For ST Rarepair Roulette 💕 @st-rarepair-roulette
Word Count: ~5,000
Ships: Billy Hargrove x Chrissy Cunningham and Heather Holloway x Jason Carver.
Warnings: Implied/referenced child abuse, lots of arguing and misunderstandings, very mild references to sexual content.
~~~~~~
“No. Nope. I don’t believe that for one second.”
Gossip. That’s all it is. Heather and Chrissy laying on the former’s bed, legs up against the wall, long hair dangling over the opposite edge of the bed, exchanging silly gossip.
Never the mean kind, Chrissy won’t allow that, it’s mostly their respective crushes and fascinations from school they talk about.
Or specifically, lately how much Heather doesn’t like Chrissy’s taste in boys. Or anybody, for that matter. In her heart of hearts, she knows Heather is just protective.
Still, Chrissy tosses a little stuffed fuzzball of an animal at her friend for that comment, “Hetty! Rude!”
“Look I’m sorry, I just can’t believe that Hargrove has like, actual feelings. I don’t trust him.” Heather elaborates, through her laughter.
See, she’d say the same every time, they both know that. What matters is whether Chrissy is bold enough to go through with it. She never has been so far. It’s one thing to have a crush, but to have someone openly pining back, that’s something more rare.
An opportunity Chrissy wouldn’t like to lose just to please her best friend.
She’ll try to win her over, “One date won’t be bad.”
But Heather will make excuse after excuse, “Every girl says that before the worst night of her life.”
Chrissy rolls onto her front, sighing so heavily the weight of Heather’s mattress lifts up, like she’s turned to the most stressed little helium balloon and floated away. Maybe she did, off into her imagination, taking her common sense with her.
Maybe she’ll entertain Heather’s concerns, but only if they’re productive, “Well how did you know Jason was being genuine?”
Heather's boyfriend. Track and basketball star, high class social asshole. Chrissys has never been a fan, to be entirely honest. Her earliest memories of Jason Carver were of him shoving over smaller kids in their church group and treating every recess game as pro-level sports. She still doesn’t see what Heather finds so charming about him.
She hopes maybe he’d changed, assumes he’d have had to to win over a critical heart like the one guarded in Heather’s chest.
Oh but Heather gives no such benefit of the doubt to anybody else, “I /don’t/ know it. But /my/ boyfriend doesn’t run over innocent children in his free time.. or whatever the hell it is Billy Hargrove gets up to.”
Chrissy has to laugh at that, it's so absurd, “Oh- He does not! Billy’s /nice./”
“Prove it.” Heather challenges, popping a gum bubble between her teeth to assert her seriousness.
“Hetty.” Chrissy warns, uninterested in playing that game.
Her friend isn’t having it. Heather rolls her brown eyes with so much force she literally rolls over on the bed, sprawling out over top of Chrissy like a beloved golden retriever with no respect for sharing space. It’s always been comfortable with her, coexisting without regard to self consciousness and mothers opinions and Godly image. Probably why she lets Heather get away with being a little catty sometimes.
Like now, as she claims, “Oh come on. Make it a game, have some fun, but show me he’s genuine. Or else I’m kicking his ass.”
“Fine.” Chrissy wants to be stern, but she cracks a little smile, her real, bright one, “If I'm supposed to threaten to kick Jason’s butt, I don’t think I’d be able to.”
Heather hums in thought before presenting a solution, “I’ll do the ‘defending of our honor’ if you help me test Jay back.”
“Pinky promise you’ll be nicer to Billy once we get proof?”
“That’s /if/ we get proof, but you have my word.”
The deal is sealed. They lock pinky fingers, one soft pink nailed and one a flaming red shade. In the ten years they’d been friends since Heather joined their class in 1st grade, not a single pinky promise between them has been broken. It just isn’t done.
Admittedly, that’s a lot of pressure. Talking about cute boys doesn’t feel as fun anymore.
Chrissy’s fluttery feelings start to set in, fidgeting with her hands to hope to drive them off. If she had her bracelets on, she’d shake them and enjoy the way they ring from the hard plastics and metals banging together, but it’s late, she’s in her pjs without jewelry. She picks her nails instead.
Redirecting, Heather hands her a stuffed Winnie the Pooh, and asks a question she knows will catch her off guard, “Soooo. What are you gonna do?”
“Hetty, I haven’t had time to think!” Chrissy complains, squishing poor Pooh between her hands, choosing to abuse the stuffed toy with her anxiety instead of her own skin.
“Oh come on. What do boys care about? Cars, sex, and sports. Pick one and he’ll show his true colors.” Heather says it likes it’s all just so easy, and she already knows it all.
Chrissy isn’t as sure. She considers her options,
“Um, sports sounds the least dangerous.. maybe?”
“Until he tackles your little ass.” Heather points out.
There’s a moment where they both sort of stop moving. They both know what Heather is about to do, but Chrissy's defenses are useless to stop it. She scrunches her body up as tiny as can be, but Heather has pounced, poking her sides gently where she knows her friend is ticklish.
Chrissy used to get all self conscious when Heather would do things like that. Not just touching her skin, so close to where she feels her strongest insecurities, but even jokes, little digs that had nothing to do with Chrissy’s appearance would get her down.
They have Billy to thank for the change. Dating or not, William Hargrove isn’t one to hide his affections. Everyone knows he’s had a thing for Chrissy for a while. It’s deciphering whether he’s chasing tail, or chasing the sweet girl he’d shown enough interest in to replenish her view of herself, hung around and flirted and laughed with so freely it healed a part of her broken heart.
She thinks maybe repaying him a little would increase the chances of getting the ball rolling, and getting Heather’s trust. “What if I cheer special for him during one of his games?”
“Uh, no!” Heather shakes her head, rolled curls bouncing in their pillow curlers back and forth, ”That just makes /you/ public about it. And he can spin that if he’s being an ass for real.”
“But I don’t think-“ Chrissy starts to argue, brow knotted.
Heather holds one of her hands, showing she is doing this because she cares, even if she’s being a little harsh, “Honey, I know I’m a cynical bitch, but I don’t want to see you hurt. Save yourself the embarrassment.”
“I don’t- Heather, it’s not embarrassing to be in love!”
A gasp, slow realization dawning. “You’re right. Oh my god, Chrissy you’re so right!!”
Heather kicks her legs with glee, fuzzy slippers going flying. Right out of a movie, she squeals with delight, infecting Chrissy too with her sudden joy.
Chrissy giggles, going along with it, “I am?”
“Uh, yes! It’s perfect!” Heather scoots closer until they’re shoulder to shoulder, looking up at the ceiling together. She talks with her hands, like she’s painting the picture for her. “Don’t /cheer/ his name. /Wear/ it.”
Only, Chrissy doesn’t think she gets it, “...How?”
“His varsity jacket! If a boy gives you his varsity jacket, it’s serious business. They protect those damn things like a firstborn daughter. If you can get Billy to give you his jacket, you might as well be hitched!” Heather explains, a ball of enthusiasm.
Chrissy knows her longing heart starts racing, probably obvious to Heather too this close together, “You actually think that would work?”
Heather flips up so she’s sitting, burning some of her energy in her dramatic motions, “Duh! You show up to a game repping his varsity, baby, that deal is sealed. I’m talking a proposal at the end-zone. A wedding between quarters. I’m talkin’ baby-making under the bleachers-“
Chrissy, face as hot pink as her pj tank top, interrupts all that, “Okay! Okay. That’s… I get it.”
“Do I make you blush, fair lady?” Heather drawls, in an impression of a boy, eyebrow arched, chest puffed out, lips curled, her voiced dropped ridiculously deep-
Chrissy covers her face, trying desperately not to laugh at the ridiculous attempt, “Heatherrr!!”
Heather clutches her chest like she’s wounded, taking on a sort of accent almost from how badly she’s doing her impression, “Ah! My apologies, maiden. How ungentlemanly of me.”
“Nobody talks like that! /Billy/ doesn’t talk like that!!” Chrissy argues, though she giggles at the unseriousness of it all. So it took a while, but Heather always does know how to make her feel better.
They drop the boy talk for a while, choosing to sneak downstairs and grab some snacks at two in the morning once Heather’s parents were definitely asleep, coming back up with a strange homemade trail mix. Dark chocolate chips, raisins, pretzels, almonds and strawberries. Certainly nothing outside of Chrissy’s comfort zone, careful not to push the limits of her recovery, though it’ll probably give them both a stomachache in a few hours regardless.
Leaned against some bean bag chairs right under the open window, enjoying the birdsong and cricket chirps, they share their homemade creation, and better, more smiles and lighthearted stories. Like they used to, before highschool drama and all.
Nearing 4, Heather turns to her, uncharacteristically dead serious, and declares, “I hope he makes you this happy.”
The realness inspires Chrissy to do the prying now, switching roles, hoping her friend will open up to her in kind, “Does Jason make you happy?”
“/Jason/ does. Our parents practically arranging for us to be married from the time we were newborns, hm not so much.” Heather sighs, drawing her knees in. She doesn’t quite shut down, it’s more for comfort, self assurance, which Chrissy understands. She gives her space to collect her thoughts.
“He’s my guy best friend. And I love him. In more than the best friend way. It’d be stupid not to end up together. But god there’s so much pressure!”
“I think you should do the jacket thing too.” Chrissy offers carefully, “I’m doing it to prove /my/ date isn’t a one-hit creep. You can do it just to remind yourself why you love your boy. And that he loves you. ‘Cause I know he does, Heather. But I know you’re afraid he doesn’t.”
Heather has tears in her eyes and a sad smile when she looks at Chrissy, “What is with you quiet girls and secretly being psychics?”
Oh how Chrissy wished she truly were a psychic.
At the beginning, she wasn’t nervous at all. Her and Heather bullshitted all the time, it wasn’t anything serious. But they’re all four on a date, wandering downtown around the various second hand stores, a typical stop for one couple, and the complete opposite for the others.
Seemed as good a time as any to go through with their silly plan, it wasn’t like it would hurt anything. Except she’d tried all kinds of things to get Billy to give her his jacket, and so far, none of them worked even a little! Not browsing through a selection of jackets at the stores, not shivering dramatically, not clinging to his side either.
Chrissy felt a chip in her little heart every time, feeling like maybe Heather was right. All over a jacket. She’d have her heart broken for a little bit of wool and leather.
With her boyfriend's name on it. Her boyfriend who actually holds her hand, and tells her she’s pretty, and doesn’t creep his hands under his skirt constantly.
She doesn’t know if she could get over losing that.
Her gait down the strip is admittedly less spirited, lingering behind Heather and Jay, but Billy never leaves her behind. He engages her in conversation too, hair blowing all over the place around his face, “How the fuck do you go outside in this shit?”
Chrissy looks at him, wearing an amused little smile, “Like, ever?”
“Yeah /ever/, Princess.” Billy sarcastically, but lightheartedly bumps her shoulder lightly with his arm, “Jesus, I should take you to California. Gonna miss winters without tiny fucking knives falling from the sky.”
Heather doesn’t lose track of that comment for a minute. Excited for Chrissy, she tries to plant the seed for their plan,
“What’s the matter, Billy? You too cold?”
“Hell no. But I’m not a chick the size of a baby deer.” Billy remarks, taking the bait perfectly well, rubbing Chrissy’s arms and feeling how cold she is, “Shit, you’re fucking frozen, Chris. Here.”
And without even thinking he peels off his varsity jacket and starts to hand it over.
Used to the cold, and despite her excitement wanting to make sure Billy doesn’t get uncomfortable, Chrissy protests, “No, no, no. Keep it. I can’t let your California sunshine freeze over.”
Billy disregards that, slinging it over her shoulders anyways, “Yeah, well I’m not letting all the fuckin’ little pixies that fly around your head freeze to death either.”
Jason scoffs at him, turning around to walk backwards with the group, teasing, “Dude, what does that even mean?”
Without even looking Heather flicks his ear, getting his attention back, “Just because you don’t understand romance doesn’t mean nobody can.”
He looks at her like a kicked puppy, but Jason is nothing if not stubborn, “Pixies? Sunshine? What happened to- beautiful and charming and butterflies in the stomach?”
“I don’t know, Jason. Maybe you should fall in love again and find out.”
“Who would I fall in love with? Nobody can beat you, Holloway.”
Heather rolls her eyes, flicking her hair like an agitated horse would it’s tail, “Ah, see you almost got a couple points there. Almost. You’re in the negatives though for using my last name.”
He tries to recover it suavely, “I could call you Carver instead?”
But that isn’t Heather's way. She counters intensely, “No. I’m not being a child bride, thank you very much. Besides, who says I’m taking your name? Maybe I could call you Holloway.”
“The.. I- Okay.” Jason just sputters, turning pink up to his ears.
Behind them, still lingering a good ways back, Chrissy hums, warm and cozy in her boyfriend’s jacket, “What are they even arguing about?”
Billy laughs about that, shrugs his shoulders, “Hell if I know. They lost me a long time ago.”
“It’s funny. Heather didn’t think you were good for me, but she fights with Jason all the time.” Chrissy informs him.
Billy stops dead in his tracks. Gently uses his hold on Chrissy's hand to spin her around to face him as he fell behind,
“Hold on. Take a step back. Heather thinks /what/ about me?”
Chrissy’s nerves spike so quickly she gets a little dizzy, “Please don't take it personally. I want my two favorite people to like each other. Please.”
Her beau steadies her, instead of freaking out, “No problem. I just find it.. fuckin’ weird.”
“It’s because of the way you drive. And smoke. And act. She thinks it’s bad for me.” Chrissy blurts, knowing it’s unkind but needing him to believe that she had no part in it.
He doesn’t seem too phased by having Heather’s disapproval, apparently learning faster than most people do, “Big fucking deal. At least you know I love you, right?”
“Mhm.” Chrissy nods her assurance, standing on her tiptoes to kiss Billy’s cheek and seal the promise.
“Right. Tell her she’s the one making Jason cry his damn eyes out the second he gets tipsy on a sip of anything stronger than a fuckin’ soda pop. I’m tellin’ you, Holloway has ripped out his heart and shoved it up his own pansy ass.” Billy sounds bitter, but not overly mean.
It’s something he’s thought about before. Good to know the gossip street goes both ways.
It’s why Chrissy doesn’t feel too bad telling Billy now, “She doesn’t mean to. I think she’s scared.”
“Sacred of Carver?…. He hurt her?” His voice drops, as angry and mean as Heather warned her about.
They don’t talk much about serious things, serious isn’t their kind of fun, but Chrissy knows about Billy’s life at home. About the type of man Billy could’ve been destined to be.
She rushes to make sure he doesn’t turn on his own friend for thinking Jason was the same way, “Oh no! No, not at all. Never. It’s her mom and her daddy. They sort of forced her to date Jason. She wasn’t ready. I think she’s ready now and doesn’t want to admit it. ‘Cause that would be like taking their orders.”
“Fuckin’ parents.” Billy eventually grumbles, not knowing what else to say.
It seems to be a common theme in their group. A bonding experience for all four of them, whether or not they’re open about it.
Chrissy doesn’t really feel like talking about that stuff anymore, sort of just mumbling, “Yeah.”
Because Billy is perfect, and none of the things Heather says at all, and the actual bullies in their lives makes her want to just hide. Billy notices the drop in her mood, and silently slings an arm around her waist, pulling her into his side as they walk. Keeping her close. Safe.
Maybe someday things will work out beyond Hawkins. They have to. Winning the jacket was a silly, small victory, but it was a step.
Now Chrissy just wants, more than anything, her friends to be happy.
She holds onto Billy’s hand a little tighter.
The next time Heather and Jason get together, it’s for a study date at the end of that week. With Heather being a year above, the only class they have in common is the Biology two class Heather failed last year. There’s coloring sheets of bones and cells to be completed, so it’s not like they need each other’s help, but sitting on Heather’s bed coloring with colored pencils didn’t seem like a bad deal either way.
At some point, surrounded by all the color, Heather realizes something,
“Honey. We’re going shopping this weekend.”
Jason barely looks up from his work, focused on being neat close to the lines, “For?”
“Clothes. You’ve worn three white polos this week. I’m bringing some color into your life.” Heather pokes him with the flat end of the white pencil for emphasis.
Jason blinks, caught off his guard, “I wear green sometimes.”
“School colors don’t count. Yellow either.”
“I think I have, maybe, /one/ blue shirt.”
Heather digs in the pile for a turquoise-ish pencil, “Blue! Blue’s.. good! That’s definitely on God’s rainbow. Maybe a nice pair of blue jeans too, for once-“
That’s where Jason cuts it off. Because that’s where Heather went from playfully sharp to flat-out insulting, “Heather, please.”
She stays on the defensive, “I’m just saying. There’s nothing wrong with branching out from your choir boy uniform. That’s all.”
Sometimes it’s like she thinks if she pokes a bruise enough, it’ll make her seem like she’s strong enough to cause them. Like she’s all in charge and nothing can stop her.
Jason doesn’t want to stop her, he just wants her basic respect, “So what do you suggest?”
Not even sarcastic, just genuinely enthusiastic to share, Heather starts, “Pastels! Your hair is way too strawberry to be a dark dresser. Unless you go with emeralds, no more tacky green. Ooh, or even if you grow it out some! You know, actually-“
Jason runs his fingers over his neatly parted hair, protecting it, not hiding the concerned squeak to his voice, “No thank you, I happen to like my hair short.”
“Again, baby. Boring.” Heather just rolls her eyes, once again. Sometimes it’s like that’s all she knows how to do.
It stings.
“Look, if nothing I do is ever going to be good enough-“
Heather doesn't entertain that in the least. She slaps her hand over his homework page, making him look at her, “It’s not /you/. You know that it’s not you.”
No, he didn’t know that. Jason looks at her, confused, “What?”
“Just because you dress yourself, and you drive your stupid little station wagon around parading your image, doesn’t mean there’s not that voice in the back of your head. Maybe… maybe a tight fist too. Telling you what to do. You’re afraid.” Heather talks with her hands, just enough that Jason can see through it.
That she’s being showy to hide something.
Doesn’t mean he’s not been rendered self conscious and bare-souled all the same. He doesn’t like that, even after months with Heather not feeling safe showing her all his tender parts like that, “I don’t want to hear this from you.”
“Oh, so a girl can’t have opinions, huh? I should just spread my legs now and let something else do all the talking?” Heather heats the argument.
Jason just lets his head fall back, frustrated, “I don’t- You /know/ I don’t want that.”
“Oh please do enlighten me then, your graciousness.” Heather forces what Jason is thinking out of him.
So he lets it go, without regard to her feelings, even though he hadn’t wanted to, “Look, I’m not stupid. I know your parents are a problem, Heather. Everyone that’s read the paper knows Tom Holloway isn’t a kind man. You try to hide it, but you can’t keep it from me. And you can’t- just take it all out on me!”
“I wasn’t-“ Heather tries to backpedal.
He still doesn’t let her, “You were! You always have! Nobody has the key to the lock on your heart, but I’ve been trying anyways. And you just shut. me. down!”
“Jason…”
“I’m sorry. I’m sorry we didn’t meet for real until high school. I’m sorry I can’t save you because I’ve got my own.. shit to deal with. But, and forgive me for using His name in vain, Jesus fucking Christ Heather!”
“Jason..” Heather repeats, clearly more misty eyed than before, and opens her arms. A hug is letting him in physically, letting him get close even when the words aren’t easy.
Mostly, she hadn’t realized Jason could read her as easily as she could read him.
He takes the vulnerability to mean it’s safe to say, “I love you.”
“I know.” Is Heather’s response. It’s not easy to say it back, not when she chokes on it every time she tries to say it to her ‘problems,’ let alone a highschool boyfriend she was never supposed to fall for, not in her own heart.
It’s enough. Jason keeps holding her, lips against her shoulder, “I’m sorry.”
Heather repeats herself, “I know.”
Nothing else felt right to say. Because she /was/ sorry too, but saying it second would feel ingenuine. At least, she’d read it that way.
She closes her eyes and feels exhausted. It’s not supposed to be this hard. Their school years are drawing to a close, and yet she can’t even admit her own parents treat her like shit.
Maybe a silent tear drop or two drips off the end of her nose behind Jason’s back. If he noticed, he didn’t say a word.
After a while, Heather needs to do something, sitting and thinking and regretting not doing anything to help, “Can we call Chrissy and Billy and go get some ice cream or something?”
“Sure. I think I owe that to you for keeping myself so.. alone.” Jason admits, bashful but genuine.
And isn’t that just the thing. Heather gives him a tiny smile back, “Ditto, baby.”
Ice cream ran into the evening, all of them itching for an excuse to stay out. Chrissy was the last to finish her bowl of two raspberry scoops with sprinkles, half of it melted into sludge by the last spoonful, and even that’s not a distraction enough.
It’s early spring, which means, as the group informed Billy, that the Hawkins drive-in theater was opening back up. Nobody even needed to discuss it to know that’s what they wanted to do. There were a variety of chick-flicks and even more horror sequels in the box office, which meant the two week delay at the drive-in would make for some good choices at least. Most Hawkins residents would take their trucks out there, not some prissy little station wagon, but it would do.
At least, it should, but Billy started getting impatient with cruising along under the speed limit out to the wooded hill where the drive-in is, “Can’t this piece of shit go faster?”
Heather turned around slightly to face and scold him, “Well, we coulda brought yours if you hadn’t decided to buy the extra tiny, no room for fun model.”
Billy just snorted humorlessly, “We could fit if there was any actual fun going on. Leaving room for the Lord or whatever is what fucks it up.”
For that comment, knowing their company, Chrissy pushed Billy’s arm gently. Still, she didn’t seem to disagree too harshly, since she smiled through when he kissed her next.
Heather seemed irritated, though that tends to be her default honestly, as she huffed, “Not everyone’s a sleaze like you, Hargrove. Get used to it.”
Billy hadn’t even justified it with a response, just waved her off and used the same arm to swing it over the seat behind Chrissy. She was wearing his jacket again, hadn’t taken it off all week, curled into his side and wearing his name. In that bubbly way she does, she was also wiggling her hands about, not nervous, but happy.
Content.
Heather and Jason still had a ways to go to reach contentment.
The pair stay in the car for the movie, their counterparts in a blanket on the grass instead. Cali boy is out there freezing his ass off, but he’d said anything would be better than being trapped with relationship drama.
Heather and Jason try to ignore him.
They fail.
Jason turns to her not even a full twenty minutes after that comment starts working it’s way under his skin, “Heather?”
“Hm?” She hums to show she’s listening, but doesn’t look his way.
That’s not enough for what needs to be said, so he repeats, “Heather.”
“Yeah, that’s me. You need something?”
“I wanted- I just…. I’m sorry.”
Her pretty features screw up in confusion, “For what?”
“For not being good enough.” Jason informs, like it was the most clear thing, “You’d be happier with a guy like Billy. Maybe you could call up Steve-“
“No, fuck you if you think I could ever leave you.” She spits.
And then she grabs Jason by the collar of his polo and kisses him.
It’s nothing chaste, nothing at all like their usual peck of the lips. This is roaming tongues and hands.
Heather reigns herself in when she feels Jason’s hands, holding her hips up under the back of her shirt, shaking.
“I’m not gonna make you do anything. Sex isn’t my endgame.”
He sort of freezes, like it hadn’t occurred to him that Heather wouldn’t mind helping him in his devotion to modesty, “So what is?”
“An apartment. Maybe get a cat. I want to share a space with you long before we do marriage shit.” Heather explains lightly, smile on her face.
Jason relaxes his shoulders, “Make it a dog and we’ll see. Dogs are better.”
“Oh, ha-ha. Make it one of each and I’ll forgive you for that comment.”
Heather kisses him again, without any heat or intensity this time, just gentle, soft affection. She even lets him touch her hair, despite usually slapping his hands away for that. It helps that she’d brushed it out to be restyled before bed tonight, but still, she would have let him even if her curls were laying perfect.
When they pull away, Heather lays her head on Jason’s shoulder. Instead of watching Cat’s Eye on the screen, her gaze falls to their friends huddled up outside, and she muses, “How much you wanna bet Chrissy and Billy run away into the sunset?”
“I hope they do. Hawkins is Hell on earth.” Jason asserts, clearly serious because he usually wouldn’t even mention a place like that.
Heather sighs slightly, “Literally. The kidnappings, the murders. I can’t take much more of it.”
Confident, Jason says, “I’m sure they’d make room for us then. If we wanted to go with them.”
That has Heather sitting up straighter, surprised, “You would live in California?”
Sunny skies, living free- it didn’t seem very much his pace. The order and the mundanity of Midwestern life seemed better for Jason.
He just shrugs for now, “Who knows? We’ll see when we get there.”
“And you’re okay with that?” Heather wonders aloud, as she knows it, finding that Jason prefers to have his entire life planned out.
He only sounds a little tense as he tries to sound brave and strong, “Getting there.”
The tension between them had to have been coming from there. She wanted nothing more than to rebel and escape, while he, even when he was feeling crushed by the weight of parental disapproval, was nothing short of desperate to be back in their graces.
If Heather could be more open to discussion when that made her uncomfortable, and Jason less complicit to begin with, the pair would probably be on the right path again.
She lays her head on him again, and this time, Jason takes his arm out of one sleeve of his varsity jacket, slinging it around her like a blanket. Her heart absolutely soars. The promise to Chrissy was fulfilled, she and her honey were working out just fine now, after she’d gotten Billy’s jacket.
That’s gotta be a sign that things will work out for Heather too.
“Hey, Jason?”
“Hm?”
She feels compelled to finally confess, “I love you.”
It’s Jason this time who, after a soft little kiss to her forehead, says, “I know.”