Quiet Constellations
Requested by @koi-nikolaikinnie with Prompt #16 - "Is that my shirt?" and Prompt #17 - "Can you stop playing connect the dot with my freckles?" from my Prompt List.
Pairing: Jack Kline x Male Reader
Genre: Fluff
Characters: Jack, Y/N
Description: Jack has a headache, and Y/N takes care of him.
The bunker was unusually still. Even the hum of the lights seemed softer, as if the world had decided to move quietly. You noticed it as soon as you stepped into the hallway. The bunker had not felt this subdued since the aftermath of the raid last spring, the kind of quiet that followed long nights and hard-won rest. Ever since then, shadows in the corners seemed to linger a little longer. Some spaces still carried scars: scorch marks along the east wall, a dented locker no one bothered to fix. People spoke more quietly here now, reverent of what the building held. After the raid, the silence had changed something between all of you, not just the way you moved or watched each other's backs, but in the quiet moments that came after. There was something in the air, a quiet tension you recognized. Jack rarely got sick, at least not like most people, but when something did affect him, it stayed in odd, unpredictable ways.
You found him in his room, sitting on the edge of the bed, shoulders slightly hunched. His fingers pressed against his temples, eyes half-lidded like the light hurt to look at. “Hey,” you said gently, leaning against the doorframe. “You okay?” Jack glanced up at you, offering a small, tired smile. “I think… I have a headache.”
There was something almost uncertain in the way he said it, like he was still learning what that meant. Headaches were new to Jack; his body had never gotten sick, not before everything changed. Maybe it was his origins, or whatever power ran through his veins. Sometimes, when the lights flickered too blue, the faintest crackle of energy shimmered beneath his skin, a quiet reminder that he was made of something stranger than flesh. Little human aches still caught him off guard, as if his body was learning them for the first time.
You crossed the room without hesitation. “Yeah, that tracks. You look like you’re trying to out-stare the floor.” “I wasn’t,” he replied softly. “But the floor isn’t very bright.” You huffed a quiet laugh, crouching in front of him. Up close, you could see the faint tension in his brow, the way his breathing was just slightly uneven. “Come on,” you said, nudging his knee. “Lie down.”
He obeyed without protest, stretching out on the bed while you grabbed a spare pillow and adjusted it under his head. You dimmed the lights and moved more slowly and quietly, as if any sudden motion might make things worse.
Jack watched you the whole time. “You’re taking care of me,” he said. “Yeah,” you replied simply, sitting on the edge of the bed beside him. “That’s kind of how this works.” He blinked up at you, thoughtful. “I like it.” Your chest tightened just a little at that. You reached out, brushing a few strands of hair from his forehead before letting your fingers linger there, gently massaging his temples. Jack let out a soft sigh, his eyes fluttering closed. “Does that help?” you asked. “Yes,” he murmured. “It feels… quieter.”
You smiled faintly and kept up the slow, careful motion. His skin was warm under your touch, and you found yourself tracing absent patterns as you went: circles, lines, and soft presses meant to ease the tension. Eventually, his hand lifted, catching your wrist. “Can you stop playing connect the dots with my freckles?” Jack mumbled, though there was no real annoyance in his voice. You paused, then grinned. “I’m not playing connect the dots.” “You are,” he insisted, eyes still closed. “You keep linking them.” “They’re right there,” you said. “It’s basically an invitation.” Jack let out a quiet breath that might have been a laugh. “They don’t make a picture.” “Debatable,” you said. “I think I saw a very convincing… lopsided star.”
He hummed, unconvinced, but didn’t let go of your wrist. You shifted slightly, settling more comfortably beside him. Only then did Jack seem to notice what you were wearing. His eyes opened a fraction, gaze drifting over your torso. “…Is that my shirt?”
You glanced down, feigning innocence. "Depends. Do you own a shirt that’s way too big on me and smells like you?" For a moment, there's a shared flicker in the air, a memory of last winter when Jack had ribbed you about borrowing his hoodie, even though he kept leaving it folded on your bunk. There had been that night after a supply run, both of you huddled around a game of cards, sleeves pulled over your hands, Jack claiming you only won because you stole his "lucky hoodie." It had become a quiet ritual since then—for him to quietly leave clothes for you, for you to wear them and pretend surprise when he noticed. The look you exchange now is familiar, comfortable, full of an unspoken understanding that comes from habits and closeness built over a hundred small moments.
Jack studied you for a long moment, his expression softening despite the dull ache clearly still lingering. “Yes,” he said. “I do.” “Then yeah,” you admitted. “It’s yours.” He nodded slowly, as if cataloguing the information. “It looks better on you.” That caught you off guard. You blinked. “You’re biased.” “I am,” Jack said simply, closing his eyes again. “I like it when you wear my things.” The honesty in his voice made your chest ache in a way entirely different.
You leaned back a little, adjusting so he could rest his head more comfortably against your thigh. He didn’t question it. He just shifted instinctively, settling in like it was the most natural place in the world. Your fingers returned to his hair this time, threading through the soft strands instead of tracing patterns across his skin. Slow, steady movements. Something grounding. Jack’s breathing evened out gradually. “Does your head still hurt?” you asked quietly. “A little,” he admitted. “But it’s… fading.” “Good.” Silence settled again, but it wasn’t heavy anymore. It was warm. Safe.
After a moment, Jack spoke, voice softer now, drifting. “I think I understand headaches better now.” “Oh yeah?” you said. “What’s the conclusion?” “They’re unpleasant,” he murmured. “But… they make this happen.” You tilted your head. “This?” “You,” he said, barely above a whisper. “Taking care of me. Staying close.” Your hand stilled for a second before resuming its gentle rhythm. “Pretty sure you don’t need a headache for that,” you said quietly. Jack didn’t respond right away. His breathing had slowed, and his body had relaxed more fully against you. “…I know,” he murmured eventually. “But I like knowing you’ll be there anyway.” Your gaze softened as you looked down at him. “Always,” you said.
This time, he didn’t answer. He had already fallen asleep. His features were relaxed, the tension gone and replaced by something peaceful. Your fingers kept moving through his hair, slower now, careful not to wake him. The bunker remained quiet.
But now, it felt full instead of empty. You had the sense that when morning came, something between you and Jack would be a little different; some boundary softened, some unspoken promise settled in the quiet. Maybe tomorrow, things would feel just a bit lighter, the memory of tonight pressing gently between you both, humming with the beginning of something new. And somewhere beneath the comfort, you could feel the world outside pressing in, a reminder that you wouldn’t always get nights like this; there would be more challenges waiting, more secrets to uncover, more ways the two of you would have to learn how to lean on each other. For now, though, the promise of facing whatever came next together was enough.
