#Chapter113
/"Ronan, look at me. Please. Look at my face. I'm not angry with you./"
Tired, weary, but without the malice he'd been bracing himself against, Jackson's words trickled against the air, brushing against his ears in such a delicate caress. Ronan glanced up. Sniffed deeply, exhaling harshly against the swell of emotion that surged through him.
Jackson was handsome enough, as far as average went. He had dirty blond hair and eyes that exposed his heart, and it only took the locking of gazing for the worst of his nerves to settle; Jackson wasn't angry.
/"I missed you, roo,/" he managed to say. His mouth was suffering from some sort of strange affliction. The corners kept pulling up, the muscle memory trying to concoct a smile, but uncertainty, the unholstered feeling of doom and gloom, had a tremor shaking his lower lip, and the corners drooping in failed effort. And like all wars, it carried on, neither winning. Not really.
