushes it away, looking at his wet fingers in surprise. His eyebrows quirk, drawing together in the middle. Then more tears fall as he blinks in distress. The more he cries, the more upset he seems to be about the fact that he is crying.

"Jake, can I hold you?" you ask him hurriedly but not wanting to trigger him further with any unwanted touch. Jake nods, and he turns towards you falling into your embrace. You wrap your arms around him and pull him into your chest. Jake's arms snake around your hips, pulling you flush to him.

The two of you just hold each other for a long while, breathing each other in. When Jake pulls out of the embrace, he doesn't go far. He only pulls away to fully look at your face.

"You know, I can't leave without hearing your laugh. I think that's one of the last things on the to-do list."

"I didn't read that on the to-do list, and I checked it twice this morning." You say, pretending to be confused. Jake's fingers flex, gripping you tighter for a moment before relaxing again.

"It's just my notes app one," Jake mutters, taking you seriously, his eyebrows creasing.

"That makes two things that on this secret to-do list you are keeping from me. Is there something I don't know?" You try to urge him into the joke with you again. Jake just looks more and more removed from you, though. You are desperate to fight against that, wanting to keep him as close as possible for every second you have left. You nudge his leg with your foot playfully and let go of some of your inhibitions. If Jake will never admit to loving you, you might as well throw caution to the wind.

"I can't believe you have been keeping a second to-do list on the side and not including me," you tell Jake in a more obviously teasing way. You pull lightly at the short hair at the base of his skull. It makes him sigh in a way that leaves you feeling like you need to chase that high.

"It isn't like that, darling. I promise," Jake says, catching up to the joke now. A playful smile smooths out his face, and his eyes aren't so distant now.

"Oh, I've heard that excuse a million times."

"A million? That's a pretty big number."

“Well I grant you this, it’s not always to-do lists, sometimes it's calendars, calculators, personal planners, whiteboards, notepads. Somethings always being hidden from me. You hid a whole bathtub.”

“I did not hide the bathtub from you!” Jake protests light heartedly.

“Sure you didn’t, Seresin. But I have to ask, are you hiding anything else from me?”

“Nothing! I promise.”

“You know you can be honest with me, Jake.” You remind him playfully pinching his cheek.

“I am!” Jake whines while pouting.

“Okay. Well then I am sure you won’t mind telling me about what I found in your truck glove box…” You trail off trying hard to keep it in.

“I don’t know what you are talking about,” Jake shrugs in denial.

“Is that so?” You question him giving him one last opportunity to think.

“Yes,” Jake whines dragging out the s for an unnecessarily long time.

“Okay,” you sigh heavily. By his neck you pull him back a bit and try to maintain the straightest most serious face possible. He is nodding along already. “Then how exactly do you explain the 300 hot sauce packets in there?”

Jake gasps and pulls further away from the close embrace you two had adapted.

“How did you find those?” He gasps.

“You didn’t even hide them! They were literally under your gas, mileage, and maintenance tracking book.”

“Sugar, I don't know what to say.”

“Did you not only four days ago tell me we were out of hot sauce?”

“That definitely might have occurred. But,”

“You’ve been caught red handed, Seresin.” You sigh, shaking your head as if you are extremely disappointed in him.

“Woah, hold your horses, now.” Jake request clearly ready to launch into an explanation.

“Sir, this is a sting. Please save your excuses for the MP. They are on their way to this location as we speak.”

Jake’s eyes widen and he looks around the empty and very far removed area he had driven the truck. Clearly pretending to be panicked, he turns up his drama meter to the max setting crying out pleadingly, “It’s a misunderstanding. There’s been a framing, trickery, bamboozlement even!”

“Oh really?”

“Yeah, by me. ” Jake says intensely THen he shifts his whole demeanor pulling on a serious confidence, and utters “Ma’am I work for the FBI we have been instigating you this entire time.”

“On what grounds?” You gasp in fake outrage.

“There have been multiple reports that link you to the scene of several art thefts. What do you have to say for yourself?”

“What can I say? I see something precious, and I just decide it has to be mine” You say with a shrug. “We live in a free country, that should be one of my god given protected rights.”

“To steal? We should review the commandments, honey.”

“No, to have precious things.” You correct him before continuing, “Isn’t that your whole military shtick? Protecting freedoms and all that?”

It takes two beats before Jake can’t take it anymore and starts roaring with laughter. That’s all it takes for you to crack up as well. Was there anything better than Jake’s smile and laugh? You thought the answer was probably no. Nothing compares.

You and Jake laugh together and don’t stop. It keeps dragging on, cycling through all of Jake's laughs including a snort or two. It's that type of laughing that makes your diaphragm ache. The longer it's drawn out, the more deranged the sounds you two make become. Finally, it decrescendos, trailing off to You and Jake are wrapped around each other, and his forehead presses against yours.

Your breath mingles together. You appreciate the warmth, the relief, and underneath it all, as is often found in Jake's eyes, the deep-seated sadness there. It almost feels easier for you now. Easier with the guesswork and hope gone, easier to focus on what it should have been about all along, you and Jake. You don't have to think about hidden meanings, secrets, or signs.

It lets you be wholly consumed by the details of Jake instead. How he radiates heat and almost always manages to smell good. The sturdiness of his hands with their well-manicured blunt nails. The fine lines he had around his eyes. You try to memorize exactly what color green his eyes are in the dark like this. Each detail you notice is more catching and striking than the last.

You categorize each part of him he is willing to share. Finally, with your chest still hurting, from laughing, from tonight, or from the lingering knowledge of a goodbye, it doesn’t really matter. Jake is here now though still with you. So you offer him a soft smile and let more of your skull's weight press into his.

"Ah, there she is," Jake breathes to himself. Then his hand is on the side of your neck, tilting you to meet his eyes a little more directly. He wears one of your favorite smiles, where the edges twitch upwards, and his eyes are tender.

"I got a question for you," he mutters.

"I got an answer," you tell him just as softly.

"Are you sure?"

"Ask me your question," is all you give him for a response.

Jake leans in closer to you, and his lips brush past your cheek dragging along the skin to whisper his question in your ear. You only take a moment to think of your answer. It doesn't take more than meeting the honest vulnerability in his eyes. The answer falls from you easily. After all, it was the question you were expecting.

It’s the last question Jake asks you for 6 ½ months, his entire deployment, with not one single word, complete radio silence.

#jake seresin x reader #hangman x reader #long fic #Double tap part 2 #house we share #sfumato #jake seresin x you

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