Fortuitous || Jack Steele [1]

sixty eight

(The best photo^)

Am I surprised when I'm suddenly shocked awake? No. No I'm not.

Here I find myself again—on the floor—with Jack having fallen off the bed and dragged me down with him. The sheets are tangled around our legs in a knot. This is highly reminiscent of that one time in the hub.

"Why does this always happen?" I'm hanging half off him and groan into his bare shoulder with despair. I make no effort to move as I'm still shedding the traces of sleep in my system.

"Sorry." Jack yawns, cupping the back of my hair and rubbing my hair in apology. He pushes himself upright and still holds me against him before unravelling the sheets from my body and setting us both free.

"Have you always fallen off beds?" I question and sit in the space beside him. I stretch my back muscles with a yawn.

"Not until now," he responds somewhat sheepishly, turning to look at me with his elbows resting on his knees.

"Just great." Every time I stay the night here I better expect to end up on the floor in the morning.

Jack snickers at my sour expression to myself.

"When's this 'surprise'?" He queries out of sudden curiosity. He uses quotation marks for added effect.

"In," I glance over my shoulder and check the bedside clock, "two hours."

"I don't know if I can wait that long," he whines and then pouts dramatically in an attempt to guilt trip me. I shake my head at his pathetic attempt.

"A surprise isn't a surprise unless it stays a surprise." I click my finger and point at him with a smirk.

"How many times do you want to say surprise?"

"Surprise!" I throw out jazz hands, teeth shining in a cheeky smile. He pushes my shoulder with his hand, rolling his eyes with humour. "Now can you please leave the room so I can get changed?"

"Sure thing." Jack grins and I take his hand when he kindly offers it to me. He helps me into a stand and leaves the room shortly after. We love respectful men.

I get dressed into some clothes I packed in my backpack and go downstairs where I find Jack cooking breakfast. He still isn't wearing a shirt, not that I'm complaining.

"Do you know what a shirt is? I'm asking for a friend." I walk past with the intent of getting a glass of water but I poke his unclothed stomach causally on the way. He doesn't flinch.

"What? Don't you like me shirtless?" He asks with interest.

"I never implied that I didn't like you without a shirt, I just questioned whether you know what one is," I state, unbothered.

I grab a clean glass resting in the sink and go to the water dispenser attached to the fridge. I push against the back plate and water begins to fall into the glass. Jack's presence appears and he gives me a back hug, his arms wrapping around my waist and his chin resting upon my shoulder. Soft.

"The bacon is going to burn," I tell him, laughing lightly at his adorable antics. He then realises I'm right and he reluctantly pulls away. Suddenly I miss his warmth. "Pshh, and you said you're not a romantic."

"I'm not!" He defends, throwing his hands up with tongs now being held in one. "You're not either. You never hug me like that."

"Yeah because I'm a head shorter than you, dumbass!" I exclaim, chortling.

"Excuses, excuses." Jack shakes his head with joking disappointment.

Throughout breakfast, further banter followed until finally the two hours passed; Jack was overjoyed, so much so that he jumped into the car five minutes before we were due to leave. Now I'm driving us to the surprise.