jacksonraemers:
Jackson knows she’s prepared an excuse before she counters them with it — her tongue had always impressed, in more ways than one. But the man was nothing, if not a mirror, and such quips and retorts they had grown to admire from Neve now threaten to reflect upon their own surface. It hadn’t always slipped from between his teeth with such confidence, these wry and needling arguments, but Neve had once planted them beneath his breast and blossomed the words within him with the same deftness as one of her many buds. Perhaps, all along, he had been yet another of her willing seeds, just waiting by for her to caress life into him.
“I imagined you Kings would come better prepared, it being on your own turf and all,” Jackson admits with pursed lips. He knows as well as her, the chair in question is meaningless, and that somewhere hidden in a hall closet there’s a spare Neve is unwilling to relinquish. “The more the merrier, yes?” She’s too close. He can feel the tickle of her breath dancing across his skin, and within him wars the urge to lean inward, as well as that to jerk away as if it’s her knuckles that have kissed his cheek. “I’ll stand,” Jackson smiles finally, raising his glass to curved lips as a distraction from the sight before him he’d much rather drink in.
Her question raises a curious brow, eyes narrowing the slightest as his blue hues trace the contours of her expression. “Why? Have I distracted you from the festivities, Neve?” Jackson was guilty of sneaking glances over his shoulder, bending to hear the hopeful slip of her name amongst the crowd. Had she, too, spent the evening swallowed whole by their attendance, unable to look past his glaring presence so near her own? They think yes, but needling insecurity argues it’s only foolish optimism. There was always the chance she had grown tired of this game and the anger that now laces her words is genuine, meant to be speared straight into their bleeding heart. Could they leave it, her, behind if she had?
Neve’s voice lowers to a hush, and they swallow their doubt. She would spot every fissure, they knew, and they had given her enough to prey on already. Straightening their spine they offer a conspiratorial glance in her direction, as if the breeze of her request was tempting, though she need not ask a thing for Jackson to well and truly yearn to hand over everything to the woman. The answer to her first inquiry lay on the tip of their tongue, but before it even has a chance for release it lodges itself in his throat, thick and uncomfortably heavy.
“Does being here remind you of anything?”
His eyes fall to the bar, lips parting briefly to consider an answer that might spare their galloping heart. It reminds me of everything, Jackson thinks bitterly, and they know she’s carved her own answer from the thoughtful expression that twists their face. Still, a believable smile tugs at the corners of their lips, as if to veil the rush of emotion that only just passed. “One,” they agree with a nod, gaze rising to meet Neve’s, “would you like the answer to your first question, or your second?”
Neve tilts her head to get a better look at them; a better look at the ghost her mind has been chasing for months. Things had ended because of her, because she was unable to see how destructive she was becoming. And while she had no right to blame Jackson for leaving, her guilt twisted into something that left her angry and unwanted - a dangerous combination when they work in the same circle.
They already know the truth the moment it falls from their lips and into her ear. Neve would be lying to herself if she didn’t admit she looked for them among the crowd, wondering if they were wearing another face that night. “You, of all people, should know I’m not the type to get distracted.” Her fingers release the glass in her hand, letting it fall against the glass as she reaches for their arm. It’s a subtle movement, one that she doesn’t even realize she makes until she feels the fabric beneath her fingers. “I’m just curious if Damien purposefully left you out so we would be more concentrated on you instead of something he planned to do tonight.” It was hypocritical, really. Neve was well aware of things set to happen that night so anything the other gangs planned was fair game.
Her eyes trace the contours of their face, the way their lips move as they speak, and how their eyes move around the room. Jackson's natural had always been beautiful to Neve- a marble sculpture come to life just for her. Each wrinkle or freckle or mark deliberately placed for her to commit to memory. It wasn’t until she forced them from her memory all those months ago to
It would be smart to have them answer the first question, have them confirm her suspicions and allow her to complain about proper RSVP etiquette. But, now the tone has changed and curiosity has taken root in her mind. Were they being haunted by the ghosts of their shared past just as she was? “If I pick the second question, will you answer honestly?” A pause. “Or will you lie to me with your face and words?” She allows a rare moment of vulnerability to slip through the mask she’s wearing for the night. It only took a certain amount of time for any repressed feelings to bubble to the surface with them - a weakness she never seemed to get rid of.














