paint by number (fic)
jj maybank x fem!reader | sequel to colour in the lines! | the answer to this ask ;)
content warning: sexual content (f receiving, m receiving, p in v - MDNI); drinking
word count: 13k.
blurb: now in autumn, you and JJ seem happy as pie in your new relationship. There's only one problem: your best friend Esme can't stand JJ, and he's determined to find out why.
JJ hated school. He saw it as a waste of time; hours spent sitting behind various desks, staring at a whiteboard, staring at a chalkboard, staring at a piece of paper. Nothing interested him. Not the Roman Empire or the prose that Shakespeare wrote or the chemical equations that explained things like oxygen and water. JJ didn’t care how or why things were the way they were. He never questioned it and so never felt the pull for answers which were given to him in class. The only good thing about school? It got him away from his dad.
Luke had been on a bender over the weekend and had come back drunk and enraged. As always, JJ was the one that was unwillingly in his line of sight. He became Luke’s outlet as always. Walked away with a split lip and a handful of bruises scattered across his body. When Monday came around, JJ only contemplated skipping for a few minutes. That was until he heard his dad stirring across the hall. With that, JJ was grabbing his backpack and clambering out his bedroom window.
In books and movies and adverts, teachers are these benevolent beings. They’re patient and understanding. They take pity on the kids from darker backgrounds and shine the light on them, lifting them up. JJ hadn’t experienced that. Teachers looked down their nose at him. He could feel their distaste in the way they spoke to him, in how they addressed him, and in the ways they’d pick on him to answer when they knew he wouldn’t know what to say. It pissed him off. Made him want to give it back. A taste of their own medicine.
Romeo and Juliet was the biggest snooze-fest JJ had ever read. ‘Read’ might be generous. He had skimmed the pages whilst hanging on the boat with his friends, having stolen the novel from Pope after he’d fallen asleep. Love-dovey-crap, that was all it was. The ending was ridiculous. Killing yourself for love? 'Give me a break', JJ thought to himself, snapping the book shut. It was fair to say the quiz that Mrs Hall dished out on the Wednesday prior hadn’t particularly elated JJ. Who said this, who did that - who fucking cares, is what JJ would like to know. He’d guessed half the answers and, whenever possible, left ridiculous responses to the others. But now, on Monday, after a weekend that felt like JJ had dragged his feet through the doorway of Hell, he was having to face the consequences of his actions, yet again.
“I’ve got to say, guys. Not your finest hour,” the teacher, Mrs Hall, remarks as she paces the aisles of the classroom. JJ lolls his head back in his seat, eyes closed, arms folded over his chest. His foot taps impatiently on the vinyl floor, his combat boots a strange comfort in his unease of being in a classroom. The click-click of Mrs Hall’s heels on the floor feels like a countdown as she nears JJ’s desk. The smell of casserole comes with it. He wondered if she ate it everyday, for how often she smelt like the stuff. Boiled potatoes and carrots and gravy. JJ cracks an eye open to see his quiz sheet being placed in front of him on the table.
“Poor work, Mr Maybank,” Mrs Halls reprimands. “I want you to see me after class.”
JJ peers down at the red letter ‘F’ circled in marker. It sneers at him, mocks him and his stupidity. What a waste. Maybe his dad was right. Maybe he would be better off dead. This felt like proof that JJ had nothing to show for himself.
Restless, heart beating and body sweating, JJ tugs off his cap and runs his fingers through his hair. Huffing, he rocks back in his seat and tries to calm himself down. He’s angry. At the teacher, at the quiz, at Shakespeare, at himself. His mind fills with insults which berate him, chipping at his confidence and self-worth, and clipping his mood shorter and shorter.
“Nice job.”
JJ glances over to his right. Mrs Hall blocks his line of sight but he can make out the other student well enough. She’s chewing on her lip, hands neatly placed in her lap as if praying, and she’s staring down at her quiz paper that Mrs Hall has just returned to her. His eyes flit up to Mrs Hall’s face. She’s proud, visibly so. Nobody’s ever looked at JJ like that.
“Top of the class - as always,” she adds. Then she’s continuing down the aisle to the tables in front. JJ frowns as he watches the girl. She reaches out a hand and strokes the ‘A +’ that JJ can make out from where he’s sat, as if she’s some Disney princess petting a wild rabbit. It’s laughable. She thinks it makes her special, having a teacher give her praise as if handing out candy, letting a stupid letter define her. But it does define her. Makes her better than him. Than everyone. Gives her keys to doors that JJ won’t ever be shown to. He can imagine her going home, gloating to her parents with faux humbleness, waving the quiz paper around to her glassy eyed parents who beam with pride at their wonderful ball of sunshine. And he hates the image he conjures in his mind. Hates the way he can practically feel the warmth of the fairytale-like fireplace on his skin; the smell of the chicken roasting in the oven; the sound of the radio playing cheerful music from the better decades.
JJ looks back down at his quiz paper. The ‘F’ looks back at him. It winks. JJ snorts. His voice doesn’t sound like his own when the worlds bubble up from inside him. They come out his mouth in a mocking sneer, as uncontrollable as vomit.
“Fuckin’ virgin.”
The girl behind him sniggers, and so does the boy in front. It makes JJ smile, smug and proud, because that is what he’s good for. Being the comedic relief, with quippy remarks. That’s all he’ll ever be: the joke.
But in his peripheral, he sees the girl’s head suddenly sag. It hangs low, shameful, embarrassed. He tilts his head just-so to make out her face. Her eyes are wet. Her lower lip trembles and he watches her sink her teeth into it, trying to keep it still. It looks like she might cry. His heart squeezes. For some reason, he thinks of his mother. Of the way she used to smile at him when tucking him into bed. Guilt washes over him like a cold shower and it makes him uncomfortable. It shocks him, catches him off guard, because he doesn’t even know this girl, so why does he care if he upset her?
But he does care. He cares a lot. He cares because he doesn’t want to be that guy. To be callous and cruel and condescending. JJ suddenly realises that he doesn’t want to be his father.
His throat goes dry and he stares down at his test paper, but his attention remains on the girl. He hears her sniffle. He clenches his jaw. The words of an apology churn his stomach, similarly to before, but they’re less willing to come out. And just when JJ’s about to muster the courage, the girl’s hand is shooting up.
“Yes?”
“Can I be excused to the bathroom, please?”
“Go ahead,” Mrs Hall sighs. The chair squeezes loudly as she pushes out of her seat. JJ glances at the door just in time to see her slip out and into the hallway. He swallows down the lingering guilt, pressing his eyes shut.
“Alright, let’s get started. If everybody could open up to page fifty-three, I really want to start by reminding you about the conflict between the two families - since most of you seemed to forget about this in the quiz…” Mrs Hall begins her lesson. JJ doesn’t make any notes. Instead, he quietly and strangely obsesses over the fact that the girl never returns to her seat for the rest of the lesson.
Over a year later…
JJ waits outside of the elementary school. It’s hot today, even though summer is officially over. Fall had walked into people’s lives with cinnamon coloured leaves and cool breezes at night, but there were still long stretches of daylight, warm enough to warrant nothing more than a sweater. He stands in his trousers and graphic tee, hands in his pockets, and rocks back on forth on his heels. He knows he doesn’t fit in with the others who stand in the playground. The mothers who gather in small groups like birds, squawking their gossip to one another. The fathers who small-talk over the latest baseball or football game, occasionally glancing at their phones to check their emails from work. There’s a nanny here too which is providing JJ with entertainment. She’s trying to wrangle three toddlers, with a brooding preteen unwilling to assist. The baby in the pushchair is crying out for attention. The nanny looks like she might throttle someone if they look at her the wrong way, though, so he only glances from time to time.
His phone buzzes and JJ checks the group chat with the Pogues. They’re planning on going to a kegger tonight; JJ replies that he needs to check with you. The last text he sent to you remains unanswered, though that isn’t all that uncommon.
‘At Leo’s school now.’
The ringing school bell has him shutting off his phone and pocketing it. The doors open not long afterwards and children come flooding out into the school yard in throngs. Girls loudly talking over one another, boys half-wrestling whilst descending the stairs, teachers looking crazed as they follow and try to control the chaos. Leo walks out by himself. He wanders out into the world, undisturbed by the madness happening around him. His hands clasp his backpack straps. He stops suddenly in the middle of the pathway just after the stairs. Some kids shout at him for it, brushing past him, and JJ has to clench his fists to save from walking over and giving them a piece of his mind. But then Leo’s looking around patiently, scanning the area, until his eyes land on JJ. He gives a small smile which speaks to boundless enthusiasm and runs across the tarmac to him. JJ grins, dropping to his knees, and lets out a huff when Leo’s small body collides into his with an embrace.
“Hey bud,” JJ chuckles, hugging him back. “You good, little dude?”
“‘M good,” Leo nods, pulling away. JJ helps him shrug off his backpack; looping an arm through it, JJ carries it easily on his back. At the feel of Leo’s clammy hand pawing for JJ’s, he gladly takes the little boy’s hand in his, and the two of them begin their walk out of the school grounds.
“How was school, little dude?”
“S’good,” Leo murmurs.
“Oh yeah? What lessons you have?”
“Um…we had gym, and art, and math, and English…”
“Sounds like a busy one, huh?” JJ wonders, glancing down at Leo. He’s focused ahead but nods. He gently squeezes JJ’s hand and JJ smiles, looking ahead. The rest of the walk back to your house is spent in scattered conversation. Leo asks borderline intrusive questions about yourself and JJ, and JJ likes to think he strategically dodges them. Leo asks about girls and what they like, and reminds JJ about the “prettiest girl in the whole world” that’s in his lessons, and JJ gives appropriate advice for the audience. When the pair finally round the now familiar walkway to your home, Leo’s hand slips free and he races ahead. JJ follows him into the house.
“We’re home!” Leo hollers loudly. He rushes into the living room. JJ chuckles, shaking his head, closing the door, toeing off his boots. “Mama! Sissy! We’re home!”
“I think they heard you, little man,” JJ calls back. He places Leo’s backpack by the rack of coats and shoes, and he smiles to himself like an idiot at the sound of your footsteps on the stairs. Standing up, he looks over to catch you hurrying through the hallway to him. You’re beaming, glasses sitting pretty on your face like always, and JJ opens his arms in time to catch your hug, He wraps an arm around you and lifts you off the floor, savouring your giggle, grunting happily as he squeezes your frame against his. Your feet carefully reunite with the floor; arms staying coiled around his neck.
“Hey brown-nose,” JJ smiles down at you.
“Hey blue eyes,” you smile back. You push onto your toes and press a kiss to his lips, and JJ swears to God he feels every minor stress that he’s collected throughout the day fizzle away. “Thanks for picking up Leo.”
“All good. You get that food shop done?”
“Yep. Mom should be back any time soon,” you tell him. The kiss you press to his cheek is like a reflex before you pull away, untangling yourself, walking to the kitchen. JJ follows you. He sits at the kitchen island and watches you unpack the shopping. You slide a box of cherry tomatoes over to him which he happily cracks open, popping a few in his mouth. From the living room, the television whirs to life, loudly chattering into the quiet.
“Missed you at school today,” JJ tells you.
You smile as you open the fridge. “Missed you too.”
“Mathletes go well at lunch?”
“Yep. We think we might make it to the finals this year,” you reply, slotting various fresh fruit and vegetables into the fridge.
“Damn. That’s exciting.”
You laugh. “Might wanna look up the definition for the word ‘exciting’.”
JJ laughs too, nods a little, eats another tomato. “Hey, the Pogues texted today. Said something ‘bout a kegger tonight. You down?”
“Maybe,” you say, closing the fridge. You wander over to him, leaning across the counter. “What time?”
“Whenever you wanna go, really. Guessing you wanna change,” he shrugs.
You feign offence, leaning back and gesturing to your sweatshirt and jeans, stained with curry you meal prepped the night before. “You sayin’ I don’t look hot?”
“Come on,” JJ croons, grinning playfully, “You always look hot.” You roll your eyes, smiling despite yourself, and resume your previous position propped up on the counter. “Seriously, though. You wanna go?”
“I’m guessing you do.”
“Hell yeah, I do,” he replies, making you laugh.
“A’right. On one condition, though,” you say, pointing a finger at him. JJ’s heart immediately sinks an inch lower in his chest. “Esme’s coming too.”
“Really?” JJ asks. You shrug and steal a tomato.
“She’s my best friend. I feel more comfortable at those kinda things with her,” you say, popping the tomato in your mouth.
“You do know that I’ll be there too, right?” JJ half jokes. You roll your eyes once more.
“I know that, dumbass. It’s just nice having another familiar face, y’know?”
“The Pogues not familiar enough yet?” JJ wonders. You’d met them more than enough times, now.
You shrug. “I just worry ‘bout her. She doesn’t really go out to a lot of things. ‘Sides, I want you two to get to know each other more. Y’know, hang out and stuff.”
“A’right, a’right, sure. Esme can come too,” JJ says.
You grin at him. “Thanks, babe.”
You lean across the counter, clearing the space between the two of you, and press a quick kiss to JJ’s lips. Then you’re pulling out your phone and calling Esme’s number, wandering out the kitchen just as the line connects. JJ sighs and tosses another tomato into his mouth. As he half-listens to your conversation in the hall, his mind begins to wander.
You and JJ slotted into each other’s life like the perfect sized hardback on an overflowing bookshelf. Time which was once kept to the confines of tutoring sessions in Mr Sunn’s classroom had now stretched into days at the beach, hours on the boat, or nights in your bedroom. When neither of you were at school, and JJ wasn’t at work, you’d spend your time together in one way or another. You’d lie down on the wooden slays of the pier in a bikini, holding a book above your face to read, shielding you from the sun, whilst JJ would fish nearby. You’d lounge on the boat, relaying the details from the latest documentary you’d watched, whilst JJ would drive the two of you around the marshland. You’d lean against his shoulder, sitting side by side, roasting marshmallows over the campfire with the other Pogues, stealing sips from his can of beer. You’d stand at the stove, stirring a comically large wok full of food that you were meal prepping for the week, dressed in one of his sweaters and a pair of sleep shorts, with JJ’s arms wrapped around you from behind as if he was the one holding you together. You’d snuggle against him, safe and cosy in your bed, glasses slipping down your nose as the two of you would watch Rick and Morty on your laptop. You’d watch like a hawk as JJ mimicked surf lessons with Leo, balancing the young boy on a child’s sized board precariously planted atop of a stack of throw pillows.
JJ had wormed his way into every aspect of your life. Your mom welcomed him as if he was an extension of the family. She borderline pressured him to stay for dinner and always reminded him to help himself to anything in the kitchen. She let JJ waste her daughter’s time with someone who would probably never amount to more than a high school graduate with average grades. She didn’t look at him the way most other adults did: like he was something dangerous, as if he were a cockroach that needed squishing.
Leo adored JJ. You’d told him this, many times. JJ was more than happy to become a fixture in the young boy’s life. The pair had a secret handshake. JJ would read him bedtime stories when your mom had a night shift, giving you the time to shower in peace before winding down for bed. JJ played monster-truck racing with Leo any chance he got. You once made a half-joke to him. ‘I think Leo might be healing your inner child or something.’ Maybe he was. Maybe JJ was trying to give Leo the life that he never had growing up; full of patience and support and encouragement. He wanted to keep him safe from everything and anyone. He wanted to give Leo the world on a platter and then some.
“Perfect! We’ll pick you up later then! Love ya!” you chirp through the phone.
Yes, JJ had melded perfectly into your life in nearly every aspect. The one roadblock? Your best friend, Esme.
JJ had tried literally. Fucking. Everything. He’d offered her rides back after school. He’d offered her to tag along on dates that he would much rather spend just as you and him. He complimented her, conversed with her - hell, JJ even read a book to have something in common with Esme to talk about. No matter what he did, no matter what he tried, Esme very obviously did not like JJ. The best part? This was an unspoken thing. The kind of quiet, simmering hatred that was only detected in the occasional glower and glare, in the odd snide comment, in the vague back-handed compliments. JJ knew enough about girls to know when one didn’t like him, and he had a feeling that Esme didn’t just ‘not like’ JJ. No, he was rather certain that Esme hated him.
All that to say, he wasn’t about to give up hope. Esme could come along and third-wheel to the kegger if she wanted to. It wasn’t like JJ wanted to be mortal enemies with the girl. You valued Esme as much as you valued JJ, maybe even more. The way you meshed with the Pogues was as sublime as lemon slices in iced tea. You and Pope could sit and talk for hours about books and movies and general, intellectual stuff that JJ tuned out of. You and Kiara would give tarot card readings to one another whilst sharing a joint. You and John B had the same sense of humour, sniggering and laughing like kids. JJ wanted that with Esme. He wanted to be friends with her, the same way you probably wanted him to be friends with her too. That to say, when you walk back into the kitchen, JJ plasters on a smile.
“She’s coming!” you chirp. JJ makes space between his legs for you to stand between them. His hand rests safely on your sides and your arms loop around his shoulders.
“Great,” he forces, hoping it sounds elated and not like he’s constipated. “We picking her up, did I hear?”
“Mhm. I just need to change,” you tell him. JJ smiles, the irritation of Esme tagging along fading away. “Can you hang with Leo whilst I shower?”
“Can’t I just shower with you?” JJ asks with a cheeky smile.
“Mm. Don’t tempt me, blue eyes,” you reply slyly. JJ hand slides tantalisingly down your sides until they're sweeping under your ass. He squeezes gently and tugs you closer, and he can’t help but grin at the way your breath catches. Your fingers sink into his hair as you kiss him deeply. His tongue brushes teasingly against yours, chasing the taste of you. He hums appreciatively at the lingering flavour of fresh tomato juice, palms splaying shamelessly across your butt. You’re breathless as you pull away. JJ fills his time with kissing lightly at your jawline. “We really need’t go upstairs. Don’t want Leo to walk in.”
“You worry too much,” JJ mumbles against your skin, but he silently agrees, slipping his wandering hands back up to your hips. You rest your forehead against his and sigh happily. JJ can’t wipe the smile off his face, it lingers like mist in the night.
“Hey, JJ,” you whisper.
“Yeah?”
There’s a beat of quiet and JJ opens his eyes. His smile dwindles at the look on your face: so serious, so contemplative. But before he can ask what’s wrong - what you’re thinking - you’re smiling again and kissing him, wiping his mind clean. “Nothing. Doesn’t matter.”
With that, you’re walking back out the kitchen, calling over your shoulder: “I’m gonna get a shower!”
JJ frowns at the door. That was weird.
By the time you re-emerge downstairs after your shower - dressed and ready to go - JJ has watched so much children’s television, he wouldn’t be surprised if his brains are leaking out of his ears. Leo is good entertainment: he takes up the main space of the living room floor, dancing around to the theme tunes and dialogue, driving his red truck that JJ fixed in the air. As if on cue, as you make your way down the stairs, the front door opens.
“Mama!” Leo yells, running to the front door.
JJ hears the oof your mom lets out from the hallway, likely after Leo has collided with her legs in a hug, and he laughs to himself, shaking his head. You walk into the room and plop down on the couch beside him. You lean your head against him, tapping on your phone as you text Esme. The smell of shampoo and moisturiser and perfume radiate off you and it consumes JJ.
“Mm. you smell good,” he murmurs, staring absentmindedly at your phone screen.
“Thanks. So do you,” you reply, typing away.
Your mom wanders into the room with Leo in tow. “Oo, you’re all dressed up. You guys going somewhere?”
“We’re heading out for the night. Is that okay with you?” you check, glancing up at her. She smiles at you and then at JJ, nodding her head. “You sure?”
“Yes, I’m sure. Go on, have fun. Be a normal kid, please. It’s a demand.”
“Thanks, mom,” you reply mirthfully.
“Is it just the two of you?”
“JJ and Y/N, sitting in a tree!” Leo loudly begins to chant, giddy and overexcited.
“I’m never forgiving you for teaching him that,” you mutter under your breath to JJ. He holds back his laugh. Then, replying to your mom, speaking loudly over Leo’s singing, you say, “we’re meeting JJ’s friends there, and picking up Esme on the way.”
“One of y’all is driving?” JJ nods, raising his hand slightly. “You drinking?” He shakes his head. Smiling, nodding, she says, “good.”
Leo concludes his song with a giggle, clapping his hands happily.
“A’right, we should probably head out,” you say, pushing up onto your feet. “Told Esme we’ll set off in five.”
“Okay, you two. Stay safe, have fun,” your mom says, heading toward the kitchen. As you venture into the hallway to pull on your sneakers, JJ ducks down to meet Leo’s height. The little boy stares at him, eyes slightly unfocused, a smile lingering on his puppy-fat face.
“You gonna be good, little man?”
“Mhm,” Leo nods.
“A’right. Gimme some skin,” JJ murmurs. The two begin their handshake, tapping knuckles and wiggling fingers. With a two finger salute ‘farewell’, JJ’s rising back to his full height and Leo is wandering past and into the hallway. JJ follows to spot you giving Leo a tight embrace, smiling contently.
“See you later, hon.”
“Bye sissy,” Leo replies, pulling away. He goes to find your mom in the kitchen. JJ intertwines his fingers with yours as he guides the two of you to the door. You look beautiful as you step out into the golden glow of sunset; hair slightly damp, freshly styled, and make-up glossy on your skin. Your glasses frame your face beautifully, eyes twinkling behind the lenses, and JJ is certain that he hasn’t seen anything as pretty as you.
“You remember Esme’s address, right?” you ask JJ as the two of you walk to his truck.
“Yep,” he nods, unlocking the truck. The two of you get comfy, settling into weird unspoken routines and rituals: JJ turning the key, starting the engine, whilst you mess with the air conditioning and radio. There’s a sticker that you bought a few weeks ago that’s stuck to the visor: second in command. It was a bit of a gag, considering that you were the one that made most of the plans. The queen of schedules. The drive there is quiet but not uncomfortable. JJ reaches across the centre console and rests his hand on your thigh, thumbing at the thin material of your dress. He can feel his mood dampening as he pulls onto Esme’s street.
“There she is,” you chirp, pointing at Esme standing on the street side. She’s scrolling on her phone but looks up at the sound of the car. You wave at her and she waves back, eyes zoned in on you and not JJ. She clambers into the back, the smell of her perfume washing out yours - ticking JJ off more. “Hey!”
“Hey,” she brightly returns.
“Hey Esme,” JJ says, smiling tight-lipped at her in the rear view. She nods at him in brief acknowledgment.
“JJ.”
Whatever, he thinks, checking the mirrors and setting off once more. You turn in your seat and make conversation with Esme, asking about her day, checking in on her studying.
“I’ve only just started studying for Mr Sunn’s class,” Esme tells you.
“Really? I’ve been studying since the semester started,” you frown.
“Girl, that’s because you’re studying all the time,” Esme joshes.
“What!? I do not study all the time, do I, JJ?”
JJ’s eyes flit up to the rear view mirror, catching sight of Esme’s irritation of him being included in the conversation. He struggles to bite back his smirk from how much it seemingly bothers her.
“Babe, you do study all the time,” he tells you.
You gape at him, laughing, “wow. I feel like I’m being ganged up on.”
“This is why I’m telling you that you gotta relax. Don't stress - that's what papa J's here for,” JJ reassures lightly.
“Yeah. Pretty sure you’re a pro at relaxing, huh, JJ?” Esme asks somewhat rhetorically. You’re oblivious, it seems, to the double-meaning, but JJ isn’t. He catches it clearly in her tone.
Rolling his eyes, he bites his cheek and continues the drive to the beach. He lets you and Esme talk about books and study techniques and gossip about your other friends and peers, half-listening to the conversation (though mostly to you). Finally, he’s parking up at the beach. Dusk has now fallen, the sky a delectable collage of deep purples and blues and blacks, with nothing more than a glimmer of orange that hovers on the far waves of the water in the horizon. It’s already pretty busy at the boneyard. Touron season is mostly over meaning it’s primarily local kids. Thankfully, the Kooks seem to have other plans. Only a small group of them hover on the outskirts of the beach. As the three of you make your way over, JJ’s hand in yours, the music playing from a Bluetooth speaker gets louder, and the smell of beer and seltzers combines perfectly with the sea salt and fresh air.
“Hey! There he is!” John B calls out. JJ grins, guiding the three of you over. He does a quick handshake-greeting with his best friend. You’re then letting go of him to give John B a hug. “What’re you guys drinking?”
“No drinking for me tonight, amigo. I’m D.D.,” JJ tells him.
“JJ being responsible? Who would’ve thought we’d see the day?” Kie mutters jokingly into her cup.
“I know right? Almost as shocking as when we found out he was getting tutored,” Pope kids along.
Rolling his eyes, JJ slaps his shoulder in a brotherly fashion. “Just admit it, Pope. You’re intimidated by what might happen if I have the brains and the beauty."
“Good thing your girls got the brains and beauty part on lock,” Kiara comments. You smile at that, grateful and flattered, and JJ hooks his arm over your shoulder, tugging you closer to him.
“You guys remember Esme, right?” you say, gesturing to your friend.
“Course! She manage to convince you to come to another one of these things?” Kiara asks her.
“Seems like it,” Esme chuckles, shrugging. JJ fights the urge to roll his eyes; it feels like a reflex reaction to anything she says.
“Hey, why don’t you girls catch up and I’ll grab us some drinks,” JJ offers, untangling from you. You smile at him, nodding. Pointing a finger at you, he checks, “beer?”
“Yes please.”
“You got it,” he grins, walking over to the kegger. John B and Pope follow, leaving the three girls to chat.
“Yo. What’s that Esme chick doing here again?” John B asks JJ.
“Beats me, man. Y/N insisted that she comes,” JJ sighs, hands sinking into his short pockets.
“What’s the problem with Esme?” Pope asks, frowning. JJ and John B both give him a look of really, man?
“Esme hates JJ.”
“What? No way,” Pope replies.
JJ snorts, grabbing a cup from the stack that leans against the kegger. “I’m tellin’ you, man, that chick wants me dead. And odds are that she’ll be the one to kill me off, too.”
“You find out why she hates your guts yet?” John B wonders.
“As opposed to all the other reasons most girls hate your guts,” Pope mutters. JJ shoots him a glare and contemplates shooting some of the kegger at him, but refrains. Can’t waste good beer, after all.
“Nope. Y/N is in happy denial that there’s even an ish.”
“Damn,” John B says, glancing over to the trio across the beach. Cup now full, JJ makes space for John B and Pope to fill up four more. “Look, maybe you could just ask Esme tonight if you get a chance. I mean, you and Y/N ain’t breaking up anytime soon so she’s gonna have to get over it at some point.”
“I mean, I’ll try, man,” JJ sighs. He takes a sip of your drink. It’s crisp and refreshing as he swallows. “I wanna get along with her. I know how much Esme means to her. God knows why but, hey, who am I to judge when my best friends are you guys.”
“That’s sweet, JJ,” Pope sarcastically retorts. JJ grins at him.
His temporary annoyance of Esme’s presence disappears when you press a kiss to his cheek in thanks, taking your drink. Kiara’s in the middle of a story about a seal that she saw on the beach the other day; JJ listens along, his arm wrapped around your waist, and Esme seems to lighten up a bit. She tells a story that even JJ has to admit is pretty funny, and when he adds a joke to the narrative, she laughs. It’s a small victory but he’ll take it. As the night stretches on and the stories continue to be thrown around like a volleyball, you toss back drink after drink. It seems like you’re making up for JJ’s lack of alcohol and drinking for two.
The drunk alter-ego of you is one of JJ’s favourites. You get silly; loosened up like oil in your joints. You want to dance with him, and tell loud stories, and giggle at just about everything. Considering your tolerance is piss-poor, JJ keeps an eye on you. As you’re animatedly debating the latest character addition to the fantasy series you’ve been reading with Pope, Esme gets up from the driftwood.
“I’m gonna grab a drink,” she says. JJ sees his moment and takes it.
“I’ll come with. Could do with a soda,” he says cordially. She doesn’t look thrilled by his company but doesn’t say anything, walking over to the keggers. JJ easily catches up with her, hands in his pockets. “So…you havin’ a good night?”
“You don’t have to do this, y’know?” Esme says, tone far from friendly.
JJ frowns, glancing at her. “Do what?”
“Try and make nice with me. Like we’re gonna be friends,” Esme sighs. JJ stops suddenly in the sand, causing her to halt too, a few steps ahead.
“A’right, what gives?” JJ sighs, dropping the niceties. “I’ve tried fucking everything and you won’t budge.”
“Won’t budge on what?”
“On giving me a Goddamn chance,” JJ replies harshly.
Esme scoffs, rolling her eyes, folding her arms across her chest. “Typical man.”
JJ grinds his jaw. “Look, did I do something to you or some shit? I don’t get what your problem is? Did I steal Y/N from you, is that? Some secret feelings there that I’ve fucking steamrolled?”
“Of course! A heterosexual man’s mind jumping straight to lesbianism. Classic.”
“I swear to fucking God,” JJ mutters, pinching the bridge of his nose.
Esme seems to take pity. She sighs before saying, “look, you really wanna know what my deal is?”
“Please,” JJ replies, meeting her glare once more.
“I can’t forgive you for what you did.”
JJ feels like he’s in a K-hole. Throwing his arms out, he incredulously asks, “what did I do!?”
Esme laughs bitterly, shaking her head. “Oh my God! Of course you don’t even fucking remember! Classic!”
Before JJ can question her further, she’s planting him with another glower. “Look, she might be willing to forget about it, but I’m never going to forgive you for the way you made her feel. You’re just going to have to suck up the fact that me and you ain’t ever gonna be friends. Sorry, cis white man. Go cry about it on your Reddit page.”
JJ’s bemused, completely and utterly lost in the conversation. Esme seems done with it, finishing the walk to the keggers alone, and JJ doesn’t bother to follow. Instead, he returns to the others, soda-less. Your eyes light up at the sight of him, cutting off your own sentence.
“Hey!” you grin. You act like he’s been gone for hours. It sure as hell feels like it, JJ thinks to himself. Your arms wrapping around his neck does help brighten his mood though. He finds his smile again. “I missed you.”
“Barely went anywhere,” JJ chuckles, kissing your cheek nonetheless.
“Don’t care. Want you around all the time. Like a shadow. You remember the shadow lesson? I got you to do that experiment and you got super moody about it?” you ramble, giggling at the foggy memory. JJ chuckles, looking down at you. But then you’re yawning and swaying slightly on your feet, and JJ smoothly glances down to check his watch.
“We should probably head out soon,” he tells you.
“M’kay. Whatever you wanna do,” you hum, leaning against him, arms now wrapped around his middle like you’re a koala embracing a tree.
“Hey guys,” JJ calls out to the others, catching their attention, “I’m gonna take her home. Any chance someone can give Esme a ride back?”
“I can,” Kiara offers happily, tipping her cup at him.
“Sweet. Thanks,” he replies. He untangles you from his frame, taking your hand in his. “See y’all later.”
“Bye!” you call out, waving farewell as the two of you walk away. JJ glances briefly over to the keggers where Esme is just finishing up. She glares at him once more and JJ has to look away. Her words bounce around his brain, desperate to trigger some memory, but he’s coming up blank. What did he do to you? What is she talking about?
“Did you have fun?”
JJ comes back to the world and smiles at you. “Yeah. Yeah, I did. Did you have fun?”
“Mhm,” you sigh, tossing your head back with a content smile. JJ laughs to himself. “God, why did I wait so long to start drinking?”
“Jus’ waiting for a horrible influence like me, I guess,” JJ replies. You smack lightly at his chest.
“You’re not a horrible influence,” you mumble. The two of you step onto the tarmac and off the beach. “I think you’re probably the best thing that ever happened to me.”
JJ’s heart stammers from the casual gravity of your words. His lips twitch in a dopey smile.
The ride home is hilarious. You sing along to nearly every song loudly and incredibly out-of-tune, making up lyrics on the spot for those that you’re only half sure of. Your hand stays latched in JJ’s the whole journey. Every now and then, you point at him, egging him on to sing too, and he shakes his head but happily complies. It's hard sometimes to match this version of you to the one he met at the first tutoring session. Pulling into your driveway, JJ is amazed you haven’t exhausted yourself from the concert alone.
There’s a urgency that JJ knows all too well when you lead him up the pathway, hand in hand. You’re fumbling with the key for so long that JJ does it for you, and just as the two of you have stepped into the threshold of the house, the front door shut, you’re all over him.
“Woah, woah,” JJ chuckles, searching for your shoulders to try and hold you back.
“Come onnnn,” you preen, swaying on your feet. “Y’know you wanna.”
“Do I?” JJ snorts. Your mascara has smudged under your eyes and your pupils are dilated. It’s adorable, he has to admit. The picture of you gazing up at him wedges itself in his memory for a rainy day. “Come on, let’s go upstairs.”
“Hell yeah,” you whoop. JJ laughs and tries to shush you. You’re not particularly delicate as you stumble up the staircase. JJ enters your room first, you in tow. As he toes off his shoes, you shut the door. A hand grabbing his t-shirt has him glancing over his shoulder. Your hands plant on his face, pulling his face down to yours, and your lips collide with his in a messy kiss. JJ indulges for a moment, turning to face you, his hand finding your waist. But then you’re deepening the kiss and all what JJ can taste is beer and he’s pulling away.
“Think we should just g’to sleep,” he tells you gently.
You roll your eyes, the smile on your face not budging. “Boo,” you deadpan, dropping onto your bed. “Boring.”
“I gotta go pee,” JJ says in a hushed tone. “Don’t choke on your tongue while I’m gone.”
“I’ll try,” you sigh, lying down on top of your comforter. JJ chuckles. He makes his way quietly to the bathroom and flicks on the light. He pees, washes his hands, splashes his face with cold water, and borrows some mouthwash. As he swirls it around his mouth, he studies his reflection. His blonde hair is messy, partly thanks to your wandering hands. There’s a slight stubble building on his jawline that he should deal with sometime this week. The shark tooth necklace that you love to toy with sits atop of his t-shirt. JJ frowns at the thought of you and the conversation with Esme, and once more tries and fails to come to a conclusion as to what she might mean.
By the time he’s back in your bedroom, you’re half-asleep, curled up in the centre of your bed. He laughs silently, grabbing a make-up wipe from your dresser, and rolls you onto your back. Your arms fan out and you crack an eye open. Your grin gives you away.
“Take me,” you murmur sardonically. JJ snorts.
“Sexy. Hard to say no to, for sure.”
“I know right?”
After taking your glasses off and placing them on the bedside table, JJ carefully wipes your face. When he’s confident he’s got most of the make-up gunk off, he tosses the wipe in the trash. Pulling you up by the arms, JJ reaches for the hem of your dress.
“You want me to change you, or you?”
“You can do it,” you yawn, not bothering to open your eyes. Your head sags tiredly. It’s a quiet but overwhelming trust bestowed upon him by you in that moment. JJ eases your dress from your head and unclips your bra, mostly successful in averting his eyes from your chest. He eases your pyjama top over your head and you hum in approval. You slip off your panties and pull on your matching pants. Fully changed, donned in out-of-season reindeer pyjamas, you crawl into the bedsheets. JJ slips off his shirt and follows after you, flicking off the light as he does. You grab his arm and guide it over your middle; JJ takes the hint and spoons you.
“You comfy?”
“Mhm.”
“Feel sick?”
“Mm-mm,” you hum ‘no’. JJ kisses the back of your neck through your hair. It smells like you. He feels safe here, like he’s hiding from the world, from his mind, from his memories. It’s an oasis. Your bedroom is a sanctuary where his dad can never go. Nothing matters in these four walls except you and him. “D’you remember?”
“Huh?” JJ whispers, brows tugging together.
“The quiz,” you slur against your pillow. JJ frowns.
“Quiz? Baby, what’re you talking ‘bout?”
But you don’t reply. He feels you go limper in his hold, slipping away into sleep. You seem to murmur something else but it’s barely intelligible. JJ’s half-certain you say, “I remember” but he can’t be sure. He just kisses you again, tugs you tighter against his body, moulding you into his hold, and closes his eyes.
After an hour or so of disturbed sleep - full of twisty, turny dreams that make JJ feel sea sick - he stirs and wakes in the dead of night. Sighing, JJ leans over the edge of the bed and taps blindly around the floor until he finds his phone. 4am. Great. With a grunt, he flops onto his back and stares at the ceiling. His eyes slowly adjust to the darkness like mist clearing from morning, and he zones in on the once glow-in-the-dark stars. They only just shine through the dark room. JJ takes to counting them as if counting sheep, hoping the mundanity will help him drift off, but it doesn’t. Sighing once more, he looks over to his left to be met with your face smushed into the duvet. You must’ve rolled over at some point in the night; you’re nestled into the bedding as if trying to smother yourself. Without your glasses, you look so different. It’s as if you’ve shed a skin. JJ doesn’t realise he’s smiling until he feels it begin to fade, just as Esme’s voice rings in his head like he’s being haunted. “She might be willing to forget about it, but I’m never going to forgive you for how you made her feel.” Pursing his lips, he racks his brain once more, but the sleep makes his mind foggier than usual and he comes up with nothing.
Feeling antsy, JJ gets out of bed. He sneaks out the bedroom, easing the door shut into its hinges, and slowly makes his way down the staircase. He knows it well enough to remember which floorboards creak. The hallway is dark but he can make out the obstacles well enough from streetlights infiltrating through the windows. Pushing open the kitchen door, rubbing tiredly at his forehead, he freezes. The overhead oven light is on; it casts a dim amber glow into the room, just stronger than a candle. Sat at the kitchen island is your mom. One hand props her jaw up, the other mindlessly fiddles with the corner of a leather-bound folder that she’s reading. At the intrusion, she looks up and meets JJ’s eyes.
“Uh…I was just, um…” He awkwardly fumbles, gesturing vaguely to the hallway. Your mom just smiles and rolls her eyes.
“I knew you were here, JJ. I heard the two of you come in - you need to get better at sneaking,” she tells him. Her voice is light-hearted and hushed, careful not to wake the other two upstairs. JJ smiles sheepishly.
“I can head out–”
“--Don’t be silly,” she replies, waving his offer away with her hand, “you’re welcome here, you know that. ‘Sides, I raised my daughter well enough to trust she won’t wind up pregnant.”
JJ feels his face flame red. He can hear the lie in his voice as he stumbles with an awkward laugh, “oh, uh, we don’t…Y’know…”
Your mom cocks a brow at him in that way only parents can. “Are you about to stand there and lie to me, JJ? Lie to a nurse?”
Pursing his lips, JJ decides to avoid the topic entirely, instead asking, “how come you’re awake?”
She chuckles smally at that. “All these night shifts mess up my sleep schedule.”
“You’re not tired?” JJ wonders, wandering further into the kitchen to take perch opposite her at the island.
“Course I am,” she laughs quietly. “Thought I’d try the good old fashioned tricks to try and get back to sleep.” With that, she lifts a mug of what smells like warm milk to her mouth and takes a sip. “What’re you doing awake?” She asks after swallowing.
“Couldn’t sleep.”
“Anything in particular?” JJ shakes his head. “Anything I can help with?” He hesitates, then shakes his head again. Your mom watches him for a moment before nodding, returning her mug to the island. “You want a shock?” she asks. JJ nods. “I like you for my daughter.”
JJ’s smile is a reflex; it’s bashful and flattered and somewhat giddy. “You do?”
“Mhm. I think you’re a good influence on her.”
And that - that is funny. JJ is amazed he holds back his laugh. It’s hilarious, even, and JJ wonders if he’s managed to fall back asleep after all because no parent in their right mind would say that to him. He’s pretty sure that he falls perfectly into a parent’s idea of ‘the worst thing that could happen to my child’. He’s a poster child for failure and bad decisions. At least, that’s what he’s let himself believe. It’s as if the universe is throwing him a bone; after a childhood and adolescence full of shitty adults, it gifts him with two wonderful ones in the span of a year. First Mr Sunn, and now your mom.
Maybe she can read his disbelief, or hear it echo around the room in his silent laugh, because she’s smiling and chuckling through her nose. She pulls her dressing gown tighter around her, cosy in the fluff. “I can’t imagine what lies you must tell yourself, but you’re a good kid. I don’t think I’ve known anybody be as good to Leo as you, second to my family, of course.”
JJ smiles at the thought of the little boy. Shrugging, he replies, “he’s a good kid. Funny.”
“Stubborn,” your mom adds, making his laugh a little. “It’s not just him though,” she continues, tapping her fingers against the ceramic mug. “You’ve changed my daughter. Made her happier, lighter. Made her a normal teenage girl again.”
His smile turns softer, tender, at the thought of you. Every version of you that he’s had the pleasure to meet: the tutor, the sister, the friend, the caregiver, the daughter, and now, the girlfriend. Somehow, someway, with every side of you revealed to him, JJ only cares for you more. He falls deeper and faster to the point that he’s afraid his bones might break.
“I know she’s had it rough. She had to grow up fast, as much as I tried to make sure she didn’t, and she places so much pressure on herself to be perfect. But when she’s with you, it’s like all of that fades away and she can just be…well, her,” your mom remarks.
JJ stares at her. She’s exactly how he pictured a mom to be: shadows below the eyes and laughter lines on the forehead. Inviting and warm like a hot cup of cocoa in a log cabin. Familiar like a song from childhood. “Thank you,” he quietly replies. He’s afraid if he says it any louder, he might start to cry, and that might be his worst nightmare.
As if understanding this, your mom smiles and nods to herself. She closes the folder up and takes her mug in hand. Stepping down from the stool, she says, “well, I think it’s time I try again at getting some sleep. Help yourself to whatever. Oh, and remember to turn out the lights when you’re done, hm?”
JJ nods, smiling at her. Tugging her robe tighter once more, her slippers shuffle against the tiles as she heads for the doorway. As she passes, she tells him, “goodnight, JJ.”
“G’night,” JJ mumbles. The room is quiet after she leaves, save for the dripping tap and ticking of the clock on the wall. The light above the oven hums. JJ hears the stairs creak as your mom makes her way up them. Curious, he reaches across the kitchen island for the folder. It’s like an oversized book, with the covers bound in brown leather. When JJ opens it, he quickly realises it’s a photo album. The front page has the number three written in marker. Flicking through the pages, he gets sucked into the story of your life. It’s like an obsession; every image has him craving another. He builds stories behind them; imagines the conversation; pictures the scene behind the camera; hears the shadows of laughter from times passed.
“Hey.”
JJ cusses and jumps in his seat. His head whips around to the doorway. There you stand, smiling cheekily, dressed in your reindeer pyjamas that are almost too small for you.
“Hey,” he smiles.
“What’re you doing up?”
“Could ask you the same thing?” JJ replies as you approach. Exhaling slowly, contently, you lean your head against his shoulder. JJ turns his head to press a kiss to your forehead and you smile. You seem to have significantly sobered up. There’s a minty wash from your breath which tells him you’ve brushed your teeth since waking up.
“I had to pee and found you missing.”
“Damn. You didn’t call the cops?”
“Was just about to. Thought there was an intruder in the kitchen.”
“Mm. Yeah, I heard a thief was hoverin’ round these parts.”
“Oh God. D’you think he’s cute?” you ask with a gasp, playing along.
JJ smiles. “Think he prefers the term ‘sexy’.”
“Think he might be delusional, then,” you murmur. JJ’s hand reaches out to squeeze a tickle at your waist. You snort and try to wriggle away. Then the two of you are back to how you were. JJ follows your gaze to the open picture book. “You snooping?”
“Blame your mom. She’s the one that left it out. I’m only human.”
“This is almost as bad as when you read my book,” you tell him. JJ sniggers. He turns a page of the book, impatient to see the next collection of photos.
“Nothing could be as bad as that. Think I still need therapy for the PTSD.”
“Should just take notes, really.”
“Like I need pointers,” JJ is quick to reply. “I know what my girl likes.”
“That you do,” you murmur, nuzzling your face against his neck. The kiss you plant after is sweet and sensual, lingering before your lips pull away. JJ breathes out happily. But just as before, his smile slowly fades. He swallows but the question doesn’t wash away.
“Hey, babe,” he murmurs.
“Mhm,” you hum, pressing another kiss to his lower neck.
“Can I ask you somethin’?”
“Course,” you reply. You pull back, resting your head against his shoulder once more, and JJ’s grateful that you don’t stare him down as he musters up the courage.
“Something kinda happened tonight and I wanted to ask you about it,” JJ tells you.
You’re quiet for a moment. Your finger reaches out to toy with the page of the photo album. Quietly, you reply, “okay.”
“It’s just…I spoke to Esme tonight, about the whole ‘her not liking me thing’--”
“--JJ, what’re you talking about? Esme totally–”
“-- she literally told me to my face that she doesn’t, a’right? She’s pretty transparent with it,” JJ chuckles.
Sighing, you nod against him. “A’right, yeah. Esme doesn’t really like you. I wouldn’t take it too personally, though. She doesn’t like most heterosexual cis men.”
Chuckling again, JJ nods. “A’right, noted. But I did ask her why she didn’t like me, y'know, specifically.”
“And?” you wonder.
“And she said something kinda weird. She said I did something to you? I don’t really know what she was talking ‘bout but she said something about how you might have forgotten, but she’ll never forgive me for how I made you feel,” JJ replies. There’s a feeling of shame that comes with it; it’s prickly and uncomfortable. JJ swallows. “Any idea what she’s talking about?”
You don’t say anything. There’s a strange silence that comes and you fill it by turning the page in the photo album. JJ glances at you and you’re staring blankly at the book, lips pursed, and he sighs. He moves away and swivels in his seat. Bringing a hand to your face, you finally draw your eyes away from the book to meet JJ’s. His thumb strokes at your cheek, obsessed with how soft the peach fuzz of your skin is under the pad of his finger, and you press into his hold just slightly like a leaf sinking into snow.
“What’s going on? I feel like I’m being left outta something here,” JJ confesses. God, it’s so uncomfortable, feeling this vulnerable. Your eyes flit down to the floor. The sigh you give tells JJ that something is about to come that he won’t like. It’s the type of sigh he imagines a doctor to give before delivering bad news. The type that a police officer lets out before arresting someone that they know.
“D’you…D’you remember our first interaction?” you ask him, meeting his gaze once more.
JJ smirks slightly at the memory. “What? When I stopped for take-out and you wanted to kill me?”
You smile too, but it’s small and fleeting, and JJ’s smirk quickly disappears into his frown. “No, not that. Not our first conversation. Our first interaction.”
JJ brows tug together. “I thought that was our first interaction.”
Sighing, you start to pull away. “Look, jus’ forget about it, alright? Esme is just holding a grudge over something that really doesn’t matter anymore.”
“Woah, now, hey,” JJ mumbles, reaching for your hand and pulling you back into the conversation. “It’s clearly something. I don’t wanna be held on trial for somethin’ I ain’t even remember doing.”
You’re visibly uncomfortable, shaking your head, huffing, glancing off to the wall. JJ swallows. He feels antsy, restless, and his foot taps nervously on the bar stool.
“Fine, a’right. It was in Mrs Hall’s class. You remember her?”
“Mrs Hall?” JJ checks, frowning when you nod. “Maybe…Is she the one that smells like casserole?”
You snort and JJ’s happy for the slither of humour. “Maybe? She taught English.”
“Yeah. She smelt like casserole.”
You laugh now, shaking your head at him, and JJ grins at the expression on your face, as if you’re in wonder at how his mind works. JJ tugs you slightly closer by your interlocked hands and you comply, squeezing at his palm. The smile becomes a shadow; you take a breath, and then you talk.
“Okay. In Mrs Hall’s class, like a year ago, we were sat together.”
JJ’s eyes widen.
“Not together together. Our tables were just next to each other. You were sat to the left of me? You weren’t in that class a whole bunch, so I doubt you even remember. Anyway, we had this quiz one time for Romeo and Juliet. I stressed myself out like crazy for it,” you laugh sadly. JJ squeezes your hand. His throat feels dry. “Leo had three surgeries the week before. Two of them were emergencies. I spent the whole time in the hospital studying next to his bed. I slept in a chair basically every night. I missed so much class that semester, too. Maybe that’s why you don’t remember…”
JJ wishes he could give you an answer, but Mrs Hall is drawing a blank in his mind outside of ‘casserole’. You suddenly struggle to meet his eyes. JJ feels his core clench as if preparing for a punch.
“Mrs Hall started to hand the quizzes out, marked. She gave you yours first. I’m guessing it didn’t go so hot, cause you seemed pretty ticked off, and she asked for you to stay after class. And then she gave me mine back and I did pretty good. Well, more than pretty good, to be honest. I was the top of the class.”
“Brownnose,” JJ mumbles with a small smile, hoping to tease. But you don’t smile back. He prepares for the punch. A reflex. Your eyes close. Another deep breath.
“Maybe you were annoyed, or maybe it was something else, I don’t know. But you said something, and some people overheard, and they laughed and…And I don’t know why it upset me so much, but it just did, and I left the room.”
JJ’s frown is deep and his brows are tightly furrowed in confusion. “Wait? I ‘said something’? What did I say? What’d you mean?”
Shaking your head, you sigh, “I really don’t wanna talk about this–”
“--Well, I do,” JJ accidentally snaps. “You just said I upset you. You gotta tell me what I said to you.”
“I don’t ‘gotta’ do anything,” you bite back, frowning at him.
JJ shakes his head, trying to calm himself. He feels like he’s falling all over again, but this time it isn’t as exciting. It’s terrifying. He doesn’t know where he’s going to land. “A’right, you don’t ‘gotta’ tell me, but I really want you to. Please?”
Your eyes suddenly wash with tears and JJ wants to throw up. His mind races. Why the fuck can’t he remember this fucking class? What the fuck did he say to you?
“God, this is so dumb,” you whisper to yourself. You pull your hand from his to pre-emptively wipe at your eyes and JJ has never crazed your touch more. Staring at the ceiling, you take a breath. “You called me a virgin.”
JJ blinks at you. “I called you a what?”
“A virgin, JJ,” you snap. You meet his gaze and you’re quick to anger. “You called me ‘a fucking virgin’ in front of the class. And people heard, and people laughed, and…and you just didn’t say anything else.”
JJ stares at you. His lips fumble uselessly for words. You shake your head and close your eyes, and just as you’re mumbling something like, this is so fucking stupid, a tear slips down your cheek. And JJ fucking hates that he can’t remember this. It feels like a fever dream; like a blackout nightmare when someone tells you the next morning all the things you did and said, whilst your mind is nothing but white.
“I…I don’t know what to say,” JJ whispers. “I’m so sorry. I don’t…I can’t fuckin’ believe I said that. I don’t even remember it.”
“Well, I do,” you sniffle.
JJ eyes press shut. The praise your mom just gave him feels empty now, because if she'd known that he hurt you like that so flippantly, without it even leaving a stain in JJ’s mind, he could only imagine her hurry in seeing him out the door.
“I don’t know what to say,” he repeats in a murmur. “I’m so sorry.”
“It’s fine.”
“No, it’s not fine,” JJ snaps. He’s not angry at you. He’s angry at himself; at his past. His carelessness that had now tarnished something so special in his life. “I thought for once in my fuckin’ life I hadn’t managed to fuck something up and now–”
“Hey, woah, woah,” you hurry out. Your hands plant on each side of JJ’s face and JJ wants to cry because you still care. You’re shaking your head. JJ feels his eyes go glossy. You smile at him, small and sweet and reassuring, and fuck I’m going to cry, JJ thinks. “You haven’t fucked anything up, m’kay? This isn’t me breaking up with you, this is just me filling you in on why my best friend might wanna slice your balls off.”
JJ gasps out a laugh and it’s heavy, wet with tears that are going to start falling any second. You’re nodding now, smiling tightly, holding his gaze.
“You haven’t fucked anything up, a’right? I know you now, JJ. I know you. And I’m sure whatever the fuck it was that made you say that had nothing to do with me, a’right? I’m sure of it.”
“It wasn’t. I don’t know why I’d fuckin’ say that but I promise you that don’t bother me, a’right? Like it’s a fuckin’ childish thing to say anyway.”
You chuckle at that. You nod, agreeing, “it was pretty fuckin’ childish.”
JJ laughs again and sniffs harshly. Your fingers swipe gingerly under his eyes and you collect the tears that have just started to fall. What a scene, the two of you must be. Dishevelled from sleep, standing in a nearly pitch-black kitchen, JJ in an old tee and shorts, you in reindeer pyjamas, crying like idiots. If it were any other circumstances, JJ would ask for a photo.
“Do you forgive me? Like, I don’t fuckin’ blame you if you don’t, I just…I’m sorry. You gotta believe me when I say that, yeah?”
“You’ve got me, a’right? I forgive you, JJ. Please don’t tear yourself apart over this, a’right? I don’t give a shit about that, now. Esme does because she’s a good friend and she’ll go to hell and back for me. But I don’t give a shit,” you tell him firmly. “I swear to God I don’t care.”
“I do,” JJ whispers.
“I know you do,” you reply, just as quiet. The kiss you give him is far too short, over too soon: nothing more than a pack. “That’s what makes you a good person.”
JJ shakes his head and you nod yours and the two of you laugh.
“You are, JJ. Cause if you weren’t - if you were a true, hardcore dick - then you wouldn’t give a shit right now about something that happened over a year ago before we even knew each other,” you tell him.
JJ shakes his head at you, mouth parted in disbelief. “How the fuck did I get lucky enough to bag you?” You laugh at that, rolling your eyes, but JJ can’t get past it. “I mean, I must have been a fuckin’ saint in my past life or some shit.”
When you step into JJ’s orbit, he’s so relieved it’s nearly palpable. He wants you to devastate his personal space - it’s not like he liked it anyway. Your hands slide up his arms and slowly over his shoulders, and JJ plants his trembling hands on your hips. His fingers press gently into the bones as if he needs the tangible proof that you’re still here. That after he could say something so fucking pathetic, you still want him.
“For the record, you were wrong,” you say. JJ frowns slightly. You’re smiling, now. It keeps growing by the second. “I wasn’t a virgin. Sorry to burst your bubble.”
JJ scoffs. “Bubble not burst, don’t stress.”
“If you want some good news, you outrank him by, like, miles.”
JJ can’t help the smug grin that comes with that comment. “I do?”
You nod, smiling slyly, leaning closer. JJ can smell your perfume and the lingering scent of the laundry detergent from your bedsheets. It’s intoxicating. He tugs you closer by an inch. The cotton of your pyjama pants are soft and scratchy.
“It was some random guy from Model U.N.”
“Which country? Switzerland?”
You giggle. “Russia.”
“Russia? Damn, if this was cold-war times then you could’ve been arrested for that,” JJ jokes. You laugh and it’s the best sound in the Goddamn world. He’s falling again, slipping, quick, and he feels like he knows where he’s heading now. “Y’know why he sucked?”
“Why’s that?”
“He weren’t French. You know those guys are freaky as fuck.”
You’re giggling, bumping your forehead against his, and JJ is sniggering too, and everything washes away as the tears finally stop falling from either of your eyes. Then, as if sharing a thought, the laughter dies down, and the moment settles into a simmering heat, and the two of you are standing so close, you’re nearly one. Your arms tighten by a hair around JJ’s shoulders. He stares up at you and you down at him, and he knows it. He’s known it for a while. Your smile flickers - comes and goes like a dying lightbulb - from the nerves, and JJ feels like he’s a mirror.
“I love you,” you whisper.
JJ lets out a sharp breath. He swallows the fear, the self-doubt, and he tries not to cry for the second time that night. “I love you too.”
“You do?”
Laughing, he shakes his head ever so slightly. “You wanna know somethin’? From the minute you called me ‘blue eyes’, I was done for.”
You giggle, bashful, giddy, and JJ feels like he gets it now. He gets why Romeo and Juliet did the stupid things they did, all in the name of love, desperate to be together. He understands why people lost their minds and fought the wars. He understands why there’s so many songs, so many poems, movies, books, fucking greeting cards about the damn thing. It isn’t just one thing - it never is. It’s the way you sleep nuzzled in your sheets. It’s the divots your glasses leave permanently on the contour of your nose. It’s your laugh when JJ tells you another corny dad-joke. It’s the books you read when JJ’s fishing. It’s the sounds you make when JJ makes you come. It’s the patience you have with Leo. It’s the abomination that is the pasta you cook in the microwave when you’re hungover. It’s the way you kiss him when you’re high, and the way you kiss him when you’re not. All of it, every version of you, every piece and part that makes up the puzzle of your life: JJ is in love with all of it.
His lips press to yours desperately, like he needs to tell you all of this and more. You hum deeply, pressing back against him, fingers quick to reach for his hair. JJ’s hands grasp at your body, tugging you in, reeling you nearer until you’re practically falling against him.
“Fuck,” you whisper in the brief pause of the kiss. JJ grunts, kissing you back harder, deeper, and you’re whining into his mouth. The tips of your nails scratch tantalisingly at his scalp. One of your hands slips down until it’s on his thigh, searching for purchase. JJ feels like every nerve ending is lit up with electricity. He needs you closer, deeper, more more more. The taste of you; the wetness of your tongue; lips slick with spit. JJ wants it all.
His hands hook under your thighs and he picks you up. You let out a squeak, breaking apart, as JJ lifts you up and onto his lap. You giggle into the kiss, reconnecting your mouth with his, and JJ grins.
“We should really go upstairs,” you tell him between kisses.
“Fuck that,” JJ replies, making you laugh. He shushes you, chuckling too, and you pull away and place the back of your hand to your lips as if to stifle them. JJ brushes some hair off your face and smiles at you. He’s so turned on and so in love and he gets it now. “I love your laugh.”
You roll your eyes, smiling coyly, rubbing your lips together. JJ swipes his tongue over his own, savouring your taste. You stroke his cheek as your hand descends down his body. It follows the curve of his neck, the unsteady rise and fall of his chest, before it slips into the waistband of his shorts. He lets out a sigh, relieved and desperate for more all at once, as your hand wraps around him. Your eyes twinkle with your smile: teasing, shameless. He grows harder and harder with each gentle rub, your fingers delicate around his length. He starts to breathe heavier, small pants and gasps, trying to hold his head up. Your teeth sink into your lower lip.
“Feels good?”
“Fuck yeah,” he grunts, eyes slipping shut. There’s the rustle of your clothes as you lean forward, and then there’s the wet feel of your mouth on the thin skin of his neck, kissing and suckling. JJ moans loudly and you pull away, slapping a hand over your mouth.
“Shhh!” you giggle. JJ laughs against your hand, cutting himself off with a moan, and you giggle harder. Your breath is hot and downright erotic when you whisper into JJ’s ear, “you gotta be quiet. Don’t wanna get caught, d'you?"
JJ pulls away from your hand and sniggers, chasing your lips. “You’re fucking evil,” he murmurs before kissing you again. You hum appreciatively into the kiss, hooking an arm over his shoulders for stability, and you jack him off faster. JJ’s head drops against your shoulder and he pants heavily. He can feel it building, the edge inching closer, and he’s trying so fucking hard to be quiet.
“Don’t wanna come yet,” he mumbles, trying and failing to kiss you. “I wanna come in you.”
“M’kay,” you breathe, pulling your hand away. Despite his words, he whines at the loss of your touch, and you’re giggling again like all of this is just so Goddamn funny, and he’s chuckling too.
“Get on the counter,” he says before kissing at your neck. You nod, eager, and JJ chuckles as you free your hand and grab the edge of the counter to your side. Once perched (photo album shoved carefully to the side, out of the way), JJ stands up, pushing the stool back, and plants a hand either side of your legs. He kisses you like you’re the only air in the room and he’s suffocating. Your hands paw at him, clawing at his skin, holding him close. Moaning and whining into his mouth, quiet but not shy. “I fucking love you.”
“Love you too,” you gasp. His fingers hook into the waistband of your reindeer pyjama pants and JJ can’t help but chuckle.
“These fuckin’ things.”
“Shut up.”
“No, no, they’re sexy,” JJ tells you in a hushed tone. It’s all giggles and humour as JJ tugs them down, you wiggling ungainly to help get them free. “Fuckin’ better than all that ling-e-rie crab.”
“It’s pronounced lon-zhuh-ray,” you correct.
“Remember our rule? No big words?”
“It’s not a big word, just a French one,” you tell him, lightly kicking your feet to help get them off as JJ pulls, now on his knees.
“Whatever. They’re banned too,” JJ grins. He tosses the old, worn-out pyjama trousers to the side. His palms slide up the inside of your legs, easing them apart with a gentle push, and you’re leaning back on the counter on your hands, breathing heavily in anticipation. JJ pushes up onto his knees and glances up at you; you’re watching him through hooded eyes, chest rising and falling with uneven breaths, teeth gnawing at your lower lip, and weirdly JJ wishes you were wearing your glasses. He presses a kiss to your inner thigh and smirks at the sound of your breath catching.
“You’re so fucking pretty.”
One of your hands sinks into his hair. JJ takes your silent command. The first taste is exiguous - he goes down on you like a man fucking starved. Your own advice on being quiet proves difficult. You’re a whining, writhing mess, gasping out his name in stuttered breaths, fingers tugging and pulling at his locks, nails scratching at his head. JJ moans, the taste of you heady on his tongue, and his hands grip your thighs mean to keep them open, needing something to ground himself with, and it’s so fucking good.
“Fuck, Jay,” you gasp, thighs flinching. He hums appreciatively, suckling at your clit, and your legs hook around his shoulders, holding him near. “Don’t stop, don’t stop…”
Your words become mush, an incoherent jumble as you chase your high, hips buckling off the counter, and JJ refuses to relent until you’re coming with a mewl, only just on the brink of being too loud.
“That’s it,” JJ murmurs, savouring every last drop. “That’s it, baby.”
“God,” you sigh.
You flop onto your back, laughing breathlessly, and JJ leans back, wiping his grinning mouth with the back of his hand. His eyes glance between your legs, watching a droplet of your wet slip down the inside of your thigh, and he has to have you now or else he won’t last. Everything is a blur of clothes being shed - murmurs of come here and gotta fuck you - and JJ has never been more grateful for the pill. When he fucks you, it’s fast and desperate and somehow loving all at once: a strange erotic mess as the two of you chase your release. You're barely balancing on the edge of the counter, legs wrapped tightly around him, arms wound around his shoulders like a viper. His lips are searching, alternating between your collarbones and tits - your pyjama top discarded. You struggle to keep quiet, biting into the skin of his shoulder, making JJ groan into the flesh of your chest, and it follows that strange dance and pattern until JJ’s gasping, “M’fuckin’ close, baby. Fuck, I’m gonna fuckin’ come.”
“I’m close, I’m close,” you whimper, kissing at his neck as if that’s going to make it easier to hold out. Then you’re holding him close, head tilting back, and JJ knows you’re about to come. “Fuck, fuck, fuck, yes, right there, right there, Jay. Yes.”
He falls over the edge the second you clench around him, grunting against your clammy skin. The two of you rise and fall together, breathing heavily, heads foggy, and JJ feels like he returns to earth when you gently stroke his cheek, easing him away from your body. He finds your lips easily like following a route home. You sigh against his mouth and he can taste your smile; it mirrors his own.
“I love you,” you whisper. You could say it forever, everyday, every second, and JJ doesn’t think he could ever get sick of it. He pulls away and opens his eyes into yours. You're smiling at him, admiring him like he’s the rarest thing on earth, and he shakes his head in disbelief that this is his life now. That he gets this, and he gets you, all because of some tutoring sessions.
“I love you too,” he whispers back. Then, unable to help himself, he asks, “Still better than Model U.N. guy?”
You bark out a laugh, stifling it in his neck, and JJ chuckles. “Mhm. Much better.”
“Good. I gotta beat Russia - that’s, like, my duty as an American.”
Before you can make another joking retort, the sound of a bedroom door creaking open upstairs has the pair of you freezing. The two of you stand as still as statues, waiting in laboured breath, listening.
“Sissy?” Leo’s sleepy voice calls out from upstairs.
You meet JJ’s wide eyes with your own.
“Get dressed.”
---
Want more? Read part three - 'dot to dot' - here!
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