psyche [part two] [3 to 6}
Title: psyche
Author: twilight_rush
Rated: pg-13
Masterlist
3
Jean parks the car in front of Jamie’s house, seeing another car already occupying the driveway.
“Is that your aunt?” he asks. When he receives no response he prods again. “Hey, Jamie?”
Jean can’t tell if Jamie is scared or if he’s still sick, because his face portrays both, his mouth scrunched into a tight line and cheeks pale. Jamie keeps pushing back into the seat, like he’s hoping it’ll swallow him.
“No, that’s her boyfriend’s,” he coughs, the word boyfriend sounding too strange to almost say outloud.
“. . . ’kay?”
Jamie has his hand on the handle, though he looks so reluctant to get out and leave that Jean has to ask again.
“You cool?”
“Yeah. It’s fine, just -“ Jamie stops, tries to makes his breathing sound steady and not rattling. “Never mind. Thanks and stuff, I -“
“If you’re not ready to go home,” Jean speaks loudly before Jamie can open the door, “you can hang with me till your aunt gets home or whenever. I don’t have anything to do today. I’m not about to go back to school.”
Jean pushes the offer further when Jamie looks uncertain, like saying yes would be asking too much.
“Seriously, you can come over to my house and we’ll find something to do.” He only gives Jamie a few more seconds to think it over before he pulls the car out of park and into drive.
“It’s settled then.” Jean grins, and though Jamie is beginning to relax he still looks deader than a ghost.
*******
Dawn Avenue was practically built for folks of high wealth, though the people living there were mostly middle class. The only litter the streets have are dirt and little pebbles. People could actually leave their curtains wide open and doors unlocked. There are no shanty-looking houses or big dogs that bark at everything. The lawns are always mowed. Even the trees look better than in any other neighborhood Jamie’s been in (including his own).
Jean would live in a place like this.
“My mom’s home,” Jean explains. “Don’t freak out if she starts speaking really fast French and looking like at you like you’re an intruder. Once I tell her who you are and stuff she’ll pretty much adopt you right then.”
“Adopt me?” cries Jamie. And get to live with Jean? That would be too good. Too much of a miracle.
Jean grins with white and slightly crooked teeth. “Figuratively speaking, of course. And I hope you like dogs, ‘cause we have one.”
Jean’s home is a two-story, Victorian house painted pale maroon with gold lining. It seems to tower over the other homes with their modest designs. But when Jean unlocks the door and they go in, it’s not nearly as huge inside as it looks outside.
They stand in the living room with all its old black and white and sepia-colored photographs hanging on walls, lying on tables. Jamie spies one colored framed photo on the coffee table: a four or five-year-old Jean sitting between two older kids.
“That’s my sister and brother -- Alya and Iman,” Jean tells him, picking up the photo. “My sister’s still that hairy.”
“I didn’t know you had siblings,” Jamie says, admiring the simplicity and happiness of the photo. Alya’s eyes seem to take up her whole face she smiles, holding on tight to Jean and Iman. Iman sits aloof, arms crossed stiffly. Jean’s hair is mussed and he looks about as cheerful as a child can be at that age. Jamie can vaguely remember being that blissful when he was younger.
Jean sets the photo down and stuffs his hands in his pockets. “She lives in Michigan now, with my niece -- she just turned six and she’s so adorable. I love that girl. Iman, he . . . well, he’s always traveling like a hobo. I talked to him a week ago and he’s in San Diego staying with his ‘Girlfriend of the Month’ -“
“Jean?” Both boys look up as a round woman appears at the top of the stairs. Her mass of dark brown curls bounce around her as she trots down with a hamper of dirty clothes. She looks straight at Jamie and for a moment Jamie thinks he’s at looking at Jean’s eyes. They both have droopy, brown eyes with gold flecks floating within.
Just as Jean said, she starts speaking rushed French that sounds muddled, and Jean does as well, every so often waving his hand toward Jamie.
After what seems like five minutes and what sounds like Jean’s mother scolding then praising her son, she walks up to Jamie, puts down the hamper and holds out her hand. The way she says hello feels like sticky, warm honey in his mouth and he can’t help but return her smile, shaking her hand.
“I'm Celeste,” she says. “Jamie? How are you?”
“I’m good. How are you?”
“Great, great.” She smiles one last time before asking, “Jean says you were sick? You want anything to drink? Eat?”
“Ah, no, I’m fine now. Thank you.”
She lets go of his hand and she mumbles something else to Jean before picking the hamper back up and head toward the kitchen. She disappears down some stairs, to the basement, Jamie guesses.
“She said if you need anything, just tell her,” Jean says, walking upstairs and motioning for Jamie to follow. “She also said you’re adorable.”
Jamie scoffs at it before thinking, besides Alexandria, Celeste’s probably the only other person who’s ever told Jamie he was appealing in some way. Even if they are the words adorable or cute.
"At least she didn't pat your cheeks and tell you to stand up straighter like she does everyone else," Jean says as he opens his bedroom door.
Jamie’s not surprised Jean’s room isn’t clean; though it’s not in a way where there’s food and dust everywhere. There are notebook papers lying around with illegible words written on them. Sticky-notes with words covering every bare space. Band posters line the walls and the amount of different colored plaid shirts oozing out of Jean’s closet is ridiculous.
“Uh.” Jean grabs the sheet on his bed, gathers up the books and papers on it, and tosses them into an unclaimed corner. “There. Have a seat.”
Jamie does so and immediately sees a dark purple bass resting in one corner of the room. It has a Green Lantern sticker on it. “How’s your band going?” Jamie asks.
Jean pushes more paper into one corner, so they have room to walk around, before collapsing on the bed causing Jamie to bounce up. Jean lays on his back, hip and elbow almost touching Jamie. Jean’s shirt has ridden up, a strip of olive skin exposed. Jamie’s eyes linger there for a second before he looks at Jean’s face.
“Fairly awesome. You listen to us?” Jean asks. Jamie tells him he does, a little. “Yeah, almost everyone at school does. They either like us or hate us.”
“Your band’s cool. I like your music.” Jean has his arms behind his head, looking up at Jamie in a quizzical way that bewilders him. Jamie can’t decide if it’s uncomfortable or makes him feel important. Like Jean’s actually looking at Jamie and not just another kid who likes to have a vomitfest occasionally.
Jean starts shifting, brushes against him. Jamie keeps his body still and solid. “Really? How come you’ve never come to one of our shows?”
“I don’t know. I’ve never gotten a chance.”
“You should, and then I can tell everyone you’re my biggest fan.”
“Yours?” Jamie’s bangs fall into his eyes, but Jean can tell that the smile on his mouth reaches his eyes.
Jean grins sheepishly, chuckling. “Eh, Artemis Phantom’s biggest fan, you know what I mean.”
And that’s all they do. They sit and talk, Jamie stumbles over answers, and every time Jean moves he brushes against Jamie’s hip and Jamie stays sharply still when it happens. Jean lets Jamie read a few of the band’s new songs he and Ellisha have written. He even bothers to show Jamie how to play a few chords on his bass and the crappy acoustic guitar. Jean learns Jamie’s fingers are much too soft for the bass’s strings. Jamie learns that Jean and his family used to live in Lebanon and France for a short while before they finally landed in the US. Jean’s dad died when he was four from pneumonia, and since then Jean has felt he’s never had a dad. His memories of the man have disappeared over time, and Jean can’t feel anything for him by looking at pictures, old videos, and hearing stories. When he does they often feel fake.
Jean is beginning to appear like the real person Jamie likes, and not some far away crush he doesn’t truly know.
Afterwards they go downstairs where Celeste’s made lunch (actual lunch at two and not at ten like at school). It’s simple rice home-cooked chicken sliced on top and different sides, but it’s the best thing Jamie’s ever tasted. Though, the brownies Celeste baked aren’t nearly as good as Girlie’s.
When they’re finished Jamie goes with Jean to take Bria, the family’s beagle dog, out for a walk. He and Jean don’t talk much this time. For now the silence is inviting and comforting.
They walk side by side, and sometimes Jamie will have to get behind Jean to let a parent and their child in a stroller get by. Sometimes Jamie ends bumping into Jean trying to get out of the way, and he’ll say he’s sorry and quickly back off. When he does it for the third time Jean stops and faces him. His lips are tight and his shadow towers over Jamie, hostile. Jamie steps back, arms closed to his side, alarm causing his fingers to twitch faintly.
He’s acting like he does when Zack stands before him, his face taunt and glaring at Jamie drunkenly, telling him he should stop being stupid. But Jean isn’t Zack. Jamie should never get them confused with one another. Zack’s somewhere else, not anywhere near them.
Jean runs his fingers through his hair, loose strands falling out. “Are you and Alex d-“
“Alexandria,” Jamie says too quickly, his heart nearly giving out once he realizes Jean looks like that because of something about Alexandria. His brows furrows and he balls his hands up to stop his fingers from shaking.
“She doesn’t like Alex, Al, or Aly,” Jamie goes on.
“Seriously? Okay, are you and Alexandria dating?”
The unexpectedness of the question causes Jamie to stare dumbly, mouth hang open, and run the question through his head several times before he’s able to answer. “N-no! No, we’re friends. Why?”
“Because she’s all over you. ‘Cause you’ve never hung out with anyone before and all of a sudden you’re with her. Because you’re so comfortable with her, but with me it’s like I’m fucking Mr. Freeze you freeze up so much around me and then she acts like you’re fragile or something. And she hates me.”
Bria barks, tugs at her leash for the boys to come on. Jamie breathes out, has his eyes aimed at the ground as he says, “She doesn’t hate you and I don’t ‘freeze’ up around you. I do that with everyone.”
“Do I make you nervous?”
“No.”
“I don’t believe you.”
Jamie wants to say I do feel nervous, but it’s something else too, but his voice is gone and he wouldn’t have the guts to say otherwise. He’s too hot in his skin, and he thinks he might throw up again. Jean is suddenly standing too close. Jamie still doesn’t look up.
“Jamie?”
“Can we go back?”
“Can you look at me? What’s wrong?”
Jamie looks up too fast and there’s Jean, features softened and expression worried. Jamie should back off but he stays willingly. His heartbeat hurts and he wants to kiss Jean and he wants Jean and his vision is blurring and he can’t breathe and if Jean just stands a little closer -
“Hey! JP!”
Cold air slaps Jamie’s face when Jean steps quickly away and goes around him toward the street. Heavy breaths come out of Jamie’s mouth and his throat aches. He turns around just as a car pulls up with some guy leaning out of the passenger window.
The rugged ginger boy looks at Jamie questioningly, before Jean covers the guy’s vision. Jamie wanders down the sidewalk, and leans against the fence, head hanging low. Bria yips once and nudges his leg affectionately.
The past eight minutes is forgotten when Jean gets done conversing with the guy and the car drives away. Jamie looks at him and can’t find a single trace of earlier. Whatever earlier was. Maybe it was nothing. It was Jamie being stupid as usual and lost in a fantasy.
And even if Jean wasn’t straight and he did like Jamie -
Once the clothes came off he’d never want Jamie again.
You aren’t perfect and once they see that they’ll run.
That’s what Zack said.
There’s a higher chance of Zack being right than wrong.
”I have to go home now,” Jamie heaves, starting towards Jean’s home.
Jean trots confusingly beside him. “Sure. Are you . . . ?"
“I’m just really tired. Sorry.”
“It’s cool. Let’s drop Bria off and then we’ll go.”
Zack’s car isn’t there when they reach Jamie’s house, and Jamie’s chest deflates in relief. Jean doesn’t think much of it. It goes completely over his head.
“My band’s having a show this Friday,” Jean begins before Jamie can exit. “It’s at Galaxies in Blue Springs, and these other bands will be playing too. You should come, and bring Alexandria if you want.”
Jamie doesn’t say anything to Jean’s invite right away, instead choosing to nod.
He hears Jean move beside him. The longer Jamie stays in the car, the more nauseous he feels. He grabs the handle, opens, and has one foot out the door. He doesn’t get a chance to stand before Jean grabs his forearm and keeps him back.
“What?” Jamie snaps, but his abrasiveness falls apart. He sees the expression Jean carried earlier. He sees the gold and green mixed with the brown in Jean’s eyes. He sees himself occupying only a tiny space in there.
“Just take care,” Jean mutters, and lets Jamie go.
Then it’s gone, back to nonexistence. Jamie shuts the door quickly and walks without looking back.
Jean leaves, a foreboding feeling lurking in the pit of his being that makes him want to throw up too.
4
They hardly talk to each other. They see each other in the halls and in class, and only a hint of acknowledgement will pass between them before they go their separate ways
Jean thinks it’s his fault even though he can’t figure out how and he’s tempted to blame it (whatever “it” is) on Jamie and his overemotional, weirdo self . . . And Jean’s probably being unfairly mean right now, but it’s not his fault Jamie is so confusing.
Whatever went wrong, it’ll get better. It always does.
******
“People from Aquaria Records want to talk to us after the show on Friday,” Ellisha shrieks to the group, his voice going one note higher with each word. His laptop sits on his lap, blaring the message back at his face. He, Jean, and Lewis are lounging around Ellisha’s livingroom with cans of half drunken rootbeer, candy wrappers, and chip bags around them.
“It’s legit,” Ellisha adds, giving a thumbs up. “You guys.”
“If you have to say ‘it’s legit’ then it’s probably not,” Lewis says, flicking Ellisha’s forehead. The boy sneers at him, throwing up his middle finger.
“Yeah yeah, but it is. You know how many big bands are signed to Aquaria? They asked us to call them, but I was waiting till you guys got here before I did anything,” he says, typing something before closing his laptop. With the sudden silence comes the noticeable excitement that’s beginning to boil over. Ellisha looks each guy in the eye with a serious gleam that’s unnatural and somewhat wrong for the quirky boy.
“Guys,” he starts sternly, “think about it. We’ve been a band for like two and a half years now. We’ve worked our asses off like shit. Say it’s about to all pay off. We’re so close to - I don’t wanna say ‘making it big,’ because that sounds like we’re sell-outs. But we’ll have a chance at - everything! We can do more.”
“Wow, that was so inspiring. I loved it,” Lewis snickers, pulling the can tab off a pop and tossing it into Ellisha’s hair.
“I’m serious!”
“Yeah yeah, we know.” Lewis scratches his face, the beginnings of a beard starting to show. He glances at Jean and punches his shoulder.
“You’ve been quiet,” he says. “What’s up?”
Jean’s been staring across the room the whole time, barely hearing anything except the possibility of the band getting signed soon. As lame as it sounds, his dreams are coming together and actually coming true. “It’s just . . .” he starts, sitting up straighter and motioning with his hands, “we’ll have to prove to them we’re serious about this.”
“And if they decide maybe we’re not all that?” Lewis asks.
“We’ll cry about it over cheap porn and then start a metal band because we’re just that upset,” Ellisha answers, chugging down a can of rootbeer and letting out a loud, wet belch in Lewis’s face. “Chyah.”
Lewis scrunches his face and makes a sound of disgust that causes Jean to laugh. He won’t ever tell them directly, but he loves how Lewis is so high-maintenance and a gentleman, while Ellisha is probably the Israeli version of a stereotypical country boy who likes hunting and girls. Lewis is tall with no muscles and has Joan Jett-styled hair, whereas Ellisha is short, has a shaved head and skin sketched with scratches from God only knows what.
Then there’s Jean, who is also completely different from the both of them. It’s probably why they mesh so well. Besides over their love of music, foreign candy, and making fun of people for whatever reason.
The guys talk for a bit, eventually taking a breather when Ellisha’s parents and siblings come back from a school play. They grab more food and then retreat to Ellisha’s room for privacy.
Ellisha lets Jean borrow his guitar to play a new song; while he and Lewis look over the other new songs Jean’s written and add their spins to it.
“Your lyrics are changing,” Lewis says when Jean finishes a melody.
“How?”
Lewis rubs the back of his neck. “They’re better. More retrospective. More imagery. More mature -“
“There’s a female, isn’t there?” Ellisha pipes. “Are you and that chick finally going out?”
Jean doesn’t know whether to laugh out loud or groan in mild disgust. The thought of him and Alexandria dating seems too . . . strange now. He only has a distant feeling of ever being attracted to her in that way, and it wasn’t quite that long ago.
How odd.
“No, it’s not any girl,” Jean says after awhile.
“Something’s brought on these sudden revelations.” Lewis smirks, a dirty look on his face Jean wants to punch as Lewis reads. “They don’t need to know all the things I’ll do to you . . . the marks I’ll leave won’t burn tears but leave love.”
“Chyeah, I guess there’s a person, but it’s just whatever --“ Jean’s sentence dies on his tongue, and his face burns hotly from the guys’ sly grins.
“If you say so, Jean Paul,” but they don’t notice his mistake, the almost confession.
“I think it is someone because you hardly ever get embarrassed,” Ellisha utters. Jean’s back hits the frame of Ellisha’s bed. He really should leave before something happens. He tells them his mom needs him home and all but runs from the room with a hefty bye.
He ends up taking the long way home, a mistake that causes his mind to drift every which way. He thinks of past girlfriends, almost or secret boyfriends, failed crushes, Alexandria, Jamie . . .
Jean bashes on the brake, almost running a red light.
He can barely admit anything to himself anymore.
Jean doesn’t have a problem with liking girls. He doesn’t have a problem with liking boys. He doesn’t exactly “hide” it, but it’s also something he doesn’t want everyone to know. He doesn’t need anyone knowing. Not his family or his friends.
But all in all, it’s not exactly those things.
It’s just Jamie.
Jean was caught feeling something he wasn’t supposed to, and he doesn’t know where to go with it or even if he wants to go there.
5
Jamie’s has never had anyone over at his house. Especially in his room.
But Alexandria insisted on coming over and Jamie decided to let her. Zack is gone somewhere and Girlie had to step out for awhile, so it’s only the two at the moment trying to find ways to keep themselves busy. The first fifteen minutes since Alexandria’s arrival were spent with her admiring Jamie’s room.
“I never knew you were that big of a nerd until I’ve seen all these comics,” she gasps, picking up a random DC comic off the bookshelf and flipping through the pages. “I don’t do comics. Too many words. ”
“But it’s like a picture book,” Jamie complains.
“Yeah, a picture book with tiny words I can barely read.”
She runs across Jamie’s many sketchbooks, and he makes sure to pick out the ones she can see, and push the ones he won’t allow anyone to see somewhere else. “You plan on being an illustrator?” she asks, smiling at one sketch.
“I don’t know,” Jamie says, and he really doesn’t. He hasn’t given much thought to what he wants to be when he’s older. It’s always seemed so far away. When you’re too busy dealing with what’s happening now, the future’s not so important
“You should.” Alexandria puts the sketchbook back on the bookshelf. “It’s always the silent ones who are the most artsy.”
Jamie merely shrugs, sitting on the ground near his bed. “What do you want to be?”
“A social worker, a counselor, something like those. I don’t know. I just wanna help people in some way.”
Alexandria makes herself comfortable on his bed, stretching out full length. Jamie stands up quickly from the floor before he gets a face-full of what’s under her lacey skirt (even if she is wearing stockings - though they’re as see-through as stockings can get.) Her ankles dangle off the edge, and Jamie can see on the tongue of one of her white Converses a drawn smiley face with Xs for eyes and its tongue sticking out happily.
“So tell me what’s been going on,” she asks.
“Nothing much,” he tells her, resting at the end of his bed. He’s learned by now Alexandria is eerily sensitive to people’s feelings, and she’ll interrogate a person until she finds out what’s wrong. He kind of likes he’s found someone who cares so much. But he hates it since he can’t get away with I’m fine and everything’s cool. Even if they are true.
“You’ve looked exhausted lately, and you haven’t been wailing over Jean as usual.” Their eyes lock onto each others, and for a moment Jamie is bothered by the slight smile on Alexandria’s face.
“I don’t do that.” He doesn’t mean it jokingly, and so his voice breaks lightly at the end.
“You know I know, right?” Alexandria questions. “I mean I thought . . . Don’t you . . . ?”
When he looks at her he doesn’t feel alarmed or frightened that she knows. He doesn’t feel as weird as he would if it was someone else. Her eyes are unsure but she’s smiling, like she’s saying it’s totally okay.
He blushes hot red. Alexandria snorts and covers her mouth with her hands. “Aw, Jamie.”
He scoots up closer to her side and they continue to talk about random things, including Jean’s band playing Friday night. Jamie’s grateful when Alexandria doesn’t press on the issue of him liking Jean, or the fact that he’s been acting funny. He can’t tell her or anyone why he’s been acting strange lately; otherwise they’ll take him to the hospital and find out -
Jamie doesn’t want to deal with hospitals and doctors and medications right now.
Jamie’s broken out of his reverie when Alexandria starts prodding her fingers into his side.
“What?”
“Jean’s band. Are we gonna see them?”
“I guess we can. If you want.”
“We should! Ooh, we’ll get there early so we can be in the front. Number one rule of concerts, no matter who the band you’re going to see is, always go early. Always.”
“You go to a lot of concerts, don’t you?”
Alexandria intertwines their fingers together, warmth runs through their veins. This might be the first time they’ve been more intimate as friends, and Jamie likes it. It’s peaceful. He wants to keep the calmness.
“I haven’t been to one in while where there wasn’t a bunch of kids moshing or a random old man appearing out of nowhere and headbanging. This is one should be nice. Everyone just dances sophisticatedly,” she swoons, laying her head on Jamie’s shoulder.
He closes his eyes and ignores the buzzing at the back of his skull.
6
Girlie drops them off at the show. The venue is much bigger than Monroe but painted more darkly so it reminds Jamie of a gothic club. A few people are bustling around the stage and the merch table, and more people come in as the minutes go by. Some of them Jamie recognizes from school.
He and Alexandria stand by the stage until the lights dim and the pop music playing on the speakers hush. Then Artemis Phantom comes out and readies their instruments, with some of the crowd clapping while others cheer and yell.
Jamie’s stomach twists on itself as he watches Jean softly strum his bass while talking to the crowd. He’s straightened his hair tonight, but it still goes in waves across his forehead, making his eyes seem bigger than they are. The plaid, buttoned up shirt he’s wearing is such a bizarre, bright purple Jamie can’t help but laugh. His stomach flips more and he presses it firmly with his hands.
“You okay?” Alexandria asks, touching his arm. “If you need to puke please tell me so I can aim you at that girl who keeps shoving me, trying to get to the front. I like her makeup though.”
“I’m good. I just feel nervous for some reason,” he says. Alexandria makes this odd giggle that freaks him out, but then she slugs her arm across his shoulders and he can only imagine how weird they look.
Artemis Phantom is known to be energetic fools on stage without anyone miraculously getting hit by swinging instruments (though it’s happened once and Jean got a broken nose from Ellisha’s guitar. Unfortunately, the surgery didn’t make his nose smaller). The band is sweating out songs and the crowd is jostling along, singing the lyrics back, and a few enthusiasts start a moshpit.
Jean searches the people’s faces that are close to the stage and his body breaks out in more happiness.
He sees Alexandria and Jamie.
The image of Jamie smiling at them and moving to the rhythm has his heart beating too fast and he almost stumbles over the lyrics. He focuses on the music and keeps going.
******
The band hangs around their merch table, talking with friends and fans, signing CDs and t-shirts. One fan gives Jean a pair of rad, white ray-bans, while another hands Nicholas a cute plushie of him they made. When Jean’s able to, he separates from everyone and dodges to where Alexandria and Jamie are by the DJ booth.
“Well?” he chimes. He notices Alexandria has pit stains from sweating and Jamie appears a little dazed.
“When you guys start touring across the country or get signed or something, can I be like your roadie or merch person?” Alexandria asks, clasping her hands. “Seriously though. I’ve always wanted to do that. I’m pretty good at persuading people to buy more than what they want.”
“We’ll see,” Jean tell hers, his eyes still hanging on Jamie’s form. He’s wearing some oversized Best Coast band shirt and jeans that hang off his hips despite his belt. If Jamie wasn’t a boy Jean would say he was a girl trying to cover up her curves so people would believe she was a guy.
“Hey, Jamie, I gotta talk to you,” Jean says, and walks toward the exit before Jamie can say otherwise. They head outside to the parking lot where it’s quieter and Jean doesn’t have to scream for Jamie to hear him. “I know you hate this, but you been feeling okay lately?”
“I just had a stomach virus. It was nothing,” Jamie laughs dry and long, and Jean wonders how he could possibly think he’s fooling anyone.
Jean leans against a lamppost and stretches his arms toward the sky, his muscles tightening and the bones cracking. He brings his arms back down and catches Jamie’s eyes still lingering on him. But they’re glossed over like Jean is reminding him of a memory. Jamie quickly blinks, licks his teeth and smiles awkwardly like nothing happened.
The air gets caught up in Jean’s throat and he has to breathe deeply to get it out.
It’s only Jamie.
And so Jean starts talking.
They talk about the show, and Jean tells him how there’s a chance Artemis Phantom could be getting signed. How surreal it sounds and how Jean hopes and prays it’ll work out for them. Jamie listens, talks when necessarily and smiles when needed. Jean doesn’t know what else to say anymore, and so he watches Jamie’s hair keep falling in his eyes and his face reddening every so often.
“What?” Jamie asks timidly, his arms crossing as if to make himself more unnoticeable. The day Jean spent with Jamie after ditching school, and the day when Ellisha and Lewis had questioned Jean about liking someone, appears vividly in his head and he wants to laugh. You know what? All of it is ridiculous. Absolutely brainless and childish and . . . none of it matters.
Jean ignores what he’s thought before - about this, about Jamie -- because he feels so uncaring right now.
There’s something he wants to do, and he’s more nervous than he thinks he should be. Jean wonders how intimidating he looks stepping closer to Jamie, if he’s making him nervous like he always does, if Jamie feels shaky like Jean is.
“Do I still make you nervous?” Jean asks.
Jamie doesn’t answer this time and for some foolish it makes Jean want to laugh. Something has hooked into his skin, jerking at him to go before his nerve runs away.
When Jean kisses Jamie he does it quickly and without insecurity. Jamie is engulfed by his being, and his blood feels too hot despite the cold breeze. His eyes remain open, gazing at nothing behind Jean, before he shuts them. Jean’s hands brush Jamie’s hips, and he kisses a little harder, mutters something onto his lips.
The reality of where they are, of what they’re doing, eventually sinks in, and with slight reluctance Jean pulls away first. His head is floating off somewhere and Jean tries to stand still, straighter, not faint. Jamie has his hands clutched tightly at his side and Jean has a strong urge to hold them in his.
“. . . Why did you do that?” Jean’s ears are dulled and he barely hears Jamie’s question. He looks at him, mystified, and a small smile forms on his face.
“Sorry. I forgot to ask for your permission.” Jamie’s mouth hangs open, and he weakly laughs once he makes sense of Jean’s response. He tugs at his shirt like it's irritating him.
“That’s not what I meant . . .” he mumbles. He looks down, bringing his forehead close to Jean’s chest, but never touching it. When Jamie talks his voice breaks often, and the undertone of hysteria in it probably scares him more than his question. “Do y-you . . . do you like me then? Like that?”
The question drags Jean into a brief sourness and he almost grimaces. Except there's a reason why Jamie asked that, and Jean remembers the reason to the point he wants to crawl into a dark void and apologize to Jamie again. He was a jerk for using him, before but now Jean knows better. He knows what he feels, he's pretty sure he does no matter how lame it sounds.
Jean answers hastily and clearly, like he’s thought it over and over again from different angles. Jamie almost doesn’t believe him --
“Yeah, I do. I do like you.”
-- but he sounds too sincere.
Jean moves Jamie’s head back and kisses the center of his lips.
He remains there for a long time.
Author: twilight_rush
Rated: pg-13
Masterlist
3
Jean parks the car in front of Jamie’s house, seeing another car already occupying the driveway.
“Is that your aunt?” he asks. When he receives no response he prods again. “Hey, Jamie?”
Jean can’t tell if Jamie is scared or if he’s still sick, because his face portrays both, his mouth scrunched into a tight line and cheeks pale. Jamie keeps pushing back into the seat, like he’s hoping it’ll swallow him.
“No, that’s her boyfriend’s,” he coughs, the word boyfriend sounding too strange to almost say outloud.
“. . . ’kay?”
Jamie has his hand on the handle, though he looks so reluctant to get out and leave that Jean has to ask again.
“You cool?”
“Yeah. It’s fine, just -“ Jamie stops, tries to makes his breathing sound steady and not rattling. “Never mind. Thanks and stuff, I -“
“If you’re not ready to go home,” Jean speaks loudly before Jamie can open the door, “you can hang with me till your aunt gets home or whenever. I don’t have anything to do today. I’m not about to go back to school.”
Jean pushes the offer further when Jamie looks uncertain, like saying yes would be asking too much.
“Seriously, you can come over to my house and we’ll find something to do.” He only gives Jamie a few more seconds to think it over before he pulls the car out of park and into drive.
“It’s settled then.” Jean grins, and though Jamie is beginning to relax he still looks deader than a ghost.
*******
Dawn Avenue was practically built for folks of high wealth, though the people living there were mostly middle class. The only litter the streets have are dirt and little pebbles. People could actually leave their curtains wide open and doors unlocked. There are no shanty-looking houses or big dogs that bark at everything. The lawns are always mowed. Even the trees look better than in any other neighborhood Jamie’s been in (including his own).
Jean would live in a place like this.
“My mom’s home,” Jean explains. “Don’t freak out if she starts speaking really fast French and looking like at you like you’re an intruder. Once I tell her who you are and stuff she’ll pretty much adopt you right then.”
“Adopt me?” cries Jamie. And get to live with Jean? That would be too good. Too much of a miracle.
Jean grins with white and slightly crooked teeth. “Figuratively speaking, of course. And I hope you like dogs, ‘cause we have one.”
Jean’s home is a two-story, Victorian house painted pale maroon with gold lining. It seems to tower over the other homes with their modest designs. But when Jean unlocks the door and they go in, it’s not nearly as huge inside as it looks outside.
They stand in the living room with all its old black and white and sepia-colored photographs hanging on walls, lying on tables. Jamie spies one colored framed photo on the coffee table: a four or five-year-old Jean sitting between two older kids.
“That’s my sister and brother -- Alya and Iman,” Jean tells him, picking up the photo. “My sister’s still that hairy.”
“I didn’t know you had siblings,” Jamie says, admiring the simplicity and happiness of the photo. Alya’s eyes seem to take up her whole face she smiles, holding on tight to Jean and Iman. Iman sits aloof, arms crossed stiffly. Jean’s hair is mussed and he looks about as cheerful as a child can be at that age. Jamie can vaguely remember being that blissful when he was younger.
Jean sets the photo down and stuffs his hands in his pockets. “She lives in Michigan now, with my niece -- she just turned six and she’s so adorable. I love that girl. Iman, he . . . well, he’s always traveling like a hobo. I talked to him a week ago and he’s in San Diego staying with his ‘Girlfriend of the Month’ -“
“Jean?” Both boys look up as a round woman appears at the top of the stairs. Her mass of dark brown curls bounce around her as she trots down with a hamper of dirty clothes. She looks straight at Jamie and for a moment Jamie thinks he’s at looking at Jean’s eyes. They both have droopy, brown eyes with gold flecks floating within.
Just as Jean said, she starts speaking rushed French that sounds muddled, and Jean does as well, every so often waving his hand toward Jamie.
After what seems like five minutes and what sounds like Jean’s mother scolding then praising her son, she walks up to Jamie, puts down the hamper and holds out her hand. The way she says hello feels like sticky, warm honey in his mouth and he can’t help but return her smile, shaking her hand.
“I'm Celeste,” she says. “Jamie? How are you?”
“I’m good. How are you?”
“Great, great.” She smiles one last time before asking, “Jean says you were sick? You want anything to drink? Eat?”
“Ah, no, I’m fine now. Thank you.”
She lets go of his hand and she mumbles something else to Jean before picking the hamper back up and head toward the kitchen. She disappears down some stairs, to the basement, Jamie guesses.
“She said if you need anything, just tell her,” Jean says, walking upstairs and motioning for Jamie to follow. “She also said you’re adorable.”
Jamie scoffs at it before thinking, besides Alexandria, Celeste’s probably the only other person who’s ever told Jamie he was appealing in some way. Even if they are the words adorable or cute.
"At least she didn't pat your cheeks and tell you to stand up straighter like she does everyone else," Jean says as he opens his bedroom door.
Jamie’s not surprised Jean’s room isn’t clean; though it’s not in a way where there’s food and dust everywhere. There are notebook papers lying around with illegible words written on them. Sticky-notes with words covering every bare space. Band posters line the walls and the amount of different colored plaid shirts oozing out of Jean’s closet is ridiculous.
“Uh.” Jean grabs the sheet on his bed, gathers up the books and papers on it, and tosses them into an unclaimed corner. “There. Have a seat.”
Jamie does so and immediately sees a dark purple bass resting in one corner of the room. It has a Green Lantern sticker on it. “How’s your band going?” Jamie asks.
Jean pushes more paper into one corner, so they have room to walk around, before collapsing on the bed causing Jamie to bounce up. Jean lays on his back, hip and elbow almost touching Jamie. Jean’s shirt has ridden up, a strip of olive skin exposed. Jamie’s eyes linger there for a second before he looks at Jean’s face.
“Fairly awesome. You listen to us?” Jean asks. Jamie tells him he does, a little. “Yeah, almost everyone at school does. They either like us or hate us.”
“Your band’s cool. I like your music.” Jean has his arms behind his head, looking up at Jamie in a quizzical way that bewilders him. Jamie can’t decide if it’s uncomfortable or makes him feel important. Like Jean’s actually looking at Jamie and not just another kid who likes to have a vomitfest occasionally.
Jean starts shifting, brushes against him. Jamie keeps his body still and solid. “Really? How come you’ve never come to one of our shows?”
“I don’t know. I’ve never gotten a chance.”
“You should, and then I can tell everyone you’re my biggest fan.”
“Yours?” Jamie’s bangs fall into his eyes, but Jean can tell that the smile on his mouth reaches his eyes.
Jean grins sheepishly, chuckling. “Eh, Artemis Phantom’s biggest fan, you know what I mean.”
And that’s all they do. They sit and talk, Jamie stumbles over answers, and every time Jean moves he brushes against Jamie’s hip and Jamie stays sharply still when it happens. Jean lets Jamie read a few of the band’s new songs he and Ellisha have written. He even bothers to show Jamie how to play a few chords on his bass and the crappy acoustic guitar. Jean learns Jamie’s fingers are much too soft for the bass’s strings. Jamie learns that Jean and his family used to live in Lebanon and France for a short while before they finally landed in the US. Jean’s dad died when he was four from pneumonia, and since then Jean has felt he’s never had a dad. His memories of the man have disappeared over time, and Jean can’t feel anything for him by looking at pictures, old videos, and hearing stories. When he does they often feel fake.
Jean is beginning to appear like the real person Jamie likes, and not some far away crush he doesn’t truly know.
Afterwards they go downstairs where Celeste’s made lunch (actual lunch at two and not at ten like at school). It’s simple rice home-cooked chicken sliced on top and different sides, but it’s the best thing Jamie’s ever tasted. Though, the brownies Celeste baked aren’t nearly as good as Girlie’s.
When they’re finished Jamie goes with Jean to take Bria, the family’s beagle dog, out for a walk. He and Jean don’t talk much this time. For now the silence is inviting and comforting.
They walk side by side, and sometimes Jamie will have to get behind Jean to let a parent and their child in a stroller get by. Sometimes Jamie ends bumping into Jean trying to get out of the way, and he’ll say he’s sorry and quickly back off. When he does it for the third time Jean stops and faces him. His lips are tight and his shadow towers over Jamie, hostile. Jamie steps back, arms closed to his side, alarm causing his fingers to twitch faintly.
He’s acting like he does when Zack stands before him, his face taunt and glaring at Jamie drunkenly, telling him he should stop being stupid. But Jean isn’t Zack. Jamie should never get them confused with one another. Zack’s somewhere else, not anywhere near them.
Jean runs his fingers through his hair, loose strands falling out. “Are you and Alex d-“
“Alexandria,” Jamie says too quickly, his heart nearly giving out once he realizes Jean looks like that because of something about Alexandria. His brows furrows and he balls his hands up to stop his fingers from shaking.
“She doesn’t like Alex, Al, or Aly,” Jamie goes on.
“Seriously? Okay, are you and Alexandria dating?”
The unexpectedness of the question causes Jamie to stare dumbly, mouth hang open, and run the question through his head several times before he’s able to answer. “N-no! No, we’re friends. Why?”
“Because she’s all over you. ‘Cause you’ve never hung out with anyone before and all of a sudden you’re with her. Because you’re so comfortable with her, but with me it’s like I’m fucking Mr. Freeze you freeze up so much around me and then she acts like you’re fragile or something. And she hates me.”
Bria barks, tugs at her leash for the boys to come on. Jamie breathes out, has his eyes aimed at the ground as he says, “She doesn’t hate you and I don’t ‘freeze’ up around you. I do that with everyone.”
“Do I make you nervous?”
“No.”
“I don’t believe you.”
Jamie wants to say I do feel nervous, but it’s something else too, but his voice is gone and he wouldn’t have the guts to say otherwise. He’s too hot in his skin, and he thinks he might throw up again. Jean is suddenly standing too close. Jamie still doesn’t look up.
“Jamie?”
“Can we go back?”
“Can you look at me? What’s wrong?”
Jamie looks up too fast and there’s Jean, features softened and expression worried. Jamie should back off but he stays willingly. His heartbeat hurts and he wants to kiss Jean and he wants Jean and his vision is blurring and he can’t breathe and if Jean just stands a little closer -
“Hey! JP!”
Cold air slaps Jamie’s face when Jean steps quickly away and goes around him toward the street. Heavy breaths come out of Jamie’s mouth and his throat aches. He turns around just as a car pulls up with some guy leaning out of the passenger window.
The rugged ginger boy looks at Jamie questioningly, before Jean covers the guy’s vision. Jamie wanders down the sidewalk, and leans against the fence, head hanging low. Bria yips once and nudges his leg affectionately.
The past eight minutes is forgotten when Jean gets done conversing with the guy and the car drives away. Jamie looks at him and can’t find a single trace of earlier. Whatever earlier was. Maybe it was nothing. It was Jamie being stupid as usual and lost in a fantasy.
And even if Jean wasn’t straight and he did like Jamie -
Once the clothes came off he’d never want Jamie again.
You aren’t perfect and once they see that they’ll run.
That’s what Zack said.
There’s a higher chance of Zack being right than wrong.
”I have to go home now,” Jamie heaves, starting towards Jean’s home.
Jean trots confusingly beside him. “Sure. Are you . . . ?"
“I’m just really tired. Sorry.”
“It’s cool. Let’s drop Bria off and then we’ll go.”
Zack’s car isn’t there when they reach Jamie’s house, and Jamie’s chest deflates in relief. Jean doesn’t think much of it. It goes completely over his head.
“My band’s having a show this Friday,” Jean begins before Jamie can exit. “It’s at Galaxies in Blue Springs, and these other bands will be playing too. You should come, and bring Alexandria if you want.”
Jamie doesn’t say anything to Jean’s invite right away, instead choosing to nod.
He hears Jean move beside him. The longer Jamie stays in the car, the more nauseous he feels. He grabs the handle, opens, and has one foot out the door. He doesn’t get a chance to stand before Jean grabs his forearm and keeps him back.
“What?” Jamie snaps, but his abrasiveness falls apart. He sees the expression Jean carried earlier. He sees the gold and green mixed with the brown in Jean’s eyes. He sees himself occupying only a tiny space in there.
“Just take care,” Jean mutters, and lets Jamie go.
Then it’s gone, back to nonexistence. Jamie shuts the door quickly and walks without looking back.
Jean leaves, a foreboding feeling lurking in the pit of his being that makes him want to throw up too.
4
They hardly talk to each other. They see each other in the halls and in class, and only a hint of acknowledgement will pass between them before they go their separate ways
Jean thinks it’s his fault even though he can’t figure out how and he’s tempted to blame it (whatever “it” is) on Jamie and his overemotional, weirdo self . . . And Jean’s probably being unfairly mean right now, but it’s not his fault Jamie is so confusing.
Whatever went wrong, it’ll get better. It always does.
******
“People from Aquaria Records want to talk to us after the show on Friday,” Ellisha shrieks to the group, his voice going one note higher with each word. His laptop sits on his lap, blaring the message back at his face. He, Jean, and Lewis are lounging around Ellisha’s livingroom with cans of half drunken rootbeer, candy wrappers, and chip bags around them.
“It’s legit,” Ellisha adds, giving a thumbs up. “You guys.”
“If you have to say ‘it’s legit’ then it’s probably not,” Lewis says, flicking Ellisha’s forehead. The boy sneers at him, throwing up his middle finger.
“Yeah yeah, but it is. You know how many big bands are signed to Aquaria? They asked us to call them, but I was waiting till you guys got here before I did anything,” he says, typing something before closing his laptop. With the sudden silence comes the noticeable excitement that’s beginning to boil over. Ellisha looks each guy in the eye with a serious gleam that’s unnatural and somewhat wrong for the quirky boy.
“Guys,” he starts sternly, “think about it. We’ve been a band for like two and a half years now. We’ve worked our asses off like shit. Say it’s about to all pay off. We’re so close to - I don’t wanna say ‘making it big,’ because that sounds like we’re sell-outs. But we’ll have a chance at - everything! We can do more.”
“Wow, that was so inspiring. I loved it,” Lewis snickers, pulling the can tab off a pop and tossing it into Ellisha’s hair.
“I’m serious!”
“Yeah yeah, we know.” Lewis scratches his face, the beginnings of a beard starting to show. He glances at Jean and punches his shoulder.
“You’ve been quiet,” he says. “What’s up?”
Jean’s been staring across the room the whole time, barely hearing anything except the possibility of the band getting signed soon. As lame as it sounds, his dreams are coming together and actually coming true. “It’s just . . .” he starts, sitting up straighter and motioning with his hands, “we’ll have to prove to them we’re serious about this.”
“And if they decide maybe we’re not all that?” Lewis asks.
“We’ll cry about it over cheap porn and then start a metal band because we’re just that upset,” Ellisha answers, chugging down a can of rootbeer and letting out a loud, wet belch in Lewis’s face. “Chyah.”
Lewis scrunches his face and makes a sound of disgust that causes Jean to laugh. He won’t ever tell them directly, but he loves how Lewis is so high-maintenance and a gentleman, while Ellisha is probably the Israeli version of a stereotypical country boy who likes hunting and girls. Lewis is tall with no muscles and has Joan Jett-styled hair, whereas Ellisha is short, has a shaved head and skin sketched with scratches from God only knows what.
Then there’s Jean, who is also completely different from the both of them. It’s probably why they mesh so well. Besides over their love of music, foreign candy, and making fun of people for whatever reason.
The guys talk for a bit, eventually taking a breather when Ellisha’s parents and siblings come back from a school play. They grab more food and then retreat to Ellisha’s room for privacy.
Ellisha lets Jean borrow his guitar to play a new song; while he and Lewis look over the other new songs Jean’s written and add their spins to it.
“Your lyrics are changing,” Lewis says when Jean finishes a melody.
“How?”
Lewis rubs the back of his neck. “They’re better. More retrospective. More imagery. More mature -“
“There’s a female, isn’t there?” Ellisha pipes. “Are you and that chick finally going out?”
Jean doesn’t know whether to laugh out loud or groan in mild disgust. The thought of him and Alexandria dating seems too . . . strange now. He only has a distant feeling of ever being attracted to her in that way, and it wasn’t quite that long ago.
How odd.
“No, it’s not any girl,” Jean says after awhile.
“Something’s brought on these sudden revelations.” Lewis smirks, a dirty look on his face Jean wants to punch as Lewis reads. “They don’t need to know all the things I’ll do to you . . . the marks I’ll leave won’t burn tears but leave love.”
“Chyeah, I guess there’s a person, but it’s just whatever --“ Jean’s sentence dies on his tongue, and his face burns hotly from the guys’ sly grins.
“If you say so, Jean Paul,” but they don’t notice his mistake, the almost confession.
“I think it is someone because you hardly ever get embarrassed,” Ellisha utters. Jean’s back hits the frame of Ellisha’s bed. He really should leave before something happens. He tells them his mom needs him home and all but runs from the room with a hefty bye.
He ends up taking the long way home, a mistake that causes his mind to drift every which way. He thinks of past girlfriends, almost or secret boyfriends, failed crushes, Alexandria, Jamie . . .
Jean bashes on the brake, almost running a red light.
He can barely admit anything to himself anymore.
Jean doesn’t have a problem with liking girls. He doesn’t have a problem with liking boys. He doesn’t exactly “hide” it, but it’s also something he doesn’t want everyone to know. He doesn’t need anyone knowing. Not his family or his friends.
But all in all, it’s not exactly those things.
It’s just Jamie.
Jean was caught feeling something he wasn’t supposed to, and he doesn’t know where to go with it or even if he wants to go there.
5
Jamie’s has never had anyone over at his house. Especially in his room.
But Alexandria insisted on coming over and Jamie decided to let her. Zack is gone somewhere and Girlie had to step out for awhile, so it’s only the two at the moment trying to find ways to keep themselves busy. The first fifteen minutes since Alexandria’s arrival were spent with her admiring Jamie’s room.
“I never knew you were that big of a nerd until I’ve seen all these comics,” she gasps, picking up a random DC comic off the bookshelf and flipping through the pages. “I don’t do comics. Too many words. ”
“But it’s like a picture book,” Jamie complains.
“Yeah, a picture book with tiny words I can barely read.”
She runs across Jamie’s many sketchbooks, and he makes sure to pick out the ones she can see, and push the ones he won’t allow anyone to see somewhere else. “You plan on being an illustrator?” she asks, smiling at one sketch.
“I don’t know,” Jamie says, and he really doesn’t. He hasn’t given much thought to what he wants to be when he’s older. It’s always seemed so far away. When you’re too busy dealing with what’s happening now, the future’s not so important
“You should.” Alexandria puts the sketchbook back on the bookshelf. “It’s always the silent ones who are the most artsy.”
Jamie merely shrugs, sitting on the ground near his bed. “What do you want to be?”
“A social worker, a counselor, something like those. I don’t know. I just wanna help people in some way.”
Alexandria makes herself comfortable on his bed, stretching out full length. Jamie stands up quickly from the floor before he gets a face-full of what’s under her lacey skirt (even if she is wearing stockings - though they’re as see-through as stockings can get.) Her ankles dangle off the edge, and Jamie can see on the tongue of one of her white Converses a drawn smiley face with Xs for eyes and its tongue sticking out happily.
“So tell me what’s been going on,” she asks.
“Nothing much,” he tells her, resting at the end of his bed. He’s learned by now Alexandria is eerily sensitive to people’s feelings, and she’ll interrogate a person until she finds out what’s wrong. He kind of likes he’s found someone who cares so much. But he hates it since he can’t get away with I’m fine and everything’s cool. Even if they are true.
“You’ve looked exhausted lately, and you haven’t been wailing over Jean as usual.” Their eyes lock onto each others, and for a moment Jamie is bothered by the slight smile on Alexandria’s face.
“I don’t do that.” He doesn’t mean it jokingly, and so his voice breaks lightly at the end.
“You know I know, right?” Alexandria questions. “I mean I thought . . . Don’t you . . . ?”
When he looks at her he doesn’t feel alarmed or frightened that she knows. He doesn’t feel as weird as he would if it was someone else. Her eyes are unsure but she’s smiling, like she’s saying it’s totally okay.
He blushes hot red. Alexandria snorts and covers her mouth with her hands. “Aw, Jamie.”
He scoots up closer to her side and they continue to talk about random things, including Jean’s band playing Friday night. Jamie’s grateful when Alexandria doesn’t press on the issue of him liking Jean, or the fact that he’s been acting funny. He can’t tell her or anyone why he’s been acting strange lately; otherwise they’ll take him to the hospital and find out -
Jamie doesn’t want to deal with hospitals and doctors and medications right now.
Jamie’s broken out of his reverie when Alexandria starts prodding her fingers into his side.
“What?”
“Jean’s band. Are we gonna see them?”
“I guess we can. If you want.”
“We should! Ooh, we’ll get there early so we can be in the front. Number one rule of concerts, no matter who the band you’re going to see is, always go early. Always.”
“You go to a lot of concerts, don’t you?”
Alexandria intertwines their fingers together, warmth runs through their veins. This might be the first time they’ve been more intimate as friends, and Jamie likes it. It’s peaceful. He wants to keep the calmness.
“I haven’t been to one in while where there wasn’t a bunch of kids moshing or a random old man appearing out of nowhere and headbanging. This is one should be nice. Everyone just dances sophisticatedly,” she swoons, laying her head on Jamie’s shoulder.
He closes his eyes and ignores the buzzing at the back of his skull.
6
Girlie drops them off at the show. The venue is much bigger than Monroe but painted more darkly so it reminds Jamie of a gothic club. A few people are bustling around the stage and the merch table, and more people come in as the minutes go by. Some of them Jamie recognizes from school.
He and Alexandria stand by the stage until the lights dim and the pop music playing on the speakers hush. Then Artemis Phantom comes out and readies their instruments, with some of the crowd clapping while others cheer and yell.
Jamie’s stomach twists on itself as he watches Jean softly strum his bass while talking to the crowd. He’s straightened his hair tonight, but it still goes in waves across his forehead, making his eyes seem bigger than they are. The plaid, buttoned up shirt he’s wearing is such a bizarre, bright purple Jamie can’t help but laugh. His stomach flips more and he presses it firmly with his hands.
“You okay?” Alexandria asks, touching his arm. “If you need to puke please tell me so I can aim you at that girl who keeps shoving me, trying to get to the front. I like her makeup though.”
“I’m good. I just feel nervous for some reason,” he says. Alexandria makes this odd giggle that freaks him out, but then she slugs her arm across his shoulders and he can only imagine how weird they look.
Artemis Phantom is known to be energetic fools on stage without anyone miraculously getting hit by swinging instruments (though it’s happened once and Jean got a broken nose from Ellisha’s guitar. Unfortunately, the surgery didn’t make his nose smaller). The band is sweating out songs and the crowd is jostling along, singing the lyrics back, and a few enthusiasts start a moshpit.
Jean searches the people’s faces that are close to the stage and his body breaks out in more happiness.
He sees Alexandria and Jamie.
The image of Jamie smiling at them and moving to the rhythm has his heart beating too fast and he almost stumbles over the lyrics. He focuses on the music and keeps going.
******
The band hangs around their merch table, talking with friends and fans, signing CDs and t-shirts. One fan gives Jean a pair of rad, white ray-bans, while another hands Nicholas a cute plushie of him they made. When Jean’s able to, he separates from everyone and dodges to where Alexandria and Jamie are by the DJ booth.
“Well?” he chimes. He notices Alexandria has pit stains from sweating and Jamie appears a little dazed.
“When you guys start touring across the country or get signed or something, can I be like your roadie or merch person?” Alexandria asks, clasping her hands. “Seriously though. I’ve always wanted to do that. I’m pretty good at persuading people to buy more than what they want.”
“We’ll see,” Jean tell hers, his eyes still hanging on Jamie’s form. He’s wearing some oversized Best Coast band shirt and jeans that hang off his hips despite his belt. If Jamie wasn’t a boy Jean would say he was a girl trying to cover up her curves so people would believe she was a guy.
“Hey, Jamie, I gotta talk to you,” Jean says, and walks toward the exit before Jamie can say otherwise. They head outside to the parking lot where it’s quieter and Jean doesn’t have to scream for Jamie to hear him. “I know you hate this, but you been feeling okay lately?”
“I just had a stomach virus. It was nothing,” Jamie laughs dry and long, and Jean wonders how he could possibly think he’s fooling anyone.
Jean leans against a lamppost and stretches his arms toward the sky, his muscles tightening and the bones cracking. He brings his arms back down and catches Jamie’s eyes still lingering on him. But they’re glossed over like Jean is reminding him of a memory. Jamie quickly blinks, licks his teeth and smiles awkwardly like nothing happened.
The air gets caught up in Jean’s throat and he has to breathe deeply to get it out.
It’s only Jamie.
And so Jean starts talking.
They talk about the show, and Jean tells him how there’s a chance Artemis Phantom could be getting signed. How surreal it sounds and how Jean hopes and prays it’ll work out for them. Jamie listens, talks when necessarily and smiles when needed. Jean doesn’t know what else to say anymore, and so he watches Jamie’s hair keep falling in his eyes and his face reddening every so often.
“What?” Jamie asks timidly, his arms crossing as if to make himself more unnoticeable. The day Jean spent with Jamie after ditching school, and the day when Ellisha and Lewis had questioned Jean about liking someone, appears vividly in his head and he wants to laugh. You know what? All of it is ridiculous. Absolutely brainless and childish and . . . none of it matters.
Jean ignores what he’s thought before - about this, about Jamie -- because he feels so uncaring right now.
There’s something he wants to do, and he’s more nervous than he thinks he should be. Jean wonders how intimidating he looks stepping closer to Jamie, if he’s making him nervous like he always does, if Jamie feels shaky like Jean is.
“Do I still make you nervous?” Jean asks.
Jamie doesn’t answer this time and for some foolish it makes Jean want to laugh. Something has hooked into his skin, jerking at him to go before his nerve runs away.
When Jean kisses Jamie he does it quickly and without insecurity. Jamie is engulfed by his being, and his blood feels too hot despite the cold breeze. His eyes remain open, gazing at nothing behind Jean, before he shuts them. Jean’s hands brush Jamie’s hips, and he kisses a little harder, mutters something onto his lips.
The reality of where they are, of what they’re doing, eventually sinks in, and with slight reluctance Jean pulls away first. His head is floating off somewhere and Jean tries to stand still, straighter, not faint. Jamie has his hands clutched tightly at his side and Jean has a strong urge to hold them in his.
“. . . Why did you do that?” Jean’s ears are dulled and he barely hears Jamie’s question. He looks at him, mystified, and a small smile forms on his face.
“Sorry. I forgot to ask for your permission.” Jamie’s mouth hangs open, and he weakly laughs once he makes sense of Jean’s response. He tugs at his shirt like it's irritating him.
“That’s not what I meant . . .” he mumbles. He looks down, bringing his forehead close to Jean’s chest, but never touching it. When Jamie talks his voice breaks often, and the undertone of hysteria in it probably scares him more than his question. “Do y-you . . . do you like me then? Like that?”
The question drags Jean into a brief sourness and he almost grimaces. Except there's a reason why Jamie asked that, and Jean remembers the reason to the point he wants to crawl into a dark void and apologize to Jamie again. He was a jerk for using him, before but now Jean knows better. He knows what he feels, he's pretty sure he does no matter how lame it sounds.
Jean answers hastily and clearly, like he’s thought it over and over again from different angles. Jamie almost doesn’t believe him --
“Yeah, I do. I do like you.”
-- but he sounds too sincere.
Jean moves Jamie’s head back and kisses the center of his lips.
He remains there for a long time.