"Actually," Nico says, grinning wolfishly, "I think nothing looks absolutely great on you."
Will blinks. It takes him a second -- not a perfect line, Nico will admit -- but there is an exact moment where the meaning registers and his bright eyes widen and his face goes scarlet. Red as sunrise, as strawberries; he glows, a little, and punches Nico in the shoulder so hard he would cry from the pain if he wasn't so busy crying from laughter.
"We are in public," Will hisses, steam beginning to curl from his hair.
"Your face," Nico wheezes.
Will punches him again but it's a little softer, this time, and he sits in the corner of their cramped changeroom in this weird-smelling Kohl's and hunches in on himself so far his chin hits his chest, too-small shoulders of the plasticky suit jacket sticking up a little. Nico laughs for too long, probably, and he shouldn't, really, because Will is sensitive enough right now and Nico is not helping.
But he is so cute, when he scowls. One eye squints just barely more than the other. And it's hard to get this kind of a reaction from him.
Nico guesses because Will could hear the truth in the sentence, that he is so flustered.
"I do think you look good," Nico offers, voice a little hoarse. He accompanies his promise with a small, real smile, nudging Will's shoes with his own, and Will huffs. And he crosses his arms. And he looks to the side, to the mirror. Meets Nico's eyes, after a moment.
Nico holds his gaze.
"You mean it."
His voice is soft. He pitches it up, like a question, but it isn't: he can tell that Nico does, can hear it in his voice, see it in the set of his shoulders. But Nico gets up, anyway, shuffles the six inches forward and cups his face in his hands, brushing his thumbs over his cheeks. Leans in close. Hovers.
"I mean it," he confirms, voice low, eyes lidded. "You look good, tesoro. We'll get it tailored." He flicks his gaze down. "But you look nice, cleaned up."
"I feel like a kid playing pretend," Will admits.
"As opposed to a kid playing doctor?"
"...Yes."
"Hm."
He sighs when Nico kisses him. More of an -- exhale, than anything. A short little thing, a punched out breath, relief, reassured.
"Don't get so far in your head," Nico says softly. He traces a line with the pad of his thumb, right under Will's eye. Will leans into his hand, blonde eyelashes fluttering shut. "I can't follow you, there."
He can feel Will quirk a smile, pressed against his lips, feel the pleased little hum he lets out at the familiar tease.
"Can't have that," Will murmurs, kissing him again, and again. "Can't go anywhere you can't meet me."
A/N: This second part was FUN ya’ll I love a jealous Jackson. There will most certainly be a part three to this, hopefully you guys enjoy this part as well! Also absolutely no hate towards the actress in this music video (or in any of the artist videos) I think she’s so lovely and did such a great job with Jackson! It was just a part of how the story unfolded. Also, I work in film / on film sets so some mentions of working on music video sets for context.
Tags: @littlewolfieposts
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A soft beeping managed to pull my eyelids apart, awaking me from my frustrated slumber. I had waited for Jackson to say something when he got into bed, but he simply refused to acknowledge me. Even when I put a hand on his bare back and scratched my nails softly against his warm skin— something that I knew he loved— he still remained silent, even slightly moving away from my reach. I had tossed and turned for a while, eventually the sleepiness taking over as I reluctantly let myself fall asleep.
To my dismay, I woke up to an empty bed. Jackson’s side was undone, blankets pushed around and left towards the end of the mattress. Whatever the beeping was, I figured it was from my kitchen. Getting up and opening the door, I saw a plate of my favorite breakfast: avocado toast with a freshly brewed cup of coffee. Beside it was my phone, with an alarm that could only have been set by Jackson. I tapped on the screen, turning it off and looking down beside it to see a note.
‘good morning, my love. went out for a run. eat up!’
I chuckled softly, placing the scrap of paper back down. Picking up a piece of toast, I took a big bite. Jackson made it a point to avoid fighting as much as possible, but if we ever had any arguments he always made it up to me. He didn’t like being angry for very long, and food was one of his many ways of saying, ‘I’m sorry’. Since he knew I wasn’t a fan of breakfast, it took a couple of tries to finally discover what breakfast food he could make that I would love, and ever since he landed on avocado toast, any moment he could he would whip up a plate of it for me just to make sure I ate.
A few minutes had gone by, and I had already finished most of my meal. A jingling of keys turned my attention to the front door as a sweaty, shirtless Jackson made his way into the apartment.
“Hello, you,” He beamed, locking the door behind him before walking over to me, “Glad to see you’re awake.” He bent down to kiss my forehead, his hand on the back of my head rubbing my hair a bit before going into the kitchen for some water.
I simply smiled at him, unsure of what to say. Why did he lash out and completely ignore me last night? Did I say something that angered him?
“Is… everything okay?” I asked softly, half hoping he didn’t hear me as soon as the words trickled out.
Jackson took a long chug from his water bottle, sweat beads trickling down his forehead and exposed chest. He was quiet a moment, then smiled, “Yeah, all good.”
Winking at me cooly, he walked over to the bathroom to get ready for his shoot. I was left in a bewilderment, still completely confused at his sudden change in moods.
——————
I sat in a chair close to the monitors, behind the director and a few other of Jackson’s Team Wang associates. Even having met everyone multiple times, I still very much felt out of place. Jackson did his best to make me a part of his life, even if we had to be a bit more secretive around his JYPE management team. Even when he was with GOT7, every chance he could he brought me along, making a point to tell me that whenever I was around, he felt much more at ease. So I tried my best to smile through the intimidation, but the flurry of voices all speaking Korean and Mandarin at once would sometimes silently trigger an anxiety attack.
We had been shooting for a few hours now, Jackson and his backup dancers all dressed as ancient warriors complimented against the ominous forest set background. I had to admit the visuals were beautiful, and knowing that it was all from Jackson’s creative mind made it all the better to watch.
Every time the words ‘Playback!’ blared throughout the stage, the music boomed from the speakers. Jackson’s face would appear on the monitors; three different camera angles capturing his captivating performance. My eyes remained glued to the center monitor, which was a closeup of his face. His hair was combed so professionally, his famously wavy bangs painted precisely across his forehead. The light encapsulated him perfectly, showing off the dirt makeup that had been decorated on him as a way of adding character to his performance, but only making me crave him more. His lips were plump and always in a slight pout, and my eyes remained on them as he lip-synced every one of his lyrics perfectly. Jackson was teasing me and he knew I was watching, so he made it a point to make his eye contact with the camera a precise one.
Everything was going well, and I truly was enjoying the art unfolding before me. That is, until they brought the actress on set.
I was slightly slouching in my seat, legs crossed and my chin resting comfortably in the palm of my hand as the arm rest held my arm in place. Jackson chatted with the director on the set, both of them talking about the next setup they were about to shoot when the three of us all watched as a beautiful woman walked over to them, dressed in a typical, ancient red and white Chinese wrap dress. Her hair was pulled back in such a way that her face was on full display, looking immaculate as the set lights drenched her in an angelic veil.
“Wow!” I could hear Jackson exclaim above the bustling of the other crew members, and his undivided attention was all hers. My jaw clenched, and the water bottle I was holding suddenly doubled as a stress ball. Why did I agree to come to this?
I continued to watch as she smiled at him, and even while the director began to give her stage directions her gaze never once flickered away from Jackson’s. I rolled my eyes at the scene unfolding before me, annoyed that I had to witness it in the first place. Suddenly my calculus homework didn’t seem all that torturous.
Once she was ready, the director walked back to video village, and after a few moments of the camera operator prepping himself for the shot, ‘Action!’ echoed through the soundstage and we were back to it.
Jackson was smooth, his body swerving and rolling to every beat as the song boomed through the speakers. The actress in question then rose from the ground, a mysterious layer of fog hiding her surprise entrance from the ground. She truly resembled a work of art, and when my eyes flickered to the second monitor that caught Jackson’s reaction to her, I felt my blood boil.
His typical cool-guy smolder was gone, and replaced with a much more vulnerable, doe-eyed look. The heartbroken soldier was finally reunited with his long lost love, and boy, did Jackson successfully deliver on his performance.
Trying my best not to make a sound, I crossed my legs, folding my arms and holding them tightly against my chest as I sunk once again into my seat. Throughout the course of my relationship with Jackson, I tried my best not to get jealous, knowing that as a popular Idol he received regular doses of extreme attention from very attractive women across the world. He just shrugged it off and laughed, never taking compliments from online viewers too seriously. Every now and then I’d get in my head about it, but Jackson always reassured me there was never anything to worry about.
But my brain never collaborated in sync with my heart, and suddenly a rabbit hole of thoughts loomed over any rational sense of thinking I previously had. Every night that Jackson texted me saying he wouldn't be able to come over, was another night he had spent in rehearsals with this woman. All the sensual looks that were exchanged, the repeated dance moves of Jackson’s body pressed against hers, for multiple nights on end— and now Jackson gave me a front row seat to see exactly what it was that he had spent so many nights doing with her.
The main dance duet between the two of them ensued, Jackson’s hands almost consistently wrapped around her waist. The two of them moved so smoothly, her body placed intricately up against his. They were like two pieces of a puzzle, belonging to one another so perfectly in this moment. His mouth danced closely to her ear; an arm wrapped around her front and gripping tightly against her hip bone; his hands hooked themselves onto the back of her neck as he steadied her in place. I shut my eyes and pressed my fingers to my eyebrows, trying my best to make it seem like I had a headache when all I wanted was to shield myself from the unfolding romance.
Now I was angry.
The cameras stopped rolling, and the crew erupted into cheers and clapping as Jackson and his mystery woman had successfully delivered the choreography on their first take. The two were given a five minute break, and with the biggest smile on his face, Jackson skipped over to me.
“Hey!” He beamed, trying to kiss my cheek but I pulled away hastily. “What’d you think?” He asked, trying to not let himself get caught up in my reject to his advance.
I ran a nervous hand over my mouth, wanting to be as civil as possible as I caught her looming near video village, glancing every once in a while towards Jackson.
“It was good.” I finally chirped out, Jackson’s slightly confused stare not convinced. “You were good.”
Just then the woman in question walked by us, placing a hand on Jackson’s bicep, “Hey, do you want anything from crafty?” She asked sweetly, her eyes flickering to me once before immediately giving him her full attention.
“Oh, no I’m alright, thank you.” He responded politely, then returned to meet my gaze.
But my eyes were on her figure as she walked away, and it didn’t take long before Jackson connected the dots.
“Y/n,” He demanded, and I looked straight at him, “Seriously?” He chuckled, almost slightly amused that I was feeling any sort of envy.
I raised an eyebrow at him, “You failed to mention she was the reason why you couldn't see me.” I spat at him, annoyed at his childish amusement.
“Don’t be mad.” He smirked at me, placing a hand on my the back of my head and holding it softly, using his fingers to massage soothing circles onto my scalp.
“I’m not mad.” I quipped rather snappily.
He just grinned. “That wasn’t very convincing—”
“I said I’m not mad.” I snapped at him again, this time pulling my head away from his reach.
Jackson was quiet a moment, his eyebrows furrowed. Sighing, he shook his head slightly and walked back to his makeup assistant, exasperated with my attitude.
Immediately I regretted my actions; he was so excited to bring me along today to watch what he had been working on for so long, a song he even supposedly had dedicated to me. But after his erratic shift of emotion last night, and not validating my feelings just now, I was in a world of confusion and hurt, and wished more than anything for the shoot to be over.
It was the last setup for the day, Jackson and his actress were meant to finish on top of the trap door as it lowered them into the ground. I was busy distracting myself on my phone, using anything from Instagram to old downloaded games to distract my gaze from the two of them.
Once the lights dimmed I locked my phone, not wanting the screen light to be a distraction. The all-too familiar beat boomed once more, and the two of them swayed as effortlessly as the first time they started. Taking her hand in his, he spun her towards him and the two of them clung to each other in a tight embrace, the expression on her face desperately possessive as her arms locked tight around his torso. One of monitors held on Jackson’s coverage, and I watched as he slowly placed a hand on the back of her head, digging his fingers softly into her hair, singing along to the final lyric before looking down at her solemnly and pressing his cheek onto the back of her head. As the trap door lowered them into the fog covered ground, he nuzzled into her hair, his lips pressed to the back of her head as he comfortably shut his eyes for the final shot.
Now I was furious at him.
I took a deep, calming breath as I bit the inside of my cheek, trying my damnedest to suppress every violent thought that was crossing my mind. Jackson and the girl broke out into a fit of giggles as they were brought back up into the set, and the crew welcomed them back up with cheers as we had just officially called wrap for the night.
Jackson took the time to address the crew, thanking them for their hard work and dedication to his project. He was sweet, speaking from the heart and truly appreciating the crew for being as invested as he was in the creation of his video. His speech was a little too perfect, almost making me forget why I was so angry in the first place. But once he finished and the clapping ensued, the woman I was trying my best to avoid eye contact with glanced over at me, then looked back to Jackson with the biggest smile as he took her into her arms, hugging her tightly and lifting her for a quick spin. I scowled at him, turning my head away from the scene with a disgusted face.
CW: depersonalization, themes of a panic attack and alcoholism
Cardan twisted the beaded band around his wrist for what felt like the thousandth time that evening. It burned a hot brand into his skin from the repetition and he was silently grateful for it.
He’d finished the last of the alcohol in his and Jude’s shared apartment within the last hour, making a small tower out of the discarded bottles, and covering his ears when they clamoured to the floor. He sank down into the worn-out couch and glanced to the old clock on the wall, letting his leg bounce. It ran exactly seven minutes slow.
I’ll be home late tonight, she told him when she kissed the top of his head that morning before she left. Don’t wait for me to eat. He had dutifully ignored that part, and had instead begun pacing as one hour bled into the next that evening. As two hours became three, and he couldn’t bear to make himself dial her number and listen to the ringing.
It will be easier with a drink, he’d told himself. Liquid courage. He thought it was true.
Now, he just felt sluggish.
He never picked up the phone.
Instead, he brought his knees to his chest, imagining Jude’s voice scolding him for the way he pushed his socked feet into the worn, wooden front rail. He wrapped his arms around himself, resting his chin on his knees and peering down at his phone on the coffee table, amidst the scattering of a few takeout containers he’d brought home. A pile of books he’d been trying to convince her to read. A plethora of sticky notes. His uncharged laptop. He twisted the bracelet again.
Let it slap against the skin of the wrist.
Really, he should’ve called her. She should have been home by now. He should have called her. Maybe this was his penance.
He should have called.
Cardan picked up the phone with shaking hands. Unlocked it, stared at her contact photo. At the last message she’d sent, with an order request for their dinner just two hours ago. It’d gone cold by now.
He glanced to the glass shards that littered the floor just beside him. He’d tried to scoop them into a pile, but with the shake of his hands, Jude never would let him forget it he’d cut himself with the pieces.
He should have called her.
He swiped at the screen, and no new messages came through. Finally, he hit the call button.
It rang once, twice.
He slapped the bracelet again.
Four times.
Another slap.
Five.
He picked the beaded bracelet from his skin and the rubber band snapped with it, a bead hitting his chest, the other falling lamely to his lap as they slid off the broken band. He scooped them frantically, gripping them tightly in his fist.
The phone went to voicemail.
The line beeped and he hung up, tossing it to the other end of the couch as he stood, searching the cushions one-handed for any missing beads. He ran his hand through his hair, and glanced at the clock.
Keys jingled outside the apartment door, sliding into the lock and then back out. Jude pushed into their small, shared apartment with a huff, haphazardly kicking off her shoes and preparing to throw herself onto the couch.
She pushed herself back onto the door and slipped the lock back into place as Cardan turned around, baring his shaking hand to her, letting her see the fistful of beads.
“I broke it,” he whispered. She stalked over to him, taking the beads from his hand and pocketing them. “I didn’t mean to,” he said into her silence.
She ran a hand through his hair, tracing where his hands had been only moments ago. “It’s okay, I can fix it,” she whispered back. “Let me fix it.”
His hands wrapped around her waist as he bowed his head onto her shoulder, cursing the heat in his cheeks and the burn of his eyes. “I didn’t mean to break it,” he said again.
“I know.”
She smoothed down the back of his shirt, eyeing the broken glass piled on the other side of the table.
“You didn’t pick up,” he said.
“I was driving.” He curled further into her. “I’m sorry,” she whispered.
He shook his head, burying his face into the crook of her neck. “You shouldn’t be. You said you’d be late.”
She swallowed. “Go change,” she said. “I’ll reheat dinner.” He didn’t move. “I can make you a new one,” she said, stepping back to take his face in her hands.
“I liked the first one you made,” he said, moving to hold the broken band in his palms like a tithe.
She took the band from him. “Change,” she said again. “I will fix it.” She pressed a kiss to his cheek. “I promise.”
He frowned, and she swiped wetly at his cheeks. It was, perhaps, that his cheeks were wet, but he could not admit to that. Surely, she’d wetted her own fingers. Wiped away some foreign dirt on his skin. Beneath her hands, he could be nothing but cleansed.
When he’d gone, she swept the glass into the trash bin, put his laptop on charge—reheated the food. They had been given a single fork and napkin in the bag. She gave him a clean, metal one.
She tied a knot in the old band. Slipped the beads back on and tied the new ends together. Cut off the ends of the elastic.
Cardan returned in an overlarge hoodie and her fuzzy socks. They’d been a gift from him, but really, he wore them more. She didn’t mind.
She stepped into his space and pressed a kiss to his cheek. Neatened his hair. Slipped the bracelet back onto his wrist.
He swallowed. “I don’t think you can fix this,” he whispered into her hair.
“No,” she said back, knowing what he really meant and lacing his fingers around her own. “That’s something you have to do for yourself.” He rest his chin against the top of her head. “Only you can decide you earn that.”
She ran his fingers along his spine. “Dinner’s getting cold,” she said, but didn’t move.
He let her push her fingers into the tense muscles on his back, needling out the pain he hadn’t wanted to admit had wormed its way under his skin. “I will,” he said, trailing off as she stepped back and looked at him. “I will fix it.”
