Immovable Object, Unstoppable Force (4) by Jamiesstories2

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A/N: It’s been an eternity, as always, but I do hope you enjoy what I’ve come up with during that time. I’m insanely grateful for every one of you who chooses to keep reading my work, commenting, and generally supporting me, especially those of you who cheer me on when things get rough (looking at you, Zero and Fantasy Weaver). Thank you for giving me your time and attention, if only for a bit.

This is a continuation of Immovable Object, Unstoppable Force, please read the previous parts before reading this one.

Immovable Object, Unstoppable Force: Chapter 4

Monday was here.

The rest of the weekend had come and gone, and Jackson had spent most of it in his room, nursing a nasty headache.

He had, however, received quite the text from Luke. Saying he noticed Jackson had left early Friday night.

L: If we said anything that offended you, it’s water under the bridge.

That’s what he’d said. Word for word. For Luke, that was as close to an apology as Jackson was going to get, but after all the, frankly, f*cked up sh*t the three men had said and done on Friday, Jackson was going to need a little more effort before he agreed to come back.

So here he was, on Monday, ready for whatever Queer Lit had in store.

Jackson wasn’t just showing up on time anymore, he was showing up at a time bordering on egregiously early. Usually, entering the classroom before anyone else gave him this sense of relaxation he could only find at the bottom of a bottle, but today he felt a mix of anxiety and anticipation roll together in twin waves through his gut. He knew that Ollie had said all was forgiven, but did that really mean they could go back to the way their relationship was before last Wednesday evening?

Even more concerning, in Jackson’s mind, was the fact that Ollie had not cared to comment on the timing or construction of the message he had sent. It had obviously been in a drunken stupor, yet Ollie had either not noticed, not cared, or been unwilling to comment. Knowing Ollie, Jackson suspected it was the latter, and he was waiting for the moment Ollie found it appropriate to confront Jackson about the context of the impulsive text.

Jackson just hoped that Ollie did not think the appropriate time was their class together.

Jackson sat and stared at the empty chair next to him as if he could magically will the man who usually sat there to pop into existence before his eyes. Yet soon enough, the exact man he sought walked through the door of the classroom, wearing his usual gray wool coat and winter hat.

Ollie approached Jackson with a smile, pulling his backpack off and dropping it in the seat of his chair before slipping off his wool coat and hanging it over the back.

"Hey," he said as he sat, moving his backpack from the chair into his lap, and pulling off his knit cap, "You keep beating me here, it’s embarrassing," he joked as he stuffed the bundle of knitted yarn in his backpack.

Jackson had stopped listening, however.

He’d processed Ollie had said something, although what or how were far beyond Jackson’s comprehension. The man might as well have spoken French for how little Jackson managed to understand. Jackson’s eyes, attention, and thoughts were drawn somewhere else. They’d been drawn there ever since Ollie had taken off the damn hat.

The buzzcut. It was shorter.

Jackson did not know when he’d started paying attention to millimeter differences in the length of people’s haircuts but, boy oh boy, did this difference catch his eye. Jackson registered that Ollie was looking at him, that it was his turn to talk, although what he could say or how to make the words exit his mouth was far beyond his comprehension.

"Are you alright?" Ollie finally added on to his previous statement. The meaning of this question did, in fact, get through to Jackson, despite his current predicament. He wrenched his eyes from Ollie’s hair down to his face and the concern that emanated directly from those dark irises, radiating through the lenses of Ollie’s glasses as if they were a magical focus.

Jackson wished for a divine intervention, spontaneous combustion perhaps, he was certainly warm enough, yet nothing of the sort happened, and Jackson figured he should probably spit something out before the staring got so concerning, Ollie brought him to the health center.

"Sorry I-I’m good," Jackson finally managed, "Your-- Your hair just surprised me."

Ollie chuckled at this and did what Jackson already knew he was going to do, bringing a hand to his freshly shaven nape.

"I guess you’ve never seen me with a fresh buzz," Ollie replied as if the topic of conversation was nothing but casual, maybe Hyeon’s joking comment about being scared Ollie would shave his head was truer than Jackson wished to admit. Ollie was still talking, though, "I cut it last night so it’s about as fresh as it gets. It’s a number one guard. Pretty short, I know."

Pretty short? More like so short Jackson barely dared look back at it now that he’d looked away, for fear it might magically appear on his head.

"Yeah it’s, um, it’s…" His eyes flicked up once again, caught sight of those dark brown bristles, that scalp showing through… his eyes flicked down, "It’s, uh, short."

Ollie snorted then, seemingly more entertained by Jackson’s reactions than anything else. His face soon fell, however, and Jackson had to wonder if he was thinking about Wednesday. If it wasn’t obvious Jackson had a downright complex about his hair before, he had just put on a lovely display for the other man, and this thought embarrassed Jackson to his very core.

"Anyway," Ollie began again, stressing the word as if to indicate that he, too, wanted to change the conversation, "How did you like the rest of Dancer from the Dance?"

Oh f*ck. Jackson suddenly didn’t want to disappoint Ollie, but truth be told, he had not touched that novel since Wednesday. Every time he so much as looked at the thing, he felt as if it held too many uncomfortable memories within its pages. By Friday, any memory of the book had faded, and after spending most of the weekend recovering from his hangover, well… that reading had been the last thing on his mind.

"It was, uh, it was good," he mumbled, receiving nothing more than an incredulous look from Ollie in response.

"You know, ‘I didn’t finish it,’ is an acceptable answer, right?" He challenged with a smile.

The slightly scolding tone Ollie took nearly grated Jackson’s nerves, but he stopped himself, took a moment to think about what Ollie had actually said and… he felt supremely stupid. Of course he could tell Ollie he didn’t finish the thing, the man was under no illusion about Jackson’s academic dedication and yet he continued to believe in Jackson anyway, lying would do nothing but f*ck that flimsy trust up.

"Yeah, I didn’t finish it," Jackson admitted, quietly and Ollie chuckled.

"Don’t worry about it, I only finished it if you count an audiobook as reading," Ollie offered in response with a laugh and a smile.

It was Jackson’s turn to look incredulous now, and Ollie turned away from him, a vague snort coming from his nose as he did so. Jackson almost looked back down at his desk, but something caught his eye.

Was… was Ollie blushing?

Jackson could’ve sworn he saw a pink tint on the man’s neck, but as soon as it was there, it was gone, and as Ollie turned back to Jackson, his face was in a perfectly controlled smile.

"F*ck off," He smirked, rolling his eyes and jokingly giving Jackson a ‘talk to the hand’ gesture.

Jackson was still thoroughly unused to Ollie cursing and had to give his mind a moment to adjust to the boatloads of new information it was accepting. As he processed, however, their professor entered the room and brought the class to attention.

As they had with their new book just two weeks ago, the professor prompted people to discuss their impressions with their tablemates. This prospect, however, did not feel nearly as frightening as it had two weeks ago, and as the professor took a step back once again, Ollie turned to Jackson.

"So, for the bits you did read," Ollie prompted, "What did you think?"

Jackson reflected, what had he thought? From last Wednesday, those feelings of frustration and isolation returned, yet they seemed much too intimate to share with Ollie.

"I liked it more than The Price of Salt," Jackson joked.

Ollie laughed, but his gaze just as soon turned curious, insistent, and Jackson felt a deep fear at the kind of personal truths the novel revealed about him. Despite how much he wanted to, Jackson could not joke his way out of this one.

"I, uh, felt myself relating to Malone," Jackson finally provided, and Ollie responded with an approving hum. Jackson stopped himself, not wanting to reveal more, but Ollie either didn’t know or didn’t care.

"Why? What aspect of his character did you relate to?"

Was he considering doing this? Was he really considering doing this? Ollie was still little more than a stranger, one halfway-done group project wasn’t going to change that, and yet… Ollie had asked a question, and he felt strangely compelled to answer

"A sense of isolation," Jackson finally acquiesced, "He’s surrounded by people that he feels like he should be able to fit in with, both in the Midwest and in New York, yet…"

Jackson said little more, but Ollie understood, brows furrowing, a small, slightly sad smile tugging at his lips.

"You know, I found myself thinking much more about Sutherland," Ollie supplied, mirroring the comment he’d made last Wednesday, "He reminds me a lot of someone I used to know."

Jackson was filled with questions. Who? When? How? But he wanted to keep their discussion at least tangentially related to the novel at hand.

"Why?" He supplied, parroting Ollie’s earlier inquiry.

Ollie sat in thought for a moment, a single hand absentmindedly drumming on the table as the other one returned to its home at the nape of his neck.

"The superficiality of it all," Ollie started, before pausing, "That’s not it. That’s-- that’s halfway it," he corrected, "it’s more like superficiality as a defense, Sutherland is able to leave his old life behind only by embracing the hedonistic joys of his new one."

Jackson suddenly wanted to swallow his comment about isolation. It felt so childish after Ollie’s off-the-dome response filled with more SAT-words than the actual SAT.

Ollie seemed to be lost in his own world too, chuckling absentmindedly, almost with a note of bitterness, at whatever his mind had just conjured.

Jackson couldn’t help himself this time.

"What?" He asked as soon as the sound escaped Ollie’s mouth.

That drumming hand stopped its movement on the table and Jackson suddenly worried that he’d crossed-- no, leapt over some invisible boundary. Ollie simply smiled, thin-lipped, after another moment of stillness.

"I’m thinking about the substance abuse in the novel. The speed, the liquor…"

It was Ollie who trailed off this time, but before Jackson could press the pensive man, the professor announced that partner discussion time was over.

"What did you all discuss? Anything worth sharing with the class?"

The silence of students who had no answer filled the air of the classroom, but, before Jackson himself even registered what his own body was doing, his hand was in the air. Even the professor seemed surprised to see it up, although pleasantly so, and Jackson was grateful he did not comment on the rarity of his personal participation.

"Yes? Jackson?" He simply prompted.

Well now he had to say something. Why had he raised his hand again? He suddenly regretted the actions of his traitorous limb. Yet here he was, so he might as well answer.

"Me, uh, sorry, Ollie and I were discussing substance abuse in the novel."

He didn’t need to look to his right, he felt those dark eyes on him. He cursed those damn glasses once again; they seemed to do jack sh*t to soften the man’s gaze. He would not turn, he promised himself, or he knew he would lose his nerve entirely.

"Okay, very interesting," His professor praised, and Jackson suddenly got the distinct sense that he might actually enjoy receiving praise for his thoughts as Ollie so often did. The professor prompted Jackson to continue, "What role did you two see substance abuse playing in the novel?"

Jackson paused. He hadn’t read the f*cking novel. He’d barely even gotten to the bits with the heaviest drinking. He should not be talking right now. He’s a fraud. A failure.

He looked to Ollie and those brown eyes he knew were trained in his direction.

The man met his gaze, gave him a small smile, and nodded his head encouragingly. Jackson was suddenly struck with the distinct feeling that even if he didn’t believe it, Ollie was oddly sure he deserved the time of day.

"It masks the emptiness of everything," Jackson declared with a fraudulent level of certainty, "They drink to forget, forget their families, forget homophobes, forget pain, if they drink enough, they think they’ll forget it all."

"That was very poignant, Jackson, thank you," the professor responded. Jackson came back to himself.

Those dark eyes were still on him. He could feel it.

He turned to the man. Brown eyes met blue, and he was confronted with an uncomfortably knowing gaze. Dark eyebrows furrowed in concern and understanding deeper than Jackson wanted to confront. Jackson turned away.

No one else knew he hadn’t read the book. But Ollie knew. Which meant Ollie knew there was only one place from which Jackson could’ve sourced that drink to forget sh*t.

Jackson was suddenly incredibly grateful for his curtains of long hair, which made an excellent hiding place in a pinch. He didn’t want to see Ollie, or any of those knowing looks for the rest of eternity. He growled internally, more at his favorite, imaginary god than at the man beside him. How could Ollie make him feel so supported one second and so insecure the next?

Jackson didn’t raise his hand the rest of class. Honestly, he barely understood what had compelled him to do so the first time, but one moment of vulnerability in front of Ollie was enough for him.

What was much more shocking, however, was how quiet Ollie seemed that day. He still spoke, yes, which was enough to contrast to how Jackson usually acted during class, but the hand that usually went up and down like a whack-a-mole, was often still, only popping up a few times throughout the lecture and discussion period.

As the class came to a close and the two men packed their things to go, Jackson couldn’t help but glance over at Ollie. His demeanor, which had seemed nothing short of playful, fun, and happy-go-lucky just an hour earlier had shifted. He seemed quiet, withdrawn, and Jackson was nervous he’d had something to do with it. Despite the fact he couldn’t for the life of him figure out what he’d done.

"Hey, uh," he piped up, before almost immediately losing his nerve. Yet Ollie looked up, he’d grabbed the man’s attention, and he ought to do something with it now, "If you wanted to be the one to talk about the substance abuse thing, I’m sorry," Jackson could only mumble, "I know you were the one who brought it up so…"

Ollie’s brows, which had been furrowed in concern turned to an expression of amusement, "Jackson, the whole reason pair discussions exist is so we can share our ideas," he brushed off the man’s worries, "If I suddenly got angry at you for using an idea I willingly shared, that’s a me problem."

Jackson allowed himself to relax slightly, if Ollie was angry, the emotion didn’t seem to be directed his way, yet his mind still couldn’t let go of how Ollie had acted during class.

He had been strange, to say the least.

"You just seemed off during class," He supplied, before letting his mouth close with a sharp snap. Had he really just said that out loud? He hadn’t even given himself time to consider the words before they slipped from his traitorous lips.

Ollie had returned his attention to his bookbag but at those words his head whipped back up in surprise. He smiled slightly and shook his head at Jackson.

"That had nothing to do with you," He reassured, "I was just lost in thought."

Thinking about what? Jackson couldn’t help but wonder, but Ollie hadn’t volunteered that information, and that gave Jackson the idea that he didn’t want to share.

"Say," Ollie suddenly started again, dragging Jackson from his own personal reverie, "We have a presentation on Wednesday."

Jackson placed his packed bag on the desk and leaned on it, looking across at Ollie.

"We do…" Jackson replied, almost a question about what Ollie had in mind. Jackson had done his part, was that not enough?

The pair were the only students left in the classroom.

"Well how would you feel about getting some practice in before then? I’m free again tomorrow."

"Practice?" Jackson blurted out before he could stop himself. Practice wasn’t exactly his M.O., more like one and done.

"Yeah, practice," Ollie replied, amused, but equally mystified that this was seemingly a new concept to Jackson, "I practice before all of my presentations, I find it really comes through during the final."

Right. This made sense. The only thing that came through in Jackson’s final presentations was his deeply held philosophy of ‘C’s get degrees,’ and that philosophy included a lot less practice and a lot more drug use. But, at that thought, the initial aversion he’d felt to the idea of practice seemed to fade.

Didn’t he feel just a little too called out today when he talked about drinking to forget? And didn’t he feel a little happy when he received praise for his work from his professor? Maybe it wasn’t such a terrible idea to lean into the things that seemed to be making him happy as of late.

"Sure, practice sounds good," Jackson replied, "You said tomorrow?"

"Yeah, I would say meet at the library, but I don’t exactly want to give a presentation there, so how does my house sound?"

Jackson smiled. He wouldn’t act like he hadn’t wanted to return to that house and that room. At the thought of it, the smell of curry filled his nose and the joy of flipping through records with Ollie reignited his heart.

"Great, see ya then," Jackson responded, and left the classroom.

As soon as he left, however, his mind suddenly conjured other images from that night. The deep sense of insecurity he felt in his gut the moment he had to admit he wasn’t gay, the nearly painful electric shock of his knee brushing up against Ollie’s.

Jackson growled into the air at the mix of emotions he felt swirling in his gut as he contemplated Ollie and slipped back into habitual prayer, asking his imaginary god why he could not, for once, make up his damn mind.

XXXXX

Tuesday came, somehow, both slower and faster than Jackson wanted. His classes that day seemed to run by at a slower pace than usual, the hands on the clock moving as if they were underwater, while his mind flashed from one thought to the next like a bullet.

What if Ollie’s hair came up again? What if Jackson’s hair came up? What if they touched? What if Ollie expected Jackson to be okay with that? What if Ollie asked Jackson about being gay? What if Jay came up? What if, what if, what if…

It seemed the more time Jackson spent with Ollie, the more horrible fears and what if scenarios the man provided. And yet…

A warm house, good food, killer music, baby blue socks with frogs on them, laughter, friends who don’t secretly hate each other, and…sobriety. If Ollie gave him what ifs to be afraid of, Ollie gave him equally as many what ifs to look forward to, and that was the most frustrating thing of all.

When the time to walk to Ollie’s house did come, however, Jackson did his best to shove every thought aside. Turning Blink-182 up as loud as it would go and drowning out every what if in the drumbeats and guitar riffs.

He had decided he would not be late this time. He already gave Ollie enough sh*t to deal with as it was and didn’t want to add onto that quickly growing pile, so he hustled through melting snow and freezing temperatures to Ollie’s house.

Ollie opened the door, grinning, and Jackson observed the man. Today, he wore loose fitting brown slacks and a gray sweater, with a white button up peeking out. Jackson looked down, then, to find brown socks with red and white mushrooms patterned across them.

Although Jackson had already seen him at home once, it was still odd to find him in this casual, relaxed state. One shirt tail had escaped its tuck and hung out from underneath Ollie’s sweater, his collar, too, was looser, his sleeves were haphazardly shoved up to his elbows, and, of course, his socks were on full display.

"Come on in!" Ollie invited and stepped aside to let Jackson escape the cold, an invitation Jackson took readily.

As Jackson stepped into the warm, somewhat familiar entrance hall, he removed his own boots and damp denim jacket.

"Nice socks," Jackson joked, and Ollie snorted, leading the pair deeper into the house.

"I thought we’d practice in my room, if you don’t mind, I don’t want to disturb my housemates."

Jackson nodded in agreement and soon enough they were back in the cozy room, with its pillows and warm lamps. This time, however, Jackson smelled a hint of something else.

"Is that…vanilla?" He asked, sniffing the air.

Ollie chuckled at his confusion.

"Scented candles," he explained, and Jackson took a closer look around the bedroom, noticing a few candles in jars in strategic places around the space, "You’re not technically supposed to have candles in school housing, but what UVM doesn’t know won’t kill them."

"Ooh, rebel," Jackson replied sarcastically, and Ollie could only roll his eyes, opening the laptop that sat on the bed.

"No fancy tech here, but I do hope my laptop is good enough for now?" Ollie said after a moment, clearly choosing not to verbally respond to the teasing.

"Laptop is totally fine," Jackson replied, "Honestly this whole practicing presentations thing is a bit new to me."

"No worries," Ollie brushed Jackson’s concern off, "I just pretend this is our audience," he explained, indicating towards his desk, "and practice whatever I want to say."

"So, you want me to talk to…a desk?" Jackson repeated back in confusion.

Ollie could only laugh at first.

"Well, when you put it like that it sounds kind of stupid," Ollie admitted, "But just trust me, it helps."

Trust Ollie. Even with this tiny thing, the words seemed to weigh heavy on Jackson’s heart. He seemed to have real trouble doing that, even though, at the same time, he felt desperately that he wanted to.

Jackson gave his limbs a quick shake and pushed the inherent embarrassment of what he was about to do to the back of his mind.

"Alright, I’ll bite. Whose slide is first?"

Again, again, and again they recited their presentation. Jackson practically wanted to shoot himself out of boredom, but it seemed that after their first go-around, Ollie wasn’t enjoying it any more than he was.

The man brought his hand to rest at the nape of his neck.

"Sorry we ran through the presentation so many times," he said, after their third practice round, "I might be a bit of a perfectionist."

"A bit?" Jackson replied with a smirk, "You have the quite the stick up your ass, Ollie."

Ollie snorted and Jackson could swear he caught a glimpse of a pink grace those cheeks.

"It’s a wonder anything else fits up there," he muttered eventually, more to himself than to Jackson.

Jackson still heard him, however, and could barely process that the words had come out of the mouth of the man seated before him.

"Ollie!" He could only manage to exclaim, thoroughly shocked.

Ollie had his eyes firmly stuck to the ground, but at Jackson’s exclamation, he glanced back up with a smirk, meeting Jackson’s gaze over the top of his glasses. Jackson felt his own gray-blue eyes meet brown and could only use every ounce of his willpower to stop himself from gasping at the sight. Those eyes were so incredibly deep and full of emotion unhidden behind the lenses of their glasses, Jackson desperately wanted to look away, but he was captured in their grasp.

Ollie seemed unaware of the effect his gaze was having, or if he was aware, he didn’t want to comment on it. Instead, he only responded to Jackson’s exclamation from a time that felt, to Jackson, like eons earlier.

"What?" He chuckled, "Too much?"

In an effort to form the words he was supposed to be saying right now, Jackson tore his gaze away from Ollie’s, now taking his turn to stare at the floor and grow sufficiently red.

"Uh, no, I-- I mean, um…"

Jackson decided then that closing his mouth was a better course of action than talking. He was still looking firmly and decidedly away from Ollie, but from the change in the energy of the room, Jackson could sense he was frowning.

"I’m sorry if that made you uncomfortable," Ollie said, more sincerely then, "I didn’t think you would feel so anxious when it comes to talking about sex…" Ollie trailed off but quickly followed his comment up with, "Not that that’s a bad thing!"

Uncomfortable with talking about sex? Jackson had been called many, many things but never that. Before his post-Hyeon celibacy, he’d slept with plenty of girls, and he’d done a lot of talking about sex while getting them out of a party and into his dorm room. He was anything but a prude, of that he was certain.

Yet, Ollie was right. That joke had made him uncomfortable. There was no other word for it.

Why? Was it because it had been a joke about gay sex? Surely not. Jackson pushed off the notion that talking about gay sex made him uncomfortable before it even became a consideration. Talking about gay sex didn’t make him uncomfortable. It didn’t. Right? Right?

Suddenly he couldn’t be too sure.

"It’s not-- I’m not-- I--" Jackson sensed the need for a response but couldn’t formulate one. Last Wednesday suddenly arrived in his head without warning, and Jackson sensed this conversation would go in the direction of that one if he didn’t say something soon.

Perhaps, however, Ollie had sensed the same thing.

"Okay," he started slowly, "I’m going to let you get through that sentence on your own time. How do you feel about dinner?"

Jackson laughed, relieved at the sudden diffusion of tension in the small room, before realizing that all the damn presentation practice had made him incredibly hungry.

"Dinner sounds excellent," he replied quietly, only taking his chances to meet Ollie’s eyes again after finishing his sentence.

Those dark eyes were covered by the lenses of his glasses, but Jackson got the distinct sense, now that he had seen what was buried within them, that he would never be able to unsee it.

Jackson followed Ollie out of his room and into the small kitchen. The man shrugged apologetically as he turned to face Jackson.

"No delicious curry tonight," He explained, "Even though I like to think of myself as a moderately skilled chef, Taylor blows me out of the water."

There was that name again, Taylor. That must be Ollie’s third roommate, Jackson concluded, but he still couldn’t figure out why the hell their name sounded so familiar.

"Don’t let me hear you say that again!" A woman’s voice called from upstairs, before footsteps followed it. Jackson figured that whoever was coming down the stairs was probably Taylor.

Soon a pale woman with brown hair held back in a claw clip appeared. She was nearly a head shorter than both Ollie and Jackson, and when she appeared she smiled warmly, bright hazel eyes shining with a kindness so strong Jackson could nearly taste it in the air.

Jackson recognized Taylor then, finally. She was a friend of Hyeon’s. He hadn’t seen the girl in a year at least, but when he and Hyeon had dated, they’d met a few times.

Clearly Taylor recognized Jackson, too, as her eyes lit with her own sense of memory.

"Hey, Jackson, right?" She asked.

Jackson heard as she dropped the "T" from the end of "right" and was reminded then of that slight Vermont accent she had. Although he’d always liked Taylor, her accent felt like a constant reminder of how out of place he was here, in the wrong state, on the wrong coast.

Jackson brushed the thought from his mind. If Hyeon and Ollie both liked this girl, he could get over something as small as an accent.

"Yeah, Taylor?"

Taylor smiled and nodded, but Ollie was clearly in need of some explanation.

"Wait, wait, how do you two know each other?" He asked, confusion etched into his features.

"He used to date Hyeon, so we met a couple times," Taylor explained, as casual as explaining what was for dinner.

Jackson couldn’t stop his face from growing warm.

"I-- uh, Hyeon and I are still friends…" He explained panicked, before bursting out with, "But just friends though, Beckett, um, Beckett is-- is-- is great."

"Cool," Ollie responded slowly, unsure of how to handle Jackson’s outburst, "I don’t know Hyeon that well, but she’s a great classmate."

A silence settled over the trio and Jackson sensed that he’d had more than a small part in causing it. It would be great if an interdimensional wormhole opened up, Jackson decided, he would rather be swallowed whole by space time than stay in this conversation for another f*cking second.

"Well, uh," Taylor finally announced, "I’m going to head out. Jackson, it was nice seeing you again. And Ollie, don’t you dare call yourself a bad cook, you’re light years better than I am."

With that, she turned on her heel and walked to the entrance hall.

The two men were left to stand in the awkward silence of whatever the hell had just happened.

Ollie decided to pipe up first, smirking.

"So, Hyeon, huh?"

God, how Jackson wished he could’ve asked any other question.

"Yeah…" Jackson started, not knowing where to go with his own words. Like always, however, his mouth began to run faster than his brain, "Not like that, though. I-- I mean-- not like that anymore. Not that she’s not attractive, but-- I don’t know, it’s just-- I mean-- uh…"

Jackson decided to start begging for that wormhole again.

"It’s awkward to talk about?" Ollie filled in the blank with one short phrase.

"Yes," Jackson sighed in relief.

Ollie laughed at the immediate look of comfort that crossed Jackson’s face.

"Let’s get something to eat," He declared with a sense of finality that indicated Jackson did not have to keep talking, for which Jackson was incredibly grateful.

Ollie opened the fridge and started to get milk and cheese.

"I’ve been craving mac and cheese, do you mind?" Ollie asked.

Jackson couldn’t remember the last time he’d had homemade mac and cheese, and suddenly the idea of the stuff, instead of sh*tty cups of microwaved noodles, rivaled heaven itself in his mind.

"Not one bit," He replied eagerly.

Ollie placed Jackson on cheese-grating duty as he cooked the pasta and made a roux.

The bricks of cheese Ollie gave to Jackson to grate were all from a Vermont-based brand. Even the cheese fit in more than Jackson did, he huffed to himself, taking his anger out on the dairy blocks before him. Ollie seemed not to notice something was troubling him, however, which Jackson was thankful for, he needed a break before another emotional conversation took hold.

Eventually, the smell of garlic and dairy filled the kitchen, and Jackson heard his stomach grumble. Ollie, too, was looking at the pasta with unconcealed hunger, only turning his back on the pot for a moment to retrieve bowls.

"Can you grab forks?" Ollie asked as he served noodles.

"Woah, woah, woah, forks?" Jackson replied, feigning offence, "What do you mean forks?"

Ollie turned back to Jackson, one bowl full and the other empty.

"Do you mean to tell me you eat your mac and cheese with a spoon?" Ollie replied, acting equally taken aback.

"I do eat my mac and cheese with a spoon, because that’s the only way to eat it," Jackson declared, grabbing two spoons from the silverware drawer.

After placing the two bowls on the dining table, Ollie returned to the kitchen and came back with two forks in hand, placing one in front of Jackson.

"I’m going to throw your spoon out the window," Ollie declared.

"Then I’m going to throw your fork out the window," Jackson challenged right back, "How about that, fork boy?"

Ollie stabbed his noodles with his fork.

"Fine, if you want to eat your mac and cheese with a less effective tool, don’t let me stop you."

Jackson was about to retort but as he placed the pasta on his tongue he was overwhelmed with the delicious flavor of cheese, garlic, salt, and spices.

"Oh, god, Ollie!" He moaned, "F*ck! It’s so good."

Ollie nearly choked on his bite, and--Jackson was sure about it this time--there was a blush on those cheeks. Jackson could not for the life of him imagine what had shocked Ollie in such a way, assuming it was simply his praise of the man’s cooking ability.

"Th-Thank you," Ollie sputtered when he managed to swallow his food, before regaining control of himself, "It would taste even better if it was on a fork."

The teasing continued throughout dinner, ending in both a fork and spoon being thrown across the table, but Jackson’s mind was stuck on Ollie’s blush. He’d been making the man do that a lot lately, what the f*ck could that be about?

Ollie had no dishwasher, and Jackson practically tripped over his own feet running to do the dishes. He felt like he’d been the recipient of almost too much kindness that night, and he ought to do something to repay his host. Ollie, however, insisted he at least help, so the two men settled on the system of Jackson washing while Ollie dried.

The two were in a concentrated silence, so much so Jackson nearly jumped when Ollie spoke up.

"Hey, I know you said you didn’t want to talk about it but humor me if you’re willing…" Ollie paused for a moment, waiting for permission from Jackson. Jackson nodded his head, despite a distinct feeling that he would regret that granted permission soon enough. Ollie continued, "You and Hyeon, how did you meet?"

Jackson allowed himself a discreet sigh of relief, before shrugging.

"At some party, early freshman year," He answered.

Silence fell anew between the men, but Jackson felt a dangerous curiosity crawling out of the recesses of his mind to taunt him. A curiosity he knew would not leave him until he asked for what he wanted to know.

"Why?" Jackson finally allowed himself to ask. His gaze had been firmly set on the sink of dirty dishes below him but after this question he allowed himself to glance at Ollie briefly.

The man was looking out into the distance, the towel moving around the dish in his hands based on muscle memory alone. His dark eyebrows were furrowed and behind his glasses, Jackson could see dark eyes clouded with concentration.

"I don’t quite know, to tell you the truth…" Ollie muttered first, clearly still riding the incredibly long train of thoughts chugging through his brain. Finally, although the man still seemed pensive, he appeared to have landed on a more satisfying answer.

"Well when I met you, you seemed to have a whole host of thoughts about students from the Honors College," --Jackson opened his mouth to retort, but Ollie beat him to the punch--"Which is not to say all of your thoughts were unjustified, nor to say that I did a good job of assuaging you of those thoughts, at least when it comes to my friends and I" --Jackson, surprised at Ollie’s concessions, decided now would be a good time to close his mouth--"But I sort of imagined that before me, you wanted nothing to do with Honors students. Learning that you dated one of them is…surprising. I mean, was the breakup so bad it made you hate all of us?"

Jackson laughed, although he also felt his cheeks grow hot at the mention of the breakup with Hyeon; that was the last thing he wanted to talk about, especially with Ollie, although he couldn’t fully parse why exactly the subject felt so touchy. Even Jackson could admit, however, that his philosophy towards the Honors College was… a little convoluted.

"It, uh, it wasn’t a bad breakup or…" Jackson attempted before trailing off. He felt lost in how to explain his relationship to Hyeon without explaining the romantic relationship he used to have with her, but Ollie was certainly cagey about some people from his past, and Jackson spitefully told himself he had the right to act the same way.

"We really are still friends," Jackson started again, "And just friends," He emphasized before Ollie had any wiggle room to assume otherwise, "But I dunno, I guess-- as stupid as it sounds… I always thought of Hyeon as the exception."

He stopped there but Ollie wasn’t buying it.

"The exception? What do you mean?"

"When I met Hyeon, I felt so out of place here. A Californian in a school full of New Englanders, a guy who kept getting called gay by all my friends for the way I dressed and acted. All the Honors College kids did was make me feel more out of place. They made me feel stupid in class, and outside of class they went back to the Honors dorms as if the rest of us weren’t worthy of their company. But Hyeon? She made me feel like I fit."

Made.

Jackson hoped Ollie had not caught that past tense. It had slipped out without him even noticing, but now it echoed in his mind, drowning out any other thoughts he could possibly have. Hyeon still made him feel comfortable. Well, no. Hyeon still made him feel more comfortable than anyone else at UVM, yes, but comfortable with no qualifications…she didn’t always make it over that bar.

He cursed his dumbass freshman self for saying yes when he meant no for the millionth time. After their damn relationship everything changed.

Jackson doubted Ollie had heard his slip, however, as he seemed to be lost in his own thoughts as much as Jackson was, a look of concern painting its way across his features.

"I’ll be the first to say, on behalf of the Honors College minus Hyeon, I’m sorry."

"Oh, Ollie," Jackson replied, seeing how his comments seemed to have affected the man, "You have nothing to apologize for, you’ve always been nothing but patient and kind with me."

The sentence escaped Jackson’s mouth before he could shove it back down, and as soon as the words left his lips, Jackson felt his cheeks grow hot. He wasn’t sure why the statement made him so f*cking embarrassed, it was all true, of course, but something about saying it out loud held an air of the kind of vulnerability Jackson was practically allergic to.

"Look, Jackson," Ollie declared, "I was a first year once, I understand the sensation of feeling like you don’t fit in all too well, and the fact that the Honors College made you feel that way isn’t okay. I don’t have to apologize, sure, but I want to."

Jackson nearly told Ollie that the feeling of not fitting in wasn’t exclusive to first years, but he bit the statement back, he’d already said enough embarrassing sh*t tonight.

"Well, uh, thanks," Jackson replied, focusing his gaze on the remaining few dishes in an effort not to make eye contact with the man next to him, "Apology accepted."

When the dishes were finished, Ollie announced he was planning to do some more work for other classes and Jackson let a face of pure disgust show.

"More work? Are you not dead after all that presentation practice?"

Ollie laughed.

"It doesn’t really matter if I’m dead," He replied, "I have work due tomorrow."

Jackson considered sticking around but felt that if he did one more second of work tonight, he would put a bullet in his f*cking skull.

"Okay, well, I’m going to head out then," He finally mumbled, not wanting to announce their time was coming to an end. Jackson told himself it was simply dread of the cold weather outside, after spending so many hours in the warm and cozy house, but a little voice in the back of his head whispered that was not the whole truth. He wished that voice would shut the f*ck up.

Ollie walked Jackson to the door, despite the fact it was only ten feet from the living room, and stood beside the man while he pulled on his boots and still-damp jacket.

"You’re from California you said?" Ollie asked, with a small smirk.

"Yeah?" Jackson replied, rather gruffly. He regretted the tone of his response as soon as his mind had processed how it sounded, he was just so used to whatever came next being some gay joke about San Francisco, most often involving anal sex.

"It’s cool," Ollie reassured, before chuckling, "I just-- it explains the winter gear."

Jackson snorted.

"At least I don’t look like a founding father every time I leave the house," he teased back.

Ollie could only laugh.

"Text me when you get home, okay?" He finally requested, "I want to make sure you didn’t die of hypothermia on your walk."

Jackson flipped him off when he walked out the door, but when he got back to his dorm, he couldn’t help but follow Ollie’s request.

J: I’m home safe
J: And I looked cool as f*ck walking home

O: I’m sure you did.

XXXXX

Jackson usually dreaded presentation days, but Wednesday came with a refreshing sense of calm. Jackson hated to admit it, but Ollie might have been right about that whole ‘practice’ thing.

When Jackson arrived, he was greeted with Ollie’s smiling face. He’d come to class almost five minutes early which means Ollie had arrived… How many minutes earlier? Seven? Eight?

"You’re serious about this ‘not letting me beat you to class’ thing, aren’t you?" Jackson asked as he sat down, smirking.

Ollie smiled back.

"This is nothing if not serious business, Mr. Young," He replied, miming the action of straightening a tie.

Jackson could only roll his eyes and pull his notecards from his bag. Yesterday, when the pair had started practice, Jackson was thoroughly opposed to the idea of notecards, but after two rounds, he acquiesced that improv might not have been the best idea. So here he was. With notecards. Just like Ollie.

As the professor arrived, and invited the pair up to the front, Jackson mused that they were quite the odd couple. Jackson wore ripped black jeans with bleach stains that had to be at least two sizes too big, with an equally oversized T-Shirt advertising a Pink Floyd concert from twenty years before he was born, while Ollie wore a navy sweater vest with a white button-down shirt underneath and gray slacks. Jackson's blonde, blue-eyed light, contrasted with Ollie’s dark brown hair, eyebrows, and eyes. And then, of course, there was their choice in hairstyle. Jackson’s long blonde hair, looking even longer when next to Ollie’s sinfully short buzzcut.

Just a few weeks ago, Jackson would’ve said he hated the way they contrasted, pushing and pulling against one another, and yet… he was starting to feel the contrasts fit together now, puzzle pieces that had finally found their place in the yin yang.

After Jackson and Ollie completed the rehearsed section of their presentation, it was time for the segment Jackson had been dreading most--question and answer.

Jackson knew his tendency to let his mouth run faster than his mind was clearer than ever in these kinds of situations, where he was instructed to answer questions with no preparation beforehand. However, he started to find that tag-teaming this segment with Ollie, especially after so much damn practice the presentation was practically burned into his brain, made the whole thing that much easier.

Eventually, his fellow students ran out of questions and there was one left, his professor. That raised hand taunted him, and Jackson suddenly found a kind of unfamiliar anxiety filling his gut. The kind of anxiety that whispered in his ear that he cared what this professor thought of him, even if only a little.

His professor began.

"I think what you two have decided to do with this presentation, showcasing your contrasting viewpoints is incredibly interesting. However, I am curious if either of you felt your perspectives change at all over the course of creating this presentation together, did your views become more similar by the end of this process?"

Jackson looked over at Ollie. Had his views changed?

"You know, professor," Jackson piped up, "I don’t think I’d say we’re in agreement, but, if anything, I’ve gained a lot more understanding of Ollie’s perspective, and how my initial view was influenced by my own biases and life experience."

Ollie smiled slightly and nodded, and Jackson felt a warm joy bloom somewhere in his stomach. Along with an emotion he could not fully name.

"Well," their professor announced then, "if there are no further questions, you two can feel free to have a seat. Great job."

Ollie offered Jackson a fist-bump below their desk and Jackson was entertained by the goofiness of it, but readily accepted the offer, tapping his fist lightly against Ollie’s own and smirking.

XXXXX

The grade came the next day. A notification on his phone when he was walking home from his one class of the day. 97%. A.

Very creative and intelligent work. Great job.

That was the comment from his professor, and Jackson looked inwards, wondering when the last time he’d gotten a compliment like that was. He smiled at the praise, despite himself. He wanted to act as if it had no impact on him but that was a complete and total lie, and his brain knew it.

The text came soon after, thirty minutes at most.

O: Woohoo! Go us!

This made Jackson snort. It was nerdy, never the kind of text he’d send, and yet receiving it made that same warm mix of feelings bloom in his stomach.

Was this what friendship felt like? He asked himself the question for a second time.

Yes, this is what all his friendships had felt like.

But this time, his answer felt more unsure.

---