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Hollis doesn't quite know how to do the whole tenderness thing. They're all sharp smiles and shoulder punches, rough edges from years of never being enough. Becoming enough, building themself from the outside in with a reputation to match. They never quite understood the ease with which others shared affection. One time an old lady with jet black lipstick smiled at them in the grocery store, and their stomach felt funny for the rest of the day. They've thought about what life could be beyond the hornets, but it always scared them too much to look past the most basic, blurry outlines of a potential future.
Jake is confusing to Hollis. He balances cool and kind in a way they've never been able to fully grasp. Hollis knows how soft his hair is because they can't stop themself from roughly ruffling it when he enters a room. Hollis knows how soft his hands are because of all the times he would help them up from a failed trick, dimple poking into his cheek soft enough to match his smile and the rest of him. Hollis wouldn't define Jake as a soft person, necessarily, but they can't deny that his edges are much smoother than their own. So Hollis watches Jake, copying him only when they are certain they are alone. They try to introduce small amounts of the calmness Jake carries with him constantly. It is a slow and frustrating process. They stare at their smile in the bathroom mirror, twitching and adjusting the muscles in their face until it looks more sincere than cocky and malevolent. This takes time, as all change is wont to do. Hollis spent years sharpening these edges, but there is no worthier pursuit than accepting the kindness owed to you.
Jake is much more observant than he seems. He notices many things about Hollis: their bark is worse than their bite until that saying doesn't quite fit anymore, they allow themself to truly relax into sofas and chairs instead of carrying themself always with assuredness and power, they let Jake cut their split ends carefully, metallic snipping sounds echoing inches away from the pierced cartilage of their sharply attuned ears. They let Jake rest his hands on their shoulders after he has finished and they are surveying his work in a handheld mirror. He forgets to avert his eyes when they catch them in the reflection. There is power in softness, too.
They begin to drift together; unconsciously at first, though neither attempts to stop the sure mechanisms of fate. Hollis discovers which sharp edges they truly want to keep, sifting through aspects of their personality as if lovingly clearing out the jewelry box once gifted to them by their grandmother. Exuding power and confidence are fun, when used properly. Hollis learns that sharpness should be fun, and they are less likely to attack like a cornered animal in moments of forgetfulness or distrust. They know themself more truly than they did before, and they find a balance in love and rage that propels them forward - into the world, into loving arms, into a warm bed.
Jake changes too, though it may be less overt. He allows himself the things he wants, is less hesitant to communicate and share his thoughts. He thrives in leadership, alongside Hollis as they rebuild (or rather, build anew). He is stronger for his relationships with others, his willingness to listen and reach across divides.
One day, Hollis realizes that Jake doesn't confuse them as much anymore. The two of them sit on a bed of pine needles in a grove deep within the Monongahela forest. Their evenings often consist of this silent contemplation and togetherness. Recently, Jake has begun taking their hand in his own and resting their intertwined fingers on the soft yet brittle, slightly sticky surface of the fallen needles. Hollis ponders the feel of Jake's hand and realizes they ought to do something about the slight static in their throat. They clear it, and Jake looks over at them. Finding the words to say is easier than they expect, and a kiss pressed to knuckles is more confirmation even than the blinding smile splitting Jake's face. That night, Keith gives them shit about their interlocking arms as they sit down for Thursday night pasta. The light behind his eyes betrays his own joy at their having found each other.
Hollis still struggles with displaying affection, their thoughts plastered against the inside of their skull until gentle prompting from Jake pulls them from their lips and allows them to float freely in the air. Hollis is nothing if not honest, and they try to make their residence within their own head part-time at best. Their past never leaves them, but isn't that so remarkably human? Jake marvels at the scars marking their fingertips as he kisses each one. He has helped Hollis in ways he will never know, but the opposite is equally true. On quiet mornings, Hollis whispers their innermost feelings until Jake swells with enough pride to get up and make the coffee. This is plenty. Glass wrapped in velvet, turning to sand that in turn lovingly buries the fabric until they blow away together, beautiful in the breeze.