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Summary
“The- The goddamn-... baby shit!”
“Holland,” Jackson took a step forward, hands outstretched slightly with his palms to the sky like he wanted to grab the younger man but by the grace of God, stopped himself. He shook his head, expression incredulous. “What the hell are you talking about?”
“Yo-You know! The-The stuff!” Holland shrieked, hands flapping in the air. His lips pulled into a frown as he took a few stumbling steps back, narrowly avoiding falling back into the bed-nest. God, he was a mess.
Jackson glared. “If you say that again I’m gonna kill you.”
“The pregnancy stuff. I-I mean, I’m no James- fucking- Dean, let’s be honest. Holly was a big baby, okay?! My stomach looks like a-a deflated party balloon. I have so many stretch marks, if I went to the zoo, they’d throw me in with the goddamn tigers. And I-...” Holland faltered, and for the first time since Jackson had met him, Holland looked genuinely stricken, as if he had reminded himself of something he’d rather soon forget.
Something he couldn't forget.
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Alternatively: Holland figures Jackson wants nothing to do with him because of how his body looks post-pregnancy. Jackson proves him wrong.