“Would you still want me to carry you home?” He asked in response. When she didn’t want to pretend. But how could there not be a little pretending involved as he walked a step closer to scoop her up - pretending that nothing had happened between them, pretending that they had never fought, that they’d never said anything about each other. Or to each other. Pretending the last few months had never happened. They felt like an age ago anyway. Like his dates with Juliet had been a dream, a long time ago, memories fading, and now all that remained was the slight reminder that once there had been a feeling of warmth, of acceptance, when he’d been in the position he was now.
Once upon a time, he might have kissed the top of her head, held her a little closer to his chest, Today, he did nothing of the sort, but went quiet for a while as he slowly headed towards her room. She didn’t feel like she used to, or perhaps his arms had simply lost the ability to hold her the way he was certain they once had. He didn’t feel like the Jack that had been with her. He was detached from that Jack, now, a different person. Merely a good Samaritan helping her to her room.
Jack had always thought pain meant fire, anger, red hot discontentment voiced through loud words and harsh actions and aggression. He was coming to learn that his idea of pain had been a small thing, a scratch compared to the real cut he experienced now. Pain was the air whistling between their monotonous words, the space between them. Pain was the lack of any anger at all. Just two strangers, apart once more, and he felt for a moment as if he could never again be the Jack of the past. The dream had ended. He was awake.
“Just don’t throw up on my shirt,” he muttered, the humour forced and out of habit more than amusement. “It’s my favourite.”
“Yes,” Juliet replied simply. Although she liked to think she was just tipsy, she was pissed drunk, she’d stumble all the way back to her dorm. But mostly because she just didn’t want to walk back home. Jack used to carry her back whenever they went out, even though he was drunk as well and complained all the way, he always did. She couldn’t help the little small on her lips when he walked closer to scoop her up. It was almost as if things haven’t changed for a second, but they both knew it did. It was a 180º turn, from being the perfect match for each other to being close as strangers, acquaintances at most. “I might. Just because you told me not to, I’m not good at following orders,” The redhead said with a small giggle, but soon the little sound disappeared. It hurt to see them like this. In the past, she liked to pretend they’d never come to this point and that if forever existed, it could be meant for their relationship, but nothing lasted that much. “Why are you doing this?” He could’ve stayed in there, having fun and drinking, but he insisted on taking her home.
