A Lesson In Romantics (Chapter 1)
Title: A Lesson In Romantics (Chapter 1)
Author: AveryNoelle ifthekidsdont
Rating: NC-17
Pairing: Jalex
Summary: Jack Bassam Barakat was never a righteous man.
Who wants to go to hell?
Not Jack, that's for damn sure.
Bringing home a homeless guy should score him big with the big guy upstairs, right?
It's also a bonus that said homeless guy is extremely attractive.
Disclaimer: I don't own Alex or Jack, also title belongs to Mayday Parade
Author's Notes: Okay cool so first chaptered story! I have no idea where this came from but hey it was decent.
Masterpost
Next Chapter
Jack Bassam Barakat was never a righteous man.
He partied, he slept around, and used language that might make the devil himself cringe.
So, the reason Jack sat in the back row of a Sunday morning sermon, alone and awkward, was unknown to him and the rest of the world. He crossed his legs, quickly uncrossed them, and shifted in his seat for the umpteenth time. The white-haired woman in front of him turned around, giving him a sharp glare. Her skin looked about three sized too big for her small, bony body, wrinkles gracing every inch of her.
Jack shrunk down once more, averting his eyes to the priest. He stood on the stage confidently, running a hand through his sandy blonde hair. He looked like the kind of man that would have a great wife, two straight-A student children, and a fucking white picket fence to top it all off.
“We are all sinners, we are all going to die!”
Wasn’t church supposed to be comforting?
“We all need to ask God for forgiveness for all the terrible things we’ve done! For all the terrible things we’ll always do!”
Well, I don’t know what you do in your free time, buddy, but…
“How many of you want to go to hell?”
The room was silent. No hands raised.
--
Walking out of the small, white church, Jack felt different. Like he was suddenly very heavy. He didn’t like it at all, that was for sure. Was he really going to hell? Was he really going to spend eternity in some fire pit? Jack shook his head at himself, laughing quietly. Of course not. Hell wasn’t real. Heaven wasn’t real.
Maybe it would be a good idea to get right with the big man upstairs, just in case.
Like insurance?
Jack continued to reason with himself as he followed the cracked cement sidewalk. The toe of his boot nudged a pebble along with every step, pushing the small, round rock further and further. Could he cancel out the bad stuff he’s done? Like, adding a positive to a negative to make a positive?
Did that work?
Whatever. Jack was never good at Algebra.
Jack was confused. Stumped. Flabbergasted. Aren’t you supposed to have this whole religion thing figured out right away? Who knew God was so hard to understand.
He began to create insane scenarios in his head. Maybe if a robber stole an old lady’s purse and he got it back for her, he wouldn’t go to hell. Maybe that only happened in movies.
Maybe if he bought McDonalds for some homeless kid. No, not McDonalds. Some healthy shit. Oranges are healthy, right? Maybe he’ll buy some oranges for a homeless kid. Jack shook his head again at himself. From what the preacher said, it’d take a lot more to please a big guy like God himself than buying oranges. He sighed, looking up for the first time in his journey home to check what street he was on.
46th. Five blocks past his shitty apartment. Awesome.
Just as he began to turn around, a soft strumming reached his ears.
I’m drunk off your kiss,
For another night in a row,
This is becoming too routine for me,
But I didn’t mean to lead you on.
Jack recognized his favorite New Found Glory song immediately, whipping his head left and right to locate the source of the soft strumming. He observed as the world around him moved on with life, people rushing around and knocking into one another. In the midst of the hustle and bustle of the city, he spotted a small figure curled against the wall of The Mainstreet Sweet shop, a local candy shop that held every Augustus Gloop’s dream.
Jack took a few hesitant steps towards the young boy, a head of light brown hair covered by a black beanie coming into view as he lifted his head.
And it’s alright to pretend,
That we still talk,
It’s all for show, isn’t it?
It’s all my fault we fell apart
The boy grinned wide as he sang, his voice raspy and raw. His wide, brown eyes sparkled as he strummed, fingers moving rapidly over the strings. He couldn’t be older than Jack, maybe 20 or 21. Jack moved closer, listening more intently to the boy belt out the lyrics.
Just maybe you need this
And I didn't mean to lead you on
You were everything I wanted
But I just can't finish what I started
There's no room left here on my back
It was damaged long ago
Though you swear that you are true
I’d still pick my friends over you
An open pizza box sat in front of him, 1’s and 5’s thrown carelessly in along with a few quarters and dimes. “I NEED MONEY, FUCKERS!” was scribbled in messy sharpie marker on the bottom. There was no doubt the unnamed boy didn’t have a home; his beat up black converse and ratted denim jacket showing months, maybe years of constant use.
Once he finished the song, Jack swallowed his nerves and approached him. Digging into his pocket, his fingers wrapped around a ten dollar bill. He tossed it into the pizza box, watching the boy’s eyes light up as he looked up to thank the stranger. The boy nodded gratefully, and began to count today’s earnings with enthusiasm.
I’m Jack.” Jack awkwardly stuck out his hand, using the free one to ruffle the back of his hair. The nameless boy shook it weakly, offering a small smile. “Alex.”
As if Alex’s name flipped a switch in Jack’s brain, an idea formed in his mind. Obviously fate, God, fuckin’ Buddah had presented him with this opportunity. The answer to Jack’s questions, the positive to Jack’s negatives, was sitting right in front of him.
He would score the damn jackpot in heaven if he gave a home to a homeless guy.
“Do you want to come back to my place with me?” Jack asked, dropping Alex’s hand and jerking his thumb behind him.
Alex snorted. “I’m homeless, not desperate.”
Jack’s forehead creased, not understanding the jab. “No, I mean, like, stay at my um, my house. It’s actually an apartment. It’s kind of shitty but um, I could like, clean it up and you wouldn’t have to pay or um, anything I guess.” Jack stuttered out, feeling the heat rise to his cheeks as his seemingly well thought-out proposition came out jumbled and awkward.
Alex looked at him skeptically, flicking the mousy hair out of his eyes before tugging the black beanie down. “You’re offering your apartment to a total stranger? A homeless stranger?” He questioned, talking as if Jack were two and not twenty two.
Jack only nodded, shrugging as he stuffed his hands into the pocket of his suffocatingly tight jeans.
“I could be a serial killer. Or a psychopath.”
Jack thought about it for a second. He knew the skinny homeless boy was right. Hadn’t his mother taught him anything about talking to strangers - let alone inviting them to stay with him? Jack supposed there was no taking back the offer.
Well, are you a psychotic serial killer?”
“…No.”
“Well then, we should probably start the walk home. I don’t want to miss the Ravens game.”
Alex hesitated, obviously still uncertain with the idea. He sighed, shoving the money from the beaten up pizza box in his pocket before picking up his guitar and stood up. After brushing off the backs of his jeans, he turned to Jack with a small, mocking smirk on his face.
"Okay, I'm in. Lead the way.”
Author: AveryNoelle ifthekidsdont
Rating: NC-17
Pairing: Jalex
Summary: Jack Bassam Barakat was never a righteous man.
Who wants to go to hell?
Not Jack, that's for damn sure.
Bringing home a homeless guy should score him big with the big guy upstairs, right?
It's also a bonus that said homeless guy is extremely attractive.
Disclaimer: I don't own Alex or Jack, also title belongs to Mayday Parade
Author's Notes: Okay cool so first chaptered story! I have no idea where this came from but hey it was decent.
Masterpost
Next Chapter
Jack Bassam Barakat was never a righteous man.
He partied, he slept around, and used language that might make the devil himself cringe.
So, the reason Jack sat in the back row of a Sunday morning sermon, alone and awkward, was unknown to him and the rest of the world. He crossed his legs, quickly uncrossed them, and shifted in his seat for the umpteenth time. The white-haired woman in front of him turned around, giving him a sharp glare. Her skin looked about three sized too big for her small, bony body, wrinkles gracing every inch of her.
Jack shrunk down once more, averting his eyes to the priest. He stood on the stage confidently, running a hand through his sandy blonde hair. He looked like the kind of man that would have a great wife, two straight-A student children, and a fucking white picket fence to top it all off.
“We are all sinners, we are all going to die!”
Wasn’t church supposed to be comforting?
“We all need to ask God for forgiveness for all the terrible things we’ve done! For all the terrible things we’ll always do!”
Well, I don’t know what you do in your free time, buddy, but…
“How many of you want to go to hell?”
The room was silent. No hands raised.
--
Walking out of the small, white church, Jack felt different. Like he was suddenly very heavy. He didn’t like it at all, that was for sure. Was he really going to hell? Was he really going to spend eternity in some fire pit? Jack shook his head at himself, laughing quietly. Of course not. Hell wasn’t real. Heaven wasn’t real.
Maybe it would be a good idea to get right with the big man upstairs, just in case.
Like insurance?
Jack continued to reason with himself as he followed the cracked cement sidewalk. The toe of his boot nudged a pebble along with every step, pushing the small, round rock further and further. Could he cancel out the bad stuff he’s done? Like, adding a positive to a negative to make a positive?
Did that work?
Whatever. Jack was never good at Algebra.
Jack was confused. Stumped. Flabbergasted. Aren’t you supposed to have this whole religion thing figured out right away? Who knew God was so hard to understand.
He began to create insane scenarios in his head. Maybe if a robber stole an old lady’s purse and he got it back for her, he wouldn’t go to hell. Maybe that only happened in movies.
Maybe if he bought McDonalds for some homeless kid. No, not McDonalds. Some healthy shit. Oranges are healthy, right? Maybe he’ll buy some oranges for a homeless kid. Jack shook his head again at himself. From what the preacher said, it’d take a lot more to please a big guy like God himself than buying oranges. He sighed, looking up for the first time in his journey home to check what street he was on.
46th. Five blocks past his shitty apartment. Awesome.
Just as he began to turn around, a soft strumming reached his ears.
I’m drunk off your kiss,
For another night in a row,
This is becoming too routine for me,
But I didn’t mean to lead you on.
Jack recognized his favorite New Found Glory song immediately, whipping his head left and right to locate the source of the soft strumming. He observed as the world around him moved on with life, people rushing around and knocking into one another. In the midst of the hustle and bustle of the city, he spotted a small figure curled against the wall of The Mainstreet Sweet shop, a local candy shop that held every Augustus Gloop’s dream.
Jack took a few hesitant steps towards the young boy, a head of light brown hair covered by a black beanie coming into view as he lifted his head.
And it’s alright to pretend,
That we still talk,
It’s all for show, isn’t it?
It’s all my fault we fell apart
The boy grinned wide as he sang, his voice raspy and raw. His wide, brown eyes sparkled as he strummed, fingers moving rapidly over the strings. He couldn’t be older than Jack, maybe 20 or 21. Jack moved closer, listening more intently to the boy belt out the lyrics.
Just maybe you need this
And I didn't mean to lead you on
You were everything I wanted
But I just can't finish what I started
There's no room left here on my back
It was damaged long ago
Though you swear that you are true
I’d still pick my friends over you
An open pizza box sat in front of him, 1’s and 5’s thrown carelessly in along with a few quarters and dimes. “I NEED MONEY, FUCKERS!” was scribbled in messy sharpie marker on the bottom. There was no doubt the unnamed boy didn’t have a home; his beat up black converse and ratted denim jacket showing months, maybe years of constant use.
Once he finished the song, Jack swallowed his nerves and approached him. Digging into his pocket, his fingers wrapped around a ten dollar bill. He tossed it into the pizza box, watching the boy’s eyes light up as he looked up to thank the stranger. The boy nodded gratefully, and began to count today’s earnings with enthusiasm.
I’m Jack.” Jack awkwardly stuck out his hand, using the free one to ruffle the back of his hair. The nameless boy shook it weakly, offering a small smile. “Alex.”
As if Alex’s name flipped a switch in Jack’s brain, an idea formed in his mind. Obviously fate, God, fuckin’ Buddah had presented him with this opportunity. The answer to Jack’s questions, the positive to Jack’s negatives, was sitting right in front of him.
He would score the damn jackpot in heaven if he gave a home to a homeless guy.
“Do you want to come back to my place with me?” Jack asked, dropping Alex’s hand and jerking his thumb behind him.
Alex snorted. “I’m homeless, not desperate.”
Jack’s forehead creased, not understanding the jab. “No, I mean, like, stay at my um, my house. It’s actually an apartment. It’s kind of shitty but um, I could like, clean it up and you wouldn’t have to pay or um, anything I guess.” Jack stuttered out, feeling the heat rise to his cheeks as his seemingly well thought-out proposition came out jumbled and awkward.
Alex looked at him skeptically, flicking the mousy hair out of his eyes before tugging the black beanie down. “You’re offering your apartment to a total stranger? A homeless stranger?” He questioned, talking as if Jack were two and not twenty two.
Jack only nodded, shrugging as he stuffed his hands into the pocket of his suffocatingly tight jeans.
“I could be a serial killer. Or a psychopath.”
Jack thought about it for a second. He knew the skinny homeless boy was right. Hadn’t his mother taught him anything about talking to strangers - let alone inviting them to stay with him? Jack supposed there was no taking back the offer.
Well, are you a psychotic serial killer?”
“…No.”
“Well then, we should probably start the walk home. I don’t want to miss the Ravens game.”
Alex hesitated, obviously still uncertain with the idea. He sighed, shoving the money from the beaten up pizza box in his pocket before picking up his guitar and stood up. After brushing off the backs of his jeans, he turned to Jack with a small, mocking smirk on his face.
"Okay, I'm in. Lead the way.”