(no subject)

He feels like kind of a shitheel for being upset about it, honestly, but some things demand to be felt and he can't quite pull himself out of it. He ends up curled on the sofa, his head pillowed on his arm, his knees pulled up, just staring at the selfie that Kavinsky had sent him this morning of him and Newt, grinning and happy and so obviously in love, matching rings in place.

What he is not in love with Joseph Kavinsky, not quite, but it's something like it and his heart hurts a little at the knowledge that their relationship is going to have to change because Jack might be a bad buddhist but he can't quite conceive of sleeping with somebody else's husband.

Jack sighs and closes his eyes.