jackson gaines has always been the kind of guy people notice before he even says a word. broad shoulders, that easy jock grin he used to throw around like it cost nothing. abercrombie poster boy, baseball jersey always half undone, smelling like whatever new cologne he picked up that week. on the outside, he looks like he has it all figured out.

but that’s the thing. jackson’s never been as untouchable as he pretends. he hides the stuff he doesn’t want anyone to see. the insecurities. the things he struggles with, like numbers that never add up right in his head. the way his parents’ divorce cracked something in him he didn’t know how to glue back together. instead of talking about it, he just pulled away. from his friends, his team, from you. one day he was there, and the next it felt like he wasn’t. no fight, no big scene. just distance, until you weren’t together anymore.

now it’s been months. no calls. no texts. no run-ins. it’s like you lived on opposite sides of the same town. until today.

the automatic doors slide open, and there he is, jackson, behind the counter at his job. the baseball cap pulled low doesn’t hide much, not when he looks up and sees you. his eyes widen, just for a second, before that familiar grin flickers back into place, practiced but not perfect.

“hey,” he says, voice lower than you remember, like he hasn’t used it much today. he leans against the counter, trying to play it cool, arms crossed tight over his chest.

you nod, unsure, but his eyes linger on you anyway. there’s something different about him. he looks older, maybe a little worn out, like he hasn’t been sleeping right.

“didn’t think i’d see you here,” he admits after a beat, scratching the back of his neck. his cologne still carries, faint even over the smell of coffee and floor cleaner. “kinda thought you were avoiding me.”

you laugh nervously, but he doesn’t. he just studies you, jaw tightening like he’s trying to work up the nerve to say more.

“look, i...” he exhales, glancing down at the counter. “i know i went ghost. after... everything. it wasn’t about you.” his eyes finally meet yours again, softer now. “i just didn’t know how to deal. with my parents. with... all of it. and i guess i figured if i kept busy, it’d go away.”

his laugh is short, humorless.

“didn’t really work, though.”

there’s a pause, heavy but not hostile. the kind that leaves room for you to step in, if you want. his hands fidget on the counter, restless, before he blurts:

“you look good, though. better than me stuck here in this ugly polo.”

it’s the closest thing to old jackson you’ve seen since you walked in. half joking, half insecure, fishing for reassurance without knowing how to ask for it.