#jude & naomi 004.

[gotatext]

JUDE & NAOMI — DAY THIRTY-THREE.

location :   bedroom.

time :     late afternoon / early evening.

description :   jude lets naomi play dress up. she’s everything, he’s just ken.

featuring :    naomi  /   @heatwayve​

𝗷𝘂𝗱𝗲 𝗱𝗲𝗺𝗽𝘀𝗲𝘆.

“do you reckon hawaiian or paisley?” jude asks, eyes finding naomi’s in the mirror. he’s holding two shirts up in front of himself chopping and changing like a paper dress-up doll.  “hawaiian shirt guy is like, guy who works in recruitment and is here to party. paisley’s like, chill dude who works in the arts and drinks merlot. i dunno what vibe i'm feeling tonight.” 

naomi santos

“ew,” naomi sits up from where she’s been laid out on the bed. she’s not much of a napper, but she didn’t get a ton of sleep last night, needed to lay down a bit. but now people are filing into the bedroom, starting to get ready for the evening, and it seems like now she’s awake to help school the fashionably challenged. “are those your only two options? hawaiian print and paisley?” he hasn’t sold either of them very well, to be honest. “let me see,” she gets up, wandering over to his wardrobe and hip-checking him out of the way a little and thumbing through the options he’s got hanging up for shirts. christ, it’s grim. “maybe you should just keep it simple tonight. do you have anything that’s like…one color?”

𝗷𝘂𝗱𝗲 𝗱𝗲𝗺𝗽𝘀𝗲𝘆.

jude’s eyes dart down at the two options in front of him, suddenly sheepish, hoping to god the colour hasn’t risen in his cheeks. “yeah?” he answers, sounding unsure. honestly, jude had nabbed most of the shirts with fun patterns on their first day, but most of them suited angel more. “i just think patterns are fun. sorry that you hate fun.”  jude makes a dramatic display of being knocked out of the path of her hip thrust, stumbling back from the wardrobe to give her space, the two shirts held limply in his hands like a sports day rosette for ‘taking part’. lips pursed, he scans across the hangers of the shirts, trying to ascertain if any of them lack a print. it’s slim pickings. “i’ve got like, a red corduroy shirt. that could work. it’s just a bit… y’know. i mean aren’t plain colours a bit dry?” naomi might know more about fashion, but jude has his own sense of style. 

naomi santos

"i don't hate fun! just this shit is loud, what is this?" she asks, holding up one of the shirts, "saturday night fever? no." she gives him a look, an exaggerated roll of her eyes as jude stumbles back like he's performing for a football foul. "maybe if you have a nice, like, artistic pattern or something? just not the fucking paisley," naomi implores him. she's not trying to cramp his style completely, just trying to keep him from strutting out there like bob pinciotti. though judging by the volume in the room last night, jenny doesn't seem to really mind either way – though maybe she's gone blind. "it's too hot out for corduroy." she resists the urge to punctuate that with, duh. amazes her how helpless boys can be sometimes.

𝗷𝘂𝗱𝗲 𝗱𝗲𝗺𝗽𝘀𝗲𝘆.

honestly, most of jude’s clothes are louder than on the outside, hoarded as part of his eBay haul on the first day of casa, and probably to compensate for his lack of a personality. adidas jackets and a pair of knock off levi’s don’t really cut it in the villa where everyone else is in vivienne westwood and bloody gucci. “don’t shit on saturday night fever. john travolta’s like… he’s like… an icon or some shit.” though his best role’s probably hairspray. the amount of times jude had to sit through that film as a teenager to placate his sister siobhan… insane. “also! bee gees… they’re from manc.” lifting his hand, he jabs his thumb towards himself. although technically they’re from cholton-cum-hardy where you’d pay eight quid for a schooner of ale when you could get a pint for two pound seventy down the road at spoons. posh fucks. “fine then. if my taste is so shit, you chose my outfit.” honestly, it’s not a bad idea. this could even be fun, movie montage style — he'll come out of the wardrobe in flippers and a snorkel to the sound of a canned laugh track. “bet you’d love to play dress up with me.” because she’s controlling, or whatever the current locker room narrative about naomi is. he doesn’t know much about what happened with her and josh last night, only that he probably got his ass handed to him. “how was the hideaway?” jude asks, slotting the two shirts back into the wardrobe, turning to lean his shoulder against the mirror and face her. “what’s it actually like in there? is it gaudy as fuck?”

naomi santos

she wrinkles her nose, "stop, danny zuko rights maybe, but john travolta is totally gross." she can say that because she's met him. or maybe that's especially why she shouldn't say it. whatever. "that's your style icon? the bee gees?" she asks with a laugh, eyebrows arching, "god, you need more help than i originally thought." even though he's the one who'd actually asked. all she knows about the bee gees is that it's disco, and abba is more fun anyway. naomi tries to contain the excitement that shines in her eyes when jude says that she can dress him up, because this is precisely the kind of thing that's fun for her, lizzie mcguire fashion show montage with ru paul playing in the background. and yeah, she is a bit controlling. "seriously?" alright, she smiles at him before turning around rifle through his things in the closet. he's got the worst of it, all the odds and ends of an already picked-through eBay stash, the leftovers no one wants. it's a good thing that naomi likes a challenge. she tosses him one of the shirts, "try this," she says, rifling through to dig up some kind of jean jacket, which might not even be jude's, "– oh, and this. and maybe..." she tosses him another shirt with a pattern she finds mildly acceptable. it all depends on what he's got for shoes. "oh, yeah," naomi replies, flipping her hair back over her shoulder as she turns around, deciding to stop when she notices the pile of options she's already chucked at him. "it's like. the bratz doll coke lounge. barbie's dream sex dungeon," she snorts. "you jealous?"

𝗷𝘂𝗱𝗲 𝗱𝗲𝗺𝗽𝘀𝗲𝘆.

jude’s “wow” is more from astonishment at her reaction than any of the options she’s tossing him (and there’s a lot of options). if he’d known giving her free reign over his styling choices was all it took to squeeze a smile out of her, he’d have done this sooner. admittedly, it stings a little that she thinks his choice in clothes is whack. jude had always considered himself to be pretty stylish, but maybe it is time to trade in the adidas tracksuits for something more chic — which is what he’d been trying to accomplish with the patterned shirts, but it’s clearly backfired. on the outside, he’s more of a t-shirt and jeans on a night out kinda guy, simple and non-flashy, with a coloured overshirt if he’s feeling fun. “sex dungeon. woah,” jude repeats, eyes wide like one of those cat clocks whose pupils move on each tick. “jealous? of josh? no.” he answers quickly, catching another one of the shirts she tosses him and adding it to the pile of shit laid over his arm. it feels like shopping for siobhan’s prom dress all over again. “of you guys getting a night in the hideaway? yeah kinda. feel like jenny and i would proper thrive in there.” noting that his pile of shit is probably enough to be getting on with, he dumps them on the bed and pulls his current shirt up over his head. “y’want me to like, change in the hallway and walk in so you get the full effect of the fit, or just… do it in front of you?” he’s not uncomfortable with her watching him change—it would feel weird asking her to turn her back when he’s seen her in a bikini like, every day—but it dulls the effect somewhat if she’s just watching him fiddle with the buttons. “or i could try and change inside the wardrobe. pop out like one of those figures in a cuckoo clock, the sound of music style.” he reckons naomi’s probably into all that singing and dancing shit like his sister is. 

naomi santos

she snorts at that, "i meant of josh because he won a night in hideaway,"  though insinuating jude wants her is more of a funny bit than anything now, 'cause she adds, "the lad doth protest too much, huh?" quirks an eyebrow as she anticipates his firm denial. probably just as speedy as the last one. if he hesitates three times, he might invoke jenny like beetlejuice. "you would, though. you guys really get on, huh?" it's a fond question, though maybe a callback to everyone's early disbelief in them. naomi's never felt quite like that, jude's interest in jenny has always been clear to her. she just didn't enjoy how the romi thing transpired. "jude," she cracks up at the way he seems to overthink it, mirth shining in her eyes as her nose crinkles. "you're insane. i can just turn around," she says, half-pivoting on her heel before she stops, "though if you want to try the whole superman thing in the wardrobe, it might look pretty fun..." great fodder for unseen bits, really. "captain von trapp was my first crush, actually." as he should be.