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Bad Luck Charm [22] (Dr. Jack Abbot x Neighbor!Reader)

Chapter Summary: Jack seeks you out in order to fix what Robby destroyed and somehow ends up sleeping over in your bed.

Word Count: 10.1k

Tags/Warnings: neighbor!reader, f!reader, reader uses she/her pronouns, age gap (reader doesn’t have a specific age, but the age gap will be thematized at some point), no use of Y/N, no use of any specific physical descriptions for reader, reader has the worst luck ever, reader needs therapy, reader is a people pleaser, awkward!reader, slow burn, amputee!jack, talk about jack’s prothesis, possible inaccuracies regarding his prothesis, mention of his residual limb, insecure!jack, insecure!reader, idiots in love healing each other, self-deprecating tendencies, smidge of angst, fluff, hurt/comfort, lots of comfort, probably some other things idk

English is not my first language, so please excuse any grammar mistakes or typos.

A/N: Whoops, got stuck at a scene and resolved it after two weeks by watching 5 mins of vid content. Forgive me for the delay.

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When Jack comes home, not a single atom in his body leads him to his own apartment. Everything urges him to rush to you, find you, set things right, and stop you from distancing yourself further.

He is scared he might be too late already, and he regrets volunteering for a second shift. Not only because it led to this mess in the first place, but also because he was stuck in the ER for hours. Precious time, you could have used to build impenetrable walls around yourself to keep him out for good.

Jack feels validated in his panic, given that you hadn't replied to a single one of his text messages since your disappearance from the Pitt. No matter how many he had sent, or how desperate he had sounded, you had ignored them all.

He is unsure about the rules of your safe word. Did not sending it mean you were not shutting him out or were you already beyond using it, silently telling him to fuck off? The uncertainty drives him crazy.

Jack stumbles out of the elevator, barely waiting for the doors to open wide enough for him to fit through the gap. He reaches your door in record time, his breath coming out uncharacteristically uneven and heavy.

He ignores the exhaustion clinging to him like a second skin. Clearing the air between the two of you is the most important thing right now. Sleep can wait; you cannot.

He is ready to knock on your door forever, fist raised, determined not to give up until you open the door or call the police on him.

But to his utter surprise, you open your door after his second frantic knock.

Jack is stunned, having expected to fall asleep standing there before you would ever consider showing your face again. However, he doesn't dwell on his relief for long.

Not when he can see your red eyes and puffy face–clear signs of you having indulged in a crying session not too long ago.

His heart squeezes tightly as he thinks about you being hurt by his friend’s words. And when his own words fail him, there is nothing else to say but, "I'm so sorry, darling."

You hesitate, looking defeated, as if he makes it hard not to break down again. Your teeth chew on the inside of your cheek and he can see you take a deep breath.

"It's okay," you choke out eventually, then clear your throat. Jack immediately shakes his head.

"No, it's not. Robby had no right to send you home, and whatever he told you isn’t true.”

You look at him, clearly unconvinced and Jack lets out a deep sigh. He isn’t far from capitulating and calling defeat, but there is still a most stubborn part in his body that is not ready to give up yet.

“Can I come in? Please, let me makes this right.” You wordlessly open the door wider, letting him in and Jack doesn’t wait around for you to change your mind again.

Inside, he falters, unsure if you’ll mind him keeping his shoes on. If he were in his own home, Jack wouldn’t think twice about it, taking his entire prothesis off and easing the uncomfortable ache he is experiencing after this double shift.

His mood in the second half of it hadn’t really helped his overall wellbeing, so additionally to the pain, irritation had festered underneath his barely holding composure. It had been one hell of a shift in any regard.

Now he wants nothing more than to relieve all the soreness his body accumulated over the hours, but he doesn’t.

Despite his exhaustion, he decides to bear this bother a little longer. His priority is to make sure you are okay–that he still has a chance to correct this mistake.

Jack stands there a moment longer, pondering if he should confront you with the reality of his disability, but you walk past him and disrupt his thoughts as if you can read his mind, “You can keep your shoes on if you want. I don’t care.”

You sound quiet, withdrawn from the situation–from him–as if you are speaking a mere formality. He wonders if your dismissive words are a passive jab, meant to show him that he isn’t welcome long enough for it to be worth getting comfortable.

But before he can voice his concern or anything else for that matter, you already take the lead.

“How are you?” you ask, standing in the middle of your living room and turning to look at him. Your eyes glide over his body, searching.

Jack has half a mind to blurt out the truth–that he is terrified to lose you again. Instead, he opts for something safer, something that doesn’t immediately expose his vulnerability and forces you to deal with it.

“I’m fine.” “You look tired.” “So do you,” he retorts, not trying to sound challenging as much as he is stating a fact. You do look nothing like the person that mere hours ago brought him food to work. Joy and energy have been sucked out of you completely.

“Then we should probably go to sleep.” “We need to talk first.” “We can talk tomorrow. Once you’re rested.” “No.”

You stare at him, not enraged or annoyed, just sad, and forlorn. He sees the way you swallow hard and tries explaining his intentions. “I don’t want you to have any more time to push me away or come up with narratives that might turn out to be false. We need to have that talk now.”

Jack realizes only afterwards how harsh he sounded, how his desperation made it seem like he is angry with you. He tries to relax his brow, let the frown disappear from his forehead and soften the way he looks at you.

Sighing, you look at the floor. “You just worked what? Twenty-four hours? I won’t run away overnight. I’ll be here tomorrow morning. You need to sleep.”

Even if you’d promise him to be here the next day, Jack doesn’t trust you to be alone with your thoughts any longer. Every second passing with whatever words Robby must have told you, is a surefire way of you drifting further away from him. He can’t have that.

Which might be why the next words leave his mouth with such seriousness despite their sheer outlandish properties.

“Then I’ll rest here. I’ll sleep next to you, if that is the only way. But I won’t leave you alone again.”

Your head snaps up at his proposal, searching for the humor in his words, for the teasing smirk on his face.

You don’t find anything like that.

Jack remains stock-still, not daring to move a single muscle, cautiously awaiting your reaction while being acutely aware that his own wishful thinking bled through into an otherwise silly demand.

He expects you to either snort in disbelief at the sheer audacity of his suggestion, or to dismiss it outright, deeming him unworthy of any further attention all together.

Instead, you blink, mouth slightly agape, eyes big and gaze penetrating.

After a few more seconds of silence, that seemingly stretch into eternity, you nod slowly, barely noticeable.

“Okay.”

Jack’s mind comes to a sudden halt. Every reeling thought dissipates. He struggles to discern the meaning of this singular word; of the implications it brings with it. It takes a few seconds for him to react.

“Yeah?” he asks breathlessly, not sure he heard you correctly. But again, you nod. “Yeah. If you want to.”

He does. Even if that hadn’t been the plan when he came up here first thing after work. Now it sounds like the most reasonable option to him.

“I do.”

Silence reigns and his enthusiasm settles enough for rationality to glimpse through. Jack clears his throat. “But…I don’t want to force you. If this will make you uncomfortable, I’ll go.”

“I agreed, didn’t I? I’ll be fine.”

Jack isn’t so sure about that, but he refrains from arguing further. Not at last because he actually doesn’t want you to kick him to the curb. This screams like a once in a lifetime opportunity. Maybe his only chance to make things better before time runs out and you decide he isn’t worth the trouble after all.

“Have you eaten?” you ask, already turning around, leaving Jack behind while moving into your kitchen.

“At work. We were lucky enough to get the leftovers from another team’s birthday celebration. What about you?” he asks, following you slowly, eyes wandering around the room as if he has never seen your apartment before.

Jack doesn’t know why he suddenly feels so out of place. Even the first time he came around here he never particularly acted as if this was a stranger’s home, being so familiar with the layout mirroring his own. But now, with the current disaster at hand and the possibilities of the next few hours looming ahead, he finds himself second-guessing his every move.

He is not yet convinced that letting him stay over was a truly consensual agreement on your end. Maybe he had sounded too desperate and you are way too vulnerable after today’s events for your invitation to be true. Had he been unfair? Unreasonable to demand something that he himself had not thought through?

If his mind is scattered like this, how would yours look right now?

Jack is ripped from his thoughts when you slowly step back towards him, handing him a bottle of water and nodding to your coffee table. He follows your cue and spots a pizza carton.

Knowing you have eaten despite your obvious foul mood has Jack exhale in relief.

You watch him for a moment, remaining standing before him. He lets you look without protest, despite feeling your eyes dissect him on a far deeper level than he is normally comfortable with. But Jack is exhausted and quite frankly tired of keeping everything hidden away from you. His one goal for tonight is to repair what has been broken after all, and it doesn’t take much to realize that honesty might be the best and only tool he can use to his advantage.

“What now, Jack?” you eventually voice, sounding small in his ears. “How do we…proceed?”

He expects you to fiddle with your hands, that your eyes will drift from his and search for a safety only your surroundings will provide you. But despite the clear unsureness of your question, you don’t do any of the small things you usually do. You remain unmoving, only your tired eyes blinking at him.

“I can sleep on the couch.” The offer is honest, even when his whole body seems to ache down to the bones and a mattress would be heaven after the day he had. Jack has slept in far worse places, on far worse excuses of a bed, after exceedingly worse days. He can easily camp out on a couch and will happily do so if it ends up making you feel more at ease.

“That’s not what I meant and it’s not going to happen either. Sleeping on that couch is a guaranteed way of ruining your body and you won’t be able to move tomorrow. Trust me, I know what I’m talking about. I have a bed, it’s big enough for two and we’re both adults. Right?”

Jack can only nod, his pulse beating so hard and fast on the side of his neck, that he is sure only the sound of the beat will reverberate if he tries to speak.

Of course, you are right. Technically there is nothing special about sleeping next to another person. He has done it countless times in his life, whether with his wife, friends, or colleagues. Necessity and comfort would easily win over pride and childish regulations.

But Jack can’t deny that the prospect of sleeping next to you when there are much easier and logical options is thrilling.

He catches himself once again feeling something he must have last experienced in his youth, when he was still a teenager perhaps. Sleeping next to a girl he harbors a crush on is on a whole other level of euphoria, even without indulging in wild fantasies of possible pleasure. The simple act of being close, sharing a place of sacred peace and quiet, is impossibly intimate if one lets it be.

And Jack is very close to giving in.

“What I mean is…routine? Do we just go to bed or do you want to take a shower and freshen up and I don’t know…What do you usually…wear to sleep? Like, do you need to get something? I have a spare toothbrush you can use but do you need anything else?”

Jack can’t help but huff in both amusement and relief at your rambled thoughts, happy to see your usual demeanor shine through the gloom. It eases his own anxiety and tension and he too finds a bit of his true self awoken by the prove that you aren’t yet completely lost to him.

Grinning at you, Jack shakes his head. “One thing after the other, yeah? Don’t stress about this. If you are ready for bed then go on and I’ll follow when I’m done. If you need to get ready yourself first, I’ll wait. And I have a spare shirt in my backpack, I can keep my pants on if that makes you more comfortable.”

You swallow, nodding along slowly, then say, “You can sleep however you like, I’m okay. I’ll just go brush my teeth really quick and lay that brush out for you.”

Jack hums in agreement, watching you slip inside your bathroom after one last look in his direction. When you’re gone from view, he takes a deep breath, trying to sort his thoughts and keep calm in the face of what’s to come.

He sets his backpack onto your couch before heavily sitting down on the cushions himself and only when lowering his aching body does he come to a startling revelation.

He won’t really get around showing you his missing leg. Not if he wants to alleviate the irritation that has been causing him to favor his left one for the past hours. Not if he plans on getting a decent night’s sleep in after two shifts from hell and gather enough wits to clear up any misunderstanding in the morning.

A slight bout of panic begins to rise inside Jack’s throat, threatening to spill out in an unpleasant stream of bile. He tries to be rational, to not make things worse than they might be.

You aren’t a villain, have not once shown disdain or judgment towards him or anyone else for that matter. If you were superficial surely you wouldn’t even consider hanging around with an old man like him.

And still, insecurity shatters Jack’s defenses with ease and brutality.

He is almost sure you aren’t aware of his missing limb. You never once mentioned it and Jack had more or less purposefully hidden his disability, whether that stemmed from the usual normality he regarded it with nowadays or in an effort to not invoke pity from you.

If he didn’t tell people about it, most wouldn’t know or find out. And normally that wasn’t because Jack felt ashamed for wearing a prothesis, but because he didn’t let it define him as a person.

It was just a trait of his. How others had colorful hair or tattoos, he had half a leg missing and an expensive substitute in its place instead. The trauma behind it was just an additional bonus on top he had mostly come to terms with by now.

And yet, right this very second Jack questions just how fragile that resolve really is.

Fear grips him a little too hard, making his head spin and his palms sweaty.

He tries to justify his reaction, but his fear is irrational. He can't find a real reason amid all the thoughts being sucked up by the tornado in his brain. The spiral grows ever wider, more ruthless, and deadly until nothing is left untouched.

And in the eye of the storm Jack only finds the frightening possibility of you thinking his worth is lessened due to another one of his deficiencies.

“I’m done. You can go in now, if you want.”

Your voice is like a beacon appearing in the endless dark and Jack finally snaps out of the clusterfuck that is his mind. He looks up, sees you standing in the bathroom doorway and forgets about his troubles for just a moment.

“Okay. Thanks.”

He gets up with much effort, arms straining to push off the plush seating underneath him. Jack catches himself masking his struggle, not wanting to show his weakness in front of you.

And just like that everything comes rushing back.

He quickly grabs his backpack, slinging one strap over his shoulder and making his way in your direction.

He feels like you scrutinize his walk. He is sure he can feel your eyes track and file away every little movement he does. And it has him power through the burning pain with the last remnants of energy stored in his muscles.

Smiling despite it all, he slides past you and closes the bathroom door behind him.

Jack finds himself sitting on the closed toilet seat, contemplating what the hell he is doing here. He can’t remember the last time he has felt as useless and incompetent as he does now. Like a child unable to do a menial task everyone else can do without thinking twice about it.

He is all too aware that he has spent way too much time in your bathroom without making much progress in actually cleaning himself up. But the reality of his disability punches him right in the face once again, not only at the worst possible time but also place.

He is contemplating if he should just skip a shower all together and risk sleeping next to you all sweaty and with the memories of the ED sticking to his skin. But that would neither be considerate towards you and your hospitality nor would it help garner it once more in the future.

Still, it almost seems like the less embarrassing route when the other path ends up with him having to openly confront you with his inability to function like anyone else.

“Jack, is everything okay? Do you need something?”

Your tentative questions ring through the door and make Jack flinch.

He didn’t think you would still be up, waiting for him. Maybe it had been a bit hopeful thinking on his part that you would just go to bed and fall asleep while he could use your unconscious state to slip underneath the covers unseen.

But as it seems, the pleasure of getting closer to you, on a level of intimacy he usually only dreams about in the dark of night, comes with the price of being unmasked and showing his shortcomings.

“I’m fine. I–“ The words die on his tongue, his fists balled in humiliation and anger at being so weak.

Sighing, Jack closes his eyes and presses his lips in a tight line. In this private darkness he at last finds a bit of courage, mostly ignited by the idea of only finding another way out of this if he would tell you he changed his mind and would return to his own bed.

The mere thought is enough for him to jump the plank and brace for the imminent impact of offering one of his most vulnerable revelations up to you.

“I could use some help.”

He barely finishes his sentence when you answer with a question. “What do you need? Should I… should I come in?” “Yeah, please.”

A second later the door opens just as Jack’s eyes do and he turns to catch your look when you find him sitting there, defeated, and tired.

To his mild surprise you don’t look as perturbed by the view as he would’ve guessed. Instead, your wide eyes shine with an innocence that has his heart clenching.

He notices that despite your clear exhaustion a bit of your usual manner seems to have come back. The gloom that has blanketed you minutes ago looks to be lifted, the invisible but clearly felt walls shielding him from your soul, lowered.

Sighing again, Jack averts his gaze and finally decides to drop the act. Chin tucked closer to his chest, lips pursed, he lowly admits, “I can’t really shower like this.” “What do you need?” you ask, not confused, just sounding like you want to be helpful to him. Swallowing, Jack answers, “Something to sit on, preferably. I…Maybe I should just go downstairs and–“ “No, it’s alright. I can get you something. Unless you feel more comfortable in your own shower?”

Jack looks over to you again, watching your eager expression with burning eyes and feeling smaller than he has in a very long time.

“I can work it out here.”

You nod, then turn and vanish out of the bathroom. It takes you less than minute before you come back, maneuvering a wooden chair through the door.

“I know this is not really what you’re looking for but it’s the best I can come up with right now. Do you think this is okay? If not, I can also just run down and get whatever you need from your bathroom. I’ll be quick.”

Jack nearly wants to laugh at the way you are offering more than he asks, as if it’s not a bother at all–as if he is worth the effort.

In the end he only sports a strained smile, shaking his head.

“This is fine. It will get wet,” he adds, as if that isn’t clear. You hum, shrugging without a care and wrestle the chair through the small room until you set it down inside your shower.

When you turn to look at him again, Jack carefully studies your face, searching for judgement. He finds none.

“Anything else? Oh, right! Towels are in there,” you point beneath your sink, “and you can use my shampoo and stuff, if you’re okay with smelling like, uh,” you lean towards your shampoo bottles, squinting a little to read the label, “a juicy green apple.”

You grimace while Jack huffs in amusement. “Not the worst I’ve ever smelled like.” To his delight, you chuckle, then step out of the shower but not yet showing any sign of leaving him to his business.

A few seconds go by with the two of you just looking at each other and something in Jack clicks with quiet acceptance.

“I’ve lost my leg years ago.”

The admission is sober, quiet, and honest. Jack can’t turn away this time, not wanting to miss even the tiniest expression passing your face. He expects many things. Disgust, pity, hesitance, hell even laughter in case you think he is joking and made you get him a shower chair for his age and not a disability.

He finds none of that. There is overall surprisingly little of a reaction to see at all.

You nod slowly, eyes flickering to his leg for a split second. “Are you telling me this because you want to talk about it or as a disclaimer?” “The latter. I don’t…want you to be scared or disturbed. I know some people can get uncomfortable with the fact and I don’t wear my prothesis when sleeping, so in case you still want to share your bed with me, you should know about this before I just jump it on you.”

A frown appears on your forehead. “Okay. I mean, I’ve known about this and I’m not disturbed or scared. I don’t see why I would be. I just don’t really know what you need or if I should assist you with anything. I’m sorry if I made you feel like you couldn’t tell me. I do want to learn. I just…suck at asking. I know it looks like I don’t care, but I-I do. I just don’t ask in case it makes you uncomfortable. But it’s the opposite, right? You think I don’t want to know about your struggles. I mean, is it a struggle? Is that an ableist thing to say? I don’t know. I just don’t want to do or say the wrong thing. I’m incredible at putting my foot in my mouth.”

Jack isn’t sure if he should indulge in the feeling of his heart soaring and weights dropping from his shoulders at the fact that you don’t mind his missing leg, or if he should beat himself up for ever doubting you.

Not once since meeting you had you given him a reason to think you would judge him for his drawbacks and still, he had unconsciously decided to not trust you enough with his insecurities.

Pain blooms inside his chest, deep humiliation for doing you such a disservice.

“Since when have you known?” he asks, confounded. You shrug again. “What was it? Our second meeting? Third? I’m not sure. You came up when I was being too loud and you were just on a crutch. Should I have said something? That I knew? Wait, were you trying to hide this from me or something?”

Jack’s head falls at the revelation, his eyes closing at the absurdity of his own mind. He had pretty much forgotten about the day you were talking about and even so wouldn’t have guessed that you had remembered a detail from months ago.

The time back then barely seems like reality to Jack anymore. The memories of how he treated the person he now cares so much about painful and unpleasant. Maybe that’s why he had banished all thoughts about your first run-ins with each other, including his careless behavior from then.

“I guess. It’s not really glamorous.” “It’s a part of you. It doesn’t have to be glamorous for me to want to be aware of it. Also, this is not something you can change. I have many flaws and to be fair, I could probably tackle a few of them if I just got my shit together. I could start cleaning and picking up after myself right away instead of procrastinating until the mess is too overwhelming for me to deal with. That’s something unglamorous, I don’t want everyone to know. But not having a leg isn’t something you can change for your benefit and with some work. There is absolutely no reason to feel any kind of shame about it either.”

“I know,” Jack admits. He can’t help but stare at you in awe. The way you are crushing the very insecurities he manifested not because of you, but because of deeming himself unworthy for you. “Then why–“ “I didn't want you to think less of me. I was scared that you would try to create distance between us once you knew. I was afraid you would shut me out in a polite way, to avoid hurting my feelings, but ultimately cut the ties anyway.”

The honesty feels both suffocating and freeing, as if it will kill him to open up so but promise a life of freedom in the same breath.

In the end, your reaction is his salvation.

“Jack,” you say his name so softly, almost reverent, that the hairs on his arms prickle and stand. Your naked feet pat quietly against the tile of the bathroom as you step closer to him. Then your hand slowly reaches out and your fingers brush against his cheek.

Leaning into it isn’t a result of his own free will. It’s a natural reaction. A reflex unstoppable by any known force and Jack gladly lets it take over, not wanting to escape you in the slightest.

“That’s not going to happen.” “You have a habit of running and hiding,” he says, looking up at you.

He doesn’t mean it as an insult or attack and luckily you don’t take it as such. Huffing, you grin. “Fair enough. But it wouldn’t happen over something like this.”

Jack’s shoulders drop and he simply surrenders to looking at you standing over him and letting your fingertips trace along the skin on his face. You permit it for a while, letting him drink in your presence.

But when your eyes start to flicker away from his and focus on your fingers instead, Jack is sure that your mind is wandering and you’re no longer comfortable with gazing at each other in silence.

Accepting that is bitter sweet, but Jack would rather keep it a pleasant moment for the both of you instead of going after his own selfish desires. He fears, you would never leave this place ever again, if he were to do so.

“Thank you, Sweetheart.” “For what?”

For being here. For not judging, but accepting him. For keeping his hope alive, that he hasn’t run out of chances with you yet.

Jack says neither outright and foolishly trusts his eyes to convey all of which he is feeling.

He must not be very successful.

You straighten on the spot, eyebrows jumping up and fingers leaving his face in order to smack your palm against your forehead lightly.

“Oh, right. The chair. No problem. If you need anything else, just holler. I’ll leave you to it now.”

You send him one last charming but flustered smile, then you’re out of the bathroom, having completely misread his unspoken words.

Jack is left shaking his head, utterly infatuated by everything you.

When Jack leaves the bathroom, you’re sitting on the edge of your couch. Your head snaps up at the sound of the door opening and you watch as Jack slowly steps out.

His eyes find you without delay and you notice him giving you a quick once over, noting the pajamas you’ve changed into the same way you notice his own sleep wear.

Jack is only clad in a simple black t-shirt and boxers, his prosthetic leg fully on display.

You try not to stare too intently at any part of him, opting to stand up from your spot and slowly inch toward your bedroom. Only when Jack follows do you fully turn around and lead the way.

No one says a word until Jack closes the door of your bedroom and the reality of the situation hits you square in the chest.

You’re about to sleep next to Jack.

Your pulse is drumming so loudly in your ears, that you’re wondering if you might be missing him speaking to you, but with a quick, nervous glance over your shoulder, you see that Jack is just standing there, not moving.

Merely his eyes are scanning your bedroom.

It feels weirdly intimate and you thank whoever is listening for having given you enough motivation to clean and tidy up your apartment a few days ago. Not that Jack hadn’t seen in it the worst possible state already. Nonetheless, you are glad you’re not presenting your earlier mentioned flaws on a platter.

There are much more critical things to consider and worry about now.

You clear your throat, trying not to seem as awkward, as you feel. Half an hour ago you had offered Jack your bed with a confidence that is nowhere to be found now. Maybe it is reality catching up, the actuality of what sleeping next to Jack will entail.

One look at your bed is enough to have you doubting your decision-making skills.

It’s not that you don’t want to sleep next to Jack. It’s much more the logistics of it–of sharing a bed with anyone, really.

Stressed, you stare at the rumpled sheets and haphazardly strewn about pillows.

“So, which side do you prefer to sleep on?” “What about you?” Jack asks in return, foiling your plan of just giving him what he wants, no matter your own preferences. Sighing, you click your tongue and look to the side. “I don’t really do sides. I pretty much sleep all over.”

You chance a quick look behind you, catching Jack grinning at your admission. “You sure you don’t want me sleeping on your couch? I don’t want to disrupt your sleep by getting in your way.” “No! It’s fine. I can manage. I can adapt. I will stay on my side, I promise. No need to worry. I can totally respect boundaries.”

Jack takes a moment before chuckling. “We’ll see.” “So what side do you want?” “I’ll take the one close to the door.”

Nodding along with his decision, you move to the other side and pull the covers back, slipping underneath. Your eyes follow Jack’s slow path, watching him lower his backpack to the ground next to your nightstand.

Before sitting down on your bed, his eyes catch yours. A silent agreement is forged in the dim light of your bedside lamps.

This is what you want. It won’t be weird. It’s two adults having a sleep over.

You stay still while Jack situates his body on his side, but he doesn’t lay down yet.

“I’ll take off my leg now.”

“Yeah. Alright.”

Unsure what to do and where to look, you decide on staring at your ceiling. You semi-consciously clutch your duvet while simultaneously trying to breathe as shallowly as possible. For whatever reason it feels like a sacred moment, one that shouldn’t be disrupted.

Jack seems to notice you anyhow, despite your effort to disappear into the mattress.

“I’m sorry to do that here. I would’ve kept it off from the shower but I don’t have any of my aids around and hopping around isn’t safe. I only have to take off the leg and lining. It’ll be over quickly.”

“I don’t mind,” you assure quickly, “I just don’t want to make you uncomfortable, feeling like I’m staring at you.” Jack is quiet for a few seconds, then you hear him take a deep breath. “You can look, if you want to.”

“Jack, you don’t have to show me if you’re not ready. This must be a lot for you to trust me with and I feel honored that you do! But you don’t have to move quicker than you truly want to. I can wait. One step at a time if that’s what you want.”

“It’s alright. Really.”

Your gaze softens, eyes losing focus on the texture of the ceiling and you slowly, very slowly, turn your head towards Jack. He is already looking down at you, a gentle smile playing along his lips.

You don’t immediately look down and seize the invitation, not wanting to seem too eager to see Jack take off his leg and make him feel like you are some kind of perverse spectator. Your eyes stay trained on Jack’s face, even when he turns his own attention towards his leg.

Concentrated but with a confident ease stemming from years of following a routine Jack takes his prothesis off. Only when he leans over the edge of the bed to carefully place it on the ground, does your gaze drift lower. It does not turn any more curious than any other time you find yourself seeing something for the first time and you never feel an ounce of disgust or fear, despite Jack’s initial doubts.

A small inkling of offense had first appeared when Jack had told you of his insecurities. The evidence that he thought so little of you, that he had been afraid you would judge and cast him aside over a disability that didn’t impact you in the slightest.

But you hadn’t let the thought fester–had realized that such trifles seldomly let one think clearly and rationally. You don’t blame Jack for fearing a worse outcome, not when you yourself plan for the worst-case scenarios in any regard.

And maybe it had been your fault for not ever mentioning or indicating that you were aware of Jack being an amputee. Even if it had stemmed from a good intention, not communicating well and assuming the other person could read one’s thoughts and gestures was a risky business. One that more often than not lead to misconceptions and ruin.

Sighing quietly, you watch Jack taking off the liner and revealing the stump which is left of his lower leg.

Time doesn’t stop, there is no sudden silence that threatens to suffocate you and you don’t feel a spike of anxiety rushing through you at the revelation. You look, see, and return your gaze back to Jack’s face, which in comparison to your own is tense and closed off, as if still waiting for you to jump out of the bed, screaming bloody murder and demanding he leave your apartment this instant.

Jack doesn’t speak for a while, just fingering the silicon in his hands.

You shift, trying to catch his eye. “It’s okay, Jack.” Your words finally get him out of his stupor and he exhales harshly.

“You sure?” “Yeah.”

Jack nods slowly, then lets out a deep breathe. He leans over again, placing the lining on the bedside table. “Do you want me to turn off the light?” “Not yet.”

Jack obliges, turning back around and shuffling to get under the blanket. He lays down, facing you and you use the remaining light to study his face.

Quietly, you ask, “Is that all you have to do? Just take it off?” He shakes his head, returning your curious look. His eyes appear to be dark pools, only a slight twinkle appearing in them like a guiding star. “There are more layers, but I already took them off before the shower. I didn’t bother for the few steps. There is also cleaning and the occasional massage, if the skin or stump is irritated and I have enough energy and patience to treat myself. It’s not always this…clean. There is a lot of sweat.”

“Yeah, makes sense.”

“Usually I wear a shrinker overnight. It’s like a compression sock of sorts. But I don’t have one on me–” “Do you want me to get yours?” You are already sitting up, ready to make the trip downstairs, but Jack quickly reaches out, holding onto your arm and shaking his head. “I was just about to say that I will be fine not wearing one for the night. Lie down.”

You deflate a little and sink back into your pillow, almost pouting at being stopped. But interest in Jack’s condition distracts you enough to find a new purpose.

“Does it still hurt sometimes? Like actual pain. Or is there just phantom pain? Does every amputee experience phantom pain? Is there a distinction between it? Like, does it feel like actual pain or slightly different? And what kind of pain does it feel like? Like a bruise kind of pain or like…the pain of how the leg was lost?”

Jack stares at you, lost for words if his silence is any indication. You realize you must sound like some kind of fetishist after all. “Shit, sorry, don’t answer that! I didn’t mean for it to sound insensitive. It’s probably not something you want to talk about. I guess I just proved that I absolutely suck at pillow talk.”

You know at once that your apology does little to support your case, and that the only way to hide your embarrassment while lying face to face with Jack is to close your eyes. You do so promptly and with such force that you see stars.

“Definitely not the kind of pillow talk I would prefer, but very you, I suppose,” Jack murmurs, the smirk clearly discernable in his tone. You almost choke at the insinuation which you set up and he willingly walked into.

Your eyes snap open again, if not solely to see a true indication, if Jack is kind of flirting with you. It seems unlikely, but one look at his tired, yet teasing expression confirms it enough that your head begins to start a little woozy.

“I did have a different topic of conversation in mind, though.” Jack’s grin falls a bit, melting into a mellow, yet strained smile. Any trace of joy vanishes from your mind the reality of the day and its happenings catching up with you like a freight train at full speed.

Double-edged words echo in your head. Sentences that sound kind enough, claiming the best possible outcome yet cutting with a ferocity never felt before. It’s sobering. It’s ripping the hastily placed bandage which Jack’s presence had put on right off the gaping wound.

For a moment you keep looking in Jack’s direction, then the memories become too much, blaring in your ears as if Doctor Robby is standing right next to your bed.

“Tomorrow,” is all you have to say.

You slowly turn around, reaching out for the bedside lamp on your side and turning it off.

“Tomorrow then.”

A moment later you are bathed in complete darkness, when Jack turns off his lamp as well and there is only the rustling of the blanket, when he gets comfortable.

You stay quiet, swallowing and wishing to fall asleep quickly, so you might be once again dragged into the blissful peace you felt with Jack distracting you from everything else in the world. But of course, nothing ever goes your way, so sleep evades you as if it’s mocking you.

You don’t dare to move much, not wanting to disturb Jack, who clearly needed the rest more than anyone else, while also afraid of accidentally moving closer and bothering him in some other way.

So, you end up with a sore shoulder, staring into the dark with nothing else to occupy your mind but Jack’s even breaths and a ton of thoughts spiraling out of control.

Jack wakes up feeling more exhausted than when he went to sleep. His body aches, his head feels almost as if he got black out drunk last night and no matter how much he forces his eyes closed, sleep refuses to drag him back under until he is so frustrated, that he just gives up trying all together.

Sighing, he shifts, laying on his back.

There is a short moment of vertigo overwhelming him–his brain trying to place his position in bed and imagining it without actually using his senses. The logical result is that he is in his own bed, that his exhaustion has his mind reeling and all turned around.

But just a few seconds later reality crashes into him. Jack quickly opens his eyes, scanning his surroundings and coming to the conclusion, that he is not in fact sleeping in his own bed.

He barely looks at the furniture being illuminated by the soft morning light, because he doesn’t need more prove or another reminder that he slept over at your place. Instead, he turns around, slowly, and carefully, trying not wake or startle you.

The picture that bares itself to him has his heart beating up to his throat, the heavy thrum basically rocking his entire body with its intensity.

You’re still passed out, turned towards him, mouth agape and hands tightly clutched to your body, compressed into uncomfortable looking dinosaur-hands.

Only when he lets his gaze travel further down does Jack take note of how you have been hogging the blanket, legs intertwined with the duvet while he is left with nothing more than a small piece of it covering his foot.

He feels the sudden urge to take a picture of you. A memento to keep safely tugged away for dull days. A keepsake that will no doubt cheer him up when simply glimpsing it.

But he refrains from doing so, deciding instead to stay put and not move yet, hoping to steal some more time.

There isn’t much space between the two of you, your bed not offering all that much to begin with, but still, you’re not touching, as if an invisible barrier separates you.

Jack wants nothing more than to destroy it right then and there. The need is so intense, so all consuming, that there isn’t much he can do. No honor, nor self-restraint or even logic is able to keep him from slowly inching closer.

He knows it’s wrong, that you don’t even have a chance to utter disapproval or reluctance regarding his actions, but Jack finds a sliver of solace in the fact that you had willingly decided to share your bed with him.

You had not made a single attempt to create more space between you when you still had been conscious and while Jack is aware that that doesn’t equate to a free use policy in the slightest, it’s as if his brain once again lets an external power overtake his body.

Aches and pains protest while he scoots over until only a small space remains between you. He ignores it all, concentrating fully on your sleeping face and the deep breaths fanning across his chin.

If Jack were a better man, he would get up and leave you be. He rather decides to no longer claim such a title and slides his foot a little further underneath the small cover you so graciously left him with.

He doesn’t go so far as to touch your legs, stops as soon as the warmth of your body indicates its proximity. There isn’t as much restraint with his upper body, though.

Jack finds himself pressing closer, his chest pushing against you until your hands are trapped between you two and his chin is resting on top of your head. Your breath tickles the skin on his neck, warm and wet, but Jack doesn’t mind.

He slowly places his arm over your blanket burrito and decides to forget everything else just to enjoy this daydream he created.

There is little hope of this lasting anywhere near as long as he wants it to, which is even more reason to treasure it as a precious memory.

Closing his eyes once more he dares to get more comfortable, acting as is he has a right to any of this, to holding you close and feeling your body near his, separated only by some fabric.

And he stays just like this, dozing off, dreaming of this being reality–fate–and not just a man-made scene, built to satisfy everything wrong with him.

However long he gets to ride the high of it, it ends up being too short nonetheless. Eventually you stir against him, moaning when trying to move and finding yourself unable to do so, due to his hold on you.

Jack remains still, not ready to end his play yet, acting as if he is still fast asleep, just to drag this out a little bit longer. And he succeeds. You soon stop your endeavor, lowly grumbling but giving up on turning and escaping.

Your nose nuzzles deeper into Jack’s collar bone, lips skimming across his skin in an unvoluntary, secret kiss.

It has his mind close to exploding–short circuiting for sure–which ends up with him accidentally ending his charade.

“Darling.”

The word slips out before he can think better of it, sounding tortured and utterly destroyed.

You let out a hum, once again pressing closer.

Jack wonders if he has got it all wrong. If he isn’t the one playing a game, but you are secretly toying with him.

You are winning by a large margin nevertheless, and Jack can’t even be mad about it. Not when the consolation prize is better than anything he has received before.

He tries to calm down, slow his breathing, sort his mind–and fails miserably.

Would it be wrong to move just a fraction to feel your lips against his skin once more?

Torn between moral and desperation Jack’s decision is made when you start moving again, clearly waking up and trying to free yourself out of the cocoon surrounding you.

“Don’t move,” he rumbles and you still, sighing deeply. “Jack–“ “Stay like this just a little longer.”

Jack feels relieved when you stop trying to break free, but the tranquility of holding your sleeping form is gone as soon as consciences slowly starts to clear up your foggy mind.

“We should probably get up,” you mumble without making another attempt to move away. Jack hums noncommittal. “It’s Sunday. We can sleep in.”

You don’t have a rebuttal for his remark and Jack grins to himself.

Sighing, you clutch at Jack’s t-shirt. If accidental or not, he doesn’t care. It’s bliss either way. “How are you feeling? Have you slept okay?”

Jack couldn’t find grand enough words to describe the ecstasy this morning has bestowed upon him, even if he studied an entire vocabulary, so he stammers something out that isn’t even close to capturing it all.

“I’m good.” “How about your wounds? Do they hurt still?” “They haven’t hurt since yesterday,” he lies without remorse, not wanting to give you grounds to worry about him any longer.

He had experienced far worse things in his life. A few scrapes and bruises where not even worth thinking about.

“What about you? Are you okay?” His question is met with a few seconds of silence, but the proximity to you lets him feel the way your body tenses and your breath hitches.

Concerned, Jack leans back a bit, trying to catch the look on your face. Your sleepy eyes blink at him and you try to give him a small smile, but it doesn’t appear genuine. “Yeah, I’m fine.”

Jack doesn’t believe you and something inside of him tugs uncomfortably. He wants you to feel like you can trust him with the truth, no matter about what, no matter if its ugly or not. The last thing he wants to see is you torturing yourself by keeping things hidden.

“Don’t lie to me. Let me make it better,” he says lowly, trying to convey his sincerity. You return his peering look, eyes flitting between his as if unsure which one to focus on.

Your fingers tangle deeper into the fabric of his shirt, but eventually you give in, nodding barely noticeable. “It’s just…my mind is going crazy, because I don’t know where to go from here or what advise I should follow.”

Frowning, Jack lets his own hand grab onto yours, holding it carefully to his chest.

“Tell me all about it. I’ll help you decide.”

You hesitate, mouth opening but no words escaping yet, as if you don’t know where to begin. Jack waits patiently, thumb gently brushing over your knuckles in hopes of calming you down enough to open up to him.

It pays off eventually.

“I like this. You. Being friends, spending time together. It’s not something that happens often to me. I-I don’t have many friends and I guess that’s okay, because I don’t mind being on my own and having time to myself. But that being said, it hurts so much more when the few people I actually click with leave me. And it happens. A lot. Because I’m a mess and I get overwhelmed and don’t give people what they want because I forget that not everyone thinks the way I do.”

You gulp, eyes fixed on his hand holding yours. Then you continue, “I don’t want to lose you. But realistically what do I have to offer? Not all that much, huh? I bring chaos and require constant attention and care because I am unable to function like a proper human being. I mess up, I spiral, I run and hide away when things become too much and I sulk and make it far harder than it needs to be for others to clear up misunderstandings and apologize. I am no easy person to be around. I get that. It just hurts anyway when someone mentions your flaws directly, you know?”

Jack watches you intently, his jaw tense, holding himself back from cutting in and denying every one of your claims. He hates that you feel this way. That this has been plaguing you while he sees you in such a different light.

Honing his anger, Jack forces himself not to erupt on the spot and continue to hear you out. But the murderous thoughts keep swirling dangerously close to the surface, when his memory provides the villain of this story.

“What did Robby tell you?” “I don’t want to put a wedge between you two.” “You’re not. If anything, it would be him that did it.”

“He didn’t say anything wrong and he wasn’t mean. I mean, you’re friends with him, he knows you. Better than I do.” “Maybe in certain aspects, but clearly not in every regard. Now tell me what he said,” Jack commands sternly but with a pleading expression. He needs to hear it from you, so you can share the burden and let go off it. Jack is ready to take it all from you.

“Basically, he told me to stop bothering you, because it’s distracting you from the actual important things in your life. And that this is something temporary for you. Our friendship. Which is okay. It just hurt in the moment, because when it’s said so outright it hits way harder than when it slowly trickles into non-existence over time, you know. But I get where he is coming from. Maybe it would be different if I brought luck with me instead of ruin, but I’m clearly not good for anyone to be around. And listen, if what Doctor Robby said is true and you are only friends with me for the time being, that’s fine too. I don’t want you to feel obligated to be my friend, just because I reacted a little dramatically at the prospect of losing you. You can totally distance yourself and I won’t make a scene or anything. I promise.”

Jack stares at you with such intensity, he is surprised he hasn’t burned a hole into your head yet. To a degree he certainly would love to do exactly that–use his laser focus to cut out all of Robby’s words, fuck, every memory of anyone in your life causing you to come up with this narrative and such insecurities.

It pains him more than expected to hear you berate yourself and believe that he would drop you sooner than later. As if your purpose would simply end at one point and he could no longer find use for you in his life.

Jack doesn’t even know where to begin. Cleaning up this mess others have created over years could easily become a life’s mission.

Not very surprisingly, Jack thinks he is up for the task.

“Okay, so this is nonsense. All of it. Everything Robby told you. There is no expiration date to us. I’m not going to drop you just like that and be done with you. And literally nobody but me can decide if you are having a bad influence on me. Hell, even if your bad luck is rubbing off on me, I don’t give a shit. I’m the only one having a say on when I have enough of you and Robby clearly has no fucking clue about anything, because you and I both know that I am the one that keeps running back to you. I mean, fuck me, look at us! I’m lying in your bed, because I came to you. Not the other way around. I should be the one worrying about you getting sick of me.”

You snort and roll your eyes. “I don’t think that’s very likely. At least you bring plenty of stuff to the table. What about me, huh? What good do I have to offer you?”

That earns you a scolding look. “Are you saying you’re only tolerating me for my materialistic values?” “What? No!” you backtrack, eyes wide. “I’m talking about your personality. You are calm and collected, you get me out of situations I wouldn’t know how to deal with at any rate, you protect me. All good qualities. I have none of these.”

“I mean, if you could handle everything the way I do, you wouldn’t need me anymore. Isn’t that literally why we surround us with other people? To create a functioning relationship. No? And I don’t need you to be able to handle things or protect me. I don’t even need you to keep a level head. I will do all of this for you, if you let me. I value you for much different reasons.”

Jack finds himself in a dangerous territory and if he isn’t careful, he will be free falling in no time at all. But try as he might, there is no stopping now. Not when your wonderous eyes are peering at him the way they are.

It’s like you pull him into a trance, extracting all his truths and secrets with the flick of your lashes.

He doesn’t want to resist either. He only wants you to see what a treasure you have become in Jack’s eyes.

“Like what?” you ask with a mocking tone, as if not believing there to be anything to like.

“When I spent just enough time coaxing you, you will tell me the truth outright. No bullshit, no lies, just the simple and plain truth. It’s refreshing to have someone not beating around the bush and give it to me straight. It gives me certainty. I could listen to you ramble on for hours, just to get a glimpse inside that brain of yours. You see everything at a different angle and for an old geezer like me, who thinks he has seen and heard everything, it’s remarkable to be proven wrong from time to time. I know I teased you about running from situations and hiding away, but it’s not a bad thing per se. You could also just explode on the spot and vent your frustrations then and there, but instead you give yourself time to think things over. Which can be problematic sometimes, because you only ever think about the worst possible outcomes, but technically, if I can get you to a point of trusting me enough to not assume the worst of me all the time, you taking your time to decompress and deal with something is healthy. Better than snapping at someone without knowing the entire thing.”

He grins when hinting at his own faults, but it turns into a genuine smile once he goes on.

“You care about me, even when I haven’t earned it and you think I don’t see it. You accept me, despite being a grumpy old man sometimes and you brighten my days. Infinitely so. The moment I get to see you, my day gets better. You aren’t a distraction. You are the one thing I want to concentrate on and everything else is getting in the way. Do you understand?”

You stare at Jack, unmoving, possibly not even breathing from what he can hear. But maybe it gets drowned out by his blood rushing through his veins at the speed of light.

He is awfully aware that he is pretty much just confessing how utterly infatuated he is with you and despite fear clawing at his bones, he tries to tell himself that you would at least let him down gently if you decide to reject him.

He knows anything else is simply an old man’s dream. But he clings to that hope as if his life depends on it.

When you finally move, its frantic. Your limbs flailing around in a desperate attempt to free yourself from the blanket holding you hostage.

Jack retreats a little, giving you space while he watches in confusion, unsure what you’re trying to do.

Foolishly he imagines you untangling yourself in order to fully climb into his arms and let him be your blanket.

Jack’s heart beats as if he is sprinting towards a finish line that has been visible but out of reach for ages.

Then you are free, sitting up, all frazzled from the fight with the duvet. Your eyes flicker to his face, lips pressed together, body freezing for a second.

“I’m going to run now and contemplate some things.”

With those words you lean over, pressing your lips to his cheek for a moment and just like that you are scampering out of the room. Leaving a flustered Jack in your bed.

next part

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