jettsakai:
Does it bother you that I’m here? Does it bother him that he isn’t asleep right now? Yes. Does it bother him that she’s managed to penetrate the sanctity and privacy of his bedroom? Absolutely. Does it bother him that she’s pestering him with questions that he’d consider meaningless regardless of what hour she was asking them? For sure. But instead, he tells her, “No.” Why he lies, he isn’t quite sure. It’s likely his subconscious reminding him that being amiable with the people residing in the villa would call for easy and simple living conditions. It’s also probably a reminder that despite her nosiness, Jett actually enjoys Nora. She pries but she does so as respectfully as she can. “It’s fine – I’m just…still in the process of waking up,” he tries to explain, wondering whether or not she’ll take it.
“Excuse you,” he counters, tone purposefully flat, “I am not emotionally repressed. I feel things…when I’ve deemed it necessary.” He knows that’s a lie, she also knows it’s a lie too, it’s why he chuckles briefly, amusement flitting across his features. “Perhaps, I’m not the most emotionally available person, sue me.” Jett’s about to comment scathingly on the fact that ‘could’ doesn’t sound definite enough for his payment, but he’s sidetracked by the mention of tater tots. “Well, now that tater tots are part of the equation…” A half-grin flicks up one side of his mouth, fingers flicking faster through her phone as he sits up straighter, a new vigor to his once languid actions. “Of course you should.” He scoffs, shaking his head in disappointment, “With the iPhone, if you press the home button down instead of lifting it after you take a photo, it’ll just keep taking them. People use them for action shots and stuff, increases the chances of getting one good photo while in motion. Frankie probably didn’t lift his big ass thumb and took a bunch of himself.” His expression turns solemn as he adds, “I’m terribly sorry his face is taking up space in your cloud storage.”
The corners of Nora’s mouth turn upward just so. “Liar,” she pegs him, an educated guess more than a true committed conclusion - nothing about Jett suggests that he would enjoy being woken up, much less being intruded on in his sacred space. “If it helps, I’m massively underwhelmed with what you’ve done with the place. The most interesting thing in here is - “ her gaze shifts from the empty dressertop to his own, “that massive tattoo.” Eyes adjusted to the dim lighting, she can make out more clearly the twisted curls of ink adorning his pale torso. Someone advanced and skilled had once plotted the art across his arms and chest, she’s sure of it. Not exactly a run-of-the-mill prison tattoo. Then again, she doesn’t suspect Jett has spent much time behind bars. He seems far too adept in evading figures of authority. “Don’t let Tilly see it. She saw mine, and then she cut up my sweater with a knife.” Nora doesn’t expect him to explain where he’s gotten it from or what it means, but she leaves the metaphorical door cracked nonetheless.
About to catch him in another lie, Jett catches himself. Nora decides she’s satisfied with his self-awareness. She listens to him outline the technicalities of iPhone photography a bit lazily, not caring as much about the answer itself as much as she enjoys listening to him explain it. “Perhaps I’m not the most technologically-advanced. Sue me.” Nora’s knee-jerk reaction is to dislike the way he’s violating her privacy with every flick of his thumb, but her iCould is about as empty and uneventful as the dingy suburban street outside just beyond Jett’s yellowed blinds. “I’m sorry, too,” she agrees languidly, nudging her glasses up her nose with her knuckle. “On a more interesting note, at the end of all that there’s some blurry ass picture of Summer swapping spit with someone in the middle of the club. Thoughts?”











