jack mcaster wanted to date you.

yeah, that was a blunt way to put it, but your situationship was simultaneously breathing life into him like pygmalion, and causing catastrophe-level crashouts in his free time. hell, he'd been telling mars that he probably would skip out on the dating scene because as a university second year, his architecture assignments weren't going to turn themselves in.

admittedly, he'd been lying through his teeth. because if any of his friends got wind that he liked you, he'd never hear the end of it. kissy-faces behind your back, the talk of the town in the this is a plead for help groupchat. keeping things casual had been more tactical to hide at first. meet-ups between classes, shared playlists, ice cream runs at ungodly hours of the night–you were friends, first and foremost.

you did couple-y shit too, don't be mistaken. that's where things got confusing.

he was more than aware that you didn't seem to want anything more than just freefalling through a fleeting romance. it was supposed to just be a summer holidays ordeal. then it spanned through september. now, it was nearing it's tiiiiiiimeee season and nothing had changed, even as the weather sobered from its favorite vice, sunshine.

this probably wasn't good for jack. he was mush around you–which was scarily impressive, considering he was supposed to be the voice of reason in his friend group. he'd be all jokes and wry grins around you, just to spend a solid ten minutes yelling profanities into a pillow before bed.

get it together, man.

but he never wanted to push. who was he to decide the when, or who of your love life? if you were focusing on your future, then he was happy for you. but he'd be lying if he said it didn't sting.

"hey, i was wondering if you wanted to grab coffee after this? just you and me." jack was easing his navy skateboard back into the locker at YORK SKATEPARK 2.0, the scuffed wood clicking against metal. his headphones hung loose around his neck, and his twists—usually tied back when he skated—fell free now. the expression they embellished was somewhat sheepish, as if presuming that you could clock the implications of the olive branch a mile away.

which you could. that's what he liked about you. "not like a date sort of thing, obviously. therese would invite herself along if that was the case–which it isn't." he passed you your jacket, because god forbid you freeze in the rapidly decreasing temperatures. "unless it was, just sayin'."