Andrew wasn't sure, but he felt pretty certain that Jack may have broken his heart. Jack insulting Frank for no real reason had been bad enough, the space Jack had put between them had been worse, but the way his best friend had fled after kissing him had hurt like nothing he'd ever felt, more than his collision with the ground during his last Quidditch match. The way his heart had soared then plummeted as Jack had first kissed him (oh merlin, KISSED him) and then left had been worse than the fall.
He didn't know if he'd been a disappointment when Jack had kissed him, if Jack had done it then realised what a mistake had been, if it had been something else entirely, some weird revenge against Frank... he didn't know, but he did know that Jack didn't come back.
He'd stood there for fifteen minutes after Jack had walked out, waiting for him to return, and when he hadn't he'd taken a seat in silence on the arm of the sofa and watched the door until the light of dawn started creeping in.
He went upstairs quietly and curled up into his bed without changing, his knees drawn up towards his chest, curling his fingers into his hair a little, his other hand in a loose curl pulled up against his chest like that would ease some of the ache in his heart; it didn't. And he didn't sleep.
It seemed years or minutes before he heard Jack call for him quietly, having missed the sound of the door snicking shut. "Hi." he called back after a moment of trying to believe that Jack really had come back; he didn't think he could leave his bed though.