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[Jack Trove]

She just… didn’t… care?
Oh, that was rich. Well, if she didn’t bloody care, why bother coming in the first place? Why’d she get mad? Why’d she…?
Never mind.
Jack picked up his jacket, pulling it on and stretching. The whole pub had been watching the show avidly, but sensing its closure, returned to their drinks. Some of them even seemed to have lost interest in the leading lady. Jack supposed nothing really did beat the soft allure of alcohol. It didn’t talk back, after all. Like women, it made you do stupid things.
But at least it didn’t talk back.
Jack looked at Sophie, and thought of Olivia.
She would care.
Olivia would care.
Olivia would care.
“Olivia would care,” he repeated aloud.
Maybe this would get the answer he was waiting for.

[Jack Trove]

ooc: Aw, Jaysus, Sophie, Jack feels like crap now! Thank you, my dear, it was a devastatingly brilliant reply- you as good as wrapped it, but I felt Jack's final perspective was a necessity. So, here it is- we've made it! *high-fives*

So that was it.
Funny. He had imagined before that her lips would be softer. Warmer. But then again, he’d imagined something far tenderer than this.
He’d imagined two quickening heartbeats and a much dark surrounding. He’d imagined her hair’s glistening gold strands fanning through his fingers, and her slim waist crushed against the crook of his arm. He’d imagined her slim fingers curling against his chest. He’d imagined her perfume swirling in clouds, sinking deep beneath the pores of his skin. He’d imagined music. He’d imagined laughter. He’d imagined her, pouring herself into the moment, and he’d imagined himself, afterwards, just holding her.
She wouldn’t be like the other girls he’d held. She’d be like Olivia, but not like her. Olivia had been a tease to him. She’d been argumentative, and when their mouths had met, it’d been like there was thunder and fireworks rattling through his veins; rocketing around him until he felt like he was going to explode.
But Sophie was supposed to be sweeter, yet savage. Sophie was supposed to be more than the fireworks. She wasn’t just exciting- she was a thrill. Their kiss wasn’t supposed to be so casual- so easy- their kiss would feel like so much more.
Funny, how things didn’t work like that.
Funny, how sad a disappointment that’d been.
She hadn’t explained herself. Clearly, she’d felt he wasn’t worth the bother after all. He’d hurt her. He got that. In the end, he’d been hurting her on purpose; testing her, he guessed, to see how well Sophie and Jack worked under pressure.
He could help but be surprised- somehow- that they hadn’t.
So this was it.
He was sad. Still frustrated. But a mournful air hung over his anger. Sophie could not be forgotten. She could be repressed. He could think of Olivia- he could think of her taste, her touch and their fireworks. He could think of his instincts, which were soothed at the thought of Olivia’s sly, velvet touch.
But they’d be far, far more satisfied with Sophie.
And maybe if Jack had said the right thing, or maybe not gotten angry, or just gone to see Mal by himself-
Think of Olivia, he told himself.
His heart purred; if a little uncertainly.
And Jack left.
It was only when he was about halfway up the street when he remembered that no-one had left behind any money to pay for their drinks. Jack took a nervous glance back, and decided to speed up.