HEARTFIRST (Jake "Hangman" Seresin x Reader)

10.

You must be dreaming. The alcohol must have finally kicked in, causing a Miller-Lite induced mirage. That's the only explanation for what – or who – you find at your front door.

"Jake?" you blink, shaking your head as if that might wake you from whatever dream you found yourself in; as if that might make him disappear into the night. It's strange to see him looking so pedestrian, jeans hung low around his hips, his hair free of gel, the most unkempt you've ever seen, but still just as – if not more – handsome.

"Sorry to drop by unannounced."

Your body connects with his before your mind has time to process, to think about or even consider the consequences. You simply can't believe he's here, in front of you. You knew he returned safely with the rest of the bunch, but you were certain you wouldn't see him again and definitely not tonight. You don't know why he's here, but as you wrap your arms around his shoulders, tugging him inside, you realize it doesn't matter much anyway.

The fabric of him is exactly the way you remember – maybe better as this time you're unrestrained with your embrace, gripping him tightly. He follows suit, wrapping his arms around your middle, squeezing you. For a second you feel your feet lift from the ground and you laugh; half at the feeling and half at the spectacle the two of you were making despite still practically being strangers with unconfessed feelings. You decide not to question it, following the intuition of your body.

His body is warm against yours as you breathe in the scent of him, your head neatly tucked into the crook of his neck. You fold into each other with such ease that you wonder why you've been fighting it all this time. It was painfully obvious now, the ache in your heart suddenly gone, that your invisible string is knotted firmly to him now that he stands so close. You might not let him go, not if he gives you the chance.

He doesn't say anything and neither do you, your quiet breathing the only sound in accompaniment to the chorus of crickets outside. That is, until you lean back for a moment to admire the soft fabric of whatever he's wearing. You place your hand on his chest, letting your fingers toy with the strings of his hoodie.

"Nice sweatshirt," you laugh, your eyes raking over the gray US Navy logo.

"Figured it would be a good way to break the ice," he replies, fully releasing you from his grasp as he exhales.

"Jake, I'm sor-"

"You don't need to apologize. If anyone does, it's m—"

"No, Jake I do," you interrupt, crossing your arms over your chest. "I want to." You nod in the direction of your living room and he raises his eyebrows, following you to the couch. The two of you settle down and you take a breath, lifting your eyes to meet his. "I'm sorry."

His eyes map every inch of your face as you work to connect all of the words you want to say from your brain to your lips, hoping to get them working in tandem. He doesn't say anything, just watches – waiting – the knuckles of his right hand gently grazing your naked knee.

"I'm sorry that I ran to Bradley that night, I don't know what I was thinking." You watch him suck in a breath but you continue on despite it. "Well, maybe I do know what I was thinking. I knew what you said during training would hurt him and I needed to make sure he was okay. That sounds stupid, I know, but I care about him and I thought that if I showed up for him that maybe he'd change his mind. Maybe that would flip some switch in his head about me."

You stop for a moment to catch your breath and gauge Jake's reaction. He sits before you, his brow slightly wrinkled as he processes your words.

"I was so worried about what Bradley thought of me and about trying to change him that I pushed everything – and everyone – else away. I didn't realize what was right in front of me. The whole time I was on base I felt this, this...pull at my chest whenever you two were around and I think I got lost in the nostalgia, mistaking that feeling for wanting the past: wanting Bradley. I didn't connect the dots until it was too late, until I'd pushed you so far away that I couldn't feel it – you – anymore," you lift your hand to your heart and let out a sigh. "When you said you felt second to Bradley and when you left, I felt awful. I thought about you every day, played our conversation over and over in my head, thinking about what I wish I would've said or I wish you would've done. You might hate me now, but I–"