ด้วยรักตลอดไป (With Love, Forever)

Jeff

Jackson was smirking. Smirking like he'd caught me in something—which, annoyingly, he had.

I huffed, shaking my head, but I didn't let go of his hand. It was warm, grounding, like it had been there all along, waiting for me to stop dancing around the obvious.

"So," Jackson said, voice far too amused for someone who had just been emotionally wrecked a few hours ago. "Are we on the same page, or do you need more time to pretend you're still figuring it out?"

I scoffed, nudging his knee with mine. "First of all, I'm not pretending anything."

He raised an eyebrow. "Uh-huh."

I shot him a look, then exhaled, rubbing the back of my neck with my free hand. "Okay, fine," I muttered. "Maybe I've been looking at you a little differently for a while now. Maybe I didn't exactly mean 'just a friend.'" I paused, then added, "And maybe I wasn't planning on figuring that out over a terrible movie and a glass of wine, but here we are."

Jackson chuckled, shaking his head like he was far too pleased with himself. "See? That wasn't so hard."

"Oh, shut up." I rolled my eyes but couldn't quite fight back the grin tugging at my lips. "You're really enjoying this, huh?"

He leaned back against the couch, still holding onto my hand, as if we'd been doing this forever. "I don't hate it."

I let out a breath, my shoulders finally relaxing, and for a moment, we just sat there. The movie was still playing, some over-the-top explosion lighting up the room, but it felt like background noise now.

I shifted slightly, testing the way my fingers fit between his, how naturally they curled there. Jackson didn't pull away. If anything, his hold tightened just slightly, like he was making sure I wasn't about to let go.

I wasn't.

Not this time.

I glanced at him, finding his gaze already on me. "So, what now?" I asked, and for once, I wasn't trying to be cheeky.

Jackson studied me for a second, then smirked again, slow and deliberate. "Well," he mused, "we could always start by finishing this god-awful movie."

I laughed, shaking my head. "But you can pick the next one."

Jackson raised his hand—the one that wasn't holding mine—in surrender. "Deal."

And just like that, something shifted. Something that had been hanging between us for weeks—maybe even months—finally settled.

I didn't let go of his hand for the rest of the night.

[The next morning]

I woke up with the vague awareness that I'd overstayed my welcome.

Not that Jackson had said anything. In fact, by the time the movie had ended, we had somehow found ourselves sitting closer, our hands still linked like neither of us had even considered letting go. It wasn't until he let out a yawn—one of those deep, full-body ones—that I realized how late it had gotten.

I had groaned, stretched, and reluctantly stood, only for Jackson to glance at me with something unreadable in his expression. He hadn't asked me to stay, but he hadn't rushed me out either.

Still, I had left.

Mostly because I needed a moment to process whatever had happened between us without Jackson's smirking face in front of me, making me question everything.

Now, standing in my own kitchen the next morning, coffee in hand, I stared at my phone. My thumb hovered over Jackson's contact, debating whether to send a text, a joke, something.

Before I could talk myself out of it, my phone buzzed.

Jackson: You up?

I huffed a laugh.

Me: Didn't peg you as an early texter.

Jackson: Didn't peg you as a hand-holder, yet here we are.

I choked on my coffee.

Me: Wow. Okay. So that's how we're playing this?

Jackson: Just calling it like I see it, Jeff.

I grinned despite myself.

Me: Fine. If we're doing this, then I expect breakfast. I did all that emotional labor for you last night.

Jackson: Emotional labor?

Me: Listening to you brood counts.

There was a pause before my phone buzzed again.

Jackson: Get over here, then. Xinxin wants pancakes. You're on syrup duty.

I stared at the message for a second longer than necessary.

It was easy. Casual. Normal.

As if last night hadn't completely shifted something between us.

And yet, despite that, despite the fact that I could sit here and overanalyze it, I found myself grabbing my keys and heading out the door instead.