'Please. If you don't mind.'

You couldn't believe what your mouth was saying. Why the hell were you spilling your guts to a guy you barely even knew—the guy you were supposed to be taking care of?!

Your uncontrollable mouth decided to ignore all screams of protest from your brain, telling Jack about how you struggled differentiating the attraction types, about how you weren't sure if you felt any romantic feelings for Socks or if they were strictly platonic. You told him that, yes, you definitely care about Socks, and that you couldn't imagine not being friends with them, but sometimes you worried that you were slowly destroying your relationship.

Jack listened carefully, not saying a word until he was sure you had finished venting. He had perched himself on the worktop now, his ever-attentive gaze still on you. It would be a lie if you said you didn't like him hanging onto your every word (something you had noticed him doing earlier); in fact, you quite liked it and how disturbingly familiar it was to you. It was different from the way Socks or your parents had ever listened to you before, and it felt...nice. It felt nice to know someone cared.

When you had finished talking, Jack stayed quiet for a little while before saying: 'Why don't you tell them that you feel more comfortable as friends? It sounds obvious, but if you word it a certain way when you break up, you can still keep them as a best friend.'

'Isn't that a bit manipulative, though?'

'Not really. I know you aren't the manipulative type of person, so it's not like you're doing this to be a bitch.'

You groaned, head falling onto the table with a dull thud. 'God, this is so complicated.'

'It is, but you can manage it.' Jack had nothing but patience and time to give. 'Why did you agree to go out with them? That might help you figure out if you really should end things.' Even though you should definitely end things and go out with me instead.

'...I would feel bad if declined.'

'Really?'

'Yeah.' You paused, not sure if you should mention the other reason. 'And...there was something else. Promise me you won't laugh, though.'

'I promise.'

It was a good job your head was down; you weren't sure if you could look him in the eyes. 'I felt like I was distracting myself. Like there was someone else that I loved, but couldn't be with for whatever reason. I don't know who that person was, but you kinda remind me of them.'

'How so?' Jack could feel his pulse skyrocketing, and he prayed that you were talking about him.

'I don't know how to explain it, but like, your existence and presence feel familiar, but some of my memories of the past few weeks have been really fuzzy, so I don't know if we met before or what. Oh my god wait, that sounded so creepy and weird I'm so sorry I didn't—'

'It's fine,' Jack said quickly, 'honestly.' Who was he to judge if you sounded creepy or not? After all, if this sense of nostalgia was a way for you to fall for him again, he would nurture and encourage it like a dying plant, day after day, watering it to ensure its survival.

'It's because I haven't been sleeping for the past few days,' you rambled, voice shaking, 'and I always say too much when I'm tired, so—'

Once again, Jack cut you off. 'Have a nap on the sofa. This won't be done for a while yet, and I can tell you're exhausted.' Don't make me add a sleeping tablet to the potatoes.

'...is it really that obvious?'

'Yeah. It's fine, though!' He smiled and easily lied through his teeth. 'I won't do anything while you're asleep, if that's what you're worried about.'

'You sure you don't mind me having a nap for the second time tonight?'

Jack was starting to get really concerned that someone had been forcing you to care for them while never returning the favour, and he felt a slight pop of anger. 'Course not. I can manage this. You need to start letting people take care of you for once; you can't go through life giving help and refusing to receive it.'

You weren't sure how to respond to his very correct analysis of your character, so you silently nodded and took yourself off into the living room, where you laid on one of the sofas and clutched a pillow to your chest. You were thankful for the opportunity to hide your embarrassment while pretending to sleep.

Why in the ever-loving fuck did I admit that?!

Pinching the skin of your arm, you squeezed your eyes shut and tried to forget that you had just admitted to forgetting who you once loved, and inadvertently telling Jack that he was the one you had feelings for. You were so, so stupid and that mistake would probably cost you a friendship—who would want to be friends with someone who said such weird things? He had probably been lying and internally judging you, and sending you off to have a nap (even though you really needed one) was probably his way of getting rid of you.

An empty ache filled your being. The poor man had been missing for four years, with no memories of what had happened and where he had been, and there you were, implying that he had known you. It was such a dick move, and now that you reflected on it, you realised it could be perceived as taking advantage of him.

You wallowed in misery and self-pity for God knows how long, in the plane of existence between sleep and wake, until a very gentle hand was placed on your shoulder, making you jump.

'Sorry, did I startle you?' It was, of course, Jack. 'Dinner's ready. You eating in here or in there?'

'In there is fine. Thank you.' You pushed yourself to your feet, wiping your eyes. 'Hey, Jack? I just wanted to apologise for what I said earlier. It must be hard not being able to remember what happened over the past four years, and me implying that we knew each other was a really shitty thing to do.'

Jack's face was unreadable, but he said: 'You've been sat there worrying, haven't you?'

A nod.

'(Y/N)...it's not that big of a deal. Please don't stress over it.' He took a step forward and enveloped you in a hug.

It was the nicest hug you could ever remember having. Jack was warm, and the feeling of his arms around you was weighted—reminding you of the weighted blanket you used in your teenage years to help with school-induced anxiety. The homely feeling returned like a tsunami, as well as the feeling that a situation like this had happened before. You had the faint memory of hugging a man in your kitchen, clutching onto the fabric of his hoodie as you tried not to fall asleep in his arms. You had been crying. Why?

Tears formed in the corners of your eyes, and you blinked them away.

'You're too kind,' you mumbled, 'I'm still sorry for what I said.'

'Don't be.' Jack's voice was stern, but still kind. 'If I met someone like you while I was doing whatever the hell I did while I was missing, I'd be relieved.'

You frowned. 'Why?'

'Because you're a nice person. Simple as. You're incredibly intelligent, you don't have a malicious bone in your body, and you're fun to be around. You're also hungry, so go and eat.' He let go, giving you an encouraging grin.

You hadn't expected him to be such a good cook. Once you sat down at the table and started eating, you were in awe of how delicious a simple pie could be.

Jack watched you eat from the corner of his eye while he put began cleaning the utensils he had used. He was glad you didn't push him away when he went to hug you, and that you were still as huggable as you were before. God, he had missed the feeling of you against his skin—he had missed you in general. He still remembered the first time he felt your fingers patting his back when you practically bribed him into having a conversation with you; not that he would have declined, of course, because it was you, and you were the one who raised him out of his dark pit of despair. But thinking about that was for another day. Dwelling on the past wasn't as important as you being right in front of him.

'My God, are you sure you picked the right profession? You're such a good cook!'

Your compliment sent a torrent of euphoria through his nervous system, and he said, 'Heh, you flatter me.'

'I'm serious, dude!' you exclaimed, shoving a mouthful of gravy and mashed potatoes into your mouth, swallowing it before you added, 'being a med student is cool, and you definitely have the brains for it, but you shouldn't waste your cooking skills.'

He smiled. You had said that before. 'You really think so?'

'Yeah! You've got a natural talent for it, you lucky bastard.'

'Suppose I could invest in some classes—once I get everything sorted. I mean, there isn't that much left to do except get a job and move out of here.' He tapped his fingers against the worktop. He had a plan, of course: he would get a job, then move in with you or move you in with him (in a new house). 'When I was a kid, I always wanted to own a café. It sounded fun, and the idea always seemed appealing.'

'Do it.'

The quickness of your response startled him. 'Huh?'

'Do it,' you repeated, 'I'll help. My mum started a candle business a few years ago, so I can help you get a plan. There's also an empty shop in town that literally no one wants, and I think you could do something with it.'

He was sure of it: you were a literal angel. He had said it once and he would say it again. You were so willing to help him achieve his childhood dream that you didn't even think before offering your assistance.

'I can give you my phone number, if you want,' you continued, 'so we can arrange meet-ups and stuff.'

'Sounds good.' He smiled. This was going in his favour; all that was left was a few small, insignificant things that wouldn't be too much of a bother. At least, he hoped they wouldn't be a bother. If they were, he might have to break a promise or two.