You hovered outside of Greg's place for about ten minutes, back against the wall next to the door. For some reason, you were unexplainably, inexplicably agitated. While walking towards the house, you forced yourself to take several deep breaths, concerned that your tremoring hands would lead to the bag (that held your laptop) falling to the pavement with a crash. It had taken all of your courage to continue walking, and, while running away had never sounded so tempting, you repeated the phrase, 'For Greg and his friend,' to yourself in your head.

The prospect of meeting someone new had never caused such an adverse reaction before. Usually, you just ignored the wasps buzzing around in your stomach and forced yourself to undergo whatever social interaction was expected of you at that time. This time around, though, the sibilation of the wasps was making you faintly nauseous.

At exactly four o'clock, you mustered your courage and knocked on the door. It opened, and you pulled a smile onto your face. You were greeted by Greg, who was struggling to tie a plain black tie around his white-collared neck.

'Hey,' you said, 'how's it going?' You gestured to the tie, tittering softly.

'Terrible. Can you...?'

'Sure.' You took the piece of cloth from him, adjusting it slightly. 'I don't know how much this will help, but a friend of mine once told me a story-trick-thing to help me tie my ties in primary school. I think it was: Bunny ears, bunny ears, playing by a tree. Criss-crossed the tree, trying to catch me. Bunny ears, bunny ears, jumped into the hole. Popped out the other side, beautiful and bold.' As you rhymed, you tied the tie in a fluid fashion, ensuring that the knot was tight. 'There. All sorted.'

'Thanks, (N/N). What kinda school did you go to where primary kids need a tie?'

'Private school.'

'Ah.'

'Yeah, not as glamorous as it sounds.' You held out the bag for Greg to take. 'Here. I remember you saying that your friend was a med student, and I found some old textbooks my cousin gave me for some reason. Do you think he'd be interested?'

'Think so. Oi, Jack, do you want some textbooks?'

A slightly strangled voice from inside shouted, 'Y-Yes! Please and thank you!'

Greg let you in, pushing the door shut behind you. You shuffled into the living room, eyes widening slightly when you saw the figure curled up on the sofa.

He was quite slender, with large hands and a somewhat cute and dorky vibe. He had unruly brown hair that stuck up in a few odd directions, matching his dark eyes and the normal amount of freckles dotting his cheeks and nose. He wore a set of black and grey pyjamas that were too big for him (so you assumed they belonged to Greg), and was twisting a fidget toy that resembled a chain puzzle between his fingers.

The sight of him brought an unfathomable wave of faint nostalgia and warmth, as though he was a lover you had been torn away from and had now been reunited with after months of communicating in secret. You had never understood people when they gushed about the comfort of a home radiating from their partner, but at that moment, you finally understood what they meant. He reminded you of the warmth of a caring home, a place you could go to feel loved, wanted, and safe, hiding away from the world and not caring about what was going on outside; if you could pick who to spend your last day on Earth with, your heart would choose him in an instant.

As Matt Maltese once sang: 'Yes, it's you I welcome death with, as the world caves in.'

Where the sudden rush of emotion came from, you had no idea, yet all the same it made you freeze up and forget how to speak. For a second, as your eyes riveted themselves to his face, you could have sworn that his appearance glitched, and his face become covered by a midnight blue mask with two, empty holes for the eyes that seemed to exude a tar-like substance.

The sight of such a nightmare-inducing thing didn't change the unexplainable attachment you felt—in fact, it made it more comforting. You felt your fingers tighten their grip around the handle of the bag, nails digging into the skin of your palm as you tried to come with something to say.

Thankfully, the ever-oblivious Greg stepped in to save you. 'Jack, this is (Y/N).' He sounded marginally awkward.

'Hello.' Jack's eyes swivelled over to you, filled with a sadness you couldn't fathom. 'Nice to meet you.'

'Nice to meet you too,' you managed to say, 'I, um, have some books for you, if you're interested. They're a bit old, but if you want them you can have them.' You took your laptop out of the bag and held the bag out for Jack to take if he wanted.

'Oh, thanks.' He took it and saved you the embarrassment of being rejected by a guy you'd only just met. He peered inside and picked up the first book, nestling back into his corner as he flicked through the pages.

Greg took a blazer had been tossed on the back of the sofa, slipping it on as he said, 'I'm gonna get going. See you two later. And thanks again, (Y/N), I owe you one.'

'It's fine. Have a nice time!'

'Will do. Bye!' The sound of the door shutting behind him reverberated around the empty house.

Great. We're alone.

'I'm, uh, I'm gonna work in the kitchen, if that's okay,' you said, 'just shout for me if you need anything, alright?'

Jack nodded, looking up from his book. 'Sounds good. Thanks for doing this.'

'It's no problem! I know the past few days must've been hard for you, and as Greg's friend, I don't mind helping.' You flashed him a smile before retreating into the kitchen, sighing silently.

The house was silent, except for the tapping of your fingers against the keys of the laptop's keyboard and the occasional miniature groan whenever you ran into a figurative wall in your work. You felt a tad bit guilty for abandoning Jack and hiding in the kitchen, but you weren't sure if you could handle being in the same room as him for longer then five minutes. It wasn't that you didn't like him, per se, or that he was hard on the eyes—that couldn't have been further from the truth. The feeling of knowing who he was was almost overwhelming, and you weren't sure how to handle it.

So what did you do? Why, you enveloped yourself in your work, of course; refusing to let yourself think of anything other then finalising the work you'd done for the most annoying client ever was the best thing to do. Right?

Your eyes glazed over as you went into autopilot, typing away with the speed of someone who didn't need to look at the keys, presenting your research in the correct format. By the time you had finished, you weren't sure how much time had passed, but Jack was still on the sofa, and your brain was chanting, 'Sleep, sleep, sleep,' as loudly as it possibly could.

You pushed your laptop away, using your arms as a pillow. Letting out a contented breath, you shut your eyes. Lately, you had been so tired for no reason and would take any opportunity to take a short nap. It wouldn't hurt, and you hoped that Jack would wake you up if he needed something.

Unfortunately, Jack had no intention of waking you up. He had spent his time laying on the sofa, waiting for your breaths to slow down when you fell into a (hopefully) peaceful sleep. He had noticed the puffiness around your eyes, the drawn-out blinks, and the yawn you had swallowed while Greg had led you inside. Of course he had noticed it all. He'd spent enough time watching you to know what your tells were, and ignoring them would make him a horrible future partner. If you had planned on fighting your tiredness, he was contemplating using the milk and dark hot chocolate powder in the cupboard (since they contained both magnesium and calcium, two things that increase melatonin) to help you drift right off to sleep. And if that didn't work...well, it wouldn't be too much of an issue if one of Gabby's sleeping tablets ended up in the food he would prepare for you as a gesture of his appreciation.

Thankfully, though, it didn't come to that. You fell asleep on your own.

Once Jack was sure you weren't going to wake up, he silently got to his feet and crept over to where you were sat. You looked a bit uncomfortable with your back hunched over as it was, but he couldn't do anything about it without waking you up. He could, however, move the collar of your jacket so it covered your nape. Your partially-covered sleeping face caught his attention, and he pulled out the phone he had had before he went 'missing'.

Snap. Snap. Snap snap snap.

The screen darkened every time he took a picture, and he flicked it on silent to avoid waking you up. He took a dozen pictures of you from various angles before he was satisfied. He pocketed his phone and picked up yours, tapping in the passcode as he leant against the edge of the table.

Your phone didn't have anything that intrigued him, except for some nice pictures of both you and some picturesque landscapes that he sent himself.

When he opened up your messaging app, however, he frowned. There were far too many threads there for his liking: some old uni classmates that you worked on projects with (they were swiftly deleted), your parents, workmates, friends, and some...delivery people? No, they had to go—they weren't important.

An excited quiver ran up his spine as he imagined his name at the top of the list, filled with conversations that both you and him would treasure. He was going to become the most important person in your life—he wanted you to come to him whenever you had a problem, or whenever you needed company. If he wasn't the first person you thought of when needing someone else, then he needed to try harder.

Just to be on the safe side, he scrolled through the various message threads to make sure you weren't interested in someone else. Thankfully, the only people you seemed to be fawning over were fictional, and any 'ily's were said to Socks, meaning they were purely platonic. There were a few old friends who seemed a bit too friendly for Jack's liking, so he deleted their contacts from your phone all together. They weren't worth getting stressed over.

Once he was happy with his little mission, he put your phone in exactly the same spot as earlier, walking away. He glanced over his shoulder to make sure you were still asleep. You were, of course, still looking as peaceful as the time Jack first broke into your bedroom.

An adoring smile crept onto his face. God, you're such an angel. How did I end up keeping someone like you in my life?

He had to force himself to go back to the living room, otherwise he would have stood there until you woke up. His plan wasn't complete yet.

Jack picked up a notebook that Greg had kept from their days at university. It had hardly any notes in, and they were all his anyway, so Jack could scribble in it without having to hide it from his friend.

The layout of your house was easy to remember, and he had no trouble sketching it out. What did cause problems were the hypothetic scenarios that would prevent him from entering your house. As far as he knew, you didn't have an alarm, and all windows and doors had locks on them. The doors weren't too much of a problem—he knew how to pick locks, and he knew where you kept the spare key. What concerned him most was staying hidden and making sure he could enter and leave your house without being noticed.

Before, when you would call him a 'close friend', he could simply show up in your living room and you wouldn't question how he got there, but now, he was more vulnerable to things like police officers and being accused of robbery.

He sighed, tapping the butt of his pencil against the page. The best thing to do was go in through the back door or the window in your office. That way, he could sneak up to your room without causing you grief. It wouldn't be too difficult; he'd discovered that he'd retained the stealthiness he'd developed while being a Proxy, which would definitely be an advantage. And hey, there was no more tar to be worried about! He could bury his face in a blanket or a tee shirt without staining it.

He snapped the notebook shut when your sleep-filled voice called out, 'Jack, you good?'

'Yeah,' he replied, pulse increasing. That was too close for comfort.

You appeared in the doorway, wiping the rheum from your eyes and biting back a yawn. 'Sorry, I fell asleep. Do you need anything?'

'No, thanks, I'm good, but I can make dinner if you want? You haven't had a proper meal today, have you?'

'How'd you know?'

'I'm good at reading people.' I'm just good at reading you in particular.

You grinned sheepishly and said, 'Well, I had a bowl of cereal this morning...'

'That won't do you any good.' Jack got up and ambled into the kitchen, opening cupboards and scanning through them. 'What do you want?'

'What have you got?' you asked, hovering nearby.

'Doesn't matter, what are you in the mood for?'

'Just something simple, I guess. Scrambled eggs will be fine.'

He looked over his shoulder, an eyebrow raised in disapproval. 'Really?' he said, 'you sure you don't want something like Shepard's pie?'

'I was just thinking that scrambled eggs is easy, that's all.' You were the one who got called over to make sure he was okay, not the other way around. 'I don't wanna be a bother.'

The words made Jack want to sweep you up in his arms and hold you close for a few hours. How could you think you were a bother? If you messaged or called him asking for his assistance, or even his presence, he would drop everything and be there as soon as he could. He would do anything you asked him to do, no matter how outrageous. Many people would call that dedication a bit over-the-top, but that's just how Jack worked.

Did someone say something to make you thing that? A beat of vexation coursed through his veins. He had promised himself to not commit any crimes now that he was under the eye of the law, but if someone made you think that you were a bother, then some exceptions would have to be made.

'It's definitely not a bother,' he said aloud, 'honestly. If you want a proper dinner, I'll make one.'

'Are you sure?'

He had to try not to laugh; you looked so adorable in your post-nap state. 'Yes, I'm sure. Think of it as me thanking you for keeping me company.'

<><><>

Jack wasn't sure if God hated him for all the sins he committed while he was a demonic entity, but he decided that, if God really was real, he was enacting revenge in the most hurtful ways possible.

While Jack went about prepping peppers and onions and carrots and potatoes, you got a phone call. This in itself wasn't necessarily enough to cause concern—it was what you told him that brought his world crashing down.

'Am I okay to leave you for a bit while I answer this? It's my partner.'

It's my partner.

The words vibrated around his empty skull as he nodded, forcing a smile onto his face. Once you were gone, however, his face fell and became a blank slate, eyes becoming devoid of all life like a corpse.

He would have preferred Armageddon. He would have preferred a serial killer to run in a stab him in the chest. He would have preferred to be able to turn back time and prevent you being taken away from him again.

A numbing, terrifying chasm as large as the Void itself spread inside his chest, making itself at home and sucking all of his emotions out of his heart. He wanted to cry, to scream, to curse God and lock you in the basement forever, with only him for company while he waited for Stockholm Syndrome and love to set in so he could finally be called 'your boyfriend'. (Even though this went against all of his morals, he was getting desperate. After the confession you wrote in your letter, he had been aching to ask you out. You had fallen in love with him once, he was certain it would happen again.)

There were so many things he wanted to do to you. He wanted to hold your hand and hear you calling his name with blissful sighs as he kissed you and your skin again and again and again. He wanted to wake up with you in his arms every morning, and fall asleep to the sound of your breaths at the end of every day. He wanted to be there when you had nightmares in the middle of the night, pulling you close as he soothes your panic, overactive mind with gentle touches and calming words. He wanted to be there with you forever; but now he couldn't.

He had an obstacle. A living, breathing obstacle that was holding you hostage.

Who the fuck was it?

The Void in his heart erupted like a volcano, flooding his senses with hot and angry lava. Who had dared to taint you and sully you with their existence? Had he missed a message thread on your phone that contained details of your relationship? Or—he shuddered at his own naïvety—those 'ily' messages to Socks weren't as chaste as he had originally thought. 

He glared at the mince as he crumbled it into the saucepan that already contained softened carrots and an onion. There was no doubt about it: he was an idiot, a complete and utter idiot. He had been handed a perfect opportunity to end a relationship (or at least cause some trouble in it), where afterwards he could swoop in and comfort you, and he ignored it like a novice.

'Goddamnit,' he muttered bitterly to himself, adding tomato purée and Worcestershire sauce to the pan. 'God-fucking-damnit.'

The kitchen door opened and Jack wiped away any signs of negative emotions, throwing you a smile over his shoulder, saying, 'How's your partner? Are they okay?'

'Yeah, they're fine,' you replied, 'they just wanted to check in and see how I was doing.'

'That's kind of them. Have you two been together for a while?' That's right Jack. Play it cool. Gather information.

You sat down at the table with a sigh. 'Honestly? We've only been dating for a few weeks. I thought that, since we've been best friends for years, dating wouldn't be that different, so I said yes. I mean, I'm thankful to skip the whole awkward-first-date phase, but I don't know how I should be acting with them.'

'You feel pressured?' Jack quickly added half a litre of stock to the pan, brought it down to a simmer, and leant back against the worktop, eyes fixed on you.

'Yes? No?' Your head fell against the table. 'I don't know. I've never dated anyone before. I don't know how to do this.' You turned to look at him with woeful eyes. 'Have you ever gone out with someone?'

Jack shook his head. 'Not yet, but Greg went out with a few girls before Gabby, so I'd like to think I'm pretty good with advice if you want any?'

He couldn't believe his luck. Sure, he was still reeling from the discovery that you were in a relationship now, but he had suddenly been given a second chance!

Maybe God doesn't hate me after all.

helloooooo extra long chapter to make up for not uploading in ages !!! i've been working on this on my rare days off since exams started in may, and i have two left so the end is near !!! once the holidays start i want to be writing more cause not writing much for an extended period of time is so irritating it sucks lmao

also happy pride month !

- gravity