The Real Reason (a.k.a. Jesse, you're so emo you're thirty)
[Title:] The Real Reason (a.k.a. Jesse, you’re so emo you’re thirty)
[Author:] dejectedmadness
[Rating:] PG-13 to be safe
[Band/Pairing:] Kevin Devine and the Young Duns (Brand New + Kevin Devine) - Jesse/Kevin
[Prompt:] 006 - Grey
[Summary:] Jesse thinks he is old.
[Word count:] 1096 (yeah, it's short for me!)
[Disclaimer:] Just speculation. I don’t actually know anyone involved. Although I highly suspect that Jesse and Kevin are more than friends, I don’t ACTUALLY know. Pretend this is all kinds of fake.
[Author’s Notes:] Circa this story, he’s about 46 (birthday May, 1959).
Have you ever heard the song Haircut? Loosely inspired by that. Very loosely. Ok, maybe not really at all. But it sort of fits a little bit.
Oh, and also, this is not betaed, and I likely won't post it elsewhere. It's really not very good. I wrote it at home over Christmas, I remember. But since we were talking about the real reason for bald-Jesse the other day, I thought maybe someone else might feel like reading this.
When Kevin came home that day after trekking through the pouring rain for almost ten blocks, soaked up to his ass in melted-snow puddle-water, he’d been hoping to strip, jump into the shower, maybe make a pot of coffee (and spike it with fucking anti-freeze if that was all he had) and spend the night with his music turned up loud and his notebook, or maybe a novel, or his sketch pad to finish Jesse’s portrait that he’d been working on for weeks. He’d neglected to anticipate anything that could possibly have made his rained-on, freezing, sleep-deprived, depressed, angry self feel any shittier. But then, on the step, sitting in a puddle was a familiar winter jacket, open because it was becoming spring, pair of sneakers and worn jeans within which sat his clearly distraught, head-clutching, moping and not to mention soaking boyfriend.
“Jess?” The fingers on the head of the boy in question contracted on the hood covering his dark, soft, pretty, curly, wayward hair, but he did not otherwise react. Kevin bent to touch him to get his attention, but his mouth drew into a frown, Jesse was lost in head again. “Jesse.” He closed an hand over the man’s shoulder, and the overgrown kid in question jumped, flinched away. “Jesse.”
“Kevin.”
“What are you doing here? God, you’re soaking!”
Jesse didn’t move. He looked like the saddest, most pathetic little boy Kevin had ever encountered. Like he’d just lost his kitten in a tree. Kevin felt his heart swell inside of him. He was always surprised, even still, at how much Jesse made him feel.
Jesse stared off, past Kevin, that pitiful expression still looking about to break into tears, and without thinking, even considering it an option, Kevin sat down on the step, felt water soak past his cords and right through his boxers. He put his hand down behind Jesse so he could lean on the other man, make his touch somehow comforting, and show affection while still affecting innocent friendship to curious eyes. Jesse leaned into him, and Kevin knew at once that something was really, truly the matter.
“Aren’t you cold?” Kevin asked because he knew Jesse wouldn’t have noticed on his own. Jesse looked down at his open jacket and pulled it in on himself. “I’m going to get you a key next week. Here, do up your jacket.” He reached over to help. “Where are your gloves?” He clasped Jesse’s freezing hands. “Are you even wearing a hat- oh!” He pushed the fuzzy, lined hood back further. “Oh! Jesse!”
And just like that, his eyes grew glassy. Kevin was so shocked he only managed, “Jesse! Your hair!”
Thinking nothing, now of the indiscreet eyes that could be watching, he speechlessly shook his head and ran his hands over smooth scalp. No wayward curls, no faux-hawk, not even stubble, just clean, smooth, bald. He couldn’t even bring himself to ask. His mouth just hung open dumbly. Jesse, like a cat, rubbed his face against Kevin’s palm.
Finally, recovering from his shock, Kevin stood with Jesse’s hands in his. “Come on. Let’s get you inside.”
Jesse showered alone while Kevin spiked two cups of coffee and sat at the table with his glorious unfinished drawing, only a memory, now.
Jesse emerged in Kevin’s bathrobe with a pair of nearly too-tight flannel pyjama pants. Kevin closed his drawing, but not quickly enough. Jesse flipped open to his portrait again and sat heavily in the next wooden chair. His thick, callused fingers brushed over the graphite-hair.
“Am I too old for this?” Kevin didn’t answer. Jesse looked at him.” I thought I was too old when we started, and it’s six years later, now.”
“You’re asking the kid who’s worn his grandfather’s clothes since he was eighteen, Jess. You might be the most youthful of all of us,” of Vin, Brian, Garrett, and everyone they knew.
Jesse’s attempt to smile was a complete failure. He closed the book on the window into his past, still slumping, still morose.
“I found a grey hair.” Silence. “White, really. A white hair.” He wouldn’t meet Kevin’s eyes. “I’m turning twenty-nine in a few months. Is it time to grow up and leave fantasy behind?”
Kevin kissed his cheek and took his hand. “You can try, but fantasy’ll catch up to you.”
“This was all just a pipe-dream. It wasn’t supposed to be like this.”
“The day you give it up for a nine-to-five, Jesse, that’ll be the day you die.” Jesse was sceptical. “You are the music, Jesse. Otherwise you’d never have gotten this far.” Kevin tried to encourage Jesse with a smile, but the boy- and really, that was exactly what he was- wouldn’t look him in the eye.
“Look,” Kevin tapped him. “Look.” He lifted his hair to show Jesse the underside of his long bangs, beneath the hair brushed forward over his head and face, close to his crown.
Jesse reached out to touch, to lean in. “Kevin!”
“See, Jesse?”
“It’s grey, Kevin! There’s a whole patch!”
“If you’re too old, then I’ve been too old since I was twenty-two.”
“If you quit,” Jesse quipped, “I will, too.” Letting his hair fall flat again, he smirked at Jesse’s jest and leaned in for a peck on the lips.
“I can be the homemaker and you can be the breadwinner. I’ll go pick out linens tomorrow.”
Jesse laughed and kissed him again. “White picket fence, two-point-five kids….”
“I’ll work on growing those ovaries, too, then.” Jesse pulled Kevin’s hand until he successfully shifted the red-head onto his lap.
“It wouldn’t be so bad.”
“Until you realize it’s not just a label who’s calling your shots, but a boss, deadlines, quarterly reviews, paperwork, a weekly paycheque….”
“How much have you got saved?”
“About fifty bucks.”
“Shit.”
“What?”
“Me, too.”
“Hmm.” Kevin pretended to consider his options. “I guess we could form a Smiths cover band. That’s what those fifty-something guitar players do nowadays isn’t it?”
“I could be Johnny Marr. I know all their tabs.”
“I guess that makes me Morrissey.”
Jesse shoved him playfully. “Pft. You’re dreaming.”
Kevin, pleased with Jesse’s renewed vigour, pressed his lips firmly into his lover’s, and Jesse reciprocated fervently. Almost thirty or not, this kid’s sex-drive convinced him he was dating a randy teenager. Jesse would get morning wood until he was eighty, Kevin was certain. He straddled his lap to join in the excitement.
A minute later, looking contemplating, Kevin pulled back and to the brightening-eyes of Mr. Fanboy himself asked, “How old is Moz, anyway?”
[Author:] dejectedmadness
[Rating:] PG-13 to be safe
[Band/Pairing:] Kevin Devine and the Young Duns (Brand New + Kevin Devine) - Jesse/Kevin
[Prompt:] 006 - Grey
[Summary:] Jesse thinks he is old.
[Word count:] 1096 (yeah, it's short for me!)
[Disclaimer:] Just speculation. I don’t actually know anyone involved. Although I highly suspect that Jesse and Kevin are more than friends, I don’t ACTUALLY know. Pretend this is all kinds of fake.
[Author’s Notes:] Circa this story, he’s about 46 (birthday May, 1959).
Have you ever heard the song Haircut? Loosely inspired by that. Very loosely. Ok, maybe not really at all. But it sort of fits a little bit.
Oh, and also, this is not betaed, and I likely won't post it elsewhere. It's really not very good. I wrote it at home over Christmas, I remember. But since we were talking about the real reason for bald-Jesse the other day, I thought maybe someone else might feel like reading this.
When Kevin came home that day after trekking through the pouring rain for almost ten blocks, soaked up to his ass in melted-snow puddle-water, he’d been hoping to strip, jump into the shower, maybe make a pot of coffee (and spike it with fucking anti-freeze if that was all he had) and spend the night with his music turned up loud and his notebook, or maybe a novel, or his sketch pad to finish Jesse’s portrait that he’d been working on for weeks. He’d neglected to anticipate anything that could possibly have made his rained-on, freezing, sleep-deprived, depressed, angry self feel any shittier. But then, on the step, sitting in a puddle was a familiar winter jacket, open because it was becoming spring, pair of sneakers and worn jeans within which sat his clearly distraught, head-clutching, moping and not to mention soaking boyfriend.
“Jess?” The fingers on the head of the boy in question contracted on the hood covering his dark, soft, pretty, curly, wayward hair, but he did not otherwise react. Kevin bent to touch him to get his attention, but his mouth drew into a frown, Jesse was lost in head again. “Jesse.” He closed an hand over the man’s shoulder, and the overgrown kid in question jumped, flinched away. “Jesse.”
“Kevin.”
“What are you doing here? God, you’re soaking!”
Jesse didn’t move. He looked like the saddest, most pathetic little boy Kevin had ever encountered. Like he’d just lost his kitten in a tree. Kevin felt his heart swell inside of him. He was always surprised, even still, at how much Jesse made him feel.
Jesse stared off, past Kevin, that pitiful expression still looking about to break into tears, and without thinking, even considering it an option, Kevin sat down on the step, felt water soak past his cords and right through his boxers. He put his hand down behind Jesse so he could lean on the other man, make his touch somehow comforting, and show affection while still affecting innocent friendship to curious eyes. Jesse leaned into him, and Kevin knew at once that something was really, truly the matter.
“Aren’t you cold?” Kevin asked because he knew Jesse wouldn’t have noticed on his own. Jesse looked down at his open jacket and pulled it in on himself. “I’m going to get you a key next week. Here, do up your jacket.” He reached over to help. “Where are your gloves?” He clasped Jesse’s freezing hands. “Are you even wearing a hat- oh!” He pushed the fuzzy, lined hood back further. “Oh! Jesse!”
And just like that, his eyes grew glassy. Kevin was so shocked he only managed, “Jesse! Your hair!”
Thinking nothing, now of the indiscreet eyes that could be watching, he speechlessly shook his head and ran his hands over smooth scalp. No wayward curls, no faux-hawk, not even stubble, just clean, smooth, bald. He couldn’t even bring himself to ask. His mouth just hung open dumbly. Jesse, like a cat, rubbed his face against Kevin’s palm.
Finally, recovering from his shock, Kevin stood with Jesse’s hands in his. “Come on. Let’s get you inside.”
Jesse showered alone while Kevin spiked two cups of coffee and sat at the table with his glorious unfinished drawing, only a memory, now.
Jesse emerged in Kevin’s bathrobe with a pair of nearly too-tight flannel pyjama pants. Kevin closed his drawing, but not quickly enough. Jesse flipped open to his portrait again and sat heavily in the next wooden chair. His thick, callused fingers brushed over the graphite-hair.
“Am I too old for this?” Kevin didn’t answer. Jesse looked at him.” I thought I was too old when we started, and it’s six years later, now.”
“You’re asking the kid who’s worn his grandfather’s clothes since he was eighteen, Jess. You might be the most youthful of all of us,” of Vin, Brian, Garrett, and everyone they knew.
Jesse’s attempt to smile was a complete failure. He closed the book on the window into his past, still slumping, still morose.
“I found a grey hair.” Silence. “White, really. A white hair.” He wouldn’t meet Kevin’s eyes. “I’m turning twenty-nine in a few months. Is it time to grow up and leave fantasy behind?”
Kevin kissed his cheek and took his hand. “You can try, but fantasy’ll catch up to you.”
“This was all just a pipe-dream. It wasn’t supposed to be like this.”
“The day you give it up for a nine-to-five, Jesse, that’ll be the day you die.” Jesse was sceptical. “You are the music, Jesse. Otherwise you’d never have gotten this far.” Kevin tried to encourage Jesse with a smile, but the boy- and really, that was exactly what he was- wouldn’t look him in the eye.
“Look,” Kevin tapped him. “Look.” He lifted his hair to show Jesse the underside of his long bangs, beneath the hair brushed forward over his head and face, close to his crown.
Jesse reached out to touch, to lean in. “Kevin!”
“See, Jesse?”
“It’s grey, Kevin! There’s a whole patch!”
“If you’re too old, then I’ve been too old since I was twenty-two.”
“If you quit,” Jesse quipped, “I will, too.” Letting his hair fall flat again, he smirked at Jesse’s jest and leaned in for a peck on the lips.
“I can be the homemaker and you can be the breadwinner. I’ll go pick out linens tomorrow.”
Jesse laughed and kissed him again. “White picket fence, two-point-five kids….”
“I’ll work on growing those ovaries, too, then.” Jesse pulled Kevin’s hand until he successfully shifted the red-head onto his lap.
“It wouldn’t be so bad.”
“Until you realize it’s not just a label who’s calling your shots, but a boss, deadlines, quarterly reviews, paperwork, a weekly paycheque….”
“How much have you got saved?”
“About fifty bucks.”
“Shit.”
“What?”
“Me, too.”
“Hmm.” Kevin pretended to consider his options. “I guess we could form a Smiths cover band. That’s what those fifty-something guitar players do nowadays isn’t it?”
“I could be Johnny Marr. I know all their tabs.”
“I guess that makes me Morrissey.”
Jesse shoved him playfully. “Pft. You’re dreaming.”
Kevin, pleased with Jesse’s renewed vigour, pressed his lips firmly into his lover’s, and Jesse reciprocated fervently. Almost thirty or not, this kid’s sex-drive convinced him he was dating a randy teenager. Jesse would get morning wood until he was eighty, Kevin was certain. He straddled his lap to join in the excitement.
A minute later, looking contemplating, Kevin pulled back and to the brightening-eyes of Mr. Fanboy himself asked, “How old is Moz, anyway?”