Bare // You Make Me Love You // Part 1
Title: You Make Me Love You
Author: Sarah
Rating: PG13
Words: 2,314
Pairing: Peter/Jason
Summary: When it comes to Jason, there's 7 things Peter hates and 7 things he likes. Part 1: the 7 things he hates.
Notes: Inspired by the song 7 Things by Miley Cyrus, and all the headers are lyrics from the song. This song just really reminds me of them.
Disclaimer: I don't own Bare or the song.
there’s seven things I hate about you.
i. you’re vain
“Wow,” Jason says one morning as he stares into the mirror brushing his hair, “my eyes are a really pretty color.”
I laugh from over at my desk. I’m still trying to print out the paper due second period and I haven’t even thought about brushing my hair yet - I probably won’t even get to it. “They are.”
“Are you jealous?” He turns to face me, grinning.
I shrug. “Nah, brown suits me. Blue would look weird with my hair.” I start to dig around for my stapler as the last few pages come out onto the tray. “Besides,” I say, finding it under a pile of loose leaf, “I’d rather look at that color than have it.”
“Fair enough,” he says, facing the mirror again. “Are my eyes your favorite thing about me? Physically, I mean.”
I pause. I’ve never really thought about it before. I thought Jason was good looking - okay, gorgeous - but I never really took it apart to analyze. “I don’t really have a favorite.”
“Too much to choose from, right?” There’s a hint of laughter and sarcasm hanging on his words.
“Something like that.”
ii. your games
Jason said we could go on a date tonight. I’m more excited about this than I should be, but we never go out in public, unless there’s a group of us and that doesn’t count, no matter what goes on when we’re back alone in our room.
They’ve been showing commercials for Enchanted for weeks on TV and both of us have been dying to see it. I’m a bit of a Disney addict, so waiting for the DVD is just impossible and Jason said he wants to see it enough to take me.
”We’ll have to get in line alone and by our tickets separately,” he warned. Always cautious about this sort of thing. “You know how it’ll look if we get them together.”
“Because a guy just buying one ticket for Enchanted doesn’t look weird,” I counter with a laugh. The look on his face is priceless, and while I meant it as a joke, I know his mind is going to work deciding which one is worse.
“Or I can just buy two tickets and you can go to the bathroom while I’m in line.”
I just sighed. “Whatever.”
Jason buys the tickets as planned and the theatre is packed with moms with their little girls and a handful of fifteen year old Grey’s Anatomy fans squealing about Patrick Dempsey.
We take a seat in the back row. We’re the only ones back that far and there’s no one in front of us for at least eight rows. I eye Jason’s arm sitting on the arm rest like dead weight. As soon as the lights go down and the previews start, I casually raise my own arm to scratch a non-existent itch on my cheek. I let it fall back down to the arm rest, my hand finding Jason’s. Even though we both know that no one can see us, he instinctively pulls away.
“Peter,” he mutters in warning.
“No one can see us,” I retort in a hushed whisper. “Besides, I thought this was supposed to be a date.”
“We have to be careful,” he replies, crossing his arms over his chest as he stares at the screen, now showing a trailer for a Hannah Montana 3-D concert movie.
I know it’s useless to argue because he’s not going to look at me. “Fine.” I cross my arms too and glare at the screen waiting for the stupid cartoon animals start to sing about the happy-bunnies-and-fluff love story fairytale that would happen in the movie. But not real life.
iii. you’re insecure
“The blue one or the green one?” Jason is standing at the foot of his bed, two t-shirts laid out in front of him. They’re the same in every way, except color.
“The blue one brings out your eyes,” I reply, slightly absentmindedly, from across the room.
“But that one always makes my stomach pooch over.”
“You sound like a girl.”
He sighs. “But I don’t want to look fat.”
“Jason,” I look up from my magazine, “you have the most perfect abs I’ve ever seen on someone our age. It’s pretty impossible to make you look fat.”
“I don’t know…” he trails off. “I think I’ll wear the green one.”
“Okay.”
“But then it won’t match my shoes.” He sighs, running his hands through his hair. “I guess I’ll have to wear the blue one.” He sighs again, a bit more dramatically this time, as he reached for the blue t-shirt and pulled it over his head.
“Why do you care so much?” The question seems a bit late, but I wanted to know.
“Because I just do.” He smoothes his hands over his torso, making sure the shirt didn’t show any of the stomach fat that didn’t exist to begin with. “How do you not?”
“I don’t need to,” I reply, sitting up on my bed, tossing my magazine aside. “You’ve seen me at my worst and you haven’t run away, so why should I care what our classmates think of my clothes? Besides, everyone is going to be too drunk to notice whether or not your shirt makes you look fat or not.”
“You think?”
“Jase,” I say, walking across the room, taking his hand in mine, “even if they did, they wouldn’t care.”
He pulls back. “So it does make me look fat?”
I just shake my head. “You’re hopeless.”
iv. you love me, you like her
“You’re going to the Lucas’s party Friday right?” Ivy asks Jason. She’s standing awfully close to him and I’m off to the side, pretending not to notice.
“I don’t know,” he says. “Maybe.” Always a maybe, which usually results in a brief appearance, short-lived by “stomach pains,” which I always seem to be able to cure.
“What better do you have to do on a Friday night?” Her voice is getting impatient.
“Uh, well, video games, DVDs, that kind of thing,” he replies, pushing a lock of hair out of his eyes.
“You can play video games with Peter on Saturday morning,” she coaxes. “You can even bring him if you want. I think Kyra even has a crush on him.” She says it with a giggle and I hear Jason laugh too, as I stand off to the side, facing the other direction, trying not to turn red.
“I’ll think about it, okay?” he says at last. With the tone of his voice, I can tell he’s trying to decide between his reputation and what usually happens when I start beating him at Madden (which is more often now that I’ve had a bit of practice). I’ve never actually won though. Every time I pull ahead in the second quarter, our controllers and t-shirts end up tossed aside and we fall asleep to the corny commentary of the football announcers in the video game.
I hear Ivy walk away and it’s just me and Jason outside room 5, early for history class, as always. He taps me on the shoulder and I turn to face him.
“Want to go to a party on Friday?”
v. you make me laugh, you make me cry. I don’t know which side to buy
Sometimes, when Jason does something nice for me, I can’t tell if it’s because he wants to or because it’ll make the pain of whatever he’s going to do later hurt less.
It was our Friday movie night, an event that happened every Friday where there was not a party that he must attend (to which he usually dragged me along to) or there was no game, of any sport, on. And, in the case of the latter, it became Friday game night. They were essentially the same thing: the two of us cuddling on his bed in front of the TV with me wrapped in a blanket and his arms. Except I usually fell asleep around the 3rd quarter or the 5th inning, whereas I was usually able to make it through the end of the movie.
Tonight is a movie night. Well, at least it was supposed to be. When I enter our room, I’m surprised to find it empty. Jason usually comes right back after class ends at 3:00 and waits around impatiently until 5:00 when I return from photography club.
I smile to myself as I see my old Teddy bear sitting neatly on top of the pillows of my unmade bed (such a mess compared to Jason’s perfectly tucked away sheets). In the bear’s hand is a piece of paper, which I grab at curiously as I flop onto the bed. I should be more prepared for what it was going to say, but I’m just too optimistic sometimes. My smile falls away quickly as my brain comprehends his words.
P-
Something came up, can’t get out of it. Movie tomorrow after the Notre Dame game, I promise.
Love,
Jase
I know the “something” that came up is the party Lucas was throwing that he had brought up in front of us during history class on Wednesday. Jason had told him that neither of us could go because I had a paper to write and he wanted to watch a game. Lucas was willing to let it drop, because really, what did he care if there were two less people there drinking his beer? But Ivy didn’t. She didn’t say that I could write my paper on Saturday and I know she probably didn’t want me there to begin with. It’s not that she doesn’t like me, it’s just that it’s a little harder to get Jason alone when I’m around because he’s always reluctant to leave me -- ”He’s had too much to drink,” Jason says at every party where a girl comes up to him, even though it’s never true, “don’t want to leave him alone.” But she did tell Jason that ESPN would probably have the score running along the bottom of the screen by the time the party was over and that he should think about it. He had said fine to her and she’d left satisfied, but as soon as she had turned around, he looked at me and winked.
So much for that.
vi. your friends, they’re jerks, when you act like them, just know it hurts
I am not an athlete and I know it. And everyone else does too, especially after seeing my awkwardly swing a bat, or try and kick a ball, or anything else that involved coordination at gym class. I’m always picked last, or somewhere in the middle when Jason’s the captain, and that never really bothers me because I know I’ll get a 90 in gym with a little effort.
I’m the only person in our class to ever strike out while playing kickball. I’m only one strike away from doing it again when I hear the guys on my team sitting on the bench (well, more like standing off to the side waiting for their turn to kick) snicker and talk.
“Why’d you pick him, Jase? He sucks.”
“It’s just gym, guys.”
“So what? Just because he’s your roommate doesn’t mean you have to pick him every time.”
“Fine, next time I won’t.” I’m not sure if he says it because he means it or because he wants them to shut up.
I don’t hear what they say next because I’m trying to concentrate on the ball being rolled toward me, but all I hear over the sound of the ball hitting the wall behind me is their laughter as I strike out again.
I wanna be with the one I know
and the seventh thing I hate the most that you do…
vii. you make me love you
When we fight, I try to justify it with “every couple argues like we do” and that makes me feel a little bit better.
I know he knows I’m right this time, but he never wants to admit it until morning. I think he just likes waking up earlier than me and curling up beside me in bed. He never minds sleeping until noon as long as his arms are around me.
Jason went to bed an hour ago. He’s lying on his side, facing the wall. I can tell he’s asleep by the rhythmic music of his breathing. I’ve been watching him for a few minutes now, unable to sleep myself. I wish it was morning, so we can make up already, but I know we’ve got a good nine hours before that’s going to happen.
I know I’m right. He promised he’d see the senior play with me tonight, but I was left alone at the auditorium, two tickets in hand, as he was off playing baseball in the rain with the guys on his basketball team.
But a little part of me doesn’t want to watch him sleep in this state. It almost feels like he’s not mine right now and I love him a little too much to feel that way.
I quietly throw my covers aside as I make the four step journey across the bedroom. I pull his blanket away from his torso and nudge him to move over. He obliges slowly and I can tell he’s only half away as he rolls over to make room for me. “Peter?”
“Shh,” I whisper as I snuggle in beside him. He instinctively wraps his arms around me as I lay my head against his chest. “I’m sorry,” I say, even more quietly than before.
“Me too,” he says back, leaning down to kiss my forehead.
And that’s all I need to hear before his heartbeat sings me to sleep.
Author: Sarah
Rating: PG13
Words: 2,314
Pairing: Peter/Jason
Summary: When it comes to Jason, there's 7 things Peter hates and 7 things he likes. Part 1: the 7 things he hates.
Notes: Inspired by the song 7 Things by Miley Cyrus, and all the headers are lyrics from the song. This song just really reminds me of them.
Disclaimer: I don't own Bare or the song.
there’s seven things I hate about you.
i. you’re vain
“Wow,” Jason says one morning as he stares into the mirror brushing his hair, “my eyes are a really pretty color.”
I laugh from over at my desk. I’m still trying to print out the paper due second period and I haven’t even thought about brushing my hair yet - I probably won’t even get to it. “They are.”
“Are you jealous?” He turns to face me, grinning.
I shrug. “Nah, brown suits me. Blue would look weird with my hair.” I start to dig around for my stapler as the last few pages come out onto the tray. “Besides,” I say, finding it under a pile of loose leaf, “I’d rather look at that color than have it.”
“Fair enough,” he says, facing the mirror again. “Are my eyes your favorite thing about me? Physically, I mean.”
I pause. I’ve never really thought about it before. I thought Jason was good looking - okay, gorgeous - but I never really took it apart to analyze. “I don’t really have a favorite.”
“Too much to choose from, right?” There’s a hint of laughter and sarcasm hanging on his words.
“Something like that.”
ii. your games
Jason said we could go on a date tonight. I’m more excited about this than I should be, but we never go out in public, unless there’s a group of us and that doesn’t count, no matter what goes on when we’re back alone in our room.
They’ve been showing commercials for Enchanted for weeks on TV and both of us have been dying to see it. I’m a bit of a Disney addict, so waiting for the DVD is just impossible and Jason said he wants to see it enough to take me.
”We’ll have to get in line alone and by our tickets separately,” he warned. Always cautious about this sort of thing. “You know how it’ll look if we get them together.”
“Because a guy just buying one ticket for Enchanted doesn’t look weird,” I counter with a laugh. The look on his face is priceless, and while I meant it as a joke, I know his mind is going to work deciding which one is worse.
“Or I can just buy two tickets and you can go to the bathroom while I’m in line.”
I just sighed. “Whatever.”
Jason buys the tickets as planned and the theatre is packed with moms with their little girls and a handful of fifteen year old Grey’s Anatomy fans squealing about Patrick Dempsey.
We take a seat in the back row. We’re the only ones back that far and there’s no one in front of us for at least eight rows. I eye Jason’s arm sitting on the arm rest like dead weight. As soon as the lights go down and the previews start, I casually raise my own arm to scratch a non-existent itch on my cheek. I let it fall back down to the arm rest, my hand finding Jason’s. Even though we both know that no one can see us, he instinctively pulls away.
“Peter,” he mutters in warning.
“No one can see us,” I retort in a hushed whisper. “Besides, I thought this was supposed to be a date.”
“We have to be careful,” he replies, crossing his arms over his chest as he stares at the screen, now showing a trailer for a Hannah Montana 3-D concert movie.
I know it’s useless to argue because he’s not going to look at me. “Fine.” I cross my arms too and glare at the screen waiting for the stupid cartoon animals start to sing about the happy-bunnies-and-fluff love story fairytale that would happen in the movie. But not real life.
iii. you’re insecure
“The blue one or the green one?” Jason is standing at the foot of his bed, two t-shirts laid out in front of him. They’re the same in every way, except color.
“The blue one brings out your eyes,” I reply, slightly absentmindedly, from across the room.
“But that one always makes my stomach pooch over.”
“You sound like a girl.”
He sighs. “But I don’t want to look fat.”
“Jason,” I look up from my magazine, “you have the most perfect abs I’ve ever seen on someone our age. It’s pretty impossible to make you look fat.”
“I don’t know…” he trails off. “I think I’ll wear the green one.”
“Okay.”
“But then it won’t match my shoes.” He sighs, running his hands through his hair. “I guess I’ll have to wear the blue one.” He sighs again, a bit more dramatically this time, as he reached for the blue t-shirt and pulled it over his head.
“Why do you care so much?” The question seems a bit late, but I wanted to know.
“Because I just do.” He smoothes his hands over his torso, making sure the shirt didn’t show any of the stomach fat that didn’t exist to begin with. “How do you not?”
“I don’t need to,” I reply, sitting up on my bed, tossing my magazine aside. “You’ve seen me at my worst and you haven’t run away, so why should I care what our classmates think of my clothes? Besides, everyone is going to be too drunk to notice whether or not your shirt makes you look fat or not.”
“You think?”
“Jase,” I say, walking across the room, taking his hand in mine, “even if they did, they wouldn’t care.”
He pulls back. “So it does make me look fat?”
I just shake my head. “You’re hopeless.”
iv. you love me, you like her
“You’re going to the Lucas’s party Friday right?” Ivy asks Jason. She’s standing awfully close to him and I’m off to the side, pretending not to notice.
“I don’t know,” he says. “Maybe.” Always a maybe, which usually results in a brief appearance, short-lived by “stomach pains,” which I always seem to be able to cure.
“What better do you have to do on a Friday night?” Her voice is getting impatient.
“Uh, well, video games, DVDs, that kind of thing,” he replies, pushing a lock of hair out of his eyes.
“You can play video games with Peter on Saturday morning,” she coaxes. “You can even bring him if you want. I think Kyra even has a crush on him.” She says it with a giggle and I hear Jason laugh too, as I stand off to the side, facing the other direction, trying not to turn red.
“I’ll think about it, okay?” he says at last. With the tone of his voice, I can tell he’s trying to decide between his reputation and what usually happens when I start beating him at Madden (which is more often now that I’ve had a bit of practice). I’ve never actually won though. Every time I pull ahead in the second quarter, our controllers and t-shirts end up tossed aside and we fall asleep to the corny commentary of the football announcers in the video game.
I hear Ivy walk away and it’s just me and Jason outside room 5, early for history class, as always. He taps me on the shoulder and I turn to face him.
“Want to go to a party on Friday?”
v. you make me laugh, you make me cry. I don’t know which side to buy
Sometimes, when Jason does something nice for me, I can’t tell if it’s because he wants to or because it’ll make the pain of whatever he’s going to do later hurt less.
It was our Friday movie night, an event that happened every Friday where there was not a party that he must attend (to which he usually dragged me along to) or there was no game, of any sport, on. And, in the case of the latter, it became Friday game night. They were essentially the same thing: the two of us cuddling on his bed in front of the TV with me wrapped in a blanket and his arms. Except I usually fell asleep around the 3rd quarter or the 5th inning, whereas I was usually able to make it through the end of the movie.
Tonight is a movie night. Well, at least it was supposed to be. When I enter our room, I’m surprised to find it empty. Jason usually comes right back after class ends at 3:00 and waits around impatiently until 5:00 when I return from photography club.
I smile to myself as I see my old Teddy bear sitting neatly on top of the pillows of my unmade bed (such a mess compared to Jason’s perfectly tucked away sheets). In the bear’s hand is a piece of paper, which I grab at curiously as I flop onto the bed. I should be more prepared for what it was going to say, but I’m just too optimistic sometimes. My smile falls away quickly as my brain comprehends his words.
P-
Something came up, can’t get out of it. Movie tomorrow after the Notre Dame game, I promise.
Love,
Jase
I know the “something” that came up is the party Lucas was throwing that he had brought up in front of us during history class on Wednesday. Jason had told him that neither of us could go because I had a paper to write and he wanted to watch a game. Lucas was willing to let it drop, because really, what did he care if there were two less people there drinking his beer? But Ivy didn’t. She didn’t say that I could write my paper on Saturday and I know she probably didn’t want me there to begin with. It’s not that she doesn’t like me, it’s just that it’s a little harder to get Jason alone when I’m around because he’s always reluctant to leave me -- ”He’s had too much to drink,” Jason says at every party where a girl comes up to him, even though it’s never true, “don’t want to leave him alone.” But she did tell Jason that ESPN would probably have the score running along the bottom of the screen by the time the party was over and that he should think about it. He had said fine to her and she’d left satisfied, but as soon as she had turned around, he looked at me and winked.
So much for that.
vi. your friends, they’re jerks, when you act like them, just know it hurts
I am not an athlete and I know it. And everyone else does too, especially after seeing my awkwardly swing a bat, or try and kick a ball, or anything else that involved coordination at gym class. I’m always picked last, or somewhere in the middle when Jason’s the captain, and that never really bothers me because I know I’ll get a 90 in gym with a little effort.
I’m the only person in our class to ever strike out while playing kickball. I’m only one strike away from doing it again when I hear the guys on my team sitting on the bench (well, more like standing off to the side waiting for their turn to kick) snicker and talk.
“Why’d you pick him, Jase? He sucks.”
“It’s just gym, guys.”
“So what? Just because he’s your roommate doesn’t mean you have to pick him every time.”
“Fine, next time I won’t.” I’m not sure if he says it because he means it or because he wants them to shut up.
I don’t hear what they say next because I’m trying to concentrate on the ball being rolled toward me, but all I hear over the sound of the ball hitting the wall behind me is their laughter as I strike out again.
I wanna be with the one I know
and the seventh thing I hate the most that you do…
vii. you make me love you
When we fight, I try to justify it with “every couple argues like we do” and that makes me feel a little bit better.
I know he knows I’m right this time, but he never wants to admit it until morning. I think he just likes waking up earlier than me and curling up beside me in bed. He never minds sleeping until noon as long as his arms are around me.
Jason went to bed an hour ago. He’s lying on his side, facing the wall. I can tell he’s asleep by the rhythmic music of his breathing. I’ve been watching him for a few minutes now, unable to sleep myself. I wish it was morning, so we can make up already, but I know we’ve got a good nine hours before that’s going to happen.
I know I’m right. He promised he’d see the senior play with me tonight, but I was left alone at the auditorium, two tickets in hand, as he was off playing baseball in the rain with the guys on his basketball team.
But a little part of me doesn’t want to watch him sleep in this state. It almost feels like he’s not mine right now and I love him a little too much to feel that way.
I quietly throw my covers aside as I make the four step journey across the bedroom. I pull his blanket away from his torso and nudge him to move over. He obliges slowly and I can tell he’s only half away as he rolls over to make room for me. “Peter?”
“Shh,” I whisper as I snuggle in beside him. He instinctively wraps his arms around me as I lay my head against his chest. “I’m sorry,” I say, even more quietly than before.
“Me too,” he says back, leaning down to kiss my forehead.
And that’s all I need to hear before his heartbeat sings me to sleep.