love-at-first-sight-23 - Tumblr blog

love-at-first-sight-23 · 17 days ago

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Beautiful once again ❤️

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.”

---

taglist (let me know if you would like to be added): @highformaybank |

#jj maybank #jj maybank x reader #jj x reader #fic recs

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love-at-first-sight-23 · 1 month ago

Text

This is beautiful in every retrospect— The emotion, the descriptions, the character/world building. I was one the edge of my seat the whole time. I wouldn’t have been surprised if I had read this in a book— it’s that good. Thank you for this masterpiece @featherandferns!

colour in the lines (fic)

jj maybank x fem!reader | enemies-to-lovers, tutor!reader concept set around season 1 era (no gold hunt) | not yet proofread so apologies!

content warning: dr*g use (weed, drinking); references to s3x; unique family dynamics

word count: 20k. (she's a slow-burner, but it's worth it)

blurb: When Mr Sunn hires you as JJ Maybank's tutor for the summer break, neither of you have high hopes for success. But as the lessons stretch on, maybe JJ isn't as much of an asshole as you thought, and maybe you aren't as much of a brown nose as he assumed.

The Arrangement

“You ain’t serious.”

“As the plague,” Mr Sunn nods.

JJ groans and tosses his head back. He’s lounging in the wooden chair as if it’s a comfortable Lay-Z-Boy. “Mr Sunn, can we just admit to each other right here and now that me getting a diploma ain’t ever gonna happen?”

Mr Sunn’s eyebrow quirks. He clasps his hands together atop of his desk. “You might be willing to give up on your education but I’m not. And until the day comes around that I am, you’re going to have tutoring.”

JJ stares begrudgingly at Mr Sunn like a sulking child. Tutoring? Come on, man. It felt as laughable and as useless as gifting a paralysed person a treadmill.

“When’s this tutoring gonna be?” JJ reluctantly asks.

“Every week on a Wednesday.”

“In September?”

“Starting next week.”

“Next week?” JJ gapes. Mr Sunn nods. “Mr Sunn, next week is the start of summer vacation. I ain’t gonna be educating myself during summer vacation. I think that’s actually against one of the human rights or something.”

“It isn’t. Maybe you’d know that if you actually attended class,” Mr Sunn remarks, almost smug. JJ rolls his eyes and mutters under his breath.

“Summer vacation?”

“If you stop your moaning and bitching, you’d hear more about the conditions of it.”

“Oh, goody. Please do tell.”

There’s a warning in the look Mr Sunn shoots JJ that has him rolling his eyes again. Glancing off out the window, he sighs. The football field is devoid of life save for the birds pecking at the grass. There’s no bustling in the halls, no students in the classrooms. JJ was the lingering student on Friday after school, subject to the conversation with Mr Sunn per request at the end of class. It had been almost thirty minutes; the start of the discussion had been a delightful monologue delivered about JJ’s failing grades and concerning marks. That had followed into this downright hideous discussion of tutoring.

“I’ve assigned a student who’s more than happy to give you tutoring. Like I said before, every Wednesday at one in the afternoon - unless exceptional circumstances occur.”

“Like me not wanting to get outta bed?”

“Like being in the hospital for a traumatic brain injury,” Mr Sunn corrects with a levelled look. JJ scoffs. Close enough, in his head. “She’ll tell me if you’ve attended the session, and if you stayed for the full time allocated–”

“--Wait, she? Who the hell–” Another pointed look that has JJ clearing his throat. “Who the heck is this tutor?”

Mr Sunn glances down at the papers laid out in front of him (many of which are evidence of JJ’s poor grades). “A Miss L/N.”

JJ’s brows furrow as he flicks through his mental rolodex of classmates at his school. The last name rattles around his brain until he finally finds a picture. His face falls. “Y/N?”

Mr Sunn nods. “She’s a stellar student.”

“She’s a brown-nosing bore.”

“Don’t think comments like that are very necessary, Maybank,” Mr Sunn warns. JJ doesn’t much care.

JJ used to be in the same class as you last year but you had been in the background of JJ’s life since kindergarten. Kildare was a small county. Nearly every classmate traced back to the beginning of childhood. New students were rare and most seemingly went to Kook academy. He hadn’t interacted with you much, if at all, but he could place you pretty well. You always abided by the dress code; always attended class; always handed in your homework on time; always stuck up your hand in class; always got the answers right; and always aced the exams. You were on some of the nerd teams at school - chess and mathletes - and JJ was certain he’d seen you in the marching band at a football game he was dragged to a few years back. A textbook goody-two-shoe know-it-all: that’s what you were. The only defining story that JJ had of you was from Pope, who held a half-joking, half-serious grudge against you following a loss at a spelling bee in middle school. You’d won and JJ wondered if it was Pope’s villain origin story. The word ‘chromotosis’ was still a tender spot (and one JJ liked to poke from time to time).

JJ laughs humourlessly, becoming increasingly annoyed with the situation. “Mr Sunn, you can’t be serious! I’d rather have you just tutor me instead!”

“Well, I’m going to enjoy my summer vacation after spending the year teaching your classmates.”

JJ doesn’t let the omission of ‘you’ from his sentence bother him too much. It was valid. JJ was a failing student. He attended school fleetingly. Homework was nothing more than a theoretical concept in his world and tests were his mortal enemy. The letter ‘F’ had become a best friend, with ‘D’ and ‘C’ close companions. Learning didn’t come easy to him, not in the way it did for John B and Kiara, and especially not in the way it was for Pope. Everything took him longer. Reading, writing, equations, retaining information. It didn’t help that most of it didn’t interest him, either. Besides, JJ found it hard to sit still for long in the classroom. He got fidgety and restless. The outside world called to him through the window: the song of the waves, the tweeting in the trees. JJ was good with practical things like handiwork and mechanics. That was the profession he’d venture into more than likely, so what was the point in breaking his back over a pointless high school degree?

Sighing, JJ rakes his fingers through his unruly hair. “Look, Mr Sunn, I’m gonna level with ya. I don’t think there’s much point in me getting a degree. I don’t give a crap about history or English or maths or any of that bullshit. And I don’t need it, a’right? I mean, you gotta know that, surely?” Before Mr Sunn can answer, JJ’s leaning in and digging through the papers. He retrieves one of his report cards and points at Mechanics. “Look! See! I’m pretty decent at stuff like that! Why can’t I just drop the rest and focus on that and be done with it?”

Mr Sunn sighs and smiles sympathetically at JJ. He takes the report card back and talks as he straightens out the papers. “I wish I could do that for you, JJ, but the state requires you to take all the core classes to graduate with a diploma. It might not mean much to you now, but trust me when I say that you’ll open so many more doors in your life if you apply yourself and finish school.”

There’s an unfamiliar sincerity in Mr Sunn’s words when he tells JJ, “You might not think you can do it, but I know you can. With some extra help, you can graduate, JJ.”

JJ holds Mr Sunn’s gaze for a long moment. Swallowing, JJ is disbelieving of the next words that leave his mouth in a resigned sigh. “Fine. I’ll do it.”

The First Lesson

Your pencil taps rhythmically on the table as you glance at the clock on the wall for the eleventh time. Ten minutes late. Sighing, annoyed, you pick up your phone and text your best friend, Esme.

Huffing out another breath, you return the phone to the table and busy yourself with reviewing the resources you’d brought.

When Mr Sunn offered you the summer part-time job of tutoring, you thought - frankly -that it would be a piece of piss. Give some lessons to some snotty little stressed out middle schooler and earn fifteen bucks every Wednesday? Where do I sign? But that fantasy was soon broken. Instead of an innocent child struggling with algebra homework, it was JJ Maybank. JJ’s reputation preceded him like Jay Gatsby. He was a prolific class skipper. When he did attend, it was usually to disturb the lesson with childish jokes until he wound up in the principal’s office and, most likely, detention. He spent quizzes blowing raspberries, tapping his pencil and gazing out the window. Teachers stopped bothering to ask him if he finished his homework. Outside of that, you knew him to be a womanizer, a petty thief, and an adrenaline junky. The only notable interaction you had with JJ had left a bad taste in your mouth. You tried to forget about it, pushing it into the back of your mind, but the name always brought back the memory of that one day in class. That one passing remark that changed your opinion of JJ in a split-second. Following all of that, fifteen dollars - whilst still enough to have you agree to tutoring - did not feel like an even trade for dulling your brain cells for one hour in his company.

Good news was that he wasn’t going to show, it seemed. Silver linings. Bad news? No JJ - no payout.

As your eyes glance over the textbook photocopy to ensure it didn’t cut any information off, the door to Mr Sunn’s classroom swings open. You startle and look up, half expecting to see the security guard asking you what the hell you’re doing here. Instead, your eyes land on JJ Maybank. He’s talking as he walks over to the table you’ve claimed.

“You would not believe how good the weather is out there today, holy shit,” he rambles as he pulls out the chair opposite you. “It’s fucking golden, Goddamn.”

You’re unsure what to say. Instead, you watch as JJ sighs and relaxes in his seat. One of his arms is tossed over the back of it; his legs manspread comfortably. Hair pressed under a beige cap, scruffy on the lip, his t-shirt and shorts are appropriate for the scorching weather outside. His combat boots that you’d noted when he walked over, not so much.

Seemingly at your silence, he quirks a brow. “So? We gonna get started, or?”

“You’re late,” you say, annoyed at his urgency. “Ten minutes late. Actually-” A quick glance at the clock. “-eleven minutes late.”

JJ shrugs. “I was hungry. Had to stop by in-n-out.”

“You went to in-n-out?”

His brows raise. “Did you want something from there? Didn’t peg you much as the, uh…fast food type.”

You’re not sure what he means by that but you imagine something unfriendly. Rolling your eyes, you level him with a glare. “You were eleven minutes late to our lesson because you stopped at an in-n-out?”

“Yep. So, what we starting with?” Before you can even formulate your next sentence, JJ’s interrupting you. “Actually, can I just– D’you mind if we wrap this up early today? Maybe do a half-session or something?”

“A half session?”

“Mhn,” he nods. JJ grins as he says, “the swells today at the beach are insane. It’s perfect surf weather. I gotta get a piece.”

Anger bubbles in your throat. Exhaling sharply through your nose, you grit your teeth. “Well, since you were eleven minutes late to the start of the lesson, we gotta make up for lost time. ‘Sides, Mr Sunn said that you had to attend the whole hour.”

“Yeah, but, like…He ain’t here, is he? So…” JJ leans forward on the table, closing down the space between the two of you. His biceps push against the sleeves of his short sleeve top when he rocks his weight forward and you’re quick to avert your eyes back to his face. There’s a boyish charm shining through his smirk. His eyes are half hooded as he scans your face and figure. You shift and square your shoulders, sitting back in your seat, trying to reclaim the gap. “What’d you say you do me a solid and tell a little white lie ‘bout it, huh? No harm in that, right?”

Oh. You see what’s happening. JJ thinks you’re just another one of the girls bewitched by his beauty. That all he has to do is bat his pretty eyes and flash you that gorgeous smile and you’ll fall at his feet and do as he asks.

You try to bite back your smirk as best as possible when you lean forward. You leave the smallest gap between you, forearms almost touching, and you get a thrill at the flash of surprise in his eyes.

“Listen, blue eyes. I get paid for the hour and, unlucky for you, I don’t enjoy lying to people. So here’s what gonna happen. We’re going to sit here and do the full one-hour session, making sure we don’t lose those lovely eleven minutes. Sound good?”

JJ’s smile falls quickly. He grits his teeth and clenches his jaw. You sweeten the deal with an overly sugary smile before returning to how you were sat before.

“We’re starting with biology.”

JJ slowly unfurls himself to retain into his seat. You dig out one of the worksheets and slide it across the table to him.

“What’d you remember from this semester?”

JJ sighs as if he’s bored and slowly raises his hands to count on his fingers. He takes his time as he recounts, in a dull tone of voice, “monkeys masturbate and…that’s about it.”

Rolling your eyes, irritated, you look down at your twinning worksheet. You push your glasses up the bridge of your nose when they slip down. “Right, okay, starting from square one then. If you look at the first paragraph, give it a quick read and then I’m gonna ask you some questions about it, ‘kay?”

JJ doesn’t say anything but grunts. It’s hard to restrain from rolling your eyes a third time. When a substantial amount of time has passed, you glance to see if he’s still reading. JJ sits, head rocked back, arms folded across his chest, eyes closed. You see red.

“Done reading?” you manage out. He doesn’t open his eyes when he hums ‘yes’. “Okay then…” You look down at the questions you’d prepared and take a sigh before reading out the first one. “The powerhouse of the cell is called the…”

JJ doesn’t say anything. Clearing your throat to prompt him, he cracks open an eye, observes you leisurely, and then closes it again. “Heart.”

“The Mitochondria.”

“Right, yeah, that’s what I meant. Same thing.”

Your teeth grate against each other. Another cooling breath and you read the second, third, fourth questions. Each answer given by JJ raises your blood pressure by another degree. This is going to be a fucking pain in your ass. At the forty minute mark, you’re repeating the mantra ‘think of the money, think of the money, think of the money’ like a religious prayer in your mind. JJ has managed to make an almost impressive amount of crude jokes about cell anatomy, gave some brain-cell killing answers to pretty basic biology questions, and yawned enough times to have a doctor concerned for his well being. You’re relieved when your eyes find the clock reads that an hour has passed.

“Right, well. That’s everything for today.”

“Oh, damn. I was just getting into it, too,” JJ sardonically says. You glare at him. He stands and stretches, his shirt riding up as he extends his arms above his head. He fixes his cap as he asks, “same time next week, then?”

“One in the afternoon.”

“Can’t wait,” he mutters. He wanders to the door, giving a fleeting ‘see ya’ as he slips out the classroom. You’re amazed the door doesn’t burst into flames with the heat of your stare.

The First Complaint

The sun bathes JJ in blisteringly warm rays of daylight. He revels in it like a gecko in the desert. Arms tucked underneath his head, he lounges on the front of the boat. Sunglasses sit on his face, eyes closed behind them, and a toothpick sticks out from his lips. The water laps at the boat, rocking it gently from side to side. An old-school R&B song hums out the speaker near the cooler.

“I’m telling y’all, the fishing out there is crazy. Worth the trip, for sure,” John B tells the Pogues. He’s probably where JJ last saw him; stood by the end of the boat, shirtless in his swim shorts like Pope and JJ, fishing.

“I’m down. Could go next week,” Kiara says. She’s probably scrolling on her ipod to cue the next song.

“My dad’s got me working shifts but I can do Wednesday,” Pope adds, likely reading.

JJ blows a raspberry. “Wednesday is a no-go.”

“Why not?”

“I got class.”

He can hear the shared confusion in the silence. He props himself up on an elbow, jutting his sunglasses down the bridge of his nose enough to scan over his friends. They’re all exactly where he pictured them, staring at him blankly.

“Class?” Pope finally asks.

“Yeah. I’ve got tutoring.”

John B barks out a laugh and Kiara rolls her eyes, looking back to her ipod. “Yeah right,” she mutters.

“Dude, I’m so serious right now,” JJ loudly defends, throwing his arm out.

“The day you get tutoring is the day hell freezes over,” Pope declares.

JJ shrugs. “Alright, then it’s frozen, cause I am.”

“How’d they get you to go? Gag and bind you?” John B sniggers, making the others laugh.

“Hilarious. Thank you for caring about my education, assholes,” JJ grumbles. He isn’t actually offended. It tracks that the Pogues think he’s bullshitting. It isn’t as if JJ has valued books and pop quizzes at any stage in his life. Returning to his previous position, he grins as he says, “you’re not gonna guess who’s my tutor.”

“Mr Sunn?”

“Nope. He did allocate her, though.”

“Least we know it’s a she,” Kiara says. “Helps with the guessing.”

“Well, go on. Guess.”

“Just tell us,” Pope sighs, in no mood for games. JJ’s grin grows.

“Your mortal enemy.”

John B and Kiara let out a gasp and snigger. JJ glances through his sunglasses to make out Pope’s face. In his disbelief, JJ nods. “Yep.”

“She still as brainy as she was then?”

“More,” JJ mutters. His memory flicks back to yesterday; the way your glasses slipped down your nose just slightly when you leant forward on the table. The shimmering of your eyes as they glared at him. The sneer on your lips. You clearly think rather highly of yourself. It had been pretty entertaining seeing how far he could push. He’s impressed that you didn’t lunge at him before the session was up; he was certain you’d come pretty close several times. Sighing, JJ sits back up on his arms and looks to his friends. “We’re going to that kegger tonight, right?”

“We could,” John B shrugs. “Not doing much else.”

“It’s Touron season,” JJ grins boyishly, making Kie roll her eyes.

“You guys are gross.”

“Come on! Just trying to get little Pope’s dick wet for a change,” JJ lies, getting up and smacking a hand reassuringly on Pope’s shoulder. He’s shrugged off, making him snigger.

“My dick is perfectly fine as it is, thank you,” Pope mutters, looking back down at his book. Rolling his eyes, JJ retrieves a beer from the cooler.

“Whatever man. Lemme know when you want to learn how to get girls.”

“Yeah. JJ’s a scholar now, afterall,” John B jokes. At the heckling laughter of his friends, JJ rolls his eyes mirthfully and goes back to enjoying his summer break.

The Second Lesson

You’re not sure why you’re surprised that JJ is late yet again to his lesson. This time you’ve found better ways to entertain yourself than clock watching. Sending memes back and forth with Esme and doomscrolling Instagram was working well to keep you from counting the minutes wasted in the empty classroom. You can hear people outside, playing in the fields, chattering on the streets as they walk to and from their summer day plans. There’s an itch under your skin to leave and make the most of the beautiful weather. It feels a shame to spend your time cooped up in a dusty classroom, making anagrams out of the history posters lining the walls. But the posters make you think of Mr Sunn, reminding you of the promise you’d made to him before the vacation started.

“You’ll be paid for the tutoring and your trouble. But I’m trusting you to be honest. I don’t want to be paying out for an hour spent on Call of Duty or whatever it is you do in your spare time.”

“Definitely not Call of Duty.”

“Either way: if Maybank doesn’t show, then I need you to be honest with me. I’m trusting you.”

“I promise, Mr Sunn. You can put your faith in me.”

Your phone begins to ring. Picking up, you don’t have the chance to say ‘hi’ before Esme is talking.

“What a fucking loser.”

“I mean, he has my number. He could at least message to say he’s running late,” you complain.

“He could at least bother showing up on time,” Esme corrects, making you laugh. “He’s probably not even doing anything anyway.”

“I honestly don’t give a shit what he’s doing. Just wish I had a heads-up if he’s not going to show so I can actually do something with my day,” you sigh, rubbing at your forehead. “Mom’s got another night shift tonight and I hate leaving Leo alone all day.”

“I thought he was going to that summer day-camp thingy? The scholarship deal didn’t get cancelled, did it?” Esme worries.

“He’s not going anymore. Not because of the scholarship - that’s still fine. Just…” Your voice trails off, heart tugging at the memory of his crestfallen face, muddled with confusion when you had to tell him he wasn’t going to be going back.

“The usual stuff?” Esme guesses. She’d known you for almost six years now; she knew Leo for just as long. She shared that same protectiveness for him.

“Yep.”

“Kids are shitheads.”

You bark out a laugh. “You can’t say that about children, Esme.”

The two of you laugh quietly. You sigh and fiddle with the corner of one of the worksheets. Just as you’re about to tell her that you’ll leave in the next five minutes, the door pushes open. “I gotta go, Esme.”

“Wait - did he actually show up?”

“Yep.”

“Holy shit, someone call the media,” she mutters. You give a sheltered laugh, eyes scanning over a sunglass-donning JJ. “Alright, message me after. Love ya.”

“Talk soon,” you hum before the line clicks off. Placing your phone down on the table, you watch as JJ shuffles into the room lethargically. He’s dressed similarly to last week: combat boots, shorts, t-shirt. The cap this week is red, equally as well-worn as the beige. The sunglasses are new though. “You seem lively.”

“Not so loud, please,” JJ groans, bringing a hand up to his forehead as if nursing a headache. He collapses into the chair opposite you with a grunt. A silence lingers between the two of you. JJ is so still you half question if he’s passed out. Eventually, he shifts enough to tug his sunglasses down, revealing a slither of his eyeline. He’s looking at you.

“You gonna start with the lesson, then?”

“You gonna stay awake for it?” you ask in return. He pushes the sunglasses back up.

“No promises.”

“You’re hungover,” you observe. JJ makes a ding-ding-ding noise under breath. The momentary peacefulness that came from your quick phone call with Esme is soon dissipating. “You’re hungover despite knowing that we had tutoring today?”

“I don’t know what ‘despite’ means, a’right? Can we make a ban on big words when my brain feels like it’s gonna explode?”

“Might need you to define big words. Have a feeling most words qualify as that with you,” you mutter. JJ scoffs.

“Get off your high horse, brown noser. Just cause you’ve read a few books don’t mean you know everything.”

“As opposed to you?” you quip back.

JJ snuggles in his seat, folding his arms over his chest in an echo of his posture last week. “Just start with the schooling, huh? Thought you needed to report back to Daddy Sunn that you’ve done your duties.”

Your nose turns up at the nickname. Not bothering to argue, you dig through the worksheets and hesitate in passing one across the table to him. Your eyes scan over his figure. His carelessness in his appearance; his indifference to this generous opportunity he’s been given; his dismissiveness of your valuable donation of time. It irritates you. A lot.

“You don’t realise how fortunate you are, do you?” you snap.

JJ visibly stuns at your tone. He doesn’t hurry his movements as he sits straighter in his seat, turning to face you, sliding his sunglasses off his face. His eyebrows rise, bloodshot eyes zeroing in on you. “What was that, brown nose?”

“You have no idea how fortunate you are to be here right now,” you repeat, holding your ground. You clear your throat and correct your glasses on your nose. “Mr Sunn put a lot of effort into organising these sessions. Letting us have access to the building out of hours. Access to all these resources. He put a lot of faith into you. He genuinely believed that you’d give enough of a crap to at least try tutoring. But instead you stroll in her like the sun shines out of your ass and you’re God’s gift to earth and waste everybody’s time.”

JJ watches you after your outburst. His eyes flit over your face, taking in every inch of your disgruntled expression, and his lips twitch downwardly. Leaning forward on the table, he raises a finger to point in your face.

“You don’t know shit about my fortune,” he remarks darkly, in a tone that you’ve never once heard from him. He’s unrecognisable as he warns you, “you stay in your lane and I’ll stay in mine, a’right? I ain’t needing you preaching on your soapbox about how good I got shit when you ain’t know anything about anything. So either get on with teaching, or I’ll get on up and out that door.”

It’s unnerving, JJ’s demeanour and tone. It’s unnerving but it isn’t enough to make you back down. Narrowing your eyes, you sit proud and tall, hands clasped politely atop of the table.

“Be my guest. The door is behind you, in case you’re too drunk to find it.”

JJ’s chair pushes back from the force he gets up with. He mutters under breath curses and cusses as he makes his way to the door. Your voice is polite and cheery as you call, “One o’clock next Wednesday.”

The door slams closed. Another successful tutoring session. Another migraine to go home with.

The First Check-In

“JJ! Answer your damn phone!” John B hollers from the bathroom.

JJ jogs through the Chateau in search of the cell. It’s the third call he’s missed. It isn’t on purpose: he can’t find where he put the damn thing. It’s as if it’s fallen into a pocket of the universe that ceases to exist. Digging through the couch cushions of the pull-out, JJ’s fingers finally make contact with the buzzing device.

“Aha!” he cheers, pulling out. He swipes to answer, tumbling back on the sofa-bed. It must have fallen down there when he was fooling around with some Touron he met at the kegger last night. “Yo.”

“Maybank.”

JJ’s eyes press shut and his mood significantly drops. “Sup, Mr Sunn.”

“Not much, not much. Just calling to check in on how the tutoring is going?”

“How’s it going?”

Terrible. It’s awful. JJ has never known a bigger waste of time. He’s learnt a total of zero things from the hour and ten minutes spent in your company, apart from the fact that you’re the most aggravating girl he has ever met. You might be the first female that JJ hasn’t enjoyed spending time with. Rather impressive, actually.

“Yeah, yeah, it’s great,” JJ lies easily. He rubs at the sleep in his eyes as he continues, “learning a ton, feeling really smart. Gaining all that knowledge, y’know?”

“Really?”

“Yup.”

“That’s interesting. Cause your tutor couldn’t agree less.”

JJ grits his teeth. Of course, you’re a rat as well as a shrew. You just seem to cover all areas of dislike in JJ’s books, it’s as if you’ve read all of JJ’s least favourite things.

“Oh really? What’d she say?”

“That you’re not engaging with the work. The last session was cut short too, apparently,” Mr Sunn recalls, disapproval dripping from every word.

“Yeah, well, you see, there was those exceptional circumstances you were talking about for that one, Mr S,” JJ half-arsedly defends.

“Really? A traumatic brain injury?” Mr Sunn checks, unconvinced.

“Yeah, yeah. A really brutal one, too,” JJ says, wincing at the memory of the banging headache he was awarded for going a bit too hard at the kegger the night before.

Mr Sunn’s sigh cuts deep. It’s parental. That sentiment of ‘I’m not angry, just disappointed’ is translated through the exhale, and JJ hates how much of an effect it has on him. JJ liked Mr Sunn: all of the Pogues did. He was a good teacher and cool guy. As annoying as your preaching was, JJ was reluctant to admit there was some truth to some of the things you said. Mr Sunn did believe in JJ. God knows why or what for, but he had put all of this together to purely benefit the blonde haired boy. Maybe you were somewhat right in him taking that for granted. Maybe.

“Look, JJ, if you’re not gonna take this seriously then we might as well call it off now,” Mr Sunn hedges.

“No, no, wait, look, Mr Sunn…I’m gonna level with you…” JJ takes a sigh and braces himself. “I haven’t been taking it seriously but I will now. I’ll start, y’know…Trying. Like, actually trying.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah,” JJ reassures. “Just gimme one more chance, yeah?”

Mr Sunn hesitates before sighing once more. “Alright. Fine. One more chance.”

“Thanks, Mr S,” JJ says. He’s surprised with himself for willingly signing on for more of your boring-ass lessons, but something in his gut tells him this is the right call. “I won’t let you down.”

“Alright, Maybank. You got one more chance. Wednesday, one o’clock. Don’t be late.”

“I won’t be,” JJ promises. As the phone call ends, JJ makes a secret deal with himself to give the tutoring a real chance. To give himself a real chance.

The Third Lesson

The feeling of your heart pounding in your throat is uncomfortable, to say the least. There’s a thin sheen of sweat on your forehead as you race around the house. In your head, you’re mentally juggling a million and one thoughts. Need to do this, need to do that. The checklist spans over several thoughts and derails every line of logic. It doesn’t help that it feels like Satan's asshole in the house right now. It is so hot. You think you might have seen something on Instagram claiming it was the hottest day of the year. Your family home is noisy with the sound of life: the washing machine and dryer are both on, rattling loudly in the utility room; the blender is going for your mom’s protein shake; the television and radio are both on and Leo refuses to turn either off. Overstimulating children’s cartoons bellow out into the stuffy living room.

You’re standing in the bedroom, packing your bag frantically with school supplies for the tutoring session that’s near approaching. A holler of your name from downstairs has you groaning. At first, you try to ignore it, but it only gets louder and louder, until Leo is practically screeching for you. Your mom starts to call for you, too, beckoning you to go to him from her bedroom. With a frustrated huff, you ditch your mess of belongings on your bed and rush out of your room.

“I’m going, mom!” you loudly tell her as you hurry down the stairs.

Leo is sitting on the living room floor, a broken mechanical car in his hand. He holds it up to you, pouting, as he demands, “fix it, sissy! Fix it!”

“Leo, I really don’t have time to fix it,” you sigh tiredly, leaning down to take it from him. You inspect the damage and shake your head, “can’t you play with something else until I get home?”

“Fix it! Sissy! Fix it!” Leo continues to command. His eyes well with tears and his lip begins to tremble, and you know the signs of one of his episodes well. Overwhelmed, you sit down on the sofa and try your best to remedy the toy. It’s useless. It requires some sort of tool to get everything back together and functioning. Leo comes over and tugs on your t-shirt as you work, murmuring ‘sissy, fix it. Fix it, sissy,’

“I’m trying, Leo. Sissy is trying,” you mumble. You feel your own lip tremble and tears starting to form, and you internally curse yourself and will them away. You never cry in front of Leo. It’s your duty to keep him protected; to shelter him from the stresses that come along with your life. It isn’t his fault that things are different with him. But the more you try and fix the toy, and the louder the washing machine and dryer and blender become, and the hotter the room gets, and the more insistent Leo’s tugging and pulling becomes, the harder it is to hold back your brimming emotions.

Leo begins to cry and you curse under breath. You place the toy on the coffee table and get down on your knees.

“Leo, honey. Don’t cry. I will fix it, okay? Sissy will fix it. I just need a bit more time, m’kay?”

“Fix it, fix it, fix it,” he wails. His small hands ball into fists and he pummels the sides of his head, and your heart lurches. Your hands scramble to gently cup his own, ceasing the action as much as possible.

“Don’t do that, baby. Please don’t do that.”

“Fix it, sissy,” he sobs.

“I will, I will,” you promise. Anything, you think. I’d do anything for you. You’re relieved when he lets you pull him into an embrace. You let him cry and smack his hands against your back. Emotions are big in his tiny body. They overwhelm him. It isn’t his fault. You press a kiss to his cheek, hoping you can somehow communicate that thought to him. When he’s settled, you give him one more squeeze before pulling away. Taking the toy from the coffee table, you tell him, “I’ll have it fixed by the time I get back home, m’kay?”

“Sissy fix it later,” Leo sniffles, nodding. Your smile is brimming and bright as you nod encouragingly.

“Yes, yes. Sissy fix it later,” you reassure. Your eyes dart to the grandfather clock that stands in the hallway. Shit. “I really need to go, Leo. You need anything, you tell mom, yeah? Wake her up only if you need to, though.”

Leo nods.

You jog through the house, scrambling up the stairs. The toy is shoved into your tote bag alongside the rest of the supplies, and then you’re racing down the stairs. The blender is finally finished; pouring it into a glass, you’re hurrying back to your mom’s room and leaving it on her bedside table. She’d finished a 32 hour shift at the hospital about two hours ago. Asleep, buried in the bedsheets, you lean down and press a kiss to her forehead.

“See ya later, mom. Love ya,” you mumble softly. Closing the door gently behind you, you return downstairs to find Leo peacefully playing with a stuffed animal. Thank God. As you unlock the front door, you relay your usual farewell: “there’s carrot sticks and bell pepper sticks in the tub on the coffee table. Wake mom if it’s an emergency. Don’t touch the fireplace. Sissy will be back soon!”

Leo’s farewell is cut short by the closing front door. The pulsing heat slows you down as you speed walk to the high school. Children playing soccer and couples sharing picnics and surfer bros and girls loading up cars and vans and trucks blur into pictures of fantasies that you wish you could indulge in as you make your way down the streets. Finally, finally, you arrive at the high school. The air con is as relieving as heroin as you rush down the isolated corridors. JJ’s head whips to the opening door when you make it to the classroom.

“Wow. You did show up.”

Your eyes squeeze shut with suppressed emotion as you bee-line to your chair. JJ doesn’t lose the opportunity to lecture, though. You suppose you have it coming from how much grief you’ve given him from being tardy.

“I mean, you’d think that you’d at least practice what you preach. After all the shit you gave me for being late and you’re nearly twenty minutes over. Even I’m not that bad,” JJ goads. “Could at least take it seriously, y’know? Ain’t Mr Sunn putting all his hopes and dreams on you or some shit?”

Your hands freeze in your tote bag, midway through unpacking yourself. Tears rush to your eyes and you panic, pressing them shut, begging for them to go away. Crying in front of somebody was one thing. Crying in front of JJ Maybank was another. Your teeth sink into your lower lip to keep it still. The tightness in your throat keeps growing, with that horrible lump and scratchy dryness. Come on, get it together.

“Hello?” JJ asks impatiently. “You gonna do something or…?”

That’s the breaking point.

The tears fall in fat, ugly drops as a shaky sob rattles out of you. And then it’s as if the floodgates have opened. You can only imagine the horrified look on JJ’s face as you sit and cry in an empty history classroom. You cry, and cry, and cry. When you’re not crying, you’re gasping for air, sniffing back the snot, wiping aggressively at your nose and your eyes and your cheeks. Every attempt to slow the sorrow seems to bring about a new wave of waterworks. Until, finally, it seems to ease up.

“God, I’m sorry, I’m sorry,” you mutter, taking off your glasses and wiping furiously at your face. It’s red hot, mostly from embarrassment, and you blink up at the ceiling. “Shit, sorry. I don’t know why…Sorry.”

When you brave a look at JJ, you’re surprised to see no look of horror or humour. Instead, he’s frowning. He looks sympathetic, even. You can’t bare that expression. It feels as though people have looked at you like that for most of your life. Wiping at your wet cheeks, you take in a deep breath. With a violent sniffle, you return your glasses to your face, damp fingers trembling as they flick through the papers.

“Where, uh…Where should we start?”

JJ mumbles your name.

“Maybe Biology?”

He repeats it, slightly louder. You can’t stomach looking at him.

“Or History?”

It’s with a stern voice, JJ has your attention. He holds your gaze unapologetically. Then, he’s glancing down at the papers in your hands, out the window to the spotless summer, and back at you. He nods, a decision apparently made, and gets to his feet.

“A’right, come on,” he says. You blink at him.

“Huh?”

“Come on, get up. We’re getting outta here.”

“What are you…JJ, no, you have a lesson. I need to teach you about…”

“Teach me it in the car,” JJ tells you, not waiting for you to finish your thought. He’s walking around the table into new territory. His extended hand is like an olive branch. You eye it as if it might be laced with arsenic. But when you look up at his face, the smile on his face is new. It’s friendly. Reassuring, even. Your still quivering hand out stretches to land in his. His palm is warm and slightly clammy. He helps you up from your seat. You shrug your tote bag up your shoulder and JJ releases your hand to gather up your papers. Holding them out, you return them to your bag, and then you’re blindly following JJ out of the classroom and down the corridors.

His black shorts look like swim shorts. They end around the mid-thigh. His shirt is sticking to his back with a thin veil of sweat. It’s sweltering in Kildare County. You’re surprised by how attractive you find it. In your frantic fragility, you hadn’t realised JJ wasn’t wearing a cap. Instead, his blonde hair sat atop of his head, longer strands hanging slightly over his forehead. You think that’s the first time that you let yourself admit how attractive JJ Maybank is.

“Where are we going?” you ask, picking up the pace to walk beside him.

“The beach.”

“Why?”

“Because,” JJ says, pushing open the door and holding it for you to step through, “it is officially the hottest day of summer,” the two of you make your way down the stairs, “you just had some weird, psycho freak-out,” you follow JJ to a brown, banged-up campervan, “and nature is the best healer.”

You can’t argue with much of anything he’s said, so you don’t. Instead, you walk around to the passenger side and climb into the van. It smells of seasalt, men’s cologne and remnants of cannabis. There’s empty beer cans at your feet that you kick out of the way. Crumpled up in-n-out paper stuffed into the wings of the door. JJ sighs as he drops into the driver’s seat. You watch as he brushes his hair from his face, fingers running easily through the locks. He turns the key in the ignition and his silver rings glint in the sunlight. The van rumbles to life, vibrating the seat, and JJ puts it in gear.

“Wind down the window, would ya?” he asks, meeting your gaze. You nod and do as he asks. JJ does the same on his side, and then he’s putting the van into reverse, and soon enough you’re on an impromptu road trip with JJ Maybank.

It’s difficult not to look at him. He’s so different from the guy you’ve been trying to tutor for the past two weeks. He’s also different from the image you’d built in your head of him. Some suave, ladykiller. Cruel, phony, dismissive. In the bright glow of sunlight, he’s rather gorgeous. His arm is propped on the window ledge. The wind brushes at his hair. His fingers tap on the steering wheel rhythmically with the beat of whatever song is playing from the stereo. Scared to get caught staring, you turn and watch the view out the window. JJ was right: you needed this. It’s hard to find excuses to relax and have fun when your mom and Leo need you so badly at home. Any time spent just for you without any benefit behind it feels selfish. But this was like a ‘get out of jail free’ card. An excuse dressed up in combat boots and dreamy muscles.

There’s no conversation made as the two of you drive. It isn’t uncomfortable, though. It feels strangely natural, sitting side-by-side in shared silence. When the shoreline comes into view, you’re weirdly disappointed that the journey is over so soon. JJ parks and gets out with a ‘come on’ that has you following. You linger and look around as JJ digs about in the back of the van. He’s proud as punch when he emerges with two cans of seltzer and a towel (you don’t want to know the last time it was washed, if ever). The waves sound delicious in their susurrus against the sand as the two of you walk through the sand dunes. It was fairly busy: people surfing, others lounging with music playing from speakers, children playing volleyball. Girls lay on their fronts and backs, reading, tanning, relaxing. Guys bob their heads to the music and watch people dip in and out of the waves on their boards, nodding in approval. Seabirds call out afar and crickets chirp in the reeds. You feel like you’ve taken your first breath of fresh air in years.

“Here seems good, huh?” JJ says, slowing near a more secluded patch of beach. You nod. He lays out the towel horizontally, leaving space for you to both sit side by side. JJ smells like sunscreen and cologne and a touch of sweat. The crisp cracking of cans opens the conversation. “Cheers.”

Your can tinks against his. You have a sip. It’s tangy and refreshing as you swallow. Toeing off your trainers and socks, you sink your feet into the hot grains of sand. JJ copies. The two of you lean back and lounge.

“So,” JJ says. The two of you turn to look at one another. “You feeling okay?”

Laughing, you shake your head and have another sip of your drink. JJ grins. Looking out to the water, you sigh as you reply, “I was just overwhelmed. Sorry ‘bout the…y’know…”

“Snot?”

You laugh, facing him again. “Yeah. And the tears.”

“I was a little freaked out, I’m not gonna lie,” JJ tells you mirthfully, making you laugh more.

“Mhm. Same here.” The two of you sit in a jovial lull for a moment until you feel the need to clarify, “I promise that isn’t a usual occurrence.”

Laughing, JJ nods. “Yeah, well, did seem out of character. Used to you giving me hell for…Well, shit, for anything.”

“You make it pretty easy to do that, in my defense,” you grin. JJ cringes, rocking his head as if to say ‘is that true?’ “Mr Sunn said something ‘bout you wanting to take the tutoring more seriously?”

“Damn, news travels fast here,” JJ mutters, making you smile.

“For the record: you were right.”

“That’s rare.”

“I bet,” you snigger. JJ shoves your shoulder and you giggle. “But, you were. I didn’t have any right making any assumptions about your life. Your fortune, as you said.”

“Nah, don’t take it personally,” JJ says, dropping his head slightly. He swings his can between two fingers. “I’m a dick when I’m hungover.”

“You hungover all the time then or…?”

“Damn, mama! I’m tryn’a make amends here!”

The two of you share a laugh. It sinks away like footprints on sand. Nodding your head, you hold his gaze as you smile.

“Well, we could start fresh.”

“I’m down.”

“Hey - to new beginnings,” you announce, holding up your can. JJ smiles at you, nods, and clinks his can against yours. The two of you have a drink. A kid races across the beach in front of you, chasing a stray soccer ball. “Can’t remember the last time I came to the beach.”

“Really? I go all the time,” JJ replies.

“My parents used to take us on picnics here every Sunday,” you say, smiling to yourself. You watch the little boy return to his sister. She takes the ball from him and they continue their game. The smile changes. “We stopped going after my brother was born, though.”

“How come?”

You swallow. Remembering yourself, you blink out of your thoughts and flash JJ a smile. “Just new routines, I guess.”

Nodding, JJ digs about in his pocket as he talks, “me and my friends surf a lot so we’re at the beach most of the time, really. John B lives right near the marsh though so sometimes we just go out on the boat, y’know?”

You watch as he retrieves a small metal tin. He opens it to reveal a joint and lighter. Instinctively, your eyebrows raise slightly. His eyes flash to yours and he falters. “D’you mind?”

“No, no, uh…Go for it,” you say, gesturing lamely to his blunt. He doesn’t hesitate as he brings it to his lips, guarding the flame for the breeze with a cup of his hand. The smell is fruity and poignant when he takes a few starting drags. You watch the ash building on the end as if mesmerised by fire, like you’re some kind of cave person. Then you realise JJ’s offering it to you. “Oh, um…I’m good. Thanks, though.”

JJ takes another hit. “You smoke before?” You give him a look of ‘what do you think?’ JJ coughs out his vapour with a laugh. “You wanna try?”

“Um…” You hesitate, eyeing up the joint. “I don’t know. What’s it feel like?”

“Depends,” JJ replies. “Usually makes you feel relaxed. Less aware of yourself. Loosens up your shoulders, calms you down, that kind of thing. Can make you laugh too. Hungry. Talkative. Pope on weed - Jesus Christ - you should see him. It’s like he took speed or something. He won’t shut the hell up, for once.”

You smile, having a vague memory of Pope. You went head to head with him at a spelling bee back in Middle School. He always seemed like a nice guy. Intelligent, too; he definitely gave you a run for your money that day.

“Can you have a bad trip?” you wonder, curious. JJ shrugs.

“Sometimes. I’ve only had a couple. Mostly depends on what state of mind you’re in before you take it, or if it’s a bad batch. Smoking’s the best way to start, though. You stop smoking and it’s out of your system a faster than if you have an edible. With an edible, you’re in it for the ride, y’know?”

“Hm,” you hum in deliberation.

“It’s safe. I mean, it’s legal in a bunch of places now,” JJ reassures.

Snorting, you say, “that means nothing! Cigarettes are legal too, don’t stop them from giving you cancer.”

Rolling his eyes, amused, JJ replies, “can you just not overthink everything for one second? Look, I ain’t gonna pressure you into anything, but I think it could help. Especially if you’re feeling a bit overwhelmed, like you said.”

He doesn’t press it any further and you don’t ask more questions. The two of you sit for a couple minutes before you find yourself reaching out to take the joint. JJ’s happy to oblige. You bring it to your lips, heart beating nervously in your chest, and you hesitate. Looking at him, you ask, “how’d I do this, again?”

“Just bring it up and inhale,” he says, mimicking for you. “Try and hold it in for a bit and then exhale. Don’t freak if you cough. Most people do, first time.”

Murmuring an ‘okay’, you swallow your anxieties before following JJ’s instructions. The air gets caught in your lungs and throat and you splutter out a cough. JJ laughs lightly as you do and you flip him off, smiling despite your hacking. Once it’s passed, you take a few more drags, getting better with every attempt.

“Now what?” You ask, handing it back. “Should I feel something?”

Laughing, JJ leans back on his elbows. “Relax. You’ll start to feel it in a minute. Might need a few more hits.”

“Alright,” you say. You shadow his posture. A thought occurs that has you giggling. JJ quirks a brow, curious. “Sorry, sorry, it’s just…I’ve only ever had, like, one glass of wine at Christmas and Thanksgiving. Just a bit new.”

“Aw, man, don’t say that,” JJ groans, tossing his head back. “That makes it sound like I corrupted your ass or some shit.”

Sniggering, you can’t help but glance at him and tease, “maybe you did.”

The look JJ returns hits somewhere new inside of you.

Turning to your bag, you dig for your bottle of water. Leo’s toy car tumbles out onto the sand. “Shit,” you mutter, picking up and dusting off the grains.

“What’s that?” JJ asks.

You turn and show him the broken car. He takes it from you and studies it as you tell him, “it’s my little brother’s. He was asking me to fix it but I don’t even know where to start with that kind of thing. It’s meant to move, see?”

JJ nods, looking at the motor you point to. He turns it over in his hands, inspects some parts, before announcing, “I can fix this.”

“What?”

“Yeah, yeah, it’s pretty simple, really. Just need to fix this part here,” he points at somewhere on the car, “and then change out the batteries, glue a few things, and should be good as new.”

“For real?”

“Sure,” JJ shrugs. He smiles at you. His eyes are blue, decorated with green flecks. You smile back. A fuzzy feeling builds in your chest. Your eyes dart down to his lips. They probably taste like seltzer and cannabis. He probably tastes like seltzer and cannabis.

A scream has you both jumping, drawing your attention away from JJ. You look across the beach to find a kid screeching with laughter, screaming as their dad chases them through the wake of the water. You smile. In your peripheral, you see JJ smiling too. Maybe you had him wrong. Maybe the two of you can actually get along. Perhaps even be friends, of sorts.

As the rest of the day stretches on, you and JJ pass stories and tell jokes. You churn up hilarious theories and stories about fellow beach goers as you smoke your way through his joint. The weed takes effect after a few minutes of smoking, like promised, and you get the giggles over something JJ says. You like his laugh. It’s bright and youthful, yet still somehow raspy. He gets rather philosophical when he’s high. Starts spewing ideas about the universe and fate and plans. That opens up a path to talk about daydreams and castles in the air. Fantasies of lives with high grossing jobs and Kook-sized homes and vacations every month. As the hours pass by and the topics come and go, you find yourself free from thoughts of studying and cleaning and cooking and caring for others outside of yourself. You find yourself present and in the moment for maybe the first time ever. That to say, when JJ eventually drives you home, the sun finally beginning to set, your heart deflates with the thought that the day is almost over. That you’re going to have to get out of the car and say goodbye to him, even if it’s for a week.

The Sixth Lesson

JJ never thought that the day might come when he enjoys school. However, whenever Wednesday rolls around, this wave of energy washes over him, putting some pep in his steps like he’s in a Saturday special. Mr Sunn’s classroom had become this sanctuary; this garden of Eden that only you and JJ knew about. You had this way of explaining things that made it click for JJ. It was if you were a translator, taking complex terms and working them into analogies that fit into JJ’s head. You showed him tricks to keep notes which saved his paper from becoming a stressful, confusing mess of scribbles. You recognised his need for taking breaks, splitting up sessions with stories, taking the chance to show him memes that your friend Esme had sent you. There was a sweetness to you, underneath the bossy, business-like exterior JJ was first met with. And with that sweetness came JJ’s sudden realisation that you’re really fucking beautiful.

He’s not sure why he didn’t notice it at first. Maybe he did, but he didn’t want to acknowledge it. He was too busy cursing you for taking up his summer vacation. But now that’s noticed, he can’t unsee it. It’s like watching a movie and realising your favourite actor is in it; they take all the attention. And you took most of JJ’s, during your tutor sessions. He’d steal glances when he was reading through worksheets or filling pop quizzes. Snippets of your head bent forward, reading, your glasses slowly slipping down your nose until you push them back up. Glasses suited you. Framed your cherub face. Your laugh was melodic; tuneful like you were singing. But your lips might have been JJ’s favourite thing about you. You’d gnaw at them, chewing on them when you concentrated. You’d pamper them with lip gloss and balm, making them taste like strawberry or raspberry or cherry cola. A flavour JJ dreamt of licking off. On the downside, it made his already ADHD-ridden mind even harder to concentrate on the work.

“You done?”

“Hm?”

“You finished with the quiz?” you ask, nodding down to his papers. You’d caught him looking at you and assumed he was finished.

“Almost,” JJ says, glancing back at his answers to remind himself where he was. “Kinda stuck on this one though.”

“Which one?” you wonder, leaning across the table to have a look. JJ points at it and does his best to look at your face and not your cleavage as you read the question. But he has to steal a glance. Fuck. You smell fucking delectable. In a truly desperate and pathetic strain of thought, he considers asking what perfume you wear so he could spray his pillows with it. Jesus Christ, get a grip. It’s terrifying, the hold you have on him by doing so little. It’s like you have a voodoo doll stashed in your tote bag; potions that you drip into his water. It’s the only explanation. JJ Maybank has never been pussy whipped for a pussy that he hasn’t even seen. I guess you really do learn stuff at school.

“Okay, so,” you say, sitting back in your seat. You push your glasses up your nose: it’s adorable. “You remember learning about adaptation, right? Like how animals change themselves–”

“--to fit in with their environment and survive, yeah,” JJ finishes, surprising himself with how easily he plucks that knowledge from his memory. Your smile is beautiful, full of pride.

“Right. Exactly. So, if you think about a camel - like the question says, yeah? - and where they live, why would they need to store water in their humps?”

JJ looks down at the paper and reviews the picture of the camel. “They live in the desert,” he thinks aloud, watching you nod in her peripheral vision, “so there’s not much water. So they need to store water so they don’t become…thirsty?”

“Another word for thirsty?”

“Dehydrated?”

“Yes!” you grin. “Yes, that’s it.”

JJ laughs despite himself, shaking his head as he writes the answer down. “Never thought there’d be a day when I’m actually decent at school but here we are.”

“Well, never thought there’d be a day when I smoke a joint,” you counter teasingly. JJ flashes you his smile. “Alright, come on. We got ten more minutes. Finish the quiz.”

“Yeah, yeah, I’m on it, brown nose,” JJ mutters, sniggering when you flip him off. He fills in another answer before stealing another glance. You’re reading. Focusing intently on the page, knees brought up near your chest, book resting on the back of your thighs. “How’s the book?”

You look at him, visibly debate telling him to focus on his work, before answering. “It’s good. It’s the third in the series.”

“What’s it about?”

“It’s a fantasy. The usual stuff: witches and elves and stuff like that. Dragons, sometimes.”

“Fancy,” JJ mumbles, returning his attention to the paper. “Read something out-loud from it.”

You don’t say anything. Frowning, JJ’s eyes dart up to you. You’re staring at the page, clearly not reading. He starts to smirk, bemused. “What? Why don’t you read something?”

“It’s just, uh…Pretty boring, y’know?”

“Mhm,” JJ hums, unconvinced. He waits until you’re distracted before he quickly swipes the book from out of your hands. You shriek, jumping out of your seat.

“Give it back, JJ! Give it!”

“Come on! Just wanna see what you’re reading!”

“No!” you screech, chasing after him. The two of you perform some sort of dance around the tables of the classroom, white walls bright in the sunlight streaming through the wall of windows. JJ steps up onto one of the cabinets and holds the book high above his head, open on the page so he can read. You helplessly hop up and down below him, trying to swipe it from him. Through his laughter, it takes a moment to stop shaking and focus on the words. JJ begins to read. Then his eyebrows raise so high he’s surprised they don’t fly off his forehead.

“Holy shit!” he sniggers.

“JJ! Give me the book now, Goddamnit,” you demand, returning to the version he knew of you from week one.

He loses control a little when he comes, his grunts deep and unusually rough, his grip viselike, and she feels his orgasm course through her as if it were her own. She sucks him gently through the end of it, and when she looks up at him she’s wet and swollen and she feels empty, trembling, a messy lump on the floor.

“Open your mouth,” he rasps.

She blinks up at him, confused. He cups her cheek.

“I want you to open your mouth and show me.”

She complies, and the sound he makes, possessive and hungry and pleased at last, travels through her like a wave. He massages the back of her neck while she swallows, his thumb caressing her jaw, and when she smiles up–

The book is suddenly ripped from JJ’s hands. He’s in hysterics, doubling over, grabbing at his knees.

“Holy shit! That’s insane, I had no idea people wrote shit like that,” he manages out through gasps of air. But when he looks at you, his humour quickly fizzles out. You’re closing the book, eyes downcast, visibly upset. “Hey, shit, I was just messing around, okay? I didn’t mean to–”

You turn and walk back to your bag, shoving the book inside of it. JJ jumps down and follows, grabbing your wrist to get your attention. You reluctantly look up at him. Tears tease your waterline. Shit.

“Hey,” he says, voice soft, “I’m sorry. I was just messing ‘round. I just didn’t think books had stuff like that in them.”

“Yeah, well, they do,” you say, tugging your arm free and crossing them over your chest. “Didn’t have to be a douchebag ‘bout it.”

“That’s fair,” JJ hums, nodding. “M’sorry. Is it, uh…Is it good? Y’know? Book-porn?”

That has your lips quirking upwards. He smiles too. Rolling your eyes, you mumble, “it’s pretty good, yeah.”

“Yeah? I mean, seems pretty detailed,” JJ remarks, recalling the paragraph he read. You laugh quietly, shrugging.

“It is. That’s what girls like ‘bout it, y’know? It’s more focused on the girl. About her…y’know, pleasure and stuff.”

JJ hums, thinking. It seems like more work to him than just putting on porn or even finding someone to hook up with, but considering what he’s learnt about you, it makes sense that you prefer it. As the two of you return to your respective seats, and JJ returns to his quiz, his mind can’t help but wander. Did you have a boyfriend? A girlfriend? Did you hook-up with people whenever you felt like it, like he did, or were you a one-person kind of girl? Were you a virgin? JJ warily lets his eyes wash over you. You’ve given up on reading and are now scribbling on some print-out, probably preparing next week’s class. Your head is propped up in one hand, the end of the pencil pressed against your lips. His eyes trail down your face, over your chest, lingering. It was hard to get a read on you. He felt like you were either one of two extremes: a virgin, perhaps never been kissed, or a hardcore freak. He wasn’t sure which he liked more. Probably both. Either. Any. If JJ had his chance with you though…Holy shit. He wouldn’t let you out of bed for hours. He’d show you things you didn’t know, make you feel things that you’d only ever read about and daydreamed in the darkness of your bedroom. He’d have you screaming, close to tears, desperate to come again and again and–

“That’s time.”

JJ quickly focuses on the page, reads the last question, and ticks a random box. Clearing his throat, washing his thoughts away down the gutter, he sits back in his seat. You take the test from him and read over it. JJ watches you nervously, teeth nibbling at his lips, as you start to mark. For the first time in his life, he cares about this quiz. It isn’t a mock exam, doesn’t hold any real weight, but he’d like some proof that maybe he’s worth a shit. Maybe his brain isn’t a complete waste of space in his skull. Maybe, just maybe, JJ might be smart.

“Jury’s in,” you say, a mischievous glint in your eyes. You hold the paper back out to him, face down, and JJ eyes it nervously. “Go on.”

Sighing, he takes it and flips it over. His eyes quickly scan over the ticks and cross before honing in on the numbers outlined in a neat red circle. His lips part. “Eight out of ten?”

“Yep.”

“Eight out of ten?” he checks, meeting your eyes.

“Well, if you want to be really harsh with yourself, it’s more like 7.5 because I gave you that hint with the adaptation-camel thing, but everything else was all you,” you smile, nodding.

JJ can’t help but laugh in disbelief. He feels like he just passed his SATs. And if it wasn’t for you, he wouldn’t have gotten hardly one answer right. He wouldn’t have even tried. As if reading his mind, you gently remark, “you’re smarter than you think, JJ. Just gotta believe in yourself.”

“That’s the corniest shit you’ve ever said,” JJ snorts. But the look he gives you speaks volumes. Speaks of his thanks. You smile back, pretty like a magnolia in May, and JJ is petrified by the way his heart yearns.

The First Warning

“Whose turn is it?”

“Who’d you think?”

“Girl, she’s barely looked away from her phone.”

“Yo!”

Fingers snap in front of your face. You jump then frown at Esme. “The hell was that for?”

“It’s your turn, dipshit,” she playful replies, rolling her eyes.

“Oh. Sorry,” you mutter, turning off your phone. You ditch it beside you on the sofa and lean forward, grabbing the dice. They clatter against the vinyl board, bouncing over colourful squares and claimed buildings. “Alright, seven.”

As you move your counter around the Monopoly board, your phone buzzes with another message. Eyes drifting over to the screen, your lips instinctively twitch when you read JJ’s name. Esme narrows her eyes at you in suspicion and, quick as a cat, grabs for your phone.

“Esme! Give it!”

“Who are you texting so much?” she wonders. Lily and Palma giggle, scooching in to gather around the screen. You roll your eyes. These were your closest friends, you didn’t much mind if they found out - which they were bound to, considering Esme knew your passcode. Her voice isn’t particularly happy when she asks, “JJ?”

Rolling your eyes, you take your phone back and scan over the messages.

“Oh no.”

You look over the top of your phone and meet Esme’s eyes. You know that look. “Esme, it’s not like that.”

“You like him.”

“Esme–”

“You have a crush on JJ Maybank,” she announces. Lily and Palma gasp like they’re in a courtroom drama.

Shaking your head, you laugh as you say, “can you not use the word ‘crush’? Makes us sound like we’re in junior high.”

“Girl, this is serious,” Esme warns, shifting on the sofa so she’s facing you head on. “This is JJ Maybank we’re talking about here. Need I remind you who he is?”

“Fuckboy?” Lily offers.

“Asshole,” Palma chimes in.

“How about surprisingly nice person who is also really freaking hot?” you give as a rebuttal.

“Are we forgetting what he did to you?” Esme wonders, genuinely alarmed by your change of tune. “I mean, not more than a month ago he was enemy number one and now, what? You’re sending him cute little dad-jokes?”

“He’s not like what I thought, a’right? He’s actually pretty sweet,” you meekly reply.

“Wait, what did he do to you?” Lily asks, frowning.

You roll your eyes. “Literally nothing.”

“Nothing? You cried in the bathroom stalls for, like, twenty minutes!”

“It was ten minutes, and that was over a year ago,” you argue. “Jesus, you’re acting like he skinned my cat or something.”

“Hello!” Palma interrupts, throwing up her arms. Her cornrows sway off her shoulders as she asks, “are either of you going to tell me and Lily what he did?”

Sighing, you force yourself back to English class last year.

“I’ve got to say, guys. Not your finest hour,” the teacher, Mrs Halls, remarks as she paces the aisles of the classroom. You chew nervously on your lower lip. You’d spent hours studying for this test; even pulled an all nighter just to cram in as much content as possible. You’ve read Romeo and Juliet enough times to recount almost every line. Recited the sonnets in your sleep as if you’d written them yourself.

As she makes her way between the desks, your foot thrums against the vinyl flooring. To your left, she delivers a quiz paper onto a desk. JJ Maybank’s desk. He was hardly ever in class. Sometimes he’d get up and leave halfway through and not bother coming back. You’d never shared a word.

“Poor work, Mr Maybank. I want you to see me after class,” Mrs Halls berates. JJ tugs off his cap and runs his fingers through his hair, huffing, rocking back in his seat.

Then, your test sheet is returned to you. “Nice job. Top of the class - as always,” Mrs Halls tells you proudly, finishing with a wink. You smile, relieved, satisfied, and look back down at the neat A+ staring up at you. But your joy is short lived. JJ snorts, scoffs more like, and you glance over at him.

“Fuckin’ virgin.”

The girl behind him overhears, as does the boy in front, and they both snigger underbreath. Your face burns hot and your eyes dart back down to your paper, head hanging with shame. Tears sting your eyes and you try desperately not to let them fall. And they don’t, at least not until you’re out of class and in the bathrooms with Esme.

Lily and Palma’s sympathy is palpable. You roll your eyes. “Look, who cares? He was probably pissed with himself and took it out on someone else.”

“Oh, yeah, so I really want you to catch feelings for a guy like that - y’know, now that you’ve put it that way,” Esme sardonically replies.

Sighing, you reach out and meddle with your game token. “I’m not stupid, okay? I don’t like JJ like that. There’s no point. So, you don’t gotta worry ‘bout anything.”

Guys like JJ Maybank did not go out with girls like you. It was as simple as the alphabet. The maths was easy: he was a commitment-phobe, heartthrob with a craving for adrenaline and adventure; and you were a rule-abiding, goody-two-shoes with an affinity for a good book and cup of tea. Hell, you’d smoked your first joint for the first time a few weeks ago and had your first casual drink outside of a holiday celebration. Skipping class was practically a religion to JJ whereas just the thought made you feel sick. The two of you were opposites, and whilst it might be true for magnets, the world of romance was quite a different story. It may attract, but that doesn’t mean it’s viable.

But despite the logic, you knew you were lying. You had fallen for him, hard and fast. How could you not? He was funny and charming and attractive. He had a tenderness that he hid beneath the surface, like a tortoise cocooned in a shell. There was a sweetness to JJ, the kind that made the memory of his cruel remark feel false. But Esme’s disapproval and your own insecurity were poignant. You don’t text JJ back for the rest of the night.

The Ninth Lesson

Since that day on the beach, you have never been late for another tutoring session. Now that JJ had made friends with you, if either of you were running late, you’d send a text message and the whole thing would be put to rest. That to say, when you were late to the session by an entire hour, JJ knew something must be wrong. You hadn’t replied to a single message he’d sent. Forgetting things was not your style, especially your tutoring sessions with JJ. He hadn’t outright asked, but something told the blonde haired boy that you enjoyed his company as much as he enjoyed yours. He wasn’t blind. He’d seen you taking peaks at him during the lessons the same way he did with you. As arrogant as he could be with his looks, JJ knew you weren’t like the others girls who fell at his feet. You were complex, contradicting, and chemical.

The debate to go to your house is brief in JJ’s head. He’s given you several rides home after tutoring. The drive was always something he looked forward to, as well. You had a similar taste in music and the conversation flowed like a fresh water spring. It’s starting to feel second nature when JJ takes a left onto your street. You don’t live in Figure Eight but it’s a nicer area than where JJ resides. Somewhat of a middle ground, your neighbourhood is something of a suburban dreamscape. Children play in the streets and some front lawns even have sprinklers, when the drought isn’t around.

JJ parks outside your door and sighs, checking his appearance in the rearview mirror. He fixes his hair under his cap and checks his teeth. God knows when that started becoming a habit. Then he’s hopping out the Twinkie and wandering up to your front door, hands in pockets. He raps gently on the red painted wood and waits patiently. He glances up and down the street and rocks on his heels. The door swings open and JJ turns, jumping into his introduction before he has a chance to see who it is.

“Hey, I was wonderin’–” When he comes face to face with nothing, his head tilts down to find a little boy looking up at him. JJ’s breath catches in his throat. The child’s face is disfigured. It isn’t ugly and it isn’t horrifying in any way, but it is enough to notice. Enough to have a person take pause. JJ tries not to stare at the strange patching of skin and the protrusions of flesh. Instead, he ducks down so they’re more level at the eye. “Hey little buddy. Your sister home?”

He’s visibly nervous. “My sissy?”

“Yeah. Your sissy home?”

“Mhm,” he nods. He glances behind him, down the hallway, then back to JJ. “Are you her boyfriend?”

JJ eyes widen slightly. “Oh, uh, nah, little dude. Just someone she’s helping out.”

“Oh.”

“Hey, could you do me a solid, little man, and go get her for me?” JJ wonders. The little boy studies him for a moment. His eyes don’t seem to focus, one tracking a little slower than the other. JJ waits patiently.

“Why aren’t you her boyfriend?”

“Well, that’s a pretty long story,” JJ chuckles, rubbing the back of his neck.

“Are you a surfer?” With that, the little boy points at JJ’s t-shirt. It’s one of his graphic tees from a local surf shop in town. Grinning, JJ nods.

“Yeah, I sure am. Are you a surfer?”

“Sissy won’t let me,” he replies through mumbled words. He rubs at his arm, one hand still holding tight to the door handle. “Says it’s dangerous.”

“It can be,” JJ replies. “Pretty dope though. I bet you’d make a cool surfer.”

“Leo, I’ve told you before to pick up your toys when you’re finished playing!” Your voice comes from some far room in the house. JJ glances over (what must be) Leo’s shoulder to spot you walking into frame. You look pretty frazzled, clearly working through some sort of mental checklist. “Leo?”

“Here, sissy,” Leo calls back. Your head turns and you notice your brother first, then the open door, and then JJ. Visibly startled, your lips part. Hurrying over, you lay a protective hand on your brother’s head, taking the door in your hand.

“JJ. What are you doing here?”

“You, uh, didn’t come to the school so I wanted to check you were a’right,” JJ explains, raising back to his full height. “Little dude here said you were home so…”

“Sissy,” Leo says, tugging on your t-shirt. You glance down at him and this smile comes over your face that reminds JJ of a warm blanket. “Is this your boyfriend?”

“Oh, uh,” you’re flustered, glancing quickly at JJ before returning your focus to your brother. “No, honey. This is just, uh, a friend that I’ve been tutoring.”

“Oh,” Leo says. He tugs at your shirt again. “Sissy?”

“Yes, Leo,” you say with undying patience.

“You should ask him to be your boyfriend,” Leo tells you. The two of you manage to hold back your laughs.

“Really? Why’s that?”

“He’s a surfer. Said I could be a surfer too,” Leo says.

“Oh did he now?” you wonder, looking up at JJ. He smiles apologetically. Oops. Shaking your head, you recall what JJ said prior to Leo’s interruption. “Wait, what’d you mean I wasn’t at school? Class isn’t ‘til one.”

“Yeah…It’s nearly three in the afternoon, now.”

Alarmed, you grab at your phone and groan. It’s dead. JJ shows you his. Your horror is borderline hilarious. “Shit, I’m so sorry, I don’t even…God, I just lost track of time. Um…Come in, actually. Come in.”

You and Leo make space for JJ to walk through the doorway. He closes it behind him. Leo grabs quickly at JJ’s shirt and pulls him with surprising strength through the hallway and into the living room.

“Look, look!” Leo exclaims, grabbing at any and all toys in sight. One is familiar to JJ when he takes it in his hand. It’s the toy car he fixed for him. His eyes drift to yours to find you watching everything unfold with a strange expression on your face. Something tells JJ that this is a little overwhelming for you. He’s amicable when he places the car back down on the floor.

“Listen, little dude, those are some sick-ass toys. But I really need to start this lesson with your sister, huh? Maybe we could play some other time?”

“Teach me to surf,” Leo seemingly demands. Your face falls.

“Leo, honey, we’re not learning to surf today,” you gently say.

Leo looks between yourself and JJ and his face begins to contort. His lips tremble and your eyes slant with concern. His fists clench at his sides and he stamps his feet.

“Teach me to surf! Teach me to surf! I want to surf!” Leo shouts. His hands begin to thump against the sides of his head and you rush over, dropping to your knees.

“JJ, can you wait in the kitchen please?”

JJ does as he’s asked, quickly leaving the room, overhearing your pleading with your little brother. Through the muffled door, he can follow some of the conversation despite his trying not to. He occupies himself by looking at pictures on the wall and on the fridge. A drawing that Leo must have done - of him on a surfboard - and a picture of you and him from Christmas. You look sweet like cinnamon in your reindeer pyjamas. There’s an impressive collection of report cards and certificates and rewards, all addressed to you. A framed photo on the wall has JJ taking pause. The man in the frame is striking in similarity to you. He’s dressed in army formals, staring stoically ahead before a grey background. The ones around it are more casual. A family vacation. You in the marching band (so he was right, you did used to do that). The infamous spelling bee victory.

“How ‘bout this: tomorrow, me and you go to the beach together, huh? Sound fair?” your voice creeps through the walls.

“Sissy take me to the beach tomorrow?”

“Yes. Sissy take you to the beach tomorrow,” you say. The relief is evident in your voice. JJ cracks the kitchen door open, sensing an end to the conversation. “How ‘bout you tidy up your toys whilst I hang out with my friend, hm? Sound fair?”

“M’kay.”

“Gimme a hug.”

JJ catches your embrace through the crack of the half-closed door. He smiles to himself. He’s never seen this version of you. It’s like you’ve transformed into a different person. When you reappear in the hallway, closing the door behind you, it’s as if you struggle to meet JJ’s eyes.

“Come on, we can study upstairs,” you say, leading the way.

Your bedroom is not how JJ imagined it. Parts of it are - the Jellycats and the candles and the motivational quotes on the wall - but he’s startled by how little possessions you have. There’s not a lot of books, like he was expecting, and your bed is simple with a duvet and two pillows. Your desk is a mess: papers and pens and highlighters and sticky notes. JJ closes the door behind him as you clear some clothes off your bed.

“Sorry I forgot,” you say as you clean. “I had to sort out Leo’s dinner and he’s decided that he doesn’t like pizza now, he only likes dinosaur nuggets. And they have to be dinosaur shaped, or else all hell breaks loose. And then the laundry needed doing cause my mom needs her scrubs and–”

You stand upright and sigh, bringing your hands to your face. If JJ wasn’t in your family home, he’d offer you a joint. Instead, he stands and waits, unsure whether he should hug you or not. You haven’t crossed that line yet, although somehow standing in your bedroom feels miles more intimate. Another steadying breath and you’re pulling your hands from your face, fixing your glasses.

“Thanks, by the way.”

“For what?” JJ frowns.

“Y’know. For being nice to Leo,” you reply, gesturing to your door.

JJ’s frown deepens. “Course. Why wouldn’t I be?”

“Just sometimes people can be…” You shake your head, drop onto your bed, and sigh loudly. “Assholes. They can be real assholes. Kids especially. Which, fair enough, they’re kids, but come on.”

JJ chuckles quietly. He sits beside you on your bed, sinking into the plush comforter. “He’s a cool kid. And I honestly don’t mind teaching him to surf. Might be cool to have a little apprentice.”

You laugh at that, smiling at him. “A little protege?”

“Sure,” JJ shrugs, not fully knowing what that word means. He wants to tell you how pretty you look right now, despite being a little flustered from rushing around. You’re clearly busy. Busy in a way JJ didn’t know about and could never relate to. The question catches in his throat. It doesn’t feel appropriate to ask but it’s hard to keep it at bay for long. “Can I ask…What…What is it?”

You take a small breath before replying, looking down at your hands. “It’s a few things, really. Doctors aren’t even sure they can give it one name. He’s neurodivergent, so he likes routine and familiarity. Emotions are pretty big for him. They can be hard to manage. He’s getting better at compromise, though, which is nice. Uh…There’s also something developmental there. He’s nine, but he acts more like he’s seven, and his language is more at that stage too. He’s smart though. Really bright. The kids at school aren’t always so nice so sometimes I give him lessons, to help, y’know, bridge those gaps.”

JJ listens intently, nodding. Rolling your shoulders back, you let out a relieved sigh. He wonders if you’ve ever spoken to someone about this stuff before. If you have someone to lean on, vent to. He imagines Esme might fill that role to some degree.

“The physical stuff…That’s because of a gene. Well, two genes, that my mom and dad both had, and it was luck of the draw. In another life, in another world, I would look like him. He had a shitton of surgery when he was little so he could breathe better, talk better, look better. Some helped home with mobility too. His tongue, uh…was too big for his mouth? They had to sort of…reduce it? It was a rough few years. Mom had to pick up extra shifts to get better health insurance and help cover the bills. My dad was in the forces and he’s deployed a lot. He is right now, in fact. I guess I learnt how to grow up fast.”

You laugh despite yourself, shaking your head, and meet JJ’s eyes. “I feel like I’m five different people. Sometimes more. I have to be the sister, and the daughter, and the mom, at times. I have to be the best friend and the star student. And then, I have to be the teenager. Even though most of the time I feel like a mini adult, trying to keep everything in order. I don’t know, maybe that’s why I’m so neurotic. Shit, I’m probably a psyche major’s dream case study.”

JJ laughs along with you but the words hang heavy in the air and in his heart. He could relate, though, to some of it. “I get it.”

“You don’t have to say that,” you solemnly reply, smiling sadly.

JJ shakes his head. “No, I really get it. A bit, anyway. Having to grow up fast. Being different people.”

It feels empty to leave it at that, like faux empathy to defuse an awkward situation. Sighing, JJ’s fingers meddle with a stray thread on your duvet cover. “My dad’s in and out of trouble a lot. Jailtime and stuff, y’know? I learnt pretty fast that if I didn’t wanna go hungry, I gotta fend for myself more. Started working. Started stealing. Just had to survive, right?”

You nod sadly. ‘I’m sorry’ falls silently from your lips as you offer him a smile, and JJ’s heart drops down through his ribcage, into his stomach, because nobody has ever looked at him like that before. Looked at him as if they can see right through him. Through the facade and into his soul, into his mind. Look at him like they understand him. It’s terrifying. JJ’s throat feels tight and dry and his brain feels full. Butterflies tickle at his intestines as his eyes slowly, slowly, fall to your lips. It feels like a temptation when your tongue darts out to wet them, your teeth rolling over your lower lip, and he wonders what lip balm you’re wearing today. He wonders what you’ll taste like.

JJ isn’t sure which one of you begins to move first, but soon enough, he can feel your breath on his lips. When his mouth presses to yours, his eyes sink shut and his heart nearly explodes from how fast it’s beating. Your fingers slip over the top of his hand as if holding him in place, keeping him close. JJ’s head tilts and so does yours, and you deepen the kiss. You taste like cherry cola. Cherry cola and lemonade. You sigh against him and one of JJ’s hands comes up to your cheek, fingers tracing the soft skin before cupping your jaw, guiding your movements with his. Your own hand creeps further up his hand, along his arm, until it’s looping over his shoulder, keeping him near. It’s sighs and hums and pure, simple pleasure as the two of you make-out. It’s never like this. Never this patient, exploring, wading through the waters, finding out what little move makes the other person react. The brush of teeth on lower lips, the shadow of tongues dancing against one another. JJ’s used to fast and fiery, rushing to get to the next part. This, right here, feels like JJ could kiss you forever and never once grow tired.

The two of you are so consumed in one another that neither hears your mothers voice down the hall. It isn’t until a floorboard creaks just outside your door that you’re springing away from him, wide eyed. JJ’s still in a daze when the door swings open. You wipe your mouth with the back of your hand and JJ strategically sits so his crotch isn’t in view.

“Honey have you–” Your mom’s words die on her tongue. JJ musters up some courage to look over to the doorway to find a blank expression on her face. “You’re not one of my kids.”

“No, uh, mom this is the guy I was telling you about. The guy that I’m tutoring, I mean,” you stumble through your words, gesturing to JJ. He gives a nod and tense smile.

“Hiya, ma’am.”

“Ugh, don’t call me ma’am when I’m not on duty,” your mom groans, rubbing tiredly at her forehead. You chuckle and JJ realises it’s a joke, faking a laugh of his own. Then her eyes narrow as she looks between the two of you. “Tutoring, huh?”

“Yeah, uh, your daughter’s been helping me get my grades up over the summer. Mr Sunn hired her, actually. It’s all legit,” JJ reels off. Her eyebrows raise.

“Okay, well…Sure. If you say so,” she says. She doesn’t sound particularly convinced. Her eyes train back onto you. “What I was gonna ask was, did you wash my scrubs?”

“Yeah. They’re in the dryer right now. Should be good to go in an hour.”

“Perfect,” she sighs, relieved. “Oh, and Leo?”

“He’s had his dinner. I had to run to the shops cause I thought he liked the unicorn shaped nuggets but it’s actually the dinosaur shaped ones, and we didn’t have any of those.”

“Nuggets? I thought he liked pizza. Thought he hated nuggets?”

“No, no, he’s done a complete one-eighty. Decided yesterday that nuggets are the new meaning of life; pizza is out,” you explain with a too-cheery laugh.

“You said you bought some? How much were they?” Your mom worries, but you brush her off. She rubs at her head and laughs self-deprecating. “Jeez, some mom I am, huh? Can’t even remember what my own kids like to eat.”

Before you can say anything, she’s plastering on a smile and reaching for the door handle. It seems as though she just woke up from a nap. “Alright, well, I’m gonna get ready for work. You kids, uh, have fun…studying.”

“Thanks mom,” you smile, nodding.

She begins to close the door, but lingers when it’s a crack open. “And use protection.”

“Mom!” The door slams shut. Groaning, mortified, you drop your head in your hands. “Sorry ‘bout her.”

“She seems nice,” JJ chuckles. Shaking your head, you look up at him.

“Don’t indulge her,” you say jokingly. The smiles linger on your faces as you look at one another. JJ wants to kiss you again. He’s not sure if he’s supposed to be able to think about anything else now that he knows what you taste like. Those fantasies are back, the ones he shoved down in a box, and he wants to fulfill all of them. But you’re back to your usual ways: duty-focused. Getting to your feet, you slap your hands together. “Alright! Lesson time! Let’s start with…Romeo and Juliet.”

“Are you going to the kegger on Friday?” JJ asks out of the blue.

You look over to him from your desk, where you’re flitting through the impressive stack of papers. “Kegger? What kegger?”

“This kegger on Friday. Meant to be a good one. Down at the boneyard.”

“I don’t know,” you mumble, turning back to the papers. “I’ve never been to one before. Wouldn’t even know what to do.”

“Come find me and I can show you,” is JJ’s suave reply. You snigger, rolling your eyes. “I mean it. It’d do you good to get to wear the ‘teenager’ hat or whatever you called it.”

Sighing, you venture back to him with the worksheets for the day in your hands. “Maybe. How’s that?”

“Good enough for now,” JJ relents. Before JJ can try and make a move, you’re thrusting papers into his hands. He groans, disappointed, and you only pretend not to care.

“Okay, so: Romeo and Juliet. We all know what a shitshow that was…”

The First Kegger

“I feel ridiculous.”

“You look it.” You toss a Jellycat at Esme’s head. “Hey!”

“That’s not very supportive of you,” you mutter, glancing at the mirror. You fiddle with the hem of the skirt and try to shimmy it further down your legs. It feels ridiculously short and revealing. God help you if you drop anything, there’s no way in hell you can bend over to pick it up.

“Why’d I be supportive of this? You’re going to a kegger purely to appease the patriarchal nightmare that is JJ Maybank.”

“You don’t have to use his full name every time, y’know?” You reply, choosing to ignore her complaint.

“Girl, this ain’t you.”

“It might be me. I can go to keggers.”

“Sure, okay, go to keggers - that don’t mean you have to cosplay as somebody else,” Esme sighs. She gets up from the bed and walks over to you. Her fingers meddle with the straps of the rather skimpy top you’re wearing. You’ll spend the whole night crossing your arms to try and cover your chest. Meeting your gaze, she sighs once more and takes a step back. “Look, if you really think this thing with JJ Maybank has legs then at least be yourself. I thought we agreed that as feminist women we wouldn’t conform to society’s brainwashing of what an attractive, ideal woman is.”

“You’re giving me a headache,” you mutter. But as you glance back in the mirror, you can’t help but agree. This isn’t you. The skirt, the top: it feels unnatural. Wordlessly, you walk over to your dresser and dig about through the drawers. The outfit that replaces the ‘hot-girl starter kit’ eases your anxiety in a second. An adorable skort and crochet style cropped sweater that sits pretty over a tank top. Yes, that’s more like it. Esme seems to agree, as she nods approvingly from the bed where she’s taken purchase once again. The reflection you’re met with smiles back at you. But then the thought of actually going to the kegger makes reality weigh heavy. “I don’t know…Maybe I shouldn’t go.”

“You look cute. It might be fun, you never know,” Esme shrugs.

Sighing, you flop down on your bed beside her and stare up at the ceiling. The glow-in-the-dark stars you pasted there when you were thirteen have lost their shine, but they still have a dull illuminessence that feels like safety. “What if I’ve got this all wrong?”

“Didn’t you say he kissed you? How could you get that wrong?”

“I don’t know, I just…What if he’s doing it to mess with me?”

Esme thinks for a moment then groans. She sits up and huffs. “I can’t believe I’m actually going to defend this douchebag but,” she mutters, before meeting your eyes, “I think he might really be into you. And if you’re going to let some silly self-loathing stop you from being happy, then that’s pretty depressing. And sad. And pathetic.”

“Thank you,” you deadpan. She grins. You give a small smile back. “You’re right. But you know what would make this miles better?”

Realisation dawns upon her and her reaction would make it seem liek you asked her to go bungee jumping with you. Esme’s head begins to shake as yours begins to nod. “No. Nope. No way.”

“Yes! Come on, we can go together! Solidarity in numbers and all that!”

“I would do anything for you, but wingmanning you at a social event that reinforces incorrect assumptions that excessive alcohol consumption is synonymous with being cool is–”

You plaster a hand over her mouth. Glaring, you say, “shut up and get changed, will you?”

She stares at you as if challenging you to break, but you don’t. Rolling her eyes, Esme pushes your hand off her mouth and begrudgingly gets up and off the bed. Mutters and complaints fall from her mouth as she rifles through your clothes. ‘You’re lucky you’re my best friend’ is the most common.

After the time spent debating whether or not to attend, changing outfits, and convincing Esme to join you, the two of you walk up to the kegger almost three hours in. It’s bustling and boisterous. Groups of friends are scattered across the beach and the dunes. People sit on the driftwood and chat animatedly. Boys wrestle and jeer at one another near a makeshift bonfire. Girls gossip and giggle amongst themselves as they catch eyes with classmates across the way. Tourons huddle nervously together and try their best to appear at ease and at home in the boneyard. The Kooks tend to keep their distance from the Pogues, a strange invisible divide drawn in the sand. Keggers and coolers are stacked up beside some speakers, with R&B and hip-hop music thumping out across the seashore. It’s nearly completely dark outside, save for a thin line of navy just above the shoreline. The bonfire works well in illuminating the sand with a warm, orange glow.

“Holy shit,” Esme mutters. You snort. This was a first for the both of you. “This already blows.”

“The music’s pretty decent, at least,” you comment as the two of you weave through gaggles of teenagers. It seems you’re both naturally gravitating towards the keg to grab a drink. Red solo cups are stacked precariously beside the beverages and you grab one each. As Esme chatters and fills up your cups, your eyes scan the beach in search of a certain blonde haired boy. You’d texted JJ before leaving but had yet to get a response. Glancing down at your phone to double-check, you notice that the service is appalling, and sigh, pocketing the device again.

“You found him yet?”

“Nope. Holy crap, can you believe how busy it is?”

“Look out!” someone shouts. With that, you and Esme stumble back as two guys tumble in front of you onto the sand, wrestling. Esme rolls her eyes and mutters into her cup, ‘imbeciles’ before taking a sip. Your fingers nervously press into the plastic over and over as you scan the beach over and over. It’s so busy and in the darkness, it’s hard to make out faces. Everybody looks the same (save for the Kooks, who are dressed in designer threads). You and Esme find yourselves in what feels like a safe spot on the beach. Sitting on an old tree trunk, you sip at your beers and people-watch whilst discussing the gossip you knew of your classmates. It’s nice to have her company; you’d have no idea how you would have coped if you had come on your own. Checking your phone once more, there’s still no text from JJ. Just as you’re about to recommend leaving - already an hour in - Esme is suggesting to get a refill and give it a bit more time. You’d made the journey and the effort, after all.

Approaching the keg, you vaguely recognise the boy refilling his cup. Smiling, you call out, “Pope!” and watch as he startles and turns around. His smile is amicable.

“Hey! Uh…YN, right?”

“That’s the one,” you smile. The alcohol gives you a boost of social confidence, what with your tolerance so low. “You remember Esme, right?”

“How could I forget? Mathlete reigning champion,” Pope smiles at a rather smug Esme.

“Hey, you wouldn’t happen to know where JJ is, would you?” Esme asks on your behalf. Your face burns hot at the directness of her question.

Pope doesn’t seem to be phased, however. He looks around as he says, “he is here somewhere. I’ve been hanging with Kie though so I lost track of him. He’ll show up.”

Esme gives you a nudge and you roll your eyes, smiling into your cup to try and hide your glee. He’s here.

“JJ says you’ve been tutoring him at Mr Sunn’s request?” Pope asks you. You nod.

“Yep. Once a week for over a month now.”

“Honestly, you deserve a medal for that. I gave up trying a long time ago,” Pope remarks joshingly.

“He’s actually doing pretty great. I think it’s making a difference.”

The rest of the conversation stretches on with Pope. You start to exchange stories from the chess team and Mathletes and Model UN and, eventually, the Spelling Bee tale comes up. Unaware of the secret vendetta Pope held against you following your victory, it’s fair to see you have a good laugh when it’s revealed. The three of you become more giddy and familiar as the conversation continues and you wonder why you and Pope had never hung over before, when you seemingly have so much in common. When Esme wanders off to go find somewhere to pee, you and Pope sit side-by-side on some driftwood and discuss the latest fantasy book you both happened to be reading.

“I gotta say, I did not see Eldmore and Scarlett getting together,” Pope tells you. You scoff, gaping at him.

“How could you not!? He was practically falling at her feet in the second book!”

“I don’t know, I just thought he had more chemistry with Mistress Londar.”

You consider this as you take another sip of your drink. You’re three beers in now and can certainly feel its effects; probably best to quit while you’re ahead. “I guess. Mistress Londar is in too deep with the alliance, though. I think it would have been too much of a conflict.”

“Maybe. Still. That one chapter when Eldmore and Scarlett…y’know…do it,” Pope’s voice trails off and the memory has you laughing. Smiling brightly at him, you’re far too excited to have the opportunity to mention JJ.

“That was the chapter I was reading when JJ stole the book from me. I think it might have scarred him for life,” you snigger.

Pope laughs, shaking his head. “The stuff he gets up to? I doubt it.”

As the laughter dies down, Pope goes to take another drink only to find his cup empty. Smiling apologetically, he rises to his feet. “I’m gonna get a refill. It was nice talking to you though. See you ‘round?”

“Sure,” you smile, nodding. With that, Pope walks away. You stay put for a moment, considering what to do. The interaction with Pope had distracted you from your search for JJ. Upon checking your phone, you realise you’d been conversing for over an hour. Oops. Esme had also vanished. You better go look for her. Getting back up, you ditch your cup and walk around the boneyard. You thought it would have started to die down with how late it was getting but, if anything, it seems busier than ever. The alcohol has your head slightly fuzzy and you concentrate on not tripping over. You’re not drunk - not by a long shot - but it’s probably best not to have any more for the night. Pulling out your phone, you try texting Esme despite the poor cell service: Where are you? When you look back up and glance around the beach, your heart stutters.

There’s JJ, as gorgeous as ever, stood talking to some random girl. He’s leaning against an abandoned, rusted watch tower, nursing a red solo cup, and staring at her as she talks. He seems to be listening rather intently to the story she’s telling, nodding his head, as her hands move as she speaks. When her fingers brush against his forearm, you suddenly feel very sick. And then, he laughs.

The tears kick in with the embarrassment and disappointment. How could you be so stupid? Of course he doesn’t want to be with you. Of course he isn’t going to change. Of course he’d want somebody else.

A hand on your back has you jumping and spinning around. Esme. You sigh in relief. She frowns at your expression, spotting the tears in your eyes.

“What’s wrong? What happened?”

You shake your head and grab her hand. “Let’s just go. I wanna leave.”

“Hey, what–” Her voice trails off and you know she must have spotted JJ. You remain with your back to the interaction and try tugging on Esme’s arm to prompt her to move, but her feet are welded into the sand. “That filthy, slimy little toad of a man, I swear to God–”

“Esme, please,” you beg. Your voice cracks and gives you away. She meets your gaze. You shake your head desperately and a tear falls. “Please, I just want to leave.”

Huffing, she takes one last look at JJ talking to the girl before reluctantly appeasing you. The two of you walk down the beach, hands interlocked, and you sniffle pathetically as you try to wash the image from your mind. Why would he invite you just to get with somebody else? Why would he kiss you if he didn’t want anything? Why would he do this to you? Why? Why? Why?

Your mind jumps back to that day in the classroom. The sneer in his voice when he muttered those two words. The sniggers from the classmates that felt like elephants trampling on your chest. The shame and the embarrassment that overcame you. You were so convinced that he was a different person. That you’d merely caught him on an off day and you didn’t know him, not truly. The day at your house was so special: it felt like finding gold in the attic. Nobody had ever seen your life up close apart from Esme. Not even Lily or Palma. Nobody had ever met your brother apart from Esme, either. Had heard your fears and anxieties and seen your exhaustion not once, but twice. You’d trusted him. You let him into your home and gave him a snapshot of your life and you thought he understood. But you must have thought wrong.

Esme doesn’t try to spark a conversation as the two of you walk back to your house. She gives you a long, lingering hug at your front door before bidding you goodnight. Slipping into the house, you keep your footsteps light and your cries quiet as you make your way up the stairs. Your mom’s bedroom door is shut and you can hear her snoring through the walls. Leo’s bedroom door is open by a crack and you wipe your tears and sneak inside. He’s lying in his bed, bundled up in his dinosaur bed sheets, cuddling his stuffy. He looks so peaceful like this. So safe from other children’s whispers and other parent’s horrified stares. So safe from the world and its cruelty. The cruelty that you were exposed to tonight. Ducking down beside him, you brush your hand lightly over his hair and press a kiss to his forehead. Climbing into bed has never felt like such a relief before now.

The Final Lesson

You haven’t texted JJ since the kegger on Friday. His message he sent last night went without a response but JJ’s sure you read it. He was clarifying that the lesson was still on for today, in the usual spot in school. At your lack of response, JJ simply assumed that it was routine as always, and packed up his backpack for his lesson. He isn’t sure how to explain it, but when JJ passes through the threshold of the building, something feels off. It’s as if the air is thick like molasses, study and heavy, pushing against his throat. A bizarre feeling of unease washes over him with every step he takes. The classroom door is shut and JJ pushes it open, finding you sat at the desk. Your head is down and you’re reading something laid out in front of you. There’s less paperwork than usual stacked by your side. You don’t look up or smile at him as JJ walks in. You don’t even acknowledge that he’s there. JJ suddenly feels nauseous. What the hell is going on?

“Hey,” he says, unsure, as he walks over to the table. The glance you give him is brief.

“Hey,” you mumble.

Frowning, JJ takes his seat. You’re focusing pretty hard on whatever it is before you. JJ takes a long inhale and waits. Eventually, you clear your throat and push over the paper.

“This is, uh, your scoresheet from all our lessons. Y’know, so you have physical proof of what we covered and how you performed in the different quizzes.”

JJ’s frown deepens with your words. He slowly takes the paper from you and scans over it.

“You can give it to Mr Sunn if you like, but I’ve already emailed him a copy so he has it. He’s aware that you’ve attended every session, save for the one in week two, but–”

“Wait, what the hell is going on?” JJ interrupts. His heart is starting to beat faster, his anxiety building, because this sounds an awful lot like goodbye. “Are the lessons done?”

When you meet JJ’s eyes, he hardly recognises you. You haven’t looked at him with that level of nonchalance since the early weeks. Pushing up your glasses, you say, “yes, the lessons are done.”

JJ blinks at you and waits for you to drop the act. He waits for you to make a joke and tease him like always. He waits to see your expression melt with that smile that he likes to think is saved just for him. But instead, you just look at him. It pisses him off.

“The fuck d'you mean ‘the lessons are done’?”

“JJ–”

“You never told me that we were finishing the lessons. I mean, shit, I just walk in here and suddenly it’s over? I don’t understand!”

“We’ve covered all the content that you need to cover before the next semester starts–”

“--Bullshit we have!”

“JJ!”

“No, no, I don’t know what the hell is going on,” JJ argues loudly, “but you’re fucking with me.”

“JJ, please,” you plead. It’s the first crack in your icy exterior. Your lip quivers as you try and steady yourself. There’s little power behind your voice as you say, “please don’t make this harder than it has to be.”

JJ’s heart squeezes and he rubs at it through his t-shirt. He feels like you’ve just shoved him off a cliff and he’s falling and falling and falling, and you’re just standing there and watching it happen. It doesn’t make any sense. It’s as if you’ve both been reading the same book and then you’ve skipped ahead three chapters. He tries to calm himself down, taking a few slow, shaky breaths. His eyes press shut and in the darkness behind his lids, he sees your face, moments before he kissed you. Shaking his head, he opens his eyes and looks at you.

“You could at least give me a reason.”

You’re visibly uncomfortable. Swallowing, you look down at the papers before you and meddle with the corner of one until it starts to split. JJ utters your name and you sigh, squeezing your eyes shut.

“I don’t know why you’re making a big deal of this. It’s not like it means anything to you,” you tell him quietly. JJ’s brows furrow.

“What're talking about?”

Sighing once more, you lift your head and meet JJ’s gaze. There’s a sadness behind your eyes that he’s never seen before. “I saw you at the kegger.”

JJ’s frown deepens as his brows tug closer together. “Huh?”

“The kegger, JJ, I saw you there,” you say, firmer. Shaking your head, you busy your hands with anything and everything as you ramble. “You have every right to get with whoever you want to get with and mack on any girl you like, but you could at least, y’know, clarify before doing it. I was just confused. It felt like a sick joke or somethin’ and I really hope that you wouldn’t be that cruel but…But it just confused me and I don’t think I can compartmentalise this dynamic if that's the case...”

JJ’s shaking his head frantically. He holds up his hands in mock surrender as if trying to ease traffic. “Woah, woah, slow down, you lost me. What d’you mean you ‘saw’ me?”

“With that girl, JJ.” Your voice is thick with despondency. “I saw you at the old watchtower talking to her and…I don’t know…”

Oh.

JJ isn’t a genius at most things, romance being one of them, but he had a sense for when things were deeper than a fling. He knew his own emotionality enough to recognise when he liked someone, even if he was reluctant to admit it. It didn’t take a scientist or therapist and even a mere scholar to read you right now. The way you’re looking anywhere but him; the way your hands are practically tearing the paperwork, that seemed to follow you like a shadow, into shreds; the way you’re so desolate and so vulnerable in your words, strategically saying so much without saying anything at all. It’s like how you taught him during Romeo and Juliet: ‘you have to read between the lines’.

“You’ve got it all wrong,” JJ says, suddenly calm.

“JJ, you don’t have to–”

“I was looking for you all night,” he interrupts. You seem unwilling to accept this, sighing and shaking your head, refusing to meet his gaze. “I was. I swear it. I was looking for you the whole night and then, when I found you, you were talking to Pope.”

That has you taking pause. Your fingers finally cease their relentless vandalism. JJ sees your eyes flicker over to him warily. He takes the gap to continue.

“You were talking for an hour. Maybe more. And you were laughing and…And I’m not an idiot, a’right? I know that you and Pope have a million more things in common, and that he’s actually got a hope in hell of making something out of himself. You’re both smart. It’s probably fucking fate. And I’m not gonna stand in the way of that, a’right? I ain’t gonna stop two people from being happy and shit just because I like you too. It ain’t fair. Pope’s a good guy. He’d be good to you.”

The hopeful part of JJ’s psyche is leaning heavily on your pure look of confusion. JJ’s face feels burning red from his clunky confession. But he perseveres and takes another quick breath, preparing himself to talk up his best friend, but as JJ’s lips part, you’re talking.

“I don’t like Pope.” The two of you stare at one another. The table has never felt so wide. Shaking your head, you repeat, “I don’t like Pope. Not like that, anyway. We just have a few things in common and started talking about that book I was reading, and lost track of time and– I had no idea you even saw that.”

“Yeah, well…I did…so,” JJ mutters.

“JJ, I was looking for you all night, too,” you tell him. The smile on your face is solemn when you say, “and when I found you, you were talking to that girl. And…she’s beautiful, JJ. She seemed really nice and, of course, you’re welcome to–”

“--Didn’t you hear what I said?” JJ can’t help but cut in. You frown slightly. JJ doesn’t mean to laugh when he repeats, “I like you. Like really like you. Like holy shit what the fuck am I supposed to do like you. Like you’re all I can think about sort of like you. It’s fucking terrifying and pathetic and I know that there isn’t a chance in hell but–”

“--You like me?” you whisper. JJ laughs softly, almost under breath, and shrugs. He feels stripped off his confidence; bare without his boyish façade. This was real, genuine, organic. This was honest.

“Course. Why else would have I invited you to that damn kegger in the first place? I mean, shit, I full-on kissed you. Thought it was pretty obvious,” he says, his voice trailing off.

“I…I just thought…”

You’re in disbelief, it seems, and it makes JJ’s heart want to bleed. It’s as if you can’t fathom the fact that somebody might have an interest in you. Someone might want to care for you like you do for so many others; to be the one who helps look after your brother; who helps you study for your exams despite the fact that you’ll inevitably ace them either way; who helps you remember how to relax and let loose and just be. JJ wants to be that person. He wants to be the one that you can cry to and the one who makes you laugh. He wants to be the guy that you spend your mornings sleeping in with and your nights wide awake. He wants to make you smile and scream and moan and– All of it. JJ wants it all.

“That girl was my cousin. Well, step-half-cousin– It’s get confusing, a’right? The point is:” He takes a sharp breath before laying his hands palm down on the table. He’s determined to hold your gaze when he says, “I don’t want anybody else - not one person - but you.”

JJ’s patience has never been more impressive as he waits for you to process what he’s said. He can practically see each word working its way through that beautiful brain of yours. As the meaning sinks in, your smile finally begins to show like the first sunrise after winter. Brilliant and full of promise and hope. No more dark days, no more cold nights, no more dull mornings. Just sunshine - through and through.

“I want you too,” you confess.

His heart feels like it’s about to bust out of his chest. JJ’s not sure he’s ever smiled so hard in his life. There’s a faint worry that his skin might split from how wide his grin is. But he can’t help it. This is better than any high he’s ever had. It’s euphoric because you want him too. Despite all his misgivings, all his stupidity, all his hopelessness: you want him. And not just the version that he might be able to become, but the version he is now.

“Come over here right now,” JJ demands in a breathlessly chuckle.

The giggle that falls from your lips is adorable as you get up from your seat. JJ’s laughing too as he pushes his chair back to make space for you. You drop down onto his lap with a laugh and JJ tastes them on his tongue when he kisses you. It feels like coming home as your hands lace into his hair, pulling him nearer. The graze of your tongue against his, sensually tasting him the same way he does you, has him quietly moaning. The moment he takes your lip between his teeth, you’re whining, and it’s as sweet as syrup. His hands run down and along your thigh, fingers digging into the flesh just enough to remind himself that you’re real, this is real, and you want him too.

“You’re fuckin’ perfect,” JJ murmurs against your mouth. Your sheltered moan drives him on; JJ kisses you with new fever. The scratch of your nails against his scalp is orgasmic in itself. It’s never been like this: never has something so simple made JJ feel like he’s been brought to his knees. Pulling away, JJ stares up at you, panting lightly, and waits for you to open your eyes. Pupils blown wide, you look like an angel, the sun casting yellow behind your back. His fingers slowly lift until he’s taking the frame of your glasses in grip and easing them from your face. JJ’s never seen you without your glasses on; not up close. His lips quirk at the edges. “I think I like you more with them on.”

“Shut up,” you mutter, rolling your eyes, smiling despite your words. He makes sure not to be careless when he puts them on the table. His hands cup your face, fingers brushing over your soft skin, fuzzy like peach lining, and you lean into his touch, gazing into his eyes, and JJ thinks this. This is what true happiness is.

“What?” you ask, voice barely louder than a whisper. “What’s wrong?”

“Nothin’,” JJ smiles, losing his nerve. Nobody’s ever looked at him like that. You look at JJ like he’s somebody. “Just happy s’all.”

Your lips are slightly damp when you tilt your head enough to press a kiss to the pad of his thumb. JJ’s breath catches in his throat from the tender action. He’s serious about this. Serious about you. He’s as serious as the plague.

“Same here,” you murmur, leaning back down as if to meet his lips. Before they reunite, you let one last thing slip. “M’happy too, blue eyes.”

#jj maybank x reader #jj x reader #jj maybank #jj maybank fic #jj maybank x you #reblog #fic recs

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