HEARTFIRST (Jake "Hangman" Seresin x Reader)

3.

Even in only the low light of the moon you know it's him. Bradley. Your heart lifts as a sinking feeling settles in your stomach, your mind unsure of what to do or what to think. He slams the truck door shut roughly, giving the truck one swift, hard smack. The truck was – for lack of better terms – a piece of shit. It was on its last leg back when you were dating, or so you thought. It lasted him longer than you expected.

Whistling, he tucks his aviators into the small chest pocket of the pastel Hawaiian print shirt he's wearing. The muted peaches and greens light up his tanned complexion even in the dark. His light brown hair is messier than normal, the short curls frizzy from the humidity of the night. He looks beautiful, of course, someone like Bradley never faltered in that department.

Part of you wants to run to him, but the logical part of you stops that idea from going any farther before it even has a chance to develop. As far as you know, he doesn't know you're here. You can only imagine his reaction if you popped up out of nowhere after a year and a half on his home base. He never looked back after the breakup, never reached out, never checked in. It was obvious that he didn't think about you as much as you did him.

You slip around the corner of the building, not wanting to be found. Things would be easier that way. A perfect plan. Well, almost perfect. It's hard to make anything out at night, especially the two tin trash cans behind the bar. You knock into them, the metal clattering loudly as one tips over into the other, glass bottles spilling out onto the deck.

"Of course," you grumble to no one, tossing your hands up towards the sky in exasperation. Just, perfect. You think about running, leaving the mess behind, but you can't. You could blame it on some raccoons, but your guilty conscience would never recover. Cursing, you bend down to pick up the bottles, scooping them up in your arms.

Footsteps grow closer, Rooster's listless whistling coming to a stop. His head peers around the corner, his eyes widening at the sight of you. He calls your name out into the night, picking up his pace to a slow jog, closing the space between you.

The sound of your name on his lips, the way his mouth wraps around each syllable with such ease even after all this time, makes your heart flutter and sends a signal to the back of your knees, making you weak. You lock your knees, clear your throat, and toss the bottles into the still standing tin, smoothing the front of your blouse. Rooster stops just in front of you, his breath rolling out into the clear night, all of his striking features coming into focus.

"What are you doing here?" he asks, his eyes scanning your face. He looks down, taking in the sight of you standing before him, almost unsure if what he's seeing is real.

"Natasha invited me out for a bit, we haven't seen each other in a long time." Your eyes move across his face and down his body with the same ferocity, worried he might just dissipate into the night, as if he's a mirage.

Rooster nods, swallowing. "You could say the same for us."

"Yeah, I – uh – was worried I'd run into you at some point. I thought about calling to warn you." You let out a light laugh, hoping it would ease some of the tension or make him smile. It doesn't.

"You should've."

"You wouldn't have answered."

"You don't know that." His eyes soften as he speaks.

"Come on Bradley, it's okay. I'll stay out of your hair, we don't have to do this," you gesture at the space between you with your finger. "You should go, your friends are waiting for you. I'm headed back anyways."

He glances down at his watch, knitting his brow together. "Already? A little early for you, if my memory serves." He looks back at you, a small smile crawling across his lips. There it is. You push down the feeling of heat rising in your cheeks, your heart thumping in your chest. No. You won't fall for it again.