[UPDATED WEEKLY]
"You may be his world, but you're the only thing that ever felt like home to me."
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Some people never get second chances. Lilah never thought she'd get one with her brother's best f...
If you've already read this chapter (the original version) please let me know what you think of the rewriting. Is it better than the original, or no? Whether this is your first time reading or you're rereading, enjoy 🫶🏻
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For a moment, everything slows down. The sound of the party fade into a soft background hum as I focus solely on him. I feel the alcohol surge through me, mingling with the shock of seeing him, making my pulse quicken and my cheeks warm.
"J-Jackson?" The name stumbles out of my mouth before I can stop it. I try to speak, but my voice comes out as a mere whisper. Disbelief coils in my chest, twisting tightly.
He looks so different from the boy I remember.
His black button-up is fitted but slightly undone at the top, exposing the tattooed skin along the side of his neck. The rest of the tattoo creeps along his collarbone before it hides underneath his shirt collar. His sleeves are rolled up just below his elbows, exposing his ink-covered forearms and hands.
His left arm is a carefully constructed sleeve, the fine details blending together seamlessly, starting woth thin, black lines wrapped around his wrist and leading to an almost scale like pattern with a trail of smoke and other random patterns that are hidden underneath the rest of his rolled up sleeve. His left is more scattered, a mix of random black and white tattoos that look like impulsive decisions. The one I notice first is a simple outline of a dagger.
Then a crow. Then a lightning bolt.
There's too many to try and make out every single one in this moment.
His veins stand out beneath his skin, traveling down past the photo realistic rose on his hand, to his tattooed knuckles, where several thick silver and black rings glint under the dim lighting.
I barely register the black, diamond-shaped earring dangling from his left ear until he moves slightly, the small piece catching in the light. He's taller than I remember, at least two inches taller than Kayce, despite only being three months older.
Jackson's icy blue eyes sweep over me, scanning, assessing. He stares at me, his gaze intense yet unreadable. The intensity of his gaze sends a wave of heat crawling up my neck. I feel a strange mixture of nostalgia and anxiety—my long-buried childhood friend and crush, now a man with a presence that both comforts and unnerves me.
My body reacts before my mind does—I straighten my posture, as if standing taller will make me seem more confident, but at the same time, I fold my arms over myself, feeling exposed under his scrutiny.
For several long, suspended seconds, neither of us speak. We just stand there, the silence between us filled with all the things neither of us dare to say. The chaos of the party, the throbbing music, and the busy footsteps around us seem to vanish into the background, leaving only the two of us in a private, fragile bubble.
