Chapter Text
It’s four am when Jack’s body decides to wake him up. It’s more than a little frustrating, because he has to leave at ten to get back to Manchester in time for training, his first session in a month, which means he has to be up early, but not this early. Still, it’s a comfort to wake up with Ben next to him, and Jack savours it, hoping it won’t be long until the next morning they get to wake up side by side.
Jack tries to get back to sleep, but he can’t seem to switch off. He can’t stop thinking about leaving, going back to the unfamiliarity of Manchester, the strangeness of playing against a team and a fanbase that has always been like a second family to him. And then Jack thinks about his actual family, about whether they will abandon their life-long loyalty to Villa to cheer for him or if they’ll be shouting at Jack to fuck off every time he touches the ball. Somehow, the images of both of those situations hurt him equally. He doesn’t think he can do this. Pep insists that he has to, because if he doesn’t the Villa fans will think he’s scared to face them, but that’s the exact truth. Jack is scared of them, because he respects them, and he knows how passionate they all are about their team. That passion used to mean they loved everything Jack did, that they would defend him with everything they had, but Jack had never deserved that and now he’s going to watch them all finally realise it. It’s a sharp, persistent kind of sting.
Jack finds himself in the bathroom, hands gripping the cold porcelain of the sink until it hurts, making judgemental eye contact with himself through the mirror. He watches the rise and fall of his chest become more pronounced, more desperate, with every passing second, and for a brief, fleeting moment, he feels like he’s going to die. But he doesn’t. He just about manages to breathe through it before catching sight of Ben standing under the door frame, blinking tiredly and squinting from the bright light, but looking concerned nonetheless.
Slowly, tentatively, Ben’s arms come to wrap around Jack’s waist, his head resting against the back of Jack’s shoulder. “What’s wrong?” he asks, quiet, his voice slurred slightly from only just having woken up.
Jack frowns. He knows how to think through everything that’s bothering him, but he doesn’t quite know how to say it. There’s also a slight element of guilt to it, that Ben is having to be the one taking care of Jack now, when the entire point of Jack being here is to take care of Ben, and he doesn’t have long left to do that.
“Nothing. I’m good,” Jack tries, even though he knows he’s got no chance of that actually working.
“Don’t do that. You can talk to me,” Ben mumbles, nuzzling his face against Jack’s bare shoulder. Jack winces, because Ben is clearly exhausted, and he’s woken him up over something this ridiculous.
“In the morning,” Jack tries to suggest. “You can go back to sleep.”
Ben quickly stands up straighter, blinking rapidly as a way of waking himself up. It isn’t quite working, but he’s trying. “M’not tired. Can feel how tense you are, Jack. Is it about the Villa game?”
Jack flinches, almost imperceptibly, but it’s enough to confirm Ben’s hunch. Sometimes Jack really does hate how easily Ben understands him. Ben taps at Jack’s hips, attempting to turn him around so that he’s facing him, and eventually he succeeds. “You’ll be fine,” He promises. “They still love you. A transfer can’t take away all the love they’ve had for you since you were a kid.
Jack shakes his head. “I don’t deserve that. They did everything for me and I just fucking left them.”
“They know how much you care about them. They’re not ungrateful enough to think that’s changed, right?”
“They’re not ungrateful,” Jack defends immediately.
Ben smiles encouragingly, like Jack has just proved his point. “See, the way you protect them. If you still care about them, they’ll still care about you.”
“They’re not the ones who fucked off and left,” Jack mumbles, voice quiet. It’s the kind of self-contempt that he doesn’t express very often, even with Ben, who he would trust with anything. “I don’t even know if it was worth it,” he says, which isn’t true, not at all. He loves being at city, enjoys everything he’s doing, relishes in the team’s success. He’s just being emotional, saying things he doesn’t mean for effect, but it’s clear that Ben knows that. Jack is so, so thankful for him.
“It’ll get better,” Ben promises, and presses a kiss into Jack’s shoulder. He’s right, and Jack knows he is, but somehow it’s just not enough.
And then, something inside Jack seems to untangle. He thinks he gets it now, the main source of his problem. It’s amazing how talking to Ben lets it all fall into place so quickly, without Ben even needing to do much. It’s like just having him here makes everything infinitely easier to cope with, let’s the constant whirring of Jack’s messy brain subside into relaxation for a brief period. “They’re never going to care about me as much as they did at Villa,” he explains, and that’s the summary of it all, really. Jack needs to be loved, to be appreciated, for people to want him around at all times and to miss him like a limb when he isn’t. He had that at Villa; they can manage without him at City.
Jack wonders if it would sound a little ridiculous to anyone else, like his only problem is that he isn’t getting enough attention. Which, well, is certainly a part of it, but it’s so much more than that to Jack. Ben just understands though, like he always has. “They will. It’s only been a few months, you have to give it time.”
“Most of the fans don’t think I’m good enough to be there. What if they’re right? What if I’m a waste of all that fucking money and I never do anything to pay it back?” Jack asks. It’s always in the back of his mind, even if he knows that it’s mostly bullshit, because it’s everywhere, and everyone’s saying it. It’s impossible to ignore.
Ben just sighs, and reaches up to comb his fingers through Jack’s hair. “They’re always going to be like that when you’re new,” he says, something low in his tone, and Jack is reminded that he’s hardly the first person to deal with issues like this. Jack nods, prompting Ben to continue. “When I first came to Chelsea, people said the exact same thing. I was overpriced, didn’t deserve to be there, money down the drain, all that. They criticised every single thing I did. Nothing was good enough for them. But look at them now,” Ben finishes with a shrug, “they’re acting like the season is over because I can’t play.”
Jack smiles, and kisses his cheek, a show of his immense appreciation. Ben is right; fans tend to be hard on new signings, especially the expensive ones. “They just drew to the worst United side I’ve ever seen in my life, so maybe they’ve got a point.”
Ben ducks his head, but he’s laughing. “Maybe,” he admits. “Reece hates playing with Marcos.”
Jack doesn’t even take the bait to make a cheap joke about that. “How do you cope with it, when you go back to the King Power and they’re all awful to you?” Jack asks. He remembers watching that fixture this season, and Ben hadn’t seemed particularly bothered by any of it, but Jack had been. Every protective instinct inside him had stirred. It wasn’t even just the fans; the amount of fouls on Ben had been notably excessive, and yet Ben had got up and dealt with every single one with a level head. It was impressive. Jack knows that he just can’t keep his cool the way that Ben can.
“I don’t, sometimes,” Ben admits honestly. “You just have to grin and bear it until you’re on the bus home.”
Jack isn’t sure if he can do that, but he nods anyway. Ben reaches out for a hug, holding Jack close with a firm protectiveness. He yawns into Jack’s chest, and Jack decides that his mini breakdown is officially over now. “Let’s go back to bed, yeah?” he offers, taking Ben’s hand to lead the way.
Ben is asleep within seconds, curled comfortably against Jack. Jack just watches him for a while, taking in the peace on his face, basking in the warmth of his body. It is far from lost on Jack just how lucky he is to have this.
•
It’s Ben who wakes up first next, at a far more reasonable hour. Jack takes the time to enjoy the feeling of Ben’s eyes on him, happy with the feeling of being watched. He’s reluctant to open his eyes, because as soon as he does he has to accept that in a few hours he’ll be back in Manchester and Ben can’t come with him.
Finally, Jack gives in and indicates that he’s awake by asking, “You just planning on staring at me all morning?” He feels Ben move back a little, taken by surprise, but then he relaxes and nestles his head into Jack’s shoulder.
“I would, if I could,” Ben says back. Jack finds his hand under the duvet and links it with his, letting Ben play around with his fingers.
Ben is still wearing the hoodie Jack gave to him last night, with only the addition of a tight pair of boxers, and the sight of him is breathtaking. “Shouldn’t be legal to look as good as you do first thing in the morning,” Jack tells him with a teasing poke to Ben’s hipbone.
“You’d be in prison for life then,” Ben says, but the compliment still has him blushing, ducking his head to avoid Jack’s gaze. Jack puts a finger underneath his jaw to lightly push his head back up to meet Jack’s eyes before leaning in to kiss him, slow and attentive, trying to take in every second and hold it in a way that he will remember. Jack’s hands slowly creep up underneath Ben’s hoodie (because it is Ben’s hoodie, now. Jack knows for a fact he’ll never be getting it back), and before long Ben is feeling up Jack’s thighs, hand continuing to move closer to his crotch.
It doesn’t take much to get both of them hard in their boxers, their hips knocking against each other for the friction. “Do we have time?” Jack asks.
Ben nods. “It’s only eight,” he says. Jack’s driver isn’t getting here until ten.
“Perfect,” Jack smirks, and goes quickly back to sucking on Ben’s bottom lip.
Ben indicates his enjoyment with a breathy moan, and then he’s pulling at Jack’s boxers, asking, “Is this ok?”
“Yeah. Definitely ok,” Jack mumbles, already lifting his legs up to help Ben take them off. The noise Jack makes when Ben starts to kiss along the inside of his thighs is so filthy that it’s almost embarrassing, and it takes Jack by surprise, but Ben accepts it as great encouragement, sucking lightly at the sensitive flesh. Jack grips a fist full of his hair, trying to cope with the quickly building pressure in his stomach.
Ben stops to meet Jack’s eyes, looking up at him from his position between Jack’s legs, big blue eyes wide with desire. “I want to suck you off,” he says, without even a hint of shyness. Jack feels his heart skip, his dick throbbing. “You did so much for me last night. And you’ve been looking after me all week. I want to do something for you now. You deserve it.”
Jack feels like he’s choking. The words that come are forced out through a dry throat. “Are you sure?” he asks. “You don’t owe me anything. I don’t want you to do anything unless you want to do it.”
Ben’s eyes flick briefly to Jack’s cock, sitting rock hard against his stomach, and then back up to Jack’s face. “I want to,” he says, a little breathless. “I really want to. Please.”
And, fuck, that might be the sexiest thing Jack has ever heard. He has Ben Chilwell between his legs, pleading to suck his dick. Jack reckons he must have been Mother Theresa or something in his past life, because he has no idea how he ever got this lucky. Jack is proud of himself when he manages to respond in an at all coherent way. “Yeah? You’re going to do such a good job for me, aren’t you, angel?”
Ben smiles, his face all soft and loving as he takes Jack into his mouth. He’s slow at first, kissing at Jack’s tip, not going too deep, but he’s quick to find his rhythm, his head bobbing up and down, flicking his tongue in all the right places. Ben can’t exactly get down on his knees at the moment, so he’s more lying between Jack’s legs, propped up by Jack’s thighs, his hands gripping Jack’s hips, but Jack certainly isn’t complaining. Jack’s hoodie is long and oversized on Ben, but it’s riding up just enough for Jack to see the round curve of his arse encapsulated by tight boxers, and he just can’t get over it, how beautiful this boy is. His appreciation comes out in almost subconscious noises, mumbling encouragement through moans, “That’s it. You’re doing so well. You look so fucking good like that.”
Ben is good at this, his technique still the same as when they were younger, and the memories make it so much hotter, more emotional. It doesn’t take long before Jack is pulling on Ben’s hair in warning, groaning incoherently, “Ben, close. Really close.” Ben sits up and finishes Jack off with a few quick strokes of his hand, Jack spilling into his palm with a few spasms of his hips.
Ben goes to wash his hands, and Jack takes the time to catch his breath. When Ben comes back, Jack pulls him down onto the bed, both giggling like kids as Ben falls onto Jack. “Who taught you to suck dick like that?” Jack asks, smirking, because he already knows the answer.
“You did,” Ben answers anyway, without hesitation. Jack kisses him then, because how could he not?
Jack can feel the press of Ben’s dick against his stomach as their lips move, still hard inside his boxers, which reminds him to ask, “What do you want from me?”
“Nothing,” Ben answers sweetly, his voice all innocent and pure. “I told you. I wanted to do something just for you, to thank you for being here, and everything else.”
Jack shakes his head. “That’s very nice of you,” Jack tells him, running a hand through his hair. “But I’ve barely done anything. And maybe I want to thank you.” Ben whines, moving impossibly closer, and Jack runs a hand over the outline of his cock. “I can’t just leave you like this, can I?” he asks. Ben pushes his hips up against Jack and steals a few rushed kisses. Jack knows what he means by that, so he slips his hand underneath the fabric, jerking Ben off without even removing an item of clothing.
Ben is already turned on, still worked up just from the pleasure of pleasing Jack, so it scarcely takes a minute before he’s gasping loudly, twitching into Jack’s hand and spilling over his palm, his mouth wide and still where it’s still pressed against Jack’s. He falls against Jack’s torso when he’s finished, his head resting on Jack’s shoulder, pants of hot breath brushing over Jack’s skin. Jack is just about to move, but he freezes completely when Ben says, quietly but firmly, “I love you.”
The panic rises exponentially inside Jack’s chest, leaving him feeling like he’s about to choke on it until he drowns. It’s not like Jack didn’t already know that, but there’s something terrifying about hearing Ben say it out loud, something that makes him want to pack up his things and run as fast as he can.
The feeling only lasts for a brief few seconds, but Jack can tell that Ben has noticed the alarmed look on his face. He doesn’t seem offended by it, though. He just smiles at Jack, and says. “Relax. I’m not expecting you to say anything back.” Jack exhales, the relief washing through him like a flood. He realises that for a second he had been petrified of losing Ben, watching Ben walk away because Jack would be lying if he said those three words back. But, well, if Ben was going to give up over something like that, he would have been long gone years ago. “I just wanted to tell you,” Ben explains, calm and open, every emotion written legibly across his face, his heart beating loudly on his sleeve. “It’s just–. I thought you knew from the beginning, didn’t I? But you had no clue. Which means the first time you realised I love you was when we were arguing, and I didn’t even say it. So I wanted to tell you now, properly, nicely. I think I needed to, actually. It feels good. A huge weight off my chest.”
Jack sighs, suddenly feeling like a complete twat. “Shit, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to react like that,” he says, hoping Ben understands. “I like you a lot. I’ve never felt like this about anyone. I just need you to be a bit patient with me, ok?”
“I’ve been patient for six years. I don’t think a little longer will hurt,” Ben jokes. Jack is beyond thankful to hear his laugh, taking it as a sign that he isn’t upset. Jack’s not quite sure if he’s supposed to apologise for that, or offer some sort of explanation, or just laugh quickly then move the conversation on. He finds himself doing none of those things, kissing along Ben’s jawline instead, his own quiet way of saying thank you for not giving up on me.
Ben takes Jack’s hand and starts playing with his fingers, lifting them up and bending them gently. It’s how Jack knows he’s about to say something emotional, something that has a great deal of significance to him. Jack looks him in the eye, giving him his full attention, waiting patiently for Ben to be ready to speak. “You’re always patient with me, too,” he starts, very quietly. “Even when I’m acting mental. When I’m crying all the time and panicking over nothing. You’re always there, and I don’t know what I’d do without you. So, thank you.”
“Don’t be silly. You don’t have to thank me for that,” Jack tells him quickly. He really doesn’t, and Jack doesn’t want him to think for even a second that it’s a favour for Jack to care about him. “I want to be here for you. I want to look after you,” Jack reiterates. Ben seems to accept that, and they spend a while just holding each other, listening to their hearts beat in unison, dropping kisses into each other’s skin.
There’s nowhere else in the world that Jack would rather be. There’s nothing that could feel more natural than this. It’s where he belongs.
•
Jack takes far too much time kissing Ben goodbye, but as soon as the door is closed behind him, the absence hits him like a truck. He feels hollow, like he’s missing an organ. He wonders, over the past few days, exactly how many hours he and Ben had actually spent being in separate rooms. It definitely isn’t many.
Over the course of the journey home Jack calls about half of his contacts list, but none of it is the same. Still, he needs the distraction, doesn’t want to be sat alone with the time to overthink.
When he gets home, he barely has time to pick Skye up and unpack before getting to the training centre early for injury assessment. His shin is completely fine, which he knew it would be, because it’s been perfectly ok for a week now. He knows that if Pep really needed him, or if Pep thought he was coping well with being here, he would have been given a lot less time off for recovery than he was, but Jack was grateful for that before and he’s definitely grateful now. It’s almost miraculous, how well things worked out. Jack reminds himself to thank Pep for that some day.
Then he’s straight to training. It’s good, the energy and the intensity, because it allows him to avoid having to think about anything. He doesn’t have the time to worry about Villa tomorrow, or to miss Ben, or to wonder if Ben is doing ok since Jack left. He spends most of the time bouncing around Phil, surprising Stonesy with hugs from behind, taking Kyle’s things and throwing them around, and Jack thinks that maybe he’s been a little dramatic about all of this. He does like being here, it’s feeling more and more like home every day, and when he really looks at it, he’s got nothing to be upset about. Or maybe the time off has done exactly what Pep had hoped it would, let Jack clear his head and come back feeling positive, more like himself.
Or, potentially, Jack’s discomfort had never actually been anything to do with Manchester City, or football at all. It’s amazing how much better he feels now he’s sorted through his feelings for Ben. It’s like he’d been walking around with a massive gash on his back that he never even noticed, but it’s all healed up and scarred over now.
That’s a good way to look at it, at least. Jack vehemently ignores the quiet voice in his head telling him that no, that’s not it at all, he’s still just riding the high of his happiness, but soon the pressure will catch up to him and it’ll make him do something stupid to ruin everything he’s working towards with Ben.
It all begins to seem a little too inevitable when Jack finds himself so intensely unable to sleep that he can’t even commit to lying down or staying in bed. He paces around the apartment, Skye following at his feet as he talks to her aimlessly. The nervous energy is building up in a way that Jack can’t control. He can’t let himself relax, and he can’t cope with being on his own. He can’t call Ben, because it’s one in the morning, and Jack hopes that he’s doing a better job of getting some sleep than he is. He’s starting to feel slightly crazy, an uncomfortable itch underneath his skin that he’d usually scratch by going out and finding something exciting enough to take his mind off it. The urge is powerful, the need to find a body that he can get caught up in, someone who can fuck it all out of him, hard and rough until he’s low enough that he has something new to hate himself for.
It’s fair to say that Jack has never had particularly healthy coping mechanisms.
But he can’t do any of that, not now. Pep, and the club as a whole, certainly wouldn’t be particularly understanding, for one thing. And it’s not like he and Ben had discussed exclusivity, but Jack just couldn’t do that to him. He doesn’t even want to, not really, because he means it when he says nobody else does it for him the way that Ben does. But it isn’t about enjoyment, it’s about self-punishment, and Jack knows that he’s a ticking time bomb with these things. Soon enough something will come along to push him over the edge into a spiral of self-destruction, and he’ll burn everything he’s built with Ben just to feel the white-hot sting of it. That’s how these kinds of things usually go with Jack.
He want to be better, though. Ben is worth fighting through all of that for. Jack goes for a run in the middle of the night in hopes that he’ll come back relaxed and tired enough to sleep. He doesn’t, but it’s a better choice than his alternative, and it does make him feel slightly less critical of himself.
•
The build up to the match passes in a blur. Jack struggles to focus on anything, even with Bernardo asking him if he’s ok for the fifth time, and Phil talking his ear of the whole way there. He’s too caught up in his own thoughts, which doesn’t happen often, and he’s certainly glad if that, because he’s definitely not enjoying this experience.
Tyrone is stood right in the entrance when Jack walks into the stadium, talking to Ginny, both of their laughs bouncing off the walls and the ceilings. The nostalgia hits Jack so hard that it’s painful, but it settles to a dull ache when they wave him over with bright smiles, talking to him as if he never went away. The familiarity is an undeniable comfort. These people were once his family, all that he knew, and it’s nice to know that he’s not lost that completely.
It feels a little shakier once Ginny leaves, getting distracted by spotting Ollie and Matty walking around outside and sprinting off to join them. It’s not like Jack and Tyrone aren’t on speaking terms anymore, because they are. They’re not friends or anything, but it’s all good, in the past, and any lasting wounds from their time together have been put behind them. The thing is, that actually doesn’t help, because Tyrone is smiling at Jack so blindingly that Jack almost forgets why they should to stay far away from each other.
“You look good,” Tyrone tells him. He sounds sincere, a lot less resentful than the last time they’d had a real conversation inside Villa Park. “Fame and success suit you. I always told you you’re destined for it, didn’t I?”
“You did,” Jack remembers with a smile. “And the captain’s armband suits you. Know how much you like to boss people about.”
Ty grins, and he takes a step closer to Jack, a little too close. “I wish I could say I wish you were still here,” he says. Jack can’t tell if he’s still being nice, or if they’re about to get into it again. He takes a breath, bracing himself. “But we both know we’re a lot better off staying far the fuck away from each other, right?” Ty offers, in a way that isn’t exactly angry, but it isn’t kind either.
“Yeah,” Jack agrees, slightly breathless. This kind of conversation is the exact last thing he needs right now. His mind is already so frayed, and the memories of Tyrone are only pulling it apart more, close to unravelling. Jack reminds himself to stay in control, to avoid doing something that he’ll regret
“That doesn’t stop me from missing you, though,” Ty adds. It could just be friendly, but his hand is on Jack’s shoulder, and Jack knows exactly what this is. This is a moment with branching routes, a point where Jack gets to pick one and commit to the consequences. It would be so easy to trip down the wrong path, to let Ty get to him, to ruin the one good thing he has going for him just for the sake of it. It’s something that the old Jack would have done in a heartbeat, not because it’s what he wants, but because whoever wired his brain clearly got a few things wrong, and it left him inclined to want everything that’s bad for him.
Jack is impressed and relieved to note that that version of him isn’t anywhere to be seen now.
“I have a new boyfriend,” Jack says, as casually as he can make it. It’s a complete lie, because Ben’s not his boyfriend, not yet. They’re taking things slow, and that’s the best thing for both of them, but having Ty this close still makes Jack panic, and Jack needed a way of making it absolutely clear that he’s unavailable, that it’s well and truly over. He doesn’t want this situation to arise again. He doesn’t want Ben to hear about it somehow and think that Jack didn’t stand his ground. “Don’t you?” Jack adds then, just to twist the knife, because he’s not as stupid as Tyrone thinks he is. He knows damn well the only reason why Ty never gives him the time of day around England camps is because he’s already getting everything he needs from Coady.
Ty’s face twits, but he ignores that last part, just as Jack had expected him to. He really is too predictable. “Ah. Knew it wouldn’t take you long. It never did, did it?” he smiles nastily. Jack almost laughs, because Tyrone truly has no fucking clue what he’s talking about.
“Nice seeing you, Ty,” Jack says with a tap to Tyrone’s shoulder, and then he’s turning his back, walking down the corridor with the realisation that maybe, finally, he’s actually grown up a bit.
He goes to find the rest of his team, his new team, which isn’t Aston Villa, and certainly isn’t Tyrone, and Jack realises that he doesn’t want them to be. He’s finally ready for something new.
•
From the changing rooms (the away changing rooms, which still feels so fucking weird), Jack texts James about his brief encounter with Tyrone, because he’s the only person besides Ben who knows about their history together. There’s a word James uses, closure, and Jack likes that. He likes the thought of properly moving past Tyrone, no more stop-start, and its kind of the same with Villa as a whole. It still hurts, and he’s still terrified to step foot on his old pitch, but he can accept it as something he has to do, even if he’s scared out of his mind.
Ben texts just before the team is about to go out into the tunnel. Jack feels himself settle instantly, struggling to hide his smile.
Ben: good luck today x
Ben: i’ll be cheering for you. don’t worry about anything else x
Jack: you’re watching?
Jack: cheering for a rival team? shameful
Ben: course i’m watching. i wouldn’t miss it
Ben: not the team 🤢 just you
Jack: cute x
Ben: talk later?
Jack: yeah x
Jack: thank you ❤️
It doesn’t fix everything, but Jack finds himself a lot calmer. It puts things into perspective. The entire stadium might boo him to high heaven when he steps out, but Ben will be in London, cheering for him. It won’t make it any less painful, but it gives Jack something positive to think about, something that he can smile over.
He tries not to watch too much as they play, because he can’t ignore how much he misses it, misses his Villa team and the way that they work, misses who he was on the pitch with them. He was a firecracker, unpredictable and explosive. He can’t be like that anymore. City have all these strict formations and organised tactics, so they don’t spend their game trying to read whatever Jack is thinking of doing next. They do as they’re told, and they expect Jack to do the same. It’s fine, because it works, but it just lacks the spark that Jack has always been used to. He likes it scrappy, when he has to really fight for it.
Jack doesn’t hear the crowd when he comes on. There’s too much blood rushing in his ear, and everything except grass and ball seem to fade away. He remembers Stonesy on the bus earlier, telling him that he has to just tune them out, take the roar of the crowd as white noise, try not to put energy into deciphering what they’re saying. He remembers Ben, saying you just have to grin and bear it until you’re on the bus home, so Jack flashes everyone a wide grin and shuts his brain off.
He thinks about Ben, supporting him, so he goes out and gives it his all.
He thinks about Ben, loving him, so he makes sure to be a person who is deserving of Ben’s love.
Jack hopes that he can make Ben proud, even if no one else is. That’s all that matters.