fic 25 - if we go down... [JOSÉ (jesse/john)]
title: if we go down...
fandom: Brand New / Taking Back Sunday / Straylight Run
pairing: JOSÉ. (That's Jesse/John for the uninitiated.)
rating: PG-13
synopsis: High school fic. Jesse comes out and is met with a mixed response. More fluffy than angsty. (Yes, seriously.)
author's note: Not very happy with this but it's sort of nice. I apologise for the second person use, I'll try to stop. Addresse is one Mr. Jesse Lacey. (You know, blue eyes, about so heigh, sings for Brand New? That one. If you see him can you direct him to England? Sure? Thanks.)
word count: 1600w approx.
This is when it all blows up. The climax. We’re through with ‘rising tension’ and we aren’t ready for the fall. Everything’s peaking. This is when it all blows up.
He’s lying, sprawled on the grass. He’s got his eyes closed. Hasn’t seen you. You sit down on the grass next to him and he sits up and opens his eyes. He looks at you and his face is a real picture, the way it falls apart.
“You’re… you’re bleeding.”
You don’t know whether to be sarcastic or act surprised, as if you hadn’t even noticed, instead you choose a suitable in between and say ‘yeah,’ in a dry, cracked voice from between the split lips.
He’s sat up next to you, almost the whole ninety degrees-well, maybe more like one-ten-“Jesse, what happened?”
“I got found out,” you say, and you’re almost laughing, “They found me out.” And there’s something perversely appropriate about the wording. John’s been your best friend for years and he doesn’t even know, he’ll probably jump to ridiculous conclusions which are impossibly far from the truth and you’re almost glad for it.
“What did you do, Jesse?”
Your grin looks self-satisfied now. It’s a sort of ‘they had it coming’ grin, as if you’d instigated the fight. Maybe, you had. Inadvertently, you had.
“Jesse?”
“Oh, nothing big.” You suck your lip in and clean off a little blood. “Just kissed Matthew Taylor.”
“You what?”
“Kissed Matthew Taylor.” You enunciate it clearly, precisely, matter-of-factly.
“Why?”
“Because I have a thing for Matthew Taylor and he was staring me out in gym so I kind of-”
“I don’t think I even want to know.” John’s frowning at you, disapproving of all the little messes you make of your life.
“Thanks for the vote of confidence.” You tell him, and you collapse back into the grass, enjoying the way it tickles your neck and ears.
He joins you soon after, as if it’s all forgotten. Interlocks his fingers behind his head and says, “Jess, why Matt Taylor?”
You ‘hmm’ over it for a minute, as if it’s a matter of great consideration, then say, “Because I’m gay and he’s hot and kind, I don’t know, buff?”
He gets halfway to laughing at you for using the word ‘buff’, when it really dawns on him that you just said you were gay and he says, frowning again, “You’re gay?”
“Yeah,” you sort of laugh, laughing about stuff like this is the best way to keep from crying. “But don’t go spreading it, eh?” Knowing perfectly well the little paradox you’ve constructed.
“But Jesse, you kissed Matt Taylor, everyone’s going to fucking know.”
“I know.” You grin at the sky, mawkish, “Great, huh?”
“Fabulous.” John says. “Real great, Jess. Good one.”
“You won’t disown me, will you?” You’re joking. You know he wouldn’t. You hope he wouldn‘t.
“Nah. Well, maybe, if I end up with a mug like yours but I take it that only happens when you try to kiss buff football team kids, not just ‘cause you’re friends with a queer.”
“Here’s hoping.” You haven’t a clue what comes next. You’ll probably get hauled in to talk it through with some higher authority, asking why you got in a punch-up in the locker rooms, and he’ll say it or you will and, hell, maybe they’ll call your parents in so they can frown at your homosexual leanings. Mr. and Mrs. Lacey, I regret to inform you that your son is, in fact, a fag and attempted to force himself on the good, upstanding, Mr. Taylor of the football team. Of course, we felt it our duty to warn you of this in order that you could begin to come to terms with your son’s inversion and seek to have it cured.
John cuts across your train of thought by saying, “So, were you going to tell me you were gay?”
“Well, given that the first time I’ve ever said it aloud was just now, I guess, maybe not?”
He frowns. Typical. “You could’ve, you know.”
“Nah. You’ve taken it pretty badly, really.”
“You think?” He actually sounds sort of concerned.
“Yeah. You were all ‘I don’t want to know’ and ‘good one, Jesse’. Hardly the most supportive friend ever.”
“Well, I don’t know, if you tried to kiss me I wouldn’t punch you in the face. That’s something, right?”
You grin. “I bet you would.”
“What?”
“If I kissed you, I bet you’d hit me.” This, you think, might be the most ingeniously engineered situation ever, if you’d bothered to engineer it in the first place, anyway.
“I wouldn’t. You’re my best friend, Jesse. I wouldn’t hit you unless, I don’t know, you knocked up my sister or something.”
“I’m gay. Not going to happen.”
“Yeah, yeah, I know.”
“I still think you’d hit me though.”
“You so sure?”
“Yeah.”
“Well, go ahead then.”
“What?”
“If you’re so sure, try it and see.”
“And you absolutely won’t hit me?”
“If you can’t take my word for it, try it.”
You frown, as if you’re displeased, then you shift onto your side, look at him for a minute, think it through and then lean back onto your back saying “Nah, nah, that’d be weird.”
“I can’t believe you don’t trust me, Jesse. You think I’m going to disown you over your being gay or something, think again.” And he’s leaning over you now, perfectly poised. He kisses you chastely, like a twelve-year-old whose never kissed anyone before and you entangle fingers in his hair and pull his lips close to yours again. You kiss him proper, make it worthwhile. After all, this’ll probably be the only shot you get at it. You might as well make an impression.
He doesn’t object. It’s probably only his stupid pride and need to keep to his word that stops him but he partakes, eyes closed and doesn’t pull away until your fingers loosen in his hair.
You both pull away flushed, looking almost scared.
“Well, you didn’t hit me, but that look on your face says a lot.”
“Huh?”
“You look scared that I’m about to bite you.” He’s attempting to rub the blood off his lips with two fingers and just succeeding in smearing it around his mouth.
“Well, I just had the first, full on kiss of my life with my best friend who I’ve just discovered is gay. Jesse, what should I look like?”
You swallow. You don’t have a response for that. Start sky-gazing again. It’s a pity it’s three o’clock in the afternoon or else you could be looking at the stars.
“Jesse?”
“Mmm.”
“I think I’m going to go home now.”
“Mmm.”
“Jesse? I don’t want this to ruin things between us.”
“Mmm. Well, if you aren’t going to ditch me then it shouldn’t.”
“No, but…”
“But what?”
“Oh, never mind.” John’s still blushing. And he’s getting up and picking up his school bag.
“No, what?”
“Um, I don’t know, I just, uh, would it be weird if I said I enjoyed that?”
You sort of laugh. “John, that’s what kisses are like. It doesn’t mean you’re in love with me or anything.”
“No, but…” He trails off this time, instead of your interrupting.
“But?”
“I, sort of,”
“You sort of?” You attempt to be kind, encouraging, raise your eyebrows in hopes of eliciting a response.
“I want to do it again?” You grin at him.
“Any time, Johnny boy.” Your tone positively smarmy.
“Don’t call me that, you fag.”
“Hey, you’re just as bad, you admitted to wanting to kiss me.”
“Yeah, but at least I don’t force myself on people.”
“Yeah, and what was that just a minute ago?”
“Hey, you were the one with fingers in my hair.”
“Faggot.”
“Fairy.”
“Call me?”
“Tonight?”
“Yeah.”
“Alright.”
He‘s a couple of steps away from you when you say: “Oh, and John, try kissing a girl before you decide you’re gay, OK?”
“Sure. Because that’s an easy feat.”
“Sure is.”
“For you, maybe.”
“Well, sometimes you win, sometimes you lose. Like with Matthew Taylor, earlier.”
“This from the gay guy.”
“Hey, I only just came out, OK? Don’t use it against me just yet, I’m still fragile.”
“Yeah, sure. And your lip’s still bleeding too. And you’ve probably given me tetanus now.”
“If I have, it’s your fault for not having the jab.”
“How thoughtful.”
“You will call, right?”
“Yeah, yeah, sure. But why?”
“Because you’re my best friend and I like talking to you?”
“That it?” He mocks.
“Well, that and the fact that I’m scared shitless I’ll get hauled into disciplinary and they’ll tell my folks.”
John smiles, “You think you’ll get disciplined over Matt Taylor punching you? Nah. Come on, it’d be fucking shameful for him to go to anyone about it. He’ll probably deny it and then you can too and that’ll be the end of it.”
“Yeah. Sure.”
“Cheer up, Jesse. You’re out. S’got to be nice, right?”
“Not really.”
He walks back over to you and offers you his hand to help you up. “Come on, come to my place for dinner. We can talk about it.”
“You sure you don’t just want to con me into kissing you again?”
“Hmm. Maybe that too?” You frown but go with him anyway, at least this way you’re going down together and it’s nicer that way, there’s something comforting about it.
And if we go down, we go down together.
fandom: Brand New / Taking Back Sunday / Straylight Run
pairing: JOSÉ. (That's Jesse/John for the uninitiated.)
rating: PG-13
synopsis: High school fic. Jesse comes out and is met with a mixed response. More fluffy than angsty. (Yes, seriously.)
author's note: Not very happy with this but it's sort of nice. I apologise for the second person use, I'll try to stop. Addresse is one Mr. Jesse Lacey. (You know, blue eyes, about so heigh, sings for Brand New? That one. If you see him can you direct him to England? Sure? Thanks.)
word count: 1600w approx.
This is when it all blows up. The climax. We’re through with ‘rising tension’ and we aren’t ready for the fall. Everything’s peaking. This is when it all blows up.
He’s lying, sprawled on the grass. He’s got his eyes closed. Hasn’t seen you. You sit down on the grass next to him and he sits up and opens his eyes. He looks at you and his face is a real picture, the way it falls apart.
“You’re… you’re bleeding.”
You don’t know whether to be sarcastic or act surprised, as if you hadn’t even noticed, instead you choose a suitable in between and say ‘yeah,’ in a dry, cracked voice from between the split lips.
He’s sat up next to you, almost the whole ninety degrees-well, maybe more like one-ten-“Jesse, what happened?”
“I got found out,” you say, and you’re almost laughing, “They found me out.” And there’s something perversely appropriate about the wording. John’s been your best friend for years and he doesn’t even know, he’ll probably jump to ridiculous conclusions which are impossibly far from the truth and you’re almost glad for it.
“What did you do, Jesse?”
Your grin looks self-satisfied now. It’s a sort of ‘they had it coming’ grin, as if you’d instigated the fight. Maybe, you had. Inadvertently, you had.
“Jesse?”
“Oh, nothing big.” You suck your lip in and clean off a little blood. “Just kissed Matthew Taylor.”
“You what?”
“Kissed Matthew Taylor.” You enunciate it clearly, precisely, matter-of-factly.
“Why?”
“Because I have a thing for Matthew Taylor and he was staring me out in gym so I kind of-”
“I don’t think I even want to know.” John’s frowning at you, disapproving of all the little messes you make of your life.
“Thanks for the vote of confidence.” You tell him, and you collapse back into the grass, enjoying the way it tickles your neck and ears.
He joins you soon after, as if it’s all forgotten. Interlocks his fingers behind his head and says, “Jess, why Matt Taylor?”
You ‘hmm’ over it for a minute, as if it’s a matter of great consideration, then say, “Because I’m gay and he’s hot and kind, I don’t know, buff?”
He gets halfway to laughing at you for using the word ‘buff’, when it really dawns on him that you just said you were gay and he says, frowning again, “You’re gay?”
“Yeah,” you sort of laugh, laughing about stuff like this is the best way to keep from crying. “But don’t go spreading it, eh?” Knowing perfectly well the little paradox you’ve constructed.
“But Jesse, you kissed Matt Taylor, everyone’s going to fucking know.”
“I know.” You grin at the sky, mawkish, “Great, huh?”
“Fabulous.” John says. “Real great, Jess. Good one.”
“You won’t disown me, will you?” You’re joking. You know he wouldn’t. You hope he wouldn‘t.
“Nah. Well, maybe, if I end up with a mug like yours but I take it that only happens when you try to kiss buff football team kids, not just ‘cause you’re friends with a queer.”
“Here’s hoping.” You haven’t a clue what comes next. You’ll probably get hauled in to talk it through with some higher authority, asking why you got in a punch-up in the locker rooms, and he’ll say it or you will and, hell, maybe they’ll call your parents in so they can frown at your homosexual leanings. Mr. and Mrs. Lacey, I regret to inform you that your son is, in fact, a fag and attempted to force himself on the good, upstanding, Mr. Taylor of the football team. Of course, we felt it our duty to warn you of this in order that you could begin to come to terms with your son’s inversion and seek to have it cured.
John cuts across your train of thought by saying, “So, were you going to tell me you were gay?”
“Well, given that the first time I’ve ever said it aloud was just now, I guess, maybe not?”
He frowns. Typical. “You could’ve, you know.”
“Nah. You’ve taken it pretty badly, really.”
“You think?” He actually sounds sort of concerned.
“Yeah. You were all ‘I don’t want to know’ and ‘good one, Jesse’. Hardly the most supportive friend ever.”
“Well, I don’t know, if you tried to kiss me I wouldn’t punch you in the face. That’s something, right?”
You grin. “I bet you would.”
“What?”
“If I kissed you, I bet you’d hit me.” This, you think, might be the most ingeniously engineered situation ever, if you’d bothered to engineer it in the first place, anyway.
“I wouldn’t. You’re my best friend, Jesse. I wouldn’t hit you unless, I don’t know, you knocked up my sister or something.”
“I’m gay. Not going to happen.”
“Yeah, yeah, I know.”
“I still think you’d hit me though.”
“You so sure?”
“Yeah.”
“Well, go ahead then.”
“What?”
“If you’re so sure, try it and see.”
“And you absolutely won’t hit me?”
“If you can’t take my word for it, try it.”
You frown, as if you’re displeased, then you shift onto your side, look at him for a minute, think it through and then lean back onto your back saying “Nah, nah, that’d be weird.”
“I can’t believe you don’t trust me, Jesse. You think I’m going to disown you over your being gay or something, think again.” And he’s leaning over you now, perfectly poised. He kisses you chastely, like a twelve-year-old whose never kissed anyone before and you entangle fingers in his hair and pull his lips close to yours again. You kiss him proper, make it worthwhile. After all, this’ll probably be the only shot you get at it. You might as well make an impression.
He doesn’t object. It’s probably only his stupid pride and need to keep to his word that stops him but he partakes, eyes closed and doesn’t pull away until your fingers loosen in his hair.
You both pull away flushed, looking almost scared.
“Well, you didn’t hit me, but that look on your face says a lot.”
“Huh?”
“You look scared that I’m about to bite you.” He’s attempting to rub the blood off his lips with two fingers and just succeeding in smearing it around his mouth.
“Well, I just had the first, full on kiss of my life with my best friend who I’ve just discovered is gay. Jesse, what should I look like?”
You swallow. You don’t have a response for that. Start sky-gazing again. It’s a pity it’s three o’clock in the afternoon or else you could be looking at the stars.
“Jesse?”
“Mmm.”
“I think I’m going to go home now.”
“Mmm.”
“Jesse? I don’t want this to ruin things between us.”
“Mmm. Well, if you aren’t going to ditch me then it shouldn’t.”
“No, but…”
“But what?”
“Oh, never mind.” John’s still blushing. And he’s getting up and picking up his school bag.
“No, what?”
“Um, I don’t know, I just, uh, would it be weird if I said I enjoyed that?”
You sort of laugh. “John, that’s what kisses are like. It doesn’t mean you’re in love with me or anything.”
“No, but…” He trails off this time, instead of your interrupting.
“But?”
“I, sort of,”
“You sort of?” You attempt to be kind, encouraging, raise your eyebrows in hopes of eliciting a response.
“I want to do it again?” You grin at him.
“Any time, Johnny boy.” Your tone positively smarmy.
“Don’t call me that, you fag.”
“Hey, you’re just as bad, you admitted to wanting to kiss me.”
“Yeah, but at least I don’t force myself on people.”
“Yeah, and what was that just a minute ago?”
“Hey, you were the one with fingers in my hair.”
“Faggot.”
“Fairy.”
“Call me?”
“Tonight?”
“Yeah.”
“Alright.”
He‘s a couple of steps away from you when you say: “Oh, and John, try kissing a girl before you decide you’re gay, OK?”
“Sure. Because that’s an easy feat.”
“Sure is.”
“For you, maybe.”
“Well, sometimes you win, sometimes you lose. Like with Matthew Taylor, earlier.”
“This from the gay guy.”
“Hey, I only just came out, OK? Don’t use it against me just yet, I’m still fragile.”
“Yeah, sure. And your lip’s still bleeding too. And you’ve probably given me tetanus now.”
“If I have, it’s your fault for not having the jab.”
“How thoughtful.”
“You will call, right?”
“Yeah, yeah, sure. But why?”
“Because you’re my best friend and I like talking to you?”
“That it?” He mocks.
“Well, that and the fact that I’m scared shitless I’ll get hauled into disciplinary and they’ll tell my folks.”
John smiles, “You think you’ll get disciplined over Matt Taylor punching you? Nah. Come on, it’d be fucking shameful for him to go to anyone about it. He’ll probably deny it and then you can too and that’ll be the end of it.”
“Yeah. Sure.”
“Cheer up, Jesse. You’re out. S’got to be nice, right?”
“Not really.”
He walks back over to you and offers you his hand to help you up. “Come on, come to my place for dinner. We can talk about it.”
“You sure you don’t just want to con me into kissing you again?”
“Hmm. Maybe that too?” You frown but go with him anyway, at least this way you’re going down together and it’s nicer that way, there’s something comforting about it.
And if we go down, we go down together.