Chapter 47: Angel
I sit back down beside Jackson with a smile on my face and he just looks at me, wary and baffled. I shrug as I sift through my stuff to look for his parcel. Frankly, I could have asked Mark to stay. But I'm tired and feeling out of sorts and the last thing I need is coming home to an awkward apartment.
"Your mom asked me to leave this for you." I say, handing him a medium-sized box carefully wrapped in brown paper with a note scribbled on top. Jackson coughs again on the crook of his arm. The poor boy looks so sullen, sweating in his hoodie, in the middle of a cold front. I run my fingers through the hair at the back of his head, peering at him worriedly. His eyes are a bit bloodshot, a little bit teary even. He sniffles a little as he reads through the instructions written in Chinese.
He carefully tears the packaging, opens the box and in it are various flasks and bottles, medicines and vitamins, heat pads and tea bags, and a digital thermometer. Jackson tells me that the note says it's his emergency stash and his sad smile somehow makes my heart constrict. It's one thing to know that you mother is still there to take care of you when you're sick. It's another thing to know that she would send the same kind of care from oceans away, through a friend.
I press the back of my hand on his forehead, then his neck. "God, Jackson, you're burning up." I say, sounding almost panicked, if not irritated. I take the box from him to find a paracetamol from his stash and a peppermint teabag.
"I'll Facetime my mom, see if she's still awake." He pulls out his phone but I stop him from making the call. There is no way in hell Sophia's still awake right now.
"No, don't. Just text her. Tell her you're staying with me." I command, handing him the thermometer. "Let me get you some water and tea, just... just stay here." I then pad to the kitchen, swiftly working on heating up water for his tea.
"I'm... What?!" He calls out. I come out of the kitchen with a glass of water, the kettle brewing behind me. I don't know where in the heck that came from. Somehow, I start to think that I'm making another bad decision here. Still, I can't bring myself to doubt my decision.
"You're... You're staying. If you give me some time I'll go fix the guest room for you. Unless you have a schedule later then I'll drive you ho—"
"No!" Jackson interrupts. My eyebrows quirk up. "No, I mean... We don't have schedules later... or tomorrow. I can stay... I will stay... If you want me to..." His voice sounds weak, palms consciously rubbing against his jeans. He waits for me to speak up, nibbling on the side of his lip. I wish I could tell him I'm more anxious than he is now that I've invited him haphazardly to stay. The silence envelopes us until we hear the beep of the thermometer. He fumbles inside his hoodie and takes it out. 38.5ºC. I contemplate for a split-second if I should take him to the hospital, but the rain is pouring outside.
"Well it's raining and I can't let you out there in that state so..." I sigh and hand him the glass of water. My stomach rumbles, making me realize I haven't eaten a single thing since arriving. "Have you eaten yet?" I ask, listening distractedly for the tell-tale whistling of the kettle.
"No, have you?"
"Nope. Guess we'll order in. Think you can manage some pizza?"
"Duh," He rolls his eyes and makes himself comfortable on the sofa bed, sneezing and coughing. I take a pack of tissues from my suitcase and throw it at him while dialing food delivery, my gray wool socks rustling softly as I move around the apartment to give Jackson his tea, place a warm, wet towel on his forehead, and tuck him in with a throw blanket. I pad upstairs to fix the guest room. Slowly but surely my apartment goes back to its original state and by the time I hear the doorbell ring, I've managed to haul my luggage to my bedroom, despite Jackson's protestations.
I rush down to get the delivery, but he's already paying for all of it, and he's smiling at the bewildered delivery boy as if it's the most natural thing in the world to be greeted by an off-duty K-Pop idol at the door. "Hey, can you check if the soup is there?" I ask, huffing a little. The delivery boy—a tall, lean teen—peers inquisitively past Jackson's shoulder and sees me, now in a pair of gray pajamas that are way too huge for my frame. I've lost a lot of weight since living in Hong Kong, the constant workouts and training being the main cause.
"Oh, igeo?!" [Oh, this?] Jackson asks, pointing to a plastic container. The boy nods wordlessly, eyes still wide. Somewhere in the recesses of my brain I'm getting paranoid of the possibility that this instance might get publicized again—that people would know I'm back, resurrecting the scandals. But the prospect of old rumors becoming more real than they used to be scares me more than I would ever admit. "Okay, all good now I think. Thanks!" He announces before waving goodbye to the stunned boy and closing the door. Jackson turns to me, still staring at the food in his arms and cocking his head to the side. "Isn't this too much for the two of us?"
"I'm fucking starving, Jackson, I haven't eaten since I left Hong Kong," I take everything from his arms and walk briskly away.
"Oh... Okay..." He follows me to the kitchen, wet towel draped over his head, like fake hair or like a lamp head that slightly dims his a bright, dazzling smile. For someone with high fever, he looks way too cheerful. I heated up the soup in the microwave and laid out the food on the dining table. Jackson sits in front of me, watching me like a curious puppy and the unwanted attention makes me blush a bit. I've lived half a year alone in foreign land and I've gotten used to not having someone stare at me while I do things.
I take the soup out of the microwave and set it before him. "Eat. You shouldn't drink medicines on an empty stomach." I say, sitting across him, eyes on the food. I eat silently, trying not to think that I have made another grave mistake, trying not to meet his gaze. The last time I saw his face, I was shell-shocked. I was mindlessly flipping through the Chinese magazines in one of the exclusive boutiques my mother frequented. She paid me a visit, forced me to go shopping with her and while she was looking at designer handbags I randomly scanned through the pictures of the magazine, not understanding a thing. And then I saw Jackson in all his half-naked glory, clad in leather, nipples and abs showing, face looking beautifully grave. I wanted to pull all the hairs on my head then.
Jackson clears his throat uncomfortably. He never liked silence. "So... How's Hong Kong?" He asks.
I look up at him slowly, a smirk playing on my lips. "You're seriously asking me that? You were there a few weeks ago."
"I was in Beijing."
"Yeah but you went home before that, your mom told me." His eyes widen. I laugh.
"Wait, how are you so close to my mom?!" He asks leaning forward before digging into his soup again. I tell him the story of how we met at the airport, and I tell him that his mom has been contacting me since to accompany her to coffee or shopping. I'll never forget that first meeting, even if I tried. It had been a very eventful weekend for me, something that set the wheels in motion again after my hiatus. I played in Taiwan, flew to Macau and went straight to a BTS concert, and then played at one of Macau's most prominent party venues—which apparently he knew about. He tells me that he saw the videos because of BamBam. Of course. The younger idol messaged me on SNS when the videos came out and reminded me of my sudden disappearance. I promised to pay him a visit soon, if only to make up for the fact that I never properly said my goodbye.
"Did you know I visited your house once?" I ask after my second slice of pizza, brushing the crumbs off my hands before reaching for my can of Coke. Jackson just stares at me dumbfounded. I laugh. I laugh so hard that I almost hurt my stomach for doubling over. His eyes are so wide, lips parted, jaws unhinged. "I did! I went to visit last December, a few days before Christmas. I left presents at your house."
"For them?"
"For them and for you..." My warm smile becomes tepid. I never really forgot. I never really stopped thinking. I may have swam away from their ocean but all I ever really did was move into a grander, prettier, more controlled infinity pool of my own. I made my own waves there, but I have always sat on the ledge, looking at the sea, staring at the crashing waves. I never stopped reading news about them, never really stopped talking to Mina, who's now a senior editor at the company, someone who doesn't have to beg to be taken to events and to out of town trips. She updates me all the time, tells me Mark sometimes slips and calls her Love. It wasn't healthy, looking at it from afar and doing my best to pretend it never really happened. But I needed to remind myself of who I turned out to be, of that part of myself I turned my back to eventually. I used to be the kind of person who calls the past past and moves on as if nothing really happened. I burn bridges faster than I make them. But as I look up to meet his intense gaze, I can't help but think about how much I changed in the past year because here I am rebuilding bridges over turbulent waters. "It's the Dior Homme Cologne..."
"Oh! That was from you?" Jackson seems remember unwrapping my gift last Christmas.
"Yeah..."
"Why didn't you put a tag?"
"I didn't think I have to. I know you get a lot of presents anyway so why bother with a label, right?" I say, averting my gaze and tearing another slice of pizza though my hunger's waning.
"You really have a weird thing for taking out labels, don't you?" It's more of a side comment really, but it hit right through me. I look up at him again with a disbelieving face and he just smirks at me like he actually didn't care that it hurt. I take a huge bite to shut myself up. "You went to my house a few days before I came home. You never answered my calls. Sheen never answered my calls. You kept avoiding me for like... half a year! What should I label that, then? What was I supposed to think?" Oh we're in the deep end now. He dragged us all the way in there and I hate it. I feel so cornered and unprepared.
"Has it ever occurred to you that I just didn't want to get you in trouble? All of you?"
"Has it ever occurred to you that maybe I've been trying to think the same way? I tried, I really did..." Jackson pushes the empty bowl of soup and takes the paracetamol I have set beside his glass of water before we even started eating. "...But you just said you went to my house and bonded with my parents and left us presents. What am I supposed to think about that?"
"You're the one who told your mom I'm in Hong Kong."
"I just mentioned it in passing, Love. She's been asking me about you since my birthday last year!" I stop chewing just as soon as Jackson spits the words out. I watch him drink his medicines carefully, and it's his turn to laugh out loud when he sees my reaction. I look back to the last few months only to realize that it is kind of weird that Sophia remembered me at the airport even if we only met for a very brief period of time. She's been really nice to me, almost like a mother. She comments about my deteriorating weight, and about how pretty I am, and about how she wishes she had a daughter to go with her just like how I make time for her whenever she called. Last December, she asked me if I had plans to ever get married, and as someone nearing her 30s I didn't think it was a weird question back then. My mother had been asking me the same things anyway so I've gotten used to being reminded that my clock is ticking—as if my ovaries started to drying out and shriveling the moment I went past my mid-20s.
My mind quickly travels to the day we surprised Jackson for his birthday and the image of him staring lustfully down at me must have given Sophia the wrong idea. "Oh... Oh my god..." I mutter under my breath. Why have I never thought of it that way?! I should have known I've been planting the wrong seeds. Who, in their right mind, would give an exorbitantly priced designer bag to someone who's just their son's "friend"?
"Why?"
"Do you know what she gave me for Christmas?!" I say, now scoffing at myself. How could I have missed it?! I shake my head a little as I start to clean up. Jackson's so obviously done with eating anyway, what with the way he's staring hard at me, waiting for the rest of my statement to come. "She gave me a handbag for Christmas and it's not even, like, the normal kind of handbag. It's from the Gucci Fall 2017 collection which costs big, massive bikkies!" I don't always use my Australian slang but damn... Now that I think about it I am more and more shocked at the things and the signs that I have missed. Even Jackson is shocked. I take my phone to show him a photo of the bag. It's black and beautifully handcrafted and embroidered with a mythical creature in front.
"Well it's a good bag..."
"It's an expensive bag, Jackson. I wanted to give it back immediately but she insisted that since I only buy one designer item per year I deserve one more fancy fashion piece. She said it's the least she could do since I took care of you." I explain, leaving my phone to him and proceeding to dump the empty boxes to the trash. I haven't even used the damn bag, it's sitting in a locked-off closet in my Hong Kong apartment, still in its box. He tries to reason with me, tells me stories of his mom being super nice to his best buddies even when he was a kid.
"Okay, but have you ever heard of any of your friends receiving a $3,000 bag from your mother?"
Silence.
"If you're so bothered by it then why don't you just be my girlfriend then?" He suddenly asks. I turn to him, in the midst of my clean-up, with the most incredulous look on my face. "I mean, she once helped me pick a Pandora bracelet for my ex-girlfriend..."
"How is that a good answer?!"
"Well, I don't know how to answer!"
"Jesus, Jackson. Let's... Forget it, okay. I'm just... I'll just give her a much better gift on her birthday instead." I resolve not be so awkward about it. It's not like I never receive expensive gifts anyway. My own mother gave me a car on my 17th birthday. Then again, that's my mother. I don't know what's up with Sophia but if she thinks I should marry her rich-ass son, it'll probably be best to discuss that first with him because he's obviously much more confused than I am. Still, I'm quite thankful that she seems very fond of me. "Come on, you need to sleep." I sigh, taking my phone from his hand and replacing it with my hand.
He sits on the bed in the guest room with a huff, dabbing on the sweat pooling on his forehead. I'm about to leave when I see him stretch his muscles, wincing in pain. I sigh again and walk back in front of him, checking his temperature against the back of my hand. From where I stand I see pretty round orbs gazing up at me, like a puppy at an adoption center waiting to be taken home. "Take your hoodie off, you're sweating a lot." I say, heading to the windows to let the air in.
"You know if you want to see me half-naked you could just say it," He answers suggestively. A laugh escapes me, heat blooming in my body as the pitter patter of the rain enters the room.
"I don't think I need to see you half-naked, I've seen it all in the magazines. That Men's Uno shoot was awesome, by the way." I don't have to say that the images bothered me in the middle of a shopping trip. There had been many photos of him in the past few months too that made me wonder what it would have been like if I took him up on his silent offer to do something more than just kiss before I left for Hong Kong. But every single time, I would stop myself, shut it down, look away before the thought simmers. I can't have myself falling for the same damn trap again.
Jackson takes his hoodie off with much difficulty, mostly because his arms feel really weak. I help him by pulling the hoodie off him and I try not to stare as his muscles rippled and moved when he's left in his black tank top. He sighs, looks at me with come-hither eyes and licks his lips. Damn it, Jackson. I step back, folding the jacket casually and placing it on the side table along with his watch, his phone, his wallet. "If you wanna take a shower you know where the bathroom is, just make sure the water's lukewarm. You need to... uhm... Let the heat out so your body temperature would normalize and..." I gulp, stepping away slowly, like a cat lost in a den of lions.
"I don't think I can, I feel so weak..."
"Well..." I fidget with the hem of my pajama top. I'm torn between helping him feel better, and running away. Far, far away from the potential danger of getting close to someone so magnetic. "You could have a sponge bath, I guess?"
"Will you give me a sponge bath?" He asks, half-smiling, eyes narrowing at me,
"Nope." I make a move towards the door.
"Please?" He uses his puppy eyes and sweet, low voice.
"No."
"Jebal..." Now his exhausted, baby eyes and edgy voice.
"Jackson!"
"I swear I can't move, my joints hurt, jinjja..." His whiny voice gets to me quicker than I could recollect my wits. I sigh heavily before looking back at him and his face is crumpled in a tormented look, he almost looks like he's about to cry.
"Jesus, fine." I say, my annoyance audible through out the whole damn apartment. I leave the room huffing and mumbling. I should never have suggested a sponge bath. I can already imagine the amount of touching we're bound to do and just the thought of it makes me squirm uncomfortably because a sponge bath might just be the most erotic thing I'm ever going to do for Jackson. Never mind the fleeting massages and the kisses, the suggestive words and the taunting stare-downs. This is basically foreplay under the guise of slackening concern.
By the time I'm back with a basin of water and a washcloth Jackson's lying on the bed already, fixing the pillows behind him. I set the basin on the floor quietly, eyes looking everywhere but him as I dip the washcloth into the water. I swear to god, if he tries something funny... He sits up weakly as I take up the space beside him. "Okay, give me your arm." He does as he's told and smiles a little as the warm, damp fabric presses onto his skin, from his shoulder to his arm to his hands. I'm careful not to prolong the contact, though it's failing for the most part.
Jackson has gotten leaner. His muscles are still there, and he's definitely still as strong as a bull, but his build has gone from athlete-fit to popstar-lean. He's become anemic, I've been told, and it shows with the way his cheeks seem to almost look pallid, and the way his collarbones hollowed as I gently sponge his face, his neck, and what's exposed of his chest. He's staring at me, and the look in his eyes makes it harder for me to pretend like I don't care too much. "You wanna do this on your own now or...?" I ask, tentatively handing him the washcloth. He shakes his head, lips forming into a small pout, and then lifts his other arm for me. I roll my eyes at him and take his hand, careful not to spend too much time holding his long fingers as I scrub his arm thoroughly.
"It smells nice," He says, watching me dip the cloth in water again.
"It's mint soap. I'm hoping it'll help cool you down." I answer, wringing the washcloth with weak hands. The trip seems to be taking a toll on me already. I look back at him, pausing to think of a way to continue.
"Oh, should I take my top off?" He asks rather too innocently and for some reason it makes me want to kick him out... or kick myself for agreeing to this. I nod and try to look elsewhere but the temptation is way too strong now. I steal a glance just as he takes his black tank top off silently, purse my lips and let my breath stream through my nose. Holy hell, what have I gotten myself into. He watches me sponge his shoulder blades, his chest. He leans back as I work my hands down his stomach, his abs solid under my touch. His glare is ravenous, his fist tightening around the tank top that's balled in his hands.
"Turn sideways so I can scrub your back," I mutter before moving to dip the washcloth in water again. He takes a pillow and hugs it tight as he lays sideways, presenting his broad, muscular back to me. I spend more time there because it's way less awkward when I know he's not staring at me. Then I step away as soon as I'm done, ready to run and hide in my room. But while I'm hauling the basin up, Jackson kneels on the bed and makes a quick work of unbuttoning his jeans, devil eyes never leaving mine.
"You can't be serious..." I say, deadpan despite the drumming inside my chest. He shakes his head and makes a show of kicking his pants off weakly along with his socks until he's left with only his black boxers. Then he leans back against the headboard, eyes never leaving mine. He doesn't talk, but his smoldering gaze is enough to make me put the damn basin down again.
I take my place at the edge of the bed and start scrubbing his leg, his muscular thighs, my knuckles almost grazing his crotch. He tries to sit up more comfortably, chest heaving as my hands linger on his inner thighs before moving to the next leg. I smirk up at him as my hands travel his left thigh. "Oh, Honey, are you okay?" I ask, voice teasing and dripping with condescension as I sponge the rest of his leg. Two can play in this shitty game, right?
"Mmhhmmm..." He nods with knitted eyebrows while watching my hand. Then he looks up at me again with narrow eyes. "Did you just call me Honey?!"
"Yeah, why?" I say, moving to scrub his feet now. "Do you like it when I call you that?"
"Yeah, I like it. Call me Honey from now on." Jackson says, deep, sultry voice making the hairs on my arm stand up. I can feel the heat pooling in the pit of my stomach as he continues to stare at me while I finish cleaning him up. Had I known it would be this risky I probably would have just opted to drive him home. Or ask Mark to stay too, see how that goes for all of us. I shake my head and stand up from the bed.
"No." My retort sounds almost bitter, and broken, and he must have felt the fact that it's only half meant because as I step away, he reaches out to grab my wrist and yanks me towards him. I stumble on top of him on the bed and he takes the damp washcloth off my hand, throws it away, pulls me by the back of the neck and kisses me hard. We both struggle for control, with me trying to break away, and him trying to gather what remains of his strength to pin me down on the bed as I lose my balance. "Jackson... Wait... Please..." I try to say in between deep kisses. He stops, panting, wet lips parted as he hovers over me, arms on both sides of my head. The sight makes me lose my train of thought so I just stare up at him, wide-eyed and panting just as hard.
"If you can tell me honestly that you don't want this, I'll stop."
"I-I... I don't..."
"Bullshit." He says harshly before leaning down to kiss me again. This time I don't fight it. I ball my fists as his kisses leave my mouth and travel down to my neck. It makes me moan deliciously, makes me writhe helplessly, makes me call out to him passionately. "I'm gonna ask you again, Honey..." He breathes the words onto my skin and suddenly I feel like I'm the one who's delirious with fever now. "Do you want this?"
"I... Jackson, please... Please..." My nails are digging on the flesh of his shoulders now.
"Please, yes?" His fingers are toying with the buttons of my pajama top now.
"Please, no... We need to... Honey, listen, we need to slow down..." The words get tangled in my throat, my breath hitching with every movement he makes until he just completely stops. I try not to whine at the loss, try to control my breathing and collect what's left of my sanity. He slumps on the bed beside me, and we're both left heaving as the heat of the moment fades away. "I'm sorry." I whisper.
"No, I am. I'm sorry, I just... Fuck, I just missed you so much..." He murmurs guiltily. I'm glad we're both just staring at the ceiling now and not looking at each other.
"I missed you too but..." With the words left hanging, the silence that follows feels heavy on us. I just saw my ex—or not ex—in my house, half a year after I left with no parting words. I just found out he's been hanging around, looking at my things, wondering how I've been doing. And yet that doesn't seem to change the fact that I like his friend. Maybe I've always actually liked this particular friend more than I like him. The realization hits me square in the chest and it makes my eyes sting, makes me inhale sharply, and exhale deeply. Damn.
"But what?"
"But I... I don't want us to make the same mistakes that Mark and I did. You've seen it. We were a mess, Jackson. I'm still a mess..."
A few minutes pass us by in silence. I look sideways and realize he's been looking at me all this time, his hair mussed up, eyes sad, body shivering. I sit up to get the blanket that's been long discarded near our feet. I'm about to leave the bed, tuck him in, and sleep away the rest of the feelings simmering underneath my skin but he stops me again.
"I can't just let you leave after that." He says, voice running deep again, face looking grave. Jackson's serious face can give JB or Mark a run for their money. "Also, I'm sick... And you made me stay here so I'm your responsibility." He pouts, and I feel my heart melt a little.
"Fine. Let's go for spooning. Just promise you won't try anything other than that."
"Only if you promise not to move too much because I'm basically naked here." He says, grinning now. It makes me laugh out loud, and makes me forget. The sound of my own laughter surprises me a bit because it sounded nothing like me. It sounded nothing like the girl who first came to Korea and then came to work at JYPE.
Deep down I know nothing much has changed anyway. I still work at JYPE, albeit under a new contract. I still need headphones for work. I still have this apartment, although it's a little bit worse for wear. I'm still friends with GOT7—some more than the others.
I reach out to turn off the bedside lamp, and settle under the blankets with Jackson, his warm embrace enveloping me as I finally fall asleep. Maybe tomorrow, when we wake up, things would be different. The good kind of different.
###
A/N: Yup, those three number signs right there means this book is officially over. Now I'm gonna do a bit of proofreading and then upload the 2-part Epilogue for this book (I know... I know... I'm horrible). As of writing, I'm also starting on the plot line for Book 2 (because I got ganged up on AFF, , Twitter, and Facebook LOL). Thank you all so, so much for your support. I didn't think anyone would be interested in my first ever K-Pop-related fan fiction. I appreciate all your votes, comments, messages, and tweets. They all make my day. I will keep writing, and I will keep posting, so hold tight! Thanks again!