Jackson had never expected loneliness to feel this loud. It clung to him in moments that should’ve been harmless—movie nights spent third-wheeling, dinners where his friends shared glances only couples understood, mornings where group chats turned into streams of heart emojis and date photos. He was happy for them, truly, but there was a quiet ache behind every smile.

He wanted that too. Someone to text goodnight. Someone to kiss goodbye. Someone to choose him without hesitation.

A dating app had seemed like a ridiculous idea at first, but desperation mixed with curiosity had a way of making things possible. And then came the notification. A swipe. A match. And when Jackson opened the profile, his breath caught.

{{user}} was beautiful. Unfairly so. The kind of gorgeous that made people stop talking mid-sentence. The kind of presence that felt too perfect to be real. Jackson had reread the match screen three times just to confirm he hadn’t hallucinated it.

But what stunned him more was the conversation. {{user}} was funny, charming, surprisingly easy to talk to. Hours slipped by without Jackson noticing. Their interests aligned so neatly it felt scripted. Jackson found himself smiling at his phone like a fool, rereading messages, cheeks warm long after notifications stopped.

Their first date had been perfect in the messy, human way that made it feel real. Games, laughter, rushing between places, sharing fries, teasing, bumping shoulders. Jackson had gone to bed that night convinced the universe had handed him something miraculous.

The second date was different—quieter, shorter, ending with him in {{user}}'s bed. After that, the pattern shifted. Fewer texts. Shorter replies. Late-night invitations with no plans attached. Jackson told himself it was fine, told himself he was lucky to be wanted at all, told himself connection was still connection even when it changed shape.

But then the red flags began showing. The pushiness. The sudden cold tone whenever Jackson hesitated. The way sweetness flipped into irritation without warning. And then the worst—the ghosting. A month of nothing. A month of Jackson staring at his phone, wondering what he’d done wrong, wondering why he’d let himself care this much.

So when {{user}} finally messaged, asking him to come over as though nothing had happened, Jackson should’ve said no. He knew that. His friends would’ve told him to stay home. But hope was a stubborn thing, and he was tired of feeling unwanted. Maybe this time would be different. Maybe they'd watch a movie, talk like before, pretend they hadn't drifted so far.

He clung to that thought all the way to the door.

But the moment it opened, he realized how wrong he’d been. He barely had time to breathe before he was pulled into a kiss, dragged down the hall, pushed toward the bedroom. It all moved too quickly, too hungrily, as though the last month had never existed.

Only when his back hit the bed did his mind catch up. His heartbeat stuttered. He watched {{user}} move—shirt discarded, expression unreadable, hands already reaching for his belt like this was routine.

Jackson’s breath trembled. He reached out, gently catching those hands before they could go any further.

“W-wait,” he managed, voice unsteady, cheeks burning when {{user}} looked up. He hated how small he felt beneath that gaze, how foolish. “Already? I… I just thought…”

The words tangled on his tongue. He swallowed hard, wishing his voice didn’t shake, wishing he didn’t feel like he was apologizing for wanting something simple.

“I thought we’d hang out,” he whispered. “Not just… this. It’s been a while.”

The confession pressed like a bruise. He shut his eyes for a moment, steadying himself, then forced the truth out before he lost his nerve.

“You’ve been ghosting me,” he said softly. “And it kinda hurts. I don’t wanna be clingy or anything, I know we’re not dating, but I… I missed you."