Ironic? Cruel?

The date, it seems, would have to wait until we were in the next country and Jackson had free time on his hands. The game was tonight, and they still had to practice when what they needed was rest.

“I have never liked Coach Bryan," I grumbled with my arms crossed as Jackson got ready to leave. He scoffed, giving me a small smile.

“He’s a chill man, that’s when he’s not barking and spitting saliva on our faces.”

“That’s why I don't like him.”

He was fully dressed now, picked up the bag he had packed, and walked to me. He cupped my face with one hand, and my body leaned into that touch before my brain could even register it, something uncurling in my chest. He leaned down and kissed me slowly, softly, his lips moving so perfectly, so tenderly that it made something ache in me. I felt something open with a wide mouth and yearn for something I’m too much of a coward to tell him. 

And there was something else in the kiss, something hesitant and fragile, and for once, it wasn't coming from me. Jackson broke the kiss with a heavy sigh, resting his forehead on mine. His eyes were shut, squeezed tight, and I stared at him, at the clench in his jaw and the almost pained expression on his face, like kissing me had hurt. 

“I’ll see you tonight,” he whispered as he pulled back, but not without placing a tender kiss on my forehead that made my eyes close briefly. He paused when he got to the door, turning back to me. “You could come, you know.”

It felt like my heart was being broken when I heard the fragile hope in his voice, and I knew I was about to shatter it. “I–”

“I know,” he said, his face softer but pained. He turned back to the door. “See you tonight.” 

“Yeah,” I said when he had closed the door after him, gone. I stood there for a long while, that spot on my forehead burning. 

Jackson liked me. He liked liked me, so why was I so scared to tell him how I felt? That I was falling madly for him? Maybe because telling him will finally make it real. Maybe because then I wouldn't be able to run from it any longer, and it would be too serious. It would be hard to keep giving him excuses not to be seen in public with me, and that would hurt him. It would hurt so much, and I couldn't do that to him. So for now I couldn't tell him. For now, I would let those words suffocate me until I no longer hurt him, until I could hold his hand out in public when we went back without my heart racing like it was about to stop.

For now, I will suffer in the way I knew he had been suffering. It was only fair, right?

~.~

It was four hours before his game when he finally came back. The moment he stepped through those doors, I knew something was wrong. For one, he couldn't look at me.

“Is something wrong?” I asked when he passed me to head to the bathroom.

“Yes,” he answered without looking at me, and I stood up slowly, following him into the bathroom.

He didn't seem to mind one bit as I stood by the door and watched him undress, but I didn't even look at his body: my eyes were fixed on that… empty look in his face.

“You… you wanna talk about it?”

He shed his clothes completely and moved to the shower. “It won’t make a difference.” 

His voice… I don't think I have ever heard it so hard and empty, not even when we argued that day. It was… it was scaring me. 

He turned the shower on, not moving an inch as he stood under it and stared blankly at the wall.

I… I can't do this. I can't stand here and watch that blank look. It was killing me. And it was really hitting me that I knew nothing about him. I have only seen him soft, teasing, arrogant, cocky, aggressive on the ice, and turned on. I haven't seen this side of him, but it was still him. This was a side he'd never shown me before. And that doesn't make me suddenly used to it. 

So I did the only thing I could think of: I stepped into the shower, right under the cold spray, and hugged him from behind. His cold body stiffened, his hands clenching and unclenching by his sides. 

“It might,” I whispered, not caring that the water was so cold and soaking into my clothes. I hugged him tighter. “It might help if you talk about it.”

“Even when it’s about you?” he asked, a bit of the ice melting from his voice.

I knew it. “Yes. Even when it’s about me.”

He turned off the shower and turned around, my arms still around his waist. He leaned down, cupping my face, and relief hit me when I saw the warmth in his eyes was back. 

“I know this is pathetic,” he said, his voice soft, his thumbs stroking my cheekbones. “But I kept waiting. Foolish Jackson kept waiting, and kept thinking, “Maybe she’ll change her mind and be here.” It’s…” His shoulders fell, his throat working around a swallow. “It hurts, Siri. And I'm not blaming you. I’m not about to start another argument; I just… I just want to say that it hurts. What I feel for you hurts so much that I could barely breathe.” His eyes search mine. “Are feelings supposed to hurt, Siri? Are they supposed to make you so ridiculously pathetic?” 

I barely held back a flinch, my eyes stinging. 

Pathetic…

That is what I told myself I wasn't going to feel again. I told myself that feelings made you pathetic, and I was never going to feel that way again. I didn't pause to think about the other person. To think about whether he would feel that way or not. 

Here I am, the girl who was scared to fall in love because she thought it would make her pathetic, and here he was, the boy who was feeling that way while I felt not even a trace of it. 

What the fuck should I call this? Ironic? Cruel? Just… what the fuck?

My eyes stung, and I didn't bother to hold back the tears. I knew what it felt like. I knew the pain and absolute helplessness of feeling pathetic because you have feelings for a jerk. And I was now the jerk. 

Fuck holding back. Fuck not wanting to tell him how I felt. I wasn't going to just stand here and watch him bleed without a single injury in sight. I was many things, but I wasn't that cruel. 

“I like you,” I said softly, my tears flowing freely now, and he just stood there frozen, eyes wide. “I like you so much, Jackson. I’m… I'm falling for you.” 

A harsh shiver shook his body. His eyes searched mine, desperately, like he was trying to find the lie, the hesitation, the part of me that would make him believe this wasn’t real. But he would find nothing but the truth there. And pain. 

“I’m falling helplessly for you,” I whispered, my voice breaking. “And… and maybe we can be pathetic together. Maybe we can be together and be pat–”

His mouth swallowed the rest of my words as his lips crashed against mine.