With hesitation.
With that same careful distance he’s been holding. And then, slowly, he moves.
His arm comes around me, settling across my shoulders, pulling me into his side.
It’s gentle.
Careful.
Measured.
And I let myself lean into it anyway, pressing into him, fitting myself against him like I used to, like my body still remembers exactly how we’re meant to fit together.
But it’s not the same.
I can feel it immediately.
The restraint.
The control.
The way he’s holding back.
Like he’s containing himself instead of giving himself to me.
I rest my head against his shoulder, my hand coming to his chest, feeling the steady rhythm of his heartbeat under my palm, grounding, familiar, but distant in a way that makes something ache deep in my chest.
I miss him.
Not physically.
He’s right here.
But I miss the way he used to feel.
The way he used to touch me like I was the only thing in the world that mattered.
The way he used to look at me like he couldn’t get enough. The way he used to want me. Now, he treats me like something broken. Like something he has to protect from everything.
Even himself. And I understand why.
I do.
I understand the fear. I understand what he saw. What he almost lost. But that understanding doesn’t stop the ache. Doesn’t stop the part of me that feels like I’ve lost something too.
Like I’m still here, but I’m not fully me to him anymore.
The game continues in the background.
Voices.
Movement.
A life that is still happening whether I’m part of it or not.
My eyes drift back to the screen for a moment, watching the blur of bodies moving across the ice, watching the rhythm of it, the familiarity of it, the way it used to pull me in completely.
Jackson moves fast.
