"It was a stupid thing to do. For both of them. I mean, really, I know Alex was having a rough time, but he could have put some thought into it before he jumped into bed with her. She's a virgin, for god's sake."

I know they're talking about me. It doesn't take a genius to figure that out. With flaming cheeks, I stay where I am – hiding behind the wall outside the kitchen. Meredith and Cristina are in there, grabbing something to eat before our morning shift.

"Well, it wasn't like Kepner had to be persuaded. You saw the puppy eyes she was giving him for the last couple weeks. Talk about pathetic," Cristina says.

"Don't be cruel," Meredith says. "She didn't know what she was getting into with Alex."

"Does anyone?" Cristina asks, a bite in her tone. "She's a big girl. All of you people talk about her like she's an infant. So, she had sex. Good for her!"

A new voice joins them to say, "Not "good for her" at all, and you know that. Come on."

It's Jackson.

"He shouldn't have been her first. It's messed up. I tried to tell her to leave it alone, leave him alone, I mean, but she didn't listen."

"You make it sound like Alex is some monster," Meredith says.

"I mean…" Jackson trails off. After he does, I hear the sound of someone smacking him. After a pause, he says, "Your first time should be mind-blowing. Not in the on-call room. That's just sad."

"Sounds like you're a little hung up on this," Cristina says. "Any reason why, Avery?"

"I'm not hung up on anything," he says, "I walked into you two having the conversation. I'm just adding my two cents."

"A few more than two," Cristina says.

"Morning."

I jump as Alex comes up behind me and grunts that "good morning" at me. His head is ducked and he's still wearing pajamas, even though we should be out of the house in five minutes if we want to make it to rounds on time.

"Are you okay?" I ask, reaching to touch him between the shoulder blades.

"I'm fine," he grumbles, scrubbing a hand down his face. "Need coffee."

As soon as Alex enters the kitchen, everyone goes silent – if they're trying to be inconspicuous, it's not working at all. No one says a single thing until I walk in a few seconds later, then they all plaster on their fake smiles to greet me.

If I hadn't overheard their conversation from before, I'd assume they were all having strokes.

"Curls gone wild today," Jackson says, laughing at his own joke as he pulls at one of my springy ringlets.

"I didn't feel like straightening it," I say, batting his hand away.

"I like it," Jackson says, then turns to face Alex. "What do you think, Karev? You're her boyfriend, shouldn't you be the one giving her compliments?"

I cringe at the word "boyfriend," but not because I don't like it. I cringe because Alex and I haven't used those kinds of terms yet; I've only assumed that we're dating. I mean, it makes sense. Isn't that what happens after you have sex with someone? He and I had sex three months ago, and we've been seeing each other ever since.

"It's hair," Alex grunts. "It's good."

"Right, it's just hair," I say, latching onto his statement.

There's a long, awkward silence after I speak, and Meredith is the one who ends up breaking it. "Okay, people, if you're not in the car in five minutes, I'm leaving without you. You've been warned!"

…

That night, I'm home early because I was on Dr. Hunt's service today and there was a gnarly gunshot wound that took up most of the day. When 8pm rolled around, I had been on my feet for 12 hours doing the work of three residents, he claimed, so he let me go. I did protest – I would never take the easy way out, not even when it's offered – but he insisted.

So, here I am at Meredith's house in a rare moment when it's completely empty. I have the freedom to do anything I want; I could blast the stereo as loud as it goes, I could feast on any and everything in the fridge, or I could take a shower with the bathroom door open and walk out dripping and naked.

I don't do any of those things, though. Mostly, because I'm too tired. All I want to do is sleep – maybe for a thousand years.

I take a quick shower and come out in a towel, not naked, then change into my softest pajamas. I don't stay in my room, though. Instead, I walk across the hall and slip into Jackson's bed, the most comfortable one in the house.

Ever since the shooting – well, ever since I called him out about his nightmares over the shooting, actually, this is a normal occurrence. It's not weird, not to me and not to him. Actually, I don't know what I'd do if I couldn't sleep in his bed anytime I wanted.

Just like every other night my head is on his pillow, I drift off as soon as I close my eyes. I'm woken up some time later by the door creaking open and the yellow light from the hallway spilling in, and I sit up so he doesn't sit on me or get spooked that I'm here.

"Oh, April," he says, not startling at all. "Hey. Hunt let you out early?"

"Yeah," I say, my voice raspy with sleep. I rub my eyes with one hand and flop back down, making sure to turn away as he gets undressed. "Did I miss anything?"

"Nope," he says, changing into a gray sleep shirt. "You were front and center for the only excitement in the entire place today."

"Guess I'm just that cool," I say, turning to face him as he climbs into bed.

When I sleep here, he lays on the side closest to the nightstand and I sleep by the wall. We didn't really talk about our spots, but it's easier for me to climb over him than it is for him to climb over me when we wake up at separate times. And, now, I've gotten used to being sandwiched between his body and the wall. I'm not sure why, but I like it.

"The coolest," he says, chuckling.

He rests on his back with his hands folded behind his head and I stay on my side, looking at him. Sometimes, we talk for hours lying next to each other but, right now, I can barely keep my eyes open. I had been sleeping soundly, probably somewhere in my REM cycle, so tonight doesn't look good for conversation.

I close my eyes again and, just as I'm about to slip under, Jackson whispers through the darkness. "April," he says.

"Hmm?" I reply, not opening my eyes.

"Does Alex know that you sleep in here? And that I come to your bed sometimes?" he asks.

Jackson and I mostly find ourselves in his bed, simply because it's more comfortable. But, on bad nights, I'll wake up to find him hogging the covers in my room. I don't mind; his grip isn't as iron as he thinks and I can get him to share pretty easily.

There was one night where I pulled the covers back from him and he found my body under them and snuggled close. He turned to face me, still deeply asleep, and curled his body around mine. He pulled me close with his arms around my waist and buried his face in my hair, and we slept like that until morning. He left before I woke up that day, and we've never talked about it. Probably for the best.

"Yeah," I say.

"He doesn't care?"

I open my eyes to find that he's looking right at me, and the moonlight coming through the window reflects off of his heartstopping eyes. Heartstopping to everyone but me, that is. I'm just as sick as he is of everyone commenting on how akin to a Greek god he is. It gets so old.

"No," I say, frowning. "Why would he?"

Jackson stays quiet for a moment and chews on the inside of his cheek. I watch his eyes as they roam my face, landing on my nose, my forehead, and lingering on my mouth for a few long moments. Quickly after, though, he makes eye contact again after licking his lips.

"If he was serious about you," he says, "he'd care."

That's not what I expected to hear, and it's definitely not what I wanted to hear. I have no idea how to respond, so I simply turn over to face the wall, pull the comforter up over my shoulders, and close my eyes without saying goodnight.

…

In the morning, Jackson is staring at the ceiling when I wake up. In my sleep, I must have turned over to face him again, because his profile is on full display when I open my eyes, with the sun shining off it just right.

His hands are linked together over his ribcage and he acknowledges that I'm up with only a glance. We don't have to rush this morning – our shifts don't start until 10 – and waking up slow feels nice.

After Jackson's comment last night, I realize that I should probably be doing what I'm doing right now with Alex and not him. But Alex likes to sleep alone, he let me know that the first night I got comfortable in his bed with the intent of staying there. He has nightmares, he said, and even when I told him I didn't mind – I took care of Jackson's nightmares all the time – he'd still shaken his head and said it would be better if we slept apart. More rest for both of us, which I thought was considerate.

"What I said," Jackson murmurs, his lips barely moving. His eyes don't move either, they stay cemented on the ceiling like there's something very important up there. "I'm sorry. I don't wanna overstep, or anything."

I push my hair away from my face and take a deep breath. "It was fine," I say. "I know Alex has…problems. But doesn't everyone?"

"Yeah, he has problems," Jackson says, "and yeah, we all do. But it's just different, with him. He's mean to you. Do you not see that, or…?"

"He doesn't mean it," I say quickly. "It's not who he really is. He's actually very sweet, and he tries so hard."

"Well, what's he trying so hard for?" Jackson says. "It's not working. Maybe he should give it up."

"Jackson," I say.

He rolls his eyes quickly. "I just think you're in over your head," he says. "With someone who doesn't…" He trails off and shakes his head. "Never mind."

"I already know what you're gonna say, but you don't get it," I say. "I can fix him."

He turns his head – finally, he looks at me – and his eyes practically bug out of his head. His eyebrows shoot to his hairline and he makes an incredulous scoffing sound. "Do you hear yourself?" he asks. "Like actually?"

I frown at him. "You don't get it," I say. "He just needs time."

"What, time to become a decent human being? To treat his girlfriend with respect? You know he doesn't even call you his girlfriend, right?"

"Yes, he does," I say.

Jackson laughs humorlessly and says, "No, he doesn't."

Now, it's my turn to roll my eyes. "Whatever," I say, then haphazardly crawl over him and get out of bed.

"You don't have to leave," he says, sitting up.

"I shouldn't have even slept here in the first place," I say, without looking back.

I leave his bedroom and walk down the hall to Alex's, where I knock softly on the door and slip inside after only hearing silence in return.

The room is dark with the blackout curtains drawn, but I can see the lump of Alex still sleeping in his bed. I sit on the edge, near his head, and rest a hand on his side. "Alex," I say, shaking him just a little. "Alex, wake up."

"Hmm," he grunts, his face still in the pillow.

"It's me," I whisper, folding myself in behind him and wrapping my body around his.

"I know," he mutters, still unmoving. "What is it?"

I inhale without letting myself consider whether or not I should ask what I'm thinking about. Instead, I just let the words come. "I'm your girlfriend, right?" I ask. "And you're my boyfriend and we're, like, dating?"

"Uh-huh," he says. "Sure."

"Okay," I say, smiling as I press my cheek between his shoulder blades. "Good."

He's quiet for a moment, then lets out a long, deep sigh. "My alarm's gonna go off in half an hour," he says. "I'm gonna go back to sleep."

"Okay," I say, one arm still looped around his middle.

"I mean, like, alone," he says, subtly shifting his body forward. When he does that, he creates space between us and I can't help but feel hurt. I try to push that feeling away, though, because he just told me that we're official, we're exclusive. It's not his fault that he's grumpy in the morning. I should be more accommodating to that, anyway.

"Oh, of course," I say, sliding out from behind him and standing up. "I'll go start breakfast. Come get a plate once you're up."

He doesn't reply, but he does nod. I smile to myself and press a kiss to the side of his head, then I leave the room.

…

Unlike the night before, tonight I get home after everyone's already there. As I'm taking my shoes off at the door, Cristina stops at the foot of the stairs and says, "Your lover is in the kitchen, making something special for you." She tips her head to the side and says, "I should say your lovers . Both of them are in there – arguing."

I screw up my eyebrows and say, "What are you talking about?"

"Avery and Karev," she says. "I think your little boy toys are fighting over you."

My cheeks blush a hot pink and I hope Cristina doesn't notice. Knowing her, though, she probably does. "They're not- Jackson is not-..." I sigh. "Why are they fighting?"

"Over you, like I said," she says, chuckling as she heads up the stairs. "Go see for yourself."

I highly doubt that Jackson and Alex are fighting over me, but my curiosity over Alex cooking dinner for me is far too strong to ignore. Instead of waltzing right into the kitchen, though, I stand where I stood a couple mornings ago to listen to what's going on.

"You're gonna make her sick, dude," Jackson says. I can tell by the tone of her voice that he's irritated but trying to sound like he's not. "She doesn't like that shit. It always makes her feel nasty."

"Great. I'm glad you decided to tell me this now, after it's finished," Alex says. "And, anyway, who doesn't like shrimp?"

"April," Jackson says, and he's right.

I'm not allergic to shellfish, but something about them gives me the ick. I've tried to grow out of it, because I've been like this since childhood, but it never goes well. The last time I tried to eat shrimp was when Jackson came home with shrimp cocktail and offered to share it with me, and it felt rude to turn him down. I paid the price for that politeness later that night, camped out in the bathroom.

But who knows? That was more than six months ago and the body is always changing. Since then, my stomach could have developed a better tolerance and the last thing I want is to turn down Alex's kind gesture. It's so thoughtful of him to cook for me, especially after the long day I had.

So, I choose now to make my presence known. I come around the corner and into the kitchen where I see Jackson and Alex standing at the island with tense body language.

"Hi," I say, then give Alex a hug around the waist. I catch a glimpse of Jackson's face while I do it, and it's almost like he can't watch. He looks away and, if possible, hunches his shoulders even closer to his ears. "What are you making?"

"Shrimp fettuccine," Alex says. "It's for us."

"You cooked for me?" I ask, interlacing my fingers around the small of his back. "That was so nice of you."

"Yeah, well, Avery says you don't like shrimp," Alex grunts.

"I do," I say, shaking my head. "I like shrimp."

Jackson's head flips around from where he'd been turned away. "Bullshit," he says, his eyes narrowed. "Bullshit, you like shrimp."

"I do!" I say, my eyes wide.

He stares at me for a long moment, disbelief written all over his face, and I stare right back. He knows how badly Alex and I need this, and I want nothing more than for him to shut up. It's almost like he reads my mind, because he breaks first and huffs, "Whatever."

Jackson storms out of the room and up the stairs, and I hear every one of his heavy footfalls until he reaches the top. "Such a baby," Alex says.

I can't bring myself to agree, because I'm the only one who can bad-mouth Jackson. I know, now that we're as close as we are, that he'd never join in with the rest of them dogpiling me. So, I refuse to do it with him – even alongside my boyfriend.

But I don't defend him, either. I'm tempted to tell Alex that all Jackson is doing is looking out for me, but I'm afraid that would look like I'm picking sides. So, I just stay quiet and bring a couple plates to the dining room table.

We eat, and it tastes good. Alex did a nice job. But what he's not so great at is conversation – I can barely get two words out of him, and those two words are like pulling teeth.

"So, whose service were you on today?" I ask.

"Robbins," he says.

"Oh, right, I heard she flew back from Africa. To be with Callie, right? That's so crazy. That's some true devotion right there."

Alex keeps his eyes on his plate as he shovels the pasta into his mouth. "I guess," he says.

I wait for him to ask me whose service I was on, but the silence stretches out between us and I get the hint that he's not going to. So, I fill the space. "I was working under Hunt again today. Ever since that trauma training we did, he's kind of taken me under his wing. He says I could be a great trauma surgeon one day." I raise my eyebrows and blow out a sigh. "I honestly never thought anyone would say that about me. Trauma has never even been on my radar."

Alex doesn't reply. He just keeps eating so, begrudgingly, I decide to do the same. We spend the rest of our little dinner in silence, and I eat all the shrimp on my plate.

After the kitchen is cleaned up, Alex looks over his shoulder at me as he's heading out of the room. "I'm beat," he says. "I'm going to bed."

I was about to ask if he wanted to go upstairs and fool around a little – but I hadn't figured out how to put it into the right words before he upended my plans. I pretend that he didn't, though, and plaster on a fake smile. "Sure," I say. "Goodnight."

He gives me a wave as a reply and heads upstairs and out of sight. I linger in the kitchen for a while, wondering what to do. I should just shower and go to bed, too; I had a long day, and a resident should never turn down sleep. But I'm not tired, and I'm bored over anything. I was hoping to get some quality time with Alex, physical quality time, because I hoped we could connect better that way than through the forced conversation we had over dinner. I guess I'll never know. At least, not tonight.

Without another option, I go upstairs and hover in the hall for a beat too long, standing near Jackson's closed door. I can hear music playing from inside his room, just barely, something classical on super low volume so no one will find out that he likes listening to that genre more than any other. I know, though, and it wasn't even something I had to find out on my own. He just told me one day and asked if he could play me his favorite song, and we sat on his bed and listened to something called "Jupiter" by Gustav Holst. I had never heard anything like it before, and I loved it.

I'm about to knock on his door and ask what he's listening to now and, more importantly, if he's okay. But I don't have time to do that because in the next breath, my stomach lurches and everything I just ate – namely the shrimp – is quickly on its way to making a second appearance.

I run to the bathroom and the door doesn't even shut all the way before I'm doubled in half over the toilet, throwing up seemingly everything I've ever eaten in my life. My stomach wrings itself like a washcloth, finding more and more to heave, and I have no control over how violently I'm spewing. By the time I get a moment to catch my breath, tears are streaming down my face and saliva is dripping from my mouth.

I flush the toilet and wipe my face with a nearby hand towel, then collapse against the tub. I close my eyes and, while they're shut, the door creaks open.

I open my eyes to slits and find Jackson standing there with a fizzy glass of ginger ale and an unwrapped purple popsicle. "Don't say it," I groan.

"I wasn't going to," he says, smiling. "Honestly, I wasn't. You gotta start thinking better of me."

With my head leaned back against the lip of the tub, I shake my head. "You know how great I think you are," I mutter, barely able to move my mouth to speak.

"Maybe I should be the one cooking your meals from now on, then," he says, then sits beside me. He hands me the popsicle and I take it readily; the cool spark of grape tastes amazing after all I just vomited. "Is the worst over?"

"Don't know," I say, blinking slowly and placing all of my concentration on the popsicle. Once I finish it, I toss the stick into the trash and let out a long, rattling sigh. Then, I close my eyes and say, "Nope."

I lean over the toilet again and my whole body tightens as the second round begins. I cough even more up – how, I'm not sure – while Jackson gathers my hair in one hand and rubs my back with the other. "There you go," he says, keeping his voice low and soothing. "You got it. Almost done. Just get it out."

When it's over, hopefully for good this time, I wipe my face and he hands me the glass of ginger ale. "Sorry, this is so gross," I say, taking a few short sips.

"It doesn't bother me," he says, using a swath of toilet paper to clean up a few spots of vomit that I'd missed. How embarrassing. "I just…I'm confused why you ate the damn shrimp at all."

I drink more ginger ale to avoid answering, but I can't avoid it forever. Especially not with the way Jackson is looking at me. So, finally, I shrug and say, "Because he made it. He thought of me."

"Knowing you'd get sick and still eating it is crazy," Jackson says. "All this for what, his feelings?"

"His feelings matter," I say. "He was being thoughtful."

"If he was actually thoughtful, he'd have known how you get with shrimp," Jackson says.

"Only you know that," I say, setting the glass down and resting my head on his shoulder. "You and my family, I guess."

"Well," Jackson says, "he's your boyfriend, so you say. Shouldn't he know, then, too?"

"Probably."

"So, why doesn't he?"

I exhale softly. "I don't know, Jackson. He's not very chatty. We don't talk that much."

I can't see his expression with the way I'm sitting but, judging by the movement of his head, he gave me some incredulous look. "What, too busy screwing like rabbits?"

I pick my head up, cheeks flaming. "No!" I say.

"No?" he asks, looking dubious. "You can't tell me you're dating Karev and you guys aren't having tons of sex. I mean…isn't that how you got together at all? He took your virginity-"

"I gave it to him," I say. "You make it sound so nasty."

"Well," he says, widening his eyes. "Either way, you guys aren't fucking like crazy? I don't buy it."

"We're not," I say.

"Well, I guess I should buy it," he says, rethinking after only a moment. "You're in my bed more than you're in your own. When would you get the chance to do it?" He shakes his head. "How was the ol' first time, anyway?"

I recoil and raise my lip. "You really wanna know?" I ask.

"I asked," he says.

"Okay…" I say, eyeing him. "It was…uneventful, I guess. It was quick. He didn't have a condom, so he…pulled out before…" I make a sort of exploding gesture with my hands.

"He made sure you were taken care of, right?" Jackson asks.

"He asked if I wanted it and if I was ready, and I told him yes," I say. "He got my consent. I'm not a kid, you know."

"Not what I mean," he says. "I mean, did he make you come? Did you have an orgasm?"

Instead of just my cheeks, my whole face flames when that word comes out of Jackson's mouth. "I mean…" I say, trying to find the right words. "Almost. Like, pretty much. It was…I think I might have."

"Holy shit, he didn't get you off?" Jackson says, way too loudly.

"Oh, my god, stop!" I hiss, covering his mouth with one hand.

Jackson takes my hand down and keeps a gentle hold on my wrist as he asks his next question. "At least tell me he's made you come since then," he says.

I don't answer. I can't. Instead, I just look him dead in the eyes and hope he can read my mind. Luckily, he does exactly that.

"Holy fucking shit," he says, spewing those expletives like I'd spewed vomit just moments ago. "He hasn't."

"Well," I say, blinking hard and trying to orient myself. "He hasn't exactly had the chance. We've been busy, you know, and working opposite shifts most of the time. I barely see him and, when I do see him, we're both so tired, so it hasn't really worked out that we-"

"You guys haven't had sex again since that first time!?" Jackson says, his eyes practically bugging out of his head.

"You don't have to announce it to the entire house!" I say, checking to make sure the door is still closed. Just because it's closed, though, doesn't make it soundproof.

"I can't believe that," Jackson mutters.

"What's not to believe?" I ask. "What's so outrageous about it? We're doctors. We have busy lives."

"Nah," Jackson says, shaking his head. "Don't give me that. If he wanted to, he fuckin' would." He continues shaking his head and adds a scoff or two in there for good measure. "Wow. Just wow."

"Well, now you know," I say, crossing my arms.

Jackson takes a look at me and his face softens. He goes to unwind my arms and says, "Hey, don't be embarrassed, or anything. It's just that…" He keeps a loose hold on my hand and I like the way his grip feels, dry and warm, "if me and you were dating, we'd be doing it every damn day."

His words almost knock me flat on my back. I'm not sure how to respond, because I'm not sure if he's serious or joking. Usually, I can tell with him, but I'm too confused right now.

I think he knows that I'm confused, and that he made me feel that way, because he lets go of my hand and stands up. "I should get some sleep," he says, shoving his hands into the pockets of his pajama pants. "You feeling better now? Okay, at least?"

"Yeah," I say, and my voice is barely a peep. "Yeah, I'll be okay."

"Good," he says, opening the door and heading out. "Don't stay up too late."

"I won't."

"Alright," he says. "Love you."

"Love you," I say back, because it's something we say all the time – me and Jackson.

As I watch his back as he heads into his bedroom, those casual, easy words make me think of all that me and Jackson have together, and all that me and Alex lack.

Both those thoughts, right now, are too much to handle.

…

A few nights later, a group of us are at Joe's and, because it's a Friday, the place is crowded and loud. I'm sitting with Alex on my right and Jackson my left, but it's useless to try and start a conversation. I can't even hear myself think.

Jackson has other ideas, though. He taps me on the arm and says, raising his voice over the din, "Are you gonna order anything?"

I shrug. I'm not in a great mood. I'm still getting over the funk that the shrimp put me in, and Alex and I haven't done much talking over the past few days. It's not for lack of trying on my part, but it's like I'm a fly buzzing in his ear whenever I try to make casual conversation. I mean, we're dating, I don't think he should be as annoyed with me as he clearly is.

I'm starting to doubt that I can fix him. I'm starting to doubt that anyone can. But, still, it feels cruel to leave him to his own devices after we've gotten at least a little used to being together. Maybe things will improve. It hasn't been that long.

"No," I tell Jackson, shaking my head. "Not hungry."

"You haven't eaten since breakfast," he points out.

"I don't know," I say.

Jackson furrows his eyebrows and presses his lips together. Then, he reaches behind me to jostle Alex's shoulder. "You gonna order her some food?"

Alex leans closer and says, "Huh?"

Jackson, more fed-up this time, says, "Are you gonna order your girlfriend something, or are you gonna make me do it for you?"

Alex laughs. "She's more your girlfriend than she is mine," he says.

"What?" Jackson says. I don't know if he actually didn't hear, or if he wants Alex to repeat himself but, either way, I feel the sting of those words.

It's not like I don't love Jackson. Of course I love Jackson, and I don't let myself think about in what way because I'm dating Alex. But I tell Jackson I love him all the time, just like he does for me, and the words come easily. It's hard to imagine them ever coming so easily with Alex. But hearing what he said plainly like that hurts more than I thought it would. I'm being told something I already know, an idea I've found myself warming to more often than not, but it makes me wonder if Alex ever cared about me at all.

"Nothing," Alex says, then looks at me. "What do you want?"

"I'm not hungry," I mumble, crossing my arms on the bar.

"She's not freakin' hungry!" Alex shouts back to Jackson. Then, his eyes light up. "Wait. I forgot to tell you this joke I heard from Sloan. What's the difference between a chickpea and a lentil?"

Jackson sighs. "No clue," he says.

Loudly, so Jackson is sure to hear him, Alex says, "I wouldn't pay $50 to have a lentil on my face."

Jackson stares at him with no reaction as Alex cracks up. Joe makes a disturbed expression from where he stands right in front of us, then gestures towards Alex and asks me, "That one's yours?"

I'm not sure what to say, so I just nod.

"God help you," Joe says, his eyes wide.

With my jaw clenched to keep myself from crying, I hop off my barstool and walk out of the bar without looking back. I can't be in there for one more second.

…

When Jackson comes home, I'm in the kitchen crying over a root beer float. The stupid thing isn't even for me – I made it because it's Alex's favorite and I'm the stupidest person on the face of the earth, thinking he'd come home and want to…what? Talk things over?

I'm an actual idiot. Like, certifiably and genuinely, an idiot. I was from the very beginning, for sleeping with him, and then again when I thought we could date successfully. From the outside looking in, you'd think I was on drugs.

I don't know if I'm crying over the fact that we're surely not together anymore, the fact that I wasted so much of my time, or how dumb I feel. It's probably a mix of everything. But, either way, I hadn't expected Jackson to walk in on me.

"Well, that was a shitsh-" he begins, but cuts himself off. "April. Oh."

I stand up straight and wipe my eyes, sniffling while trying to hide the fact that I've been sobbing into a cup of root beer and ice cream.

With a concerned look on his face, Jackson walks around the island and slowly slides the glass closer to him, then takes a big sip. "Ah, my favorite," he says, smacking his lips and closing his eyes. "How'd you know?"

I let out a sad and wet-sounding laugh. He knows very well who I had in mind when I made that but, as usual, he's doing what he can to make the situation better. I have no clue how he always knows what to say – or, at least, how he always tries to know what to say. It's one of the kindest things about him, and he has many kind traits.

We're quiet for a while and he finishes the root beer float with flourish. Even after he's done, though, he sticks around and stands by me, both of our backs resting against the lip of the countertop.

"I think me and Alex broke up tonight," I say, looking at the floor.

"Yeah," Jackson says, then rests a hand on my shoulder. "You okay?"

I shrug and feel my eyes get hot again. "I just feel dumb," I mutter.

"Why?" he asks.

I roll my eyes at myself and look up at him. "I heard everything you guys would all say. How he's not the type of guy I should be with for my first relationship and I shouldn't have had my first time with him."

"Everyone deserves a chance to redo their first time, anyway," Jackson says. "When it sucks, you just write it off. Say it didn't even happen. You can get a do-over, you know."

I hear what he says, but I keep talking. "I don't know, I was so intent on fixing him because maybe I was trying to prove something. And I failed. Horribly."

"You shouldn't feel stupid over that," Jackson says. "He should. You can't change people."

"I doubt he feels stupid," I say.

"He fumbled you ," Jackson says. "Like… you . He's the biggest fucking idiot on earth for doing that. And I'm not being stupid, either. He would regret that so hard if he had a brain in his skull."

A shy smirk sneaks onto my face and I gather all my courage to look over at Jackson. "Why do you say stuff like that to me?" I ask.

"Like what?" he says.

"Like that," I reply. "And what you said in the bathroom before, about…like, if we were together."

"April," he says, throwing his head back.

"What?" I say.

"I've been trying…oh, my god," he says, running a hand over his face. "I thought I was being pretty damn obvious."

"About what?!" I say. I'm on the brink of maniacal laughter now, feeling a little slap-happy from all these emotions coursing through me.

"About the fact that I like you," he says, "and I wanna be with you and I wanna be the do-over for your first time and…"

"Wait," I say, "you really mean that?"

"Believe me, that's not something I'd just come out and say if I didn't mean it," he says.

"Oh," I say, simply because I have no idea how to respond.

I love Jackson. He's my best friend in the world; the best friend I've ever had. I've never considered him romantically because I never thought he'd be interested in me – I didn't think I was his type. I thought I fit in the "nerdy best friend" role, and would have to see him paired up with some hottie down the road.

Maybe there's no hottie, though. Or maybe I'm the hottie.

"It's been killing me to see you bend over backwards for this fucker," he says. "Trying to fix him like you've been doing." He meets my eyes with a clear, heartfelt expression in his. "I'm not like that. I don't need fixing. I'm not a project or some kicked puppy. But…I love you. And not like a best friend, not anymore." He takes a deep breath. "I want you."

I'm crying again, the tears streaming down my face quickly and silently. I take a moment just looking at his face, then I throw my arms around his neck and hug him tighter than I ever have. He wraps both arms around the small of my back and tucks his face into my neck, and I close my eyes as he presses a firm kiss over where my pulse is beating madly.

"I love you, too," I whisper, and I feel him smile against my skin, "and I think I've been waiting for you my whole life."