Kavinsky quieted the ache in his chest as much as he possibly could. Just because someone didn't see it from Jack's perspective didn't mean they were more right; he knew what he wanted and, at the moment, that wasn't Kavinsky.
He let his hands fall off the steering wheel and into his lap.
"Look," he said, and then lost the train of his words for a second. "Look, you know how I feel. But that's--it doesn't matter, right? If you're not comfortable with the arrangement, then I'm not gonna make you try. And if you need more time to figure out how you feel, then that's--it's whatever."
He wanted, desperately, to kiss Jack. To remind him of the physical part of this. Kavinsky missed it. But he could be good, a good friend and a better person, if that's what Jack needed instead.
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He let his hands fall off the steering wheel and into his lap.
"Look," he said, and then lost the train of his words for a second. "Look, you know how I feel. But that's--it doesn't matter, right? If you're not comfortable with the arrangement, then I'm not gonna make you try. And if you need more time to figure out how you feel, then that's--it's whatever."
He wanted, desperately, to kiss Jack. To remind him of the physical part of this. Kavinsky missed it. But he could be good, a good friend and a better person, if that's what Jack needed instead.