Chapter Twenty Four

F L A S H B A C K

Saturday, July 18th

When I hear the front door slam, I push off the covers and race with my legs squeezed tight straight to the bathroom. Safe in the knowledge that Abbie and Dave have left for the weekend and I can finally have a wee without having to make awkward small talk. I really don't want to make pleasantries so early in the morning, not after the not-so-unexpected bombshell they dropped on me last night.

"We're not kicking you out but we are looking at places outside of London," Abbie had explained, after they'd both cornered me so we could all sit down on the sofa for a 'chat'. "Dave's parents really want to be around to help out, and the houses up there are cheaper. Can't even get more than a two bedroom flat here."

"Still got a lot to think about. Wouldn't be for another couple of months at least," Dave had told me in an effort to reassure that I shouldn't fear being turfed out on the streets just yet. "We'll help you as much as we can. To find a new place. Won't be Abs?"

"Of course."

"We just wanted to tell you sooner, rather than later."

Of course, I'd nodded. Made them feel better about hiding such a thing from me even though they've no idea I'd sussed them out a while ago. Small talk about impending babies and the summer holidays tiding both over so they could go to sleep feeling less guilty. And once they'd expressed their relief at how well I'd taken such news, I locked myself away for the rest of the long night.

Luckily the lingering smell of burnt bacon in the morning, a fried breakfast that can only be Dave's doing tells me that they've finally left, and that I can safely mope about with my PJ's on.

Which I plan to do for most of the day. No energy or desire to venture out. Not when I'm feeling so glum and sorry for myself. There's hardly anything in the fridge so I make do with stale bread and beans, curl up on the sofa whilst I still can to watch cookery programs and endless news cycles.

As the hours pass I find that as lovely as it is to indulge in pure laziness I am restless. My frustrations building with every trip back to the kitchen to nibble on chocolate stashed away since easter, and the temptation to have a glass of wine through it's barely midday.

A destructive streak I don't want to fall prey too because I won't be able to stop myself.

I know that Dylan is busy working, picking up some slack to be in favour with the bosses who will eventually decide his fate, for a sponsorship that seems like it might not ever materialise.

Ruby is away too with Joel and his bandmates at a festival in Somerset, having caught the bug for muddy fields and cider induced hangovers.

I envy her new found zest for life, and am tempted to splurge money I've saved for this months rent on a one way ticket there to let my hair down, dance until the sun comes up.

But I don't. I can't. Not really.

So I call the one person who I know will happily join me for an early afternoon wine lunch. Who won't mind listening to my ramblings and disheartened attitude to life right now. When Louisa finally picks up she sounds like she's just woken up.

"Hey love, you okay?" I ask flopping back on the sofa, pulling a blanket up to my chest. "Thought I'd see if you want to maybe grab some lunch later today?"

"Ah Jem I can't," Louisa groans back, her voice like sandpaper.

"Already got plans?" I say this with a little more envy than intended.

"Nah, well I do. Kinda. I plan on crashing on the sofa until this hangover passes."

I've forgotten all about Louisa's Friday night, joining her flatmate for a night of speed dating at a local cabaret bar.

"Oh shit. A bad one I take it?"

She coughs. It sounds pretty vile. "It is. Me and Simon are still in our pyjamas and we don't intend to move for a while. Gonna watch a movie later though if you fancy popping round? Bring some juice if you do."

"What film?"

"I dunno. Maybe that one with the fit actor, apparently he get's his wang out a lot so we might watch that to perk ourselves up a bit," she laughs, throaty and hoarse.

As tempting as it sounds I don't want to spend my whole day on another sofa, and I really don't want to traipse over to hers. I'm restless but I still have little energy to spend it wading through the city on a Saturday afternoon.

"Sounds fun but I don't know if I can get to yours in time. Will let you know if I do though," I reply, thinking it a mistake to ring her now. I don't want to make any promises I can't keep.

"If you change your mind let me know. Ring twice in case I've fallen asleep again yeah?"

"Will do."

Hanging up I continue to watch TV until nothing quite feels real, like when you have a really bad cold and stay in bed for days. Time blurring, the idea of their still being a world outside of such a bubble hard to contemplate. Wrap your head round.

During a gap in channel hopping I text Dylan, though my fingers are bored of typing out the same repeat message like they do every day - Hey, hope you're having a good day.

I know that he is out, scouting some new locations for an editorial shoot for next months issue, that he must be busy. And though I am well aware that he's with Felicity I find that instead of feeling any pangs of jealousy, I'm quite glad that he's away. Even if I do feel lonely.

And usually the inclusion of another female with an obvious mutual fondness would unleash a jealous monster I pretend not to harbour but secretly do. However this time it really is staying hidden because I feel nothing of the sort. If anything I am a bit relieved, and glad. And I know this is neither a good feeling to have or enjoy.

Entertaining the idea of the person you're sporadically now sleeping and hanging out with being with someone else isn't quite right. And yet I do it. Am doing it right now when he still doesn't reply to my message.

Maybe it will make it easier if he's thinking about someone other than me. Like I do.

During the commercial breaks, rugged men spritzing cologne to stride out of crystal blue waters leave me all too riled up. Reminding me of a different rugged, hunk of a man who I have neglected to make any time for recently. Whose been on my mind for too long.

And when I try to be productive, get my laptop out to look up potential new rental listings for when I have to eventually pack my bags, it just crashes whilst loading. Over and over no matter how many times I switch the damn thing off and on. Rebooting it until I seriously considering throwing it out the window.

But sometimes the most frustrating circumstances bring about the best ideas, and I have flash of brilliant ingenuity. The perfect rouse.

I dial in Jack's number without even looking at my phone. Pressing it close to my ear, heart rising and falling with every finished dial tone.

He answers slightly breathless, like it's a complete surprise to hear from me. "Jem...?"

Game over.

"Hi, sorry for calling." Why must I always apologise first? I've called intentionally. He knows this.

"It's alright. How are you?"

"Good." I pause for much too long until Jack laughs and I remember my manners. I ask how he's been.

"Great. Bit tired right now but I'll survive. What's up?"

"Not much, well there is something I could use your help with, that's if your not too busy."

"Course not. Shoot," he says as I take a deep breath.

"So...my laptop is doing my head in. Keeps crashing. Internet is slow, almost non existent. Thought you might be able to take a look."

"Today?"

"We could go get a drink first, if you'd like?"

I can't even see him but I am sure he's grinning as he speaks. "Beer and computers? How could I ever turn down such an invite. Sure. Why not."

"Meet at seven? There's a little micro brewery near mine, on Redchurch Street."

"Sold. Got a few things to finish up this end but I'll be there."

"Great."

"Great," he repeats before saying goodbye.

A short call but one that's done the trick. The gloomy fog lifting with the knowledge that I've something to look forward to. It might not be right but I won't feel wrong about it.

This is what I need.

And want.

*** *** ***

As I sit at a wooden table with a small glass of cider crafted at the premises according to the eager bartender, I have to shield away from the swarm of smoke from the two blokes behind me. Sipping slowly so I'll still have some drink left for when Jack arrives.

I have made a promise to drink responsibility this evening, and that entails not ordering any wine or strong brewery beer.

It's odd in some ways to be meeting him on my home turf, even though I've only graced the micro brewery once or twice in the four years since shacking up with Abbie and Dave in the flat above it. I feel like it might work to my advantage, that I can be in total control of the situation. A quick catch up drink, and then upstairs to sort the laptop out. Which started out as a rouse to get him to come but is actually in dire need of a fix.

But of course, when Jack steps into view by the traffic bollards, hands in his pockets, looking so very tanned I realise it doesn't really matter where on earth I am.

Because I still feel like a bag of wet sand, unable to separate certain thoughts I know I shouldn't entertain. Just one solid mass of confusing observations like - wow, he's got nice colour on his cheeks, and his hairs a bit shorter and that striped t-shirt really works in his favour. I don't even have time to get started on his eyes or rugged stubble, because he's waving at me and before I can recuperate such thoughts he's pulling out a chair, a big grin on his face to tell me that he nearly went to the wrong pub.

"I was half way up the road before I realised," he laughs, tan lines visible round his wrists. "And that's why I'm probably very late. Apologises."

"You're not. It's fine. Haven't been here long," I tilt the glass of cider, still half full. Scanning the beer menu, whilst stroking his grown out stubble Jack asks me how I've been. Gaze lifting when I shrug.

"Not much. Been busy at work, that's why I haven't been in touch. Much."

He raises a brow as I ramble, relaxing back on the chair with a smirk. "Thought you might have been avoiding me."

"No, really I wasn't," Sometimes I surprise even myself with how quickly I can lie, make it sound convincing. He seems to buy it.

"Well I'm glad you called. Sorry if I seemed a bit preoccupied, just finished up at that charity football match when you did. Bit out of shape after the holiday, too much Greek food," he pats his stomach like it's supposed to show evidence of such a thing but it doesn't of course. He looks great.

"That's fine. How did it go?"

"We won three two. Good match but knackering. In need of a pint, definitely."

When he slips inside the busy pub to get a drink and returns, to light up a cigarette I jokingly tut, and tell him that it doesn't look much like he's quit.

"How'd you know that?" he replies, taking small drags, holding it warily under the table. Real careful to blow away from me, one hand covering any escaping smoke.

"Oh I mean I don't. Well I actually just overheard someone say they hadn't seen you outside much, by the smoking area."

"Let me guess Millie right?"

"Maybe."

"If anything was gonna get me to quit it would be her," he sighs. "Always follows me down. Having a cigarette is not relaxing anymore. She talks a lot, about I have no idea what."

"Yeah yeah," I tease, though I am glad to hear some contempt in his voice when he says her name.

"Jem, I thought we'd been over this?"

I'm aware we have but the whispers about Millie going for drinks with him, after her mock shock at him not going for so many cigarette breaks is something we have not. And I don't like how it makes me feel. If there's a possibility they have.

"Oh I just thought you know that, well you can't find her that bad if you guys have been out for drinks since."

I'm sure the jealousy is written all over my face, in every movement as I lift my glass up to my lips, waiting for his response.

Jack shakes his head, laughs in disbelief. "Heard that from her did you?"

"Maybe."

"You really think I want to go for a drink with someone who lies? For the last time I don't have any desire to go for drinks or do anything with Millie. I ain't in love with her," he chuckles, eyes wide. Voice passionate and a little pissed off.

Hearing him say the word love is completely foreign. My chest feels tight.

Her. Not with her.

"Okay. I believe you."

"You have nothing to worry about," he smiles, setting my pulse racing.

Bringing the conversation back round, I point at the burning cigarette in the ashtray. To distract him from how I'm still letting his words sink in, trying to process them.

"So why don't you, just quit then?"

"Trying. Failing at the moment but soon," he winks. "Got a pack leftover from duty free then after I'm done. That's it."

I admire his resolution but it's never that simple. If only.

"How was it, your holiday?" I ask, hoping to keep the small talk flowing so I can have a further excuse to look at his face, and his eyes. How it won't seem so pervy.

Taking a long sip of his beer Jack rolls his eyes. "It was alright. Great weather, nice hotel but completely rinsed me cash wise."

"Spent a lot on Piña coladas then?"

"I wish. Nah, spent a small fortune on entertaining the kids. I'm real glad to see the back of the water park they had there which we went to everyday. Don't think I'm cut out to deal with kids twenty four seven either. Not sure how my brother survives it. Need an adults only holiday next time."

I laugh. "Oi don't complain. I'd kill just for a holiday. To get away from here for a bit."

We both stare at each other, Jack grinning and my imagination running wild to picture just what a holiday away with him would entail, be like. How it might feel to elope. Would it be a wasted trip? Would we ever see daylight or just the walls of the hotel room?

A part of me would really love to find out.

"New do?" I smirk as he runs a sun kissed hand through his hair. Which is much shorter than it had been before.

He returns my smirk. "Noticed huh? You like? Thought it was time to give it a trim."

"Really shows off your tan."

"That's the whole reason why I got it done," he grins back, the sarcasm infectious.

"Well it worked."

I continue to slowly sip my drink, enjoying the view and easy banter.

"So you wanna go sit inside?" Jack asks as the smoke from the guys behind, and a group of girls stood near the flat door threatens to consume us whole. "I know this can't be nice for you."

As he holds the door open and I slip in, I make a beeline straight for the only free table at the back near the bar.

"Nice," he laughs as a couple walk over just as I place my drink down. "Good timing Jem."

Taking a seat a young guy with a beard to rival that of a department store santa claus strides over, and places down a quiz sheet on our table. Asks if we're participating.

When I glance at Jack warily he just shrugs. "You want to? Sure we've got enough knowledge between the both of us knocking about up here," he taps his head.

Sliding over the sheet, the guy put his hand on it and stops me. "Five quid to enter, goes into a kitty that's won at the end of the month."

Breathing in deeply, Jack cocks his head to the side. "Is that right? Seems a bit steep mate."

Fumbling for my purse, he digs into his jean pocket and slaps down a crisp five pound note which the guy swipes quickly before turning his back to foist another sheet of paper to the couple who stand idly by the bar. I continue to sort through coins of hardly any value until Jack laughs and stops me.

"It's only a fiver Jem, sure I'll survive, was only joking. Guy seemed uptight."

"You sure?"

"Next drinks on you though," he jokes, taking the tiny pencil we've been given in his hand. As we wait for the guy to resume his position by the bar, and sort out the noisy feedback from his microphone an awkward silence lingers.

My mind is filled with what can only be the elephant in the room - flashbacks to the night of our impromptu mens toilets encounter. Thighs burning up just to recall it. Something we haven't discussed or mentioned since he had his face between them.

A slip of the tongue bringing it to the present, just like his. "About that night..."

"Which night?" he replies though he's smiling. Maybe it's been on his mind too.

I sit up straight, hair falling to obscure a cheek that's burning hot. "Tapas. After we left. At the offices."

"Ah, okay. Yeah. Before you start to think that's the only reason I wanted to have dinner with you, it's not. I didn't plan on that happening."

"Me neither."

"But I don't regret it, if that's what you're thinking," Jack grins, rolling up his sleeves as the guy announces the start of the quiz, asks for quiet in the small pub. "Not that I intend to make a habit of sneaking into offices toilets with you but I had a great time. At dinner and after, I mean I thought about it a lot."

"Uh huh," I reply, because it's obvious I have too. Probably to the point where it's unhealthy.

"You make it real hard not too Jem. Don't think you quite realise the effect you have. The good kind obviously."

It's real stuffy inside the pub, the sun streaming in through the windows and it only adds to the heat spreading across my face to hear him say such things. My chest pounding, head dizzy.

"I... well... it's not intentional," I stutter, head low pretending to study the quiz sheet.

"Luckily for you I'm shit at singing, or playing guitar," he grins, little dimples appearing by his mouth. I know he's referring to Kit, Ode to Jem.

"Lucky me."

"You wanna take charge? My handwriting is poor," Jack passes over the pencil, changing the subject. "Sure I'll only make a pigs ear of it."

"Okay."

Turns out that I manage to do that all on my own, having gotten much to used to keyboards, with no real use for actual writing anymore. My hand hurting as I scribble down answers quickly that we both don't have the foggiest about but try to figure out nonetheless. Mock arguments over trivia, banter that I enjoy. Have sorely missed. The celebrity round up section proving to be where I excel much to his amusement.

"Should I be concerned that you know so much about these people? I ain't even got an Instagram or Twitter. No idea how many followers they have but you seem to..." he chuckles, as I take control.

"It's what working at Aspire does to you. Maybe you should come down to the dark side, sure you'd be an expert on all things celeb in no time," I reply sarcastically. "Kim K has thirty five point five million if you're interested."

"Not in the slightest but if it means we win this thing than I'm all for it."

Later as we're instructed to pass over our answers so they can be toted up, Jack notices we haven't written a team name on top. "What should it be?"

My mind trails off, so many possible options - long time coming, who would have thought, so wrong but so right.... the way you drink your pint is ridiculously sexy..?

We settle on Quizteama Aguilera in homage to an earlier question that required my knowledge of the opening verse to Genie in a Bottle. Again Jack had looked at me with a mixture of amusement and pity, for knowing such a thing.

Once we've passed it over, the results out of our hands he laughs. "We should have just put your name on it, seeing as you've been the brains behind most of it."

"Perhaps but you're the supportive eye candy. That pensive frown when you really don't know the correct answer spurs me on," I joke, voice deadpan. "It was a team effort."

Though much to our dismay clearly not enough to secure a place. Not even close. The couple I denied a table to earlier sweeping the top spot and the prize of some drinks vouchers. All smug in their ten point ahead of everyone else win.

"Well that was a waste of a fiver but I feel like I've learnt a lot," Jack sighs jokily, finishing off his pint.

"Sure it will come in handy next time you need to do a write up about celebrity baby names."

"Next feature, mark my words," he replies, both our laughter joining in unison. Cheeks aching from so much of it over the course of half and hour. A smile that is hard to put away. Giggles that effortlessly manifest.

"I look forward to reading it."

He gives me the thumbs up, and leans his elbows down on the table. "So this laptop of yours, did you bring it with you?"

"No it's upstairs."

Jack glances slowly up at the ceiling, confused. "Up there?"

"My flat's above the pub. Thought you knew where I lived?"

"Yeah well I know the road, from the office internal server. Don't even ask," he winks. "But didn't realise you lived above this place. Pretty convenient."

"Well it won't be for long."

"Why's that? Landlord booting you out?"

I sigh. "No, flatmates. Their together. Engaged. They want to move, to be nearer to their parents. Got a baby on the way."

Jack sighs back with me. Scratches his jaw. "That's tough. Have they given you much notice?"

Hardly. There's no point in sugar coating it. "Last night. Though I had a feeling it was coming."

"Shit Jem, well I've got a mate, he's an estate agents. Bit of a tosser but I can pass his details along if you want? He deals with the rental side of things."

I'm humbled by his concern, and offer. Nod my head through I really can't even begin to go through the hassle of being pulled between agents. Renting in London is a total unforgiving and relentless bitch.

"I have a month or so left to figure something out," I say as Jack nods sympathetically. "I'll be fine."

"Well if you need some help just let me know."

I smile, hoping that he's not thinking I'm trying to initiate some kind of invite to shack up with him. That is not my intention at all though I do wonder how such a thing would work. Waking up wouldn't feel like such a chore perhaps.

"So, you wanna show me this laptop. Not sure I can guarantee it'll be fixed but I'll give it a go," Jack says and after one more drink I lead him up the stairs. The key in my shaky hand as I open the flat door.

I am really quite nervous. Because what if coming up shows him that I really don't have my shit together? Figuratively because the place is nowhere near as nice, or modern as his and literally because there is mess everywhere, wallpaper peeling off in the hallway. The smell of the fried breakfast from earlier still lingering.

"Beers fine," he says when I hold up a bottle of wine, opening the fridge to offer the alternative when he shakes his head. Stepping over cardboard boxes that are balanced by the bin, ready to topple over when I throw the bottle cap on top. Like a game of buckeroo.

I hand it to him and we stand in the kitchen for a few minutes. Nerves spurring me on to push plates closer to the sink like I have every intention to clean them when I really don't. Jack idles, looks at the fridge, the few photos of Abbie, Dave and myself stuck on it. Abbie and I in Paris during a jaunt a year or two back in the good old days before wedding rings and babies.

"Okay so the laptop switches on but crashes, and you said the internet cuts out a lot too?" he asks as I walk him into the lounge, kicking away fallen cushions. "Might be the router, or firewall blocking the connection. Just off the top of my head I think you may need more ram, to speed up the laptop too."

I nod like I have some vague idea to what he's talking about, and slide the laptop out from under the coffee table. Flipping it open, Jack warily sits down next to me and keeps a some distance between us.

As he fiddles about, he asks for my password to accept some tweaks. Which I am so very reluctant to relay, not because I believe he could do me over by knowing but because saying backstreetsbackalright (no caps) is a special type of embarrassment I really don't need right now.

"Do you have the original manual for this? Or just the box will do so I can check the specs." Jack has apparently hit a wall, stops tying and so I scurry to my room. A fruitless search under the abyss of my bed brings up nothing so I delicately squeeze into Abbie and Dave's which is a mess of boxes and wet towels. Obviously in too much of a rush to leave for their great escape up north to put them on the bloody drying rack.

Dodging the boxes, disappointment welling to see that they've already started packing I look under their bed to find a small plastic container full of odds and ends. Cables and cracked CD cases. All of it covered in dust and dirt. As I reach the bottom my hand lands on the texture of felt. I know what it is before I prise it out. A book that Abbie and I made, and kept throughout college as a way to communicate when phone calls, sleepovers and hanging out everyday just didn't seem enough.

The front is torn, the purple felt ripped, and the words Best Friends once stenciled to perfection has faded. As I crouch low to open it glitter falls out all over my hands along with a couple of old photos. Both of us smiling at the skatepark, stupidly baggy jeans on, our eye make up so dark it looks like we're possessed. Those were good times.

Better than how it feels right now to swallow down the hard lump in my throat. An alien feeling that builds, causing my chest to feel like it needs to explode. My nostrils flaring, tingling. I keep blinking but it's no use.

I haven't cried in years, at least not properly. Certainly not like this. I worry that I might blind myself, drown in big salty tears that just won't stop. Waterworks of epic proportions I'm having a real hard time choking back.

Holding the book close to my chest I slide quickly out of their room and race on tip toes to mine so Jack won't see or hear me. Luckily he's still sat hunched over the laptop, and doesn't look up.

On my bed, back against the headboard, knees bought up so I can rest the book out, I cover my face in my hands and let the tears spill free. A minute, I repeat. Just a minute and then I have to pull myself together. Because I know that I am a messy cryer. All snotty noses and red blotchy eyes. I don't think I can surpass longer than a minute before it becomes obvious. And I don't want him to see me in such a state.

"Jem," I hear him call when forty seconds pass. "You want any help?"

"I'm fine," I say loudly, like someone would who is anything but. Moving off the bed I push the book under a pillow, and turn my head away when I hear his footsteps approach the doorway because it's obvious I can't throw my voice, he knows I'm in here.

"Just looking for the manual still," I let my hair fall into my face as a disguise, wiping away tears with my blouse sleeve.

"Okay, no worries, no rush," he idles by the doorframe, leans on it and when I catch his gaze between fumbling under the other side of the bed, his once calm expression turns into one of concern. "You alright?"

"Fine." My voice cracks. I am failing at keeping anything together. The book tucked under my pillow, poking out. Glitter bloody everywhere. Face a state.

Jack moves forward slowly, creeps to the edge of my bed. "Sure?"

"Uh huh, yup," I reply though I can feel the tears pooling down to the sides of my nose still.

"Wait, are you cryi-" he doesn't finish his sentence. My face finally on display for him to see. The tears. The snot. The puffy cheeks. Wobbly bottom lip just for good measure.

Oh god, what must he think.

He starts to lift a knee up like he might crawl across the bed to get to me but stops, decides to hold onto the metal frame and tread the treacherous path through all the discarded clothes on the carpet until he's by my side.

"Ah Jem, what's wrong?" his voice low, warm. Very concerned. "I'm sure I can sort something out without the manual."

This makes me laugh. Which is bad. Laughing whilst crying is rather hazardous. I quickly brush my sleeve up to my nose before he notices.

"It's not about the stupid manual," I say, voice still struggling to choke back tears. "I'm just being silly."

Jack puts his arm gently round my back, and we both come to sit on the edge of the bed. The mattress dipping with our collective weight. He is quiet as I try and compose myself. Taking in deep breathes, head titled away slightly as I hold back tears.

"I'm just being stupid. Really."

"Is this about... your friends...moving out?" He is so spot on that when I take a sharp intake of breath my voice squeaks noisily. Now I look and sound ridiculous.

Solemnly I nod. There really is no other way to disguise it. It's the truth after all.

"This," I say pulling out the book. "Just found it. Under all her junk."

Jack scans the cover, and nods his head slowly. I'm sure he is utterly confused. "Okay..."

"We made it together. Used to put stuff in it, you know like photos and things that reminded us of each other. Of me, and Abbie. My flatmate," explaining such a personal thing is hard. I'm sure he won't understand. "It's what teenage girls do. What we did."

He runs a finger along the ripped felt, and smiles.

I try to wipe away the tears. "And now she's just tossed it aside."

"I'm sure she didn't mean too."

I continue to sniff, and I feel bad that he has to deal with me. A grown women crying over a collage book, glitter all over her hands from the pasted lyrics to the Friends theme tune that Abbie stuck in. Photos of the both of us in debatably unattractive oversized shirts held together with safety pins. A flash of pink hair mascara through the ends of our locks.

We look happy. And young. Like nothing could ever change us. But it has, life and adulthood and responsibility working in cahoots.

"I'm so sorry. I'm being a twat. Crying. What an idiot."

"Jem don't be daft. You're not."

"Oh god we look at us, we were so young," I sniff, turning pages to find our last day of college snapshot.

"You still are," Jack smiles trying to be helpful, and sweet. "Really, and you're lucky, none of my mates would ever have done anything like that for me."

"But your a guy. It's different."

"I know, we're not the best at collages and glitter but still," he replies to small laughter again from me. "It shows she's a good friend and that you are too. Sure she cares about you. Moving away won't change that. My best mate from school, who lived across the street from me for years we still keep in touch. Distance doesn't always mean the end."

Who is this person? I think when he gently puts his arm around me, in comfort. Such a gesture momentarily halts the tears. And they stop completely when I rest my head against his chest for god knows how long, till I can breath again. Think clearly.

"I don't usually cry," I say because I want him to know this as fact. "Hardly ever."

Jack gently squeezes my side. "It's fine. I've definitely cried over much less. Sometimes you need to just let it all out."

"But I look a right mess."

"Rubbish," he grins. "You always look beautiful. Never a mess."

I don't think he realises I've actually dribbled a big mess of tears and snot onto his shirt from little sobs, the lump in my throat still wedged hard. To hear him say the word beautiful like it's the first time he's ever said it.

And he continues to hold me until I mutter something about the laptop, and we slowly shuffle back to the lounge.

Knees up on the sofa as he places it on his lap, I rest my head again against his shoulder. The comfort from it keeping the tears away still. It feels nice. I close my eyes, the gentle rhythm of his breathing and heartbeat so soothing.

Calm.

And when I wake, eyes parting slowly, the view from the out the window much darker, the street lights switched on I find that he is still next to me, though we've slipped down. His arm curled round my shoulders, my leg twisted under his. I don't think I have felt so at home in my home for months.

I'm careful not to wake him. I feel like this is a moment that deserves to last. I don't want to waste a second of it.

I focus on the flashes of light that filter through the blinds, how it falls onto the both of us in even lines. Jack's lips and jaw lit with the faint yellow glow. When I stretch out my arm that's been locked over his waist his eyes momentarily open.

"You okay Jem?" he whispers, voice groggy, still sleepy. I am in love with how he says my name, and not all of it. How it just rounds right. Lips curling to speak it with so much affection.

My heart feels like it's been lifted, cupped between his strong, warm ams. And when I nod and lay my head back down I brush my nose against his. And I look at him. Really look because I want to remember how it feels to think wow you are really beautiful. The way he can look at me and ignite flames so easily.

When I delicately kiss his lips I feel like I can close my eyes again. The rhythm of his warm mouth against mine like being wrapped in a big hug. Kisses like silk and sweet like hot chocolate on a cold morning.

And when they last long into the night, with hands held tight I think this is how it should always feel. Natural and comforting.

So right.

. . .

(For anyone curious - the original Flashback by Fat Freddy's Drop is a masterpiece, definitely worth checking it out.)