It Never Gets Easier [6/?]
Title: It Never Gets Easier [6/?]
Author: likeanaccidentx
Pairing: Adam Lazzara/John Nolan. This chapter features Jesse Lacey.
Rating: I'm going to say R, just to be careful; but only because the language is getting worse.
Summary: Finally, your eyes met his, and he grinned, mouthing the word “scared?” and you had to hold back from tackling him to the ground right there, because really, he was so damn smug it killed you.
You settled instead for mouthing back two simple words.
“You wish.”
Word count: 3,478.
Disclaimer: Not real. Don’t know, don’t own.
Notes: Several notes for this one.
[1] This is the second part to Adam's flashback. There are only two parts to this particular flashback, so there's still some waiting for the whole story behind Jesse/John. Sorry, kids.=].
[2] This takes place at the Taking Back Sunday/Brand New concert in The Tulagi in Boulder, Colorado back in 2002. The performance isn't described in detail in this chapter, so if you're curious what did go on on stage? It's completely based off the video, which you can see here in its entirety.
[3] As usual, concrit and comments are welcome and appreciated.
Dedication: Once again, my best friend sunrisehighway7 because she is awesomely supportive and has helped me clean up my ideas loads [and also influenced a lot of the Jesse stuff] ♥ goodbyesheesha because I feel bad for making Jesse so mean, and anyone who's been reading and commenting - it means the world. Those comments always seem to arrive just when I'm having trouble with writing - they put me back to work. Thanks. <3.
Previous parts: one // two // three // four // five
It’s never been a secret that you get carried away onstage; caught up in the lights and the sounds and the buzz of the crowd. You just feel a surge of energy, a surge of power. You had felt lucky that night, as the confidence it had given you was exactly what you needed to see the encore of the night through.
Or maybe you had just downed a couple too many beers during Brand New’s set to ‘loosen up’, and were drunk off your face.
Whichever.
In your head, you had been counting down the songs as you went along, and out of the corner of your eye, you could see his face as he leant against the speakers side stage, watching you, waiting for you to lose your cool. You didn’t. Well, not unless you count the blip during the set where you really got into it - you always were an emotional drunk - and punched yourself in the face, hard enough to make John look at you, astounded.
And of course, if you count the time you knocked Eddie, of all people, clean off the stage when you stumbled into him… But that was just a clumsy accident.
Other than that, you thought you played it pretty cool.
With all that alcohol in your system, though, knowing he was watching, you couldn’t resist the urge to stay as close to John as you could, to rub it all in Jesse’s face, talk about how much being in the band with John meant to you. You didn’t feel too bad about it, as during Brand New’s set, Jesse had taken a shot at you with Seventy Times Seven when he decided to pull John up onto the stage and give him his guitar. Jesse grinned at you as you were left standing on your own, drink in hand, looking at him with curious suspicion.
Towards the end of the song, you found out exactly what he was doing when he pulled up his shirt, revealing his chest to the audience and glancing at you, eyebrows raised, almost as though he were asking your opinion. You gulped, focused your eyes on John rather than letting them trail down Jesse’s body, because that would only lead to disaster. Although in hindsight, you’re not sure what would have been worse, because it hurt you to think it but you could have sworn that when you tore your eyes off Jesse and settled them on John instead, John was watching him intently from the spot where he stood with his guitar. You could’ve sworn you’d seen John bite down on his lip. You desperately clung to the hope that it was out of concentration, and not attraction.
So by the time you and the boys took the stage, a war was already raging. Jesse obviously wasn’t going to play fair, so neither were you.
So you played games the whole set, threw in quips and one liners to try and hit Jesse back, but nothing seemed good enough; everything you had to offer seemed plain immature, and every time you looked up at Jesse, he seemed less than threatened, more amused.
By the time that the encore rolled around, you were almost trembling with anticipation, your stomach churning so hard that you felt sick, and suddenly, despite the confidence it had given you, you wished you hadn’t downed quite so many drinks before you stepped onstage.
Regardless, you promised yourself yet again that you would give it your all.
“Wait, before we play this last song, before we leave, before we’re done,” You had said, tearing your eyes away from John and Jesse - who were huddled together side stage, way too closely for your liking, Jesse’s hand on John’s shoulder - to speak to the audience. “I just want every one of you to know… If your best friend left or any of your friends left, I want you to go home and tell them what the fuck they missed.”
Your attempt to seem confident in what you were about to do was wasted as Jesse looked over at you, rolling his eyes dramatically as you continued to ramble about friendship and about how grateful you were. Finally, your eyes met his, and he grinned, mouthing the word “scared?” and you had to hold back from tackling him to the ground right there, because really, he was so damn smug it killed you.
You settled instead for mouthing back two simple words.
“You wish.”
* * *
It wasn’t until you got to the dressing room that you realized what you’d done.
Or rather, it wasn’t until John had slammed the door shut behind the two of you, a mixture of anger and panic and disbelief in his eyes that you realized you were in trouble.
“What?” You snapped, as he’d gaped at you from where he stood, leaning against the door. You didn’t mean to sound angry with him, but you were still furious over Jesse’s games onstage, and the way he’d been all over John for half the song, hugging him and being affectionate, when meanwhile, twenty-something kids that Jesse called up on the stage were blocking you from reaching John yourself.
“What do you mean what?” He’d exclaimed. “Adam, what was wrong with you out there?”
“Me?” You had said incredulously. “I… Nothing was wrong with me, John. He -”
“Oh, don’t tell me.” John sighed, dismay in his voice as he held up his index finger to cut you off. “You’re going to blame this on Jesse?”
“He was competing with me!”
“What could he possibly have to compete with you over, Adam?”
You were almost hurt by that statement - as though John were hinting that Jesse was ahead of you anyway, but you brushed it off. Jealousy was never a good color on you, even if it was one you frequently wore when Jesse was on the scene.
“You!” You yelled.
John looked taken aback by this outburst, stepped back slightly, paused for a second as you stood there, trembling with anger.
You hated that no one seemed to understand Jesse but yourself.
Hated it.
“Don’t be ridiculous, Adam.” John finally muttered, bitterly, but you caught his voice waver and you could tell that he himself wasn’t so sure. “I don’t get what your problem with Jesse is, but you need to get the hell over it. Besides, Jesse didn’t make you do any of that stuff. He didn’t make you punch yourself, or knock Eddie off stage and he certainly didn’t make you fucking declare to everyone that he is my ex-boyfriend!”
And you couldn’t help but half-smirk at the memory of this, the memory of Jesse’s face when you’d yelled out at the end, when Jesse had given it all and defeated you hands down, but you’d still found something to say.
‘Best friends… Best friends… Best friends! …Ex lovers.’
You’d laughed.
“It’s not funny, Lazzara.” John spat. His tone of voice was sharp, and you jumped slightly at the use of your last name. Lazzara. He sounded almost like Jesse when that name rolled off his tongue. Cold, uncaring… Distant. “Do you know what trouble you might have just caused, because yet again, you’re jealous of him? If you and Jesse can’t get along, we’re not going to work out, okay? He’s my best friend. You just have to get the fuck over the fact that he is also my ex-boyfriend.” He pauses for a moment, running his tongue over his lips, before adding three brutal words: “I had to.”
You glared at him for a moment in disbelief, before moving away from him, in search of that Northstar sweater you’d discarded earlier that evening. It was no use fighting with John over what had taken place on the stage; you knew it, you saw it, you knew what Jesse was up to, but it was useless to expect John to have been paying that much attention. He still thought so highly of Jesse, despite the shit that he had put him through, and although he had swore he was over him, you never quite believed it, because those subtle touches out in public, those laughs and smiles that you loved so much. They weren’t just yours.
They were Jesse’s, too.
You found your sweater and pulled it on over your head as he watched you in silence, waiting for a response, knowing the weight of what he had just said, but it hadn’t been so heavy to you; not since it had always just been something you had to live with, deal with, something you had learnt, that the second Jesse called him back, you would shift back into second place.
Second best.
Just how dangerous is second best, anyway?
You found out in your later years, that’s for damn sure.
Without another word or even so much as a glance in his direction, you pushed past him, heading for the door. His eyes widened, and he grasped at the sleeve of your sweater.
“Adam,” He said. “Where are you-”
“Drink.” You mumbled. You didn’t feel the need to explain yourself any further. You knew he already knew exactly what he had said wrong.
“Adam, I didn’t mean it like that. I-”
“I really don’t want to talk about it right now.”
You looked directly at him, saw the hurt in his eyes, that wounded puppy look you knew so well whenever you and he would fight; he’d always say something wrong, you’d always leave, and everything would fix itself within hours, because you couldn’t be without him, but that wasn’t the point.
John closed his mouth, thin lips forming a thin line and nodded, sadly, and without another word, you broke the eye contact, pulled away from his grasp and stepped out of the room.
“I’ll see you later.” You muttered.
“Bye.” His voice cracked, barely audible.
He’d never really fought for you to stay. Not really.
And really, sometimes you think you should have known all along why that was.
* * *
After a few drinks at the bar with some of the guys from The Last Chance Diaries, you made your way outside through the back exit of the venue. The back exit led to a dimly lit alleyway, where the vans had been parked. You reached into your back pocket and pulled out your cigarettes, then went fumbling for your lighter. When you found it, you lit up, and leant against the wall, inhaling the toxins into your lungs. You kicked at the ground as you stood there, swaying slightly from the alcohol in your system. You hadn’t felt drunk; you were just feeling a little tipsy, but you had the feeling it didn’t matter so much anyway.
Standing in the warm summer air, you began to hum the tune to ‘Young, Loud and Scotty’ one of your favourite Lifetime songs. It was this humming that drowned out the sound of the door of the back exit swinging open, so it startled you when the sound of his footsteps approaching you from behind. You turned to see him, and he smiled gently, but you ignored it, exhaling the smoke from your cigarette and staring out down the alleyway. You had no idea why he was still following you after all the hell he’d raised in one night, but you almost didn’t want to know what else he had planned for you.
“Good crowd, right?” He struck up the conversation, yet again.
“…Yeah. Great.” You mumbled, out of politeness, and looking back now, you don’t know why you bothered.
Jesse leant against the alleyway wall, running a hand through his perfect hair, thinking of his next line.
“Think it went well, right?”
You didn’t even justify that with a response, as it was pretty much identically the same question. Instead, you flicked the ash off the tip of your cigarette and take another drag. That amused smile began to creep across Jesse’s face once more as he looked directly at you, watched every fraction of an inch you moved.
“Doesn’t smoking fuck with your voice?” He asked. You kept quiet, just shrugged. “And I mean… John hates it, right? I mean, he’s got to share a van with you and all, so -”
And you didn’t know where it came from, but suddenly, you wanted to talk about what happened that night, so you flicked your cigarette down to the floor and stamped on it, before turning to him, leaning sideways against the wall. He backed up a little bit, but looked pleased that he finally got your attention.
“Where the fuck did you get off on doing all that?” You exclaimed. Jesse looked at you, a mock-puzzled look on his face. “In there. What the fuck’s your problem?”
“Excuse me?” Jesse’s grin tugged at the corners of his lips. “Are you feeling okay?”
You sighed, exasperated. It was typical of Jesse to make you feel like it were all in your head; especially as he’d probably just come from John that very moment, and John had probably been ranting about your made up illusions of the two of them.
“We were doing it for John, Jesse! And you had to go and turn it into a game,” You argued. “And don’t you even dare try and pretend like this is all in my head. That wasn’t a fucking friendly team effort in there. You were trying to show me up.”
“Well. I thought it was okay, and John said he thought it went well… Up until you lost it, that is… So…” Jesse shrugged innocently, before continuing. “Don’t try to push your insecurities on me, Lazzara. If you don’t want to play with me again, no one’s going to force you.”
You had never wanted to hit him more than you did right then, because he had that twinkle of amusement in his eyes that said everything was going according to plan for him, regardless of what you had said onstage.
“Whatever.” You spat. “Fuck you.”
“God… John said you were hard work, but… Wow.” Jesse shook his head to himself, looking down at the floor as he crossed his arms over his chest. You looked up at him, hurt.
“John said what?”
“…Hmm?”
“J-John… John said what?”
“Y’know,” Jesse laughed, stepping towards you. “You seem awfully fixated on him. Is that what this is? You’ve got a schoolboy crush on Nolan?”
“No,” You shook your head as you backed away from him. “John’s my b-best friend.”
You choked on these words and Jesse burst out laughing, and you could feel the blush creep across your cheeks, so you mumbled yet another "fuck you", pushing past him, but he grabbed you by the arm and pulled you back, swinging you around to face him, bringing you close so you could see eye to eye. And suddenly, when he spoke, his tone was very harsh, not the slightest bit of amusement to it. Suddenly, his tone was threatening, but underneath it all, you could hear the faintest trace of something else.
…Hurt.
“You don’t get to think of him as yours, because he’s not,” He said through gritted teeth. “You may be in a band with him; you may throw your little hissy fits when anyone else gets a little too close to him. But that means nothing, okay?”
And you’d almost felt sorry for him. Almost. But instead, it was your turn to smirk smugly in his direction.
“And I’m the one with the ‘schoolboy crush’?” You’d mocked, licking your lips before shaking yourself free of his grip. He let you go easily. “Right. Possessive much, Lacey?”
“I don’t need to be possessive. It’s John.” He spoke with an edge of certainty, but there was a quake in his voice. “See, Burbank. The thing you’re failing to see? The big, huge factor that you happen to be overlooking? Is that you’re temporary. You’re irrelevant.”
“You don’t own him, Jess.” You said firmly. Jesse chuckled and began to pace the alleyway.
“Really, Adam. If you want to play, I’ll play, but I’ll warn you; I know what’s going on, and I could really make things difficult for you in fairyland, okay?” He smirked, walking over to you until he was standing inches away from your face, your eyes holding contact, and you were glaring so hard that your eyes are burning. “You do know John, right? Uptight, insecure, impressionable… Catholic John?”
“Fuck you,” You spat. “Are you fucking threatening me? Fuck-”
“What does it look like?”
And it was then that you reached out and shoved him away from you, with much less strength than you could usually muster due to you inability to stand completely straight at that moment in time. He responded instantly, pushing you roughly back into the wall with a thud, and you had to spread your arms to keep from falling. He laughed.
“Carry on making doe eyes at him, following him around, flicking your hair, have fun. But just know that the minute he knows I know? You’re a blip in a very, very boring history. Nothing more.” Jesse muttered. “You’ll soon find out just how much of John I still own.”
Jesse was heading for the door and you were holding yourself up against the wall, trying to get the alleyway to stop spinning. You were suddenly aware that you were a lot more intoxicated than you had originally assumed, and it frightened you being that vulnerable right then, but not enough. Either way, you had to do something, despite the trouble you would later find yourself in. So you stumbled over to him, pulled him back with all the strength you could find and slammed him up against the wall.
“D-don’t even think about touching him.” You spat, fists balled up in his shirt. Jesse laughed, mocked your stutter, and you slammed your fists against him once more, gritting your teeth - and you’re not usually an aggressive person, but Jesse just knows how to make you tick. You watched him lean forward, mouth to your ear, felt his breath tickling your ear and shuddered.
“I could tell you some really brilliant stories about me and John.” He whispered.
And that’s when something inside you snapped, and without thinking, you swung your fist into Jesse’s jaw. Jesse let out a startled noise, before punching you right back, directly in the stomach. You doubled over in the alleyway, collapsing to the ground, and he looked down on you, rubbing at his jaw.
“You’re pathetic, Lazzara.” He spat.
“You’re right there with me.” You muttered, giving yourself breather before getting to your feet, standing level with him once again. And then… “…I’m sorry I hit you.” And you realized he was right to call you pathetic, I mean, come on.
Jesse laughed.
“Swing for me all you like, Laz.” He grinned. “I can do more damage than you.”
And you don’t know exactly what happened at that moment, but the next thing you knew, you had him pinned against the wall, your hands holding his either side of his head as you kissed him, and it wasn’t soft and sweet, it was more rough and aggressive, almost needy, but he was kissing back. After a few moments, he shoved you back, and the two of you stared at each other for a moment, but as you opened your mouth, searching for some excuse, he’d grabbed you and pinned you against the wall, pressing himself against you, hands in your hair, and it felt like everything had been flipped upside down… Because this was Jesse Lacey. Jesse fucking Lacey, and all you could think about was how right it felt.
How John never kissed you like that.
…John.
The second John crossed your mind, your eyes shot open and you pushed him away from you. Jesse stumbled backwards, looking just as confused as you, and you could see in his eyes that that hadn’t been part of the plan, that it was genuine, and it frightened you; at least you had the excuse that you were intoxicated, even though it still made no sense. But Jesse? Was stone sober, and the look of panic on his face was something you had never witnessed before.
“I-” He began, but you shook your head, your hand against your lips before stepping away from him, heading indoors. You had to get away from him, and so you left him in the alleyway, with swollen lips and an aching jaw, and you went in search of John.
And when you stepped into the dressing room, sure enough, he was there alone, and he jumped up and ran to you, hugging you close and apologized. And all you could think to say was…
“I’m sorry, too.”
Author: likeanaccidentx
Pairing: Adam Lazzara/John Nolan. This chapter features Jesse Lacey.
Rating: I'm going to say R, just to be careful; but only because the language is getting worse.
Summary: Finally, your eyes met his, and he grinned, mouthing the word “scared?” and you had to hold back from tackling him to the ground right there, because really, he was so damn smug it killed you.
You settled instead for mouthing back two simple words.
“You wish.”
Word count: 3,478.
Disclaimer: Not real. Don’t know, don’t own.
Notes: Several notes for this one.
[1] This is the second part to Adam's flashback. There are only two parts to this particular flashback, so there's still some waiting for the whole story behind Jesse/John. Sorry, kids.=].
[2] This takes place at the Taking Back Sunday/Brand New concert in The Tulagi in Boulder, Colorado back in 2002. The performance isn't described in detail in this chapter, so if you're curious what did go on on stage? It's completely based off the video, which you can see here in its entirety.
[3] As usual, concrit and comments are welcome and appreciated.
Dedication: Once again, my best friend sunrisehighway7 because she is awesomely supportive and has helped me clean up my ideas loads [and also influenced a lot of the Jesse stuff] ♥ goodbyesheesha because I feel bad for making Jesse so mean, and anyone who's been reading and commenting - it means the world. Those comments always seem to arrive just when I'm having trouble with writing - they put me back to work. Thanks. <3.
Previous parts: one // two // three // four // five
It’s never been a secret that you get carried away onstage; caught up in the lights and the sounds and the buzz of the crowd. You just feel a surge of energy, a surge of power. You had felt lucky that night, as the confidence it had given you was exactly what you needed to see the encore of the night through.
Or maybe you had just downed a couple too many beers during Brand New’s set to ‘loosen up’, and were drunk off your face.
Whichever.
In your head, you had been counting down the songs as you went along, and out of the corner of your eye, you could see his face as he leant against the speakers side stage, watching you, waiting for you to lose your cool. You didn’t. Well, not unless you count the blip during the set where you really got into it - you always were an emotional drunk - and punched yourself in the face, hard enough to make John look at you, astounded.
And of course, if you count the time you knocked Eddie, of all people, clean off the stage when you stumbled into him… But that was just a clumsy accident.
Other than that, you thought you played it pretty cool.
With all that alcohol in your system, though, knowing he was watching, you couldn’t resist the urge to stay as close to John as you could, to rub it all in Jesse’s face, talk about how much being in the band with John meant to you. You didn’t feel too bad about it, as during Brand New’s set, Jesse had taken a shot at you with Seventy Times Seven when he decided to pull John up onto the stage and give him his guitar. Jesse grinned at you as you were left standing on your own, drink in hand, looking at him with curious suspicion.
Towards the end of the song, you found out exactly what he was doing when he pulled up his shirt, revealing his chest to the audience and glancing at you, eyebrows raised, almost as though he were asking your opinion. You gulped, focused your eyes on John rather than letting them trail down Jesse’s body, because that would only lead to disaster. Although in hindsight, you’re not sure what would have been worse, because it hurt you to think it but you could have sworn that when you tore your eyes off Jesse and settled them on John instead, John was watching him intently from the spot where he stood with his guitar. You could’ve sworn you’d seen John bite down on his lip. You desperately clung to the hope that it was out of concentration, and not attraction.
So by the time you and the boys took the stage, a war was already raging. Jesse obviously wasn’t going to play fair, so neither were you.
So you played games the whole set, threw in quips and one liners to try and hit Jesse back, but nothing seemed good enough; everything you had to offer seemed plain immature, and every time you looked up at Jesse, he seemed less than threatened, more amused.
By the time that the encore rolled around, you were almost trembling with anticipation, your stomach churning so hard that you felt sick, and suddenly, despite the confidence it had given you, you wished you hadn’t downed quite so many drinks before you stepped onstage.
Regardless, you promised yourself yet again that you would give it your all.
“Wait, before we play this last song, before we leave, before we’re done,” You had said, tearing your eyes away from John and Jesse - who were huddled together side stage, way too closely for your liking, Jesse’s hand on John’s shoulder - to speak to the audience. “I just want every one of you to know… If your best friend left or any of your friends left, I want you to go home and tell them what the fuck they missed.”
Your attempt to seem confident in what you were about to do was wasted as Jesse looked over at you, rolling his eyes dramatically as you continued to ramble about friendship and about how grateful you were. Finally, your eyes met his, and he grinned, mouthing the word “scared?” and you had to hold back from tackling him to the ground right there, because really, he was so damn smug it killed you.
You settled instead for mouthing back two simple words.
“You wish.”
* * *
It wasn’t until you got to the dressing room that you realized what you’d done.
Or rather, it wasn’t until John had slammed the door shut behind the two of you, a mixture of anger and panic and disbelief in his eyes that you realized you were in trouble.
“What?” You snapped, as he’d gaped at you from where he stood, leaning against the door. You didn’t mean to sound angry with him, but you were still furious over Jesse’s games onstage, and the way he’d been all over John for half the song, hugging him and being affectionate, when meanwhile, twenty-something kids that Jesse called up on the stage were blocking you from reaching John yourself.
“What do you mean what?” He’d exclaimed. “Adam, what was wrong with you out there?”
“Me?” You had said incredulously. “I… Nothing was wrong with me, John. He -”
“Oh, don’t tell me.” John sighed, dismay in his voice as he held up his index finger to cut you off. “You’re going to blame this on Jesse?”
“He was competing with me!”
“What could he possibly have to compete with you over, Adam?”
You were almost hurt by that statement - as though John were hinting that Jesse was ahead of you anyway, but you brushed it off. Jealousy was never a good color on you, even if it was one you frequently wore when Jesse was on the scene.
“You!” You yelled.
John looked taken aback by this outburst, stepped back slightly, paused for a second as you stood there, trembling with anger.
You hated that no one seemed to understand Jesse but yourself.
Hated it.
“Don’t be ridiculous, Adam.” John finally muttered, bitterly, but you caught his voice waver and you could tell that he himself wasn’t so sure. “I don’t get what your problem with Jesse is, but you need to get the hell over it. Besides, Jesse didn’t make you do any of that stuff. He didn’t make you punch yourself, or knock Eddie off stage and he certainly didn’t make you fucking declare to everyone that he is my ex-boyfriend!”
And you couldn’t help but half-smirk at the memory of this, the memory of Jesse’s face when you’d yelled out at the end, when Jesse had given it all and defeated you hands down, but you’d still found something to say.
‘Best friends… Best friends… Best friends! …Ex lovers.’
You’d laughed.
“It’s not funny, Lazzara.” John spat. His tone of voice was sharp, and you jumped slightly at the use of your last name. Lazzara. He sounded almost like Jesse when that name rolled off his tongue. Cold, uncaring… Distant. “Do you know what trouble you might have just caused, because yet again, you’re jealous of him? If you and Jesse can’t get along, we’re not going to work out, okay? He’s my best friend. You just have to get the fuck over the fact that he is also my ex-boyfriend.” He pauses for a moment, running his tongue over his lips, before adding three brutal words: “I had to.”
You glared at him for a moment in disbelief, before moving away from him, in search of that Northstar sweater you’d discarded earlier that evening. It was no use fighting with John over what had taken place on the stage; you knew it, you saw it, you knew what Jesse was up to, but it was useless to expect John to have been paying that much attention. He still thought so highly of Jesse, despite the shit that he had put him through, and although he had swore he was over him, you never quite believed it, because those subtle touches out in public, those laughs and smiles that you loved so much. They weren’t just yours.
They were Jesse’s, too.
You found your sweater and pulled it on over your head as he watched you in silence, waiting for a response, knowing the weight of what he had just said, but it hadn’t been so heavy to you; not since it had always just been something you had to live with, deal with, something you had learnt, that the second Jesse called him back, you would shift back into second place.
Second best.
Just how dangerous is second best, anyway?
You found out in your later years, that’s for damn sure.
Without another word or even so much as a glance in his direction, you pushed past him, heading for the door. His eyes widened, and he grasped at the sleeve of your sweater.
“Adam,” He said. “Where are you-”
“Drink.” You mumbled. You didn’t feel the need to explain yourself any further. You knew he already knew exactly what he had said wrong.
“Adam, I didn’t mean it like that. I-”
“I really don’t want to talk about it right now.”
You looked directly at him, saw the hurt in his eyes, that wounded puppy look you knew so well whenever you and he would fight; he’d always say something wrong, you’d always leave, and everything would fix itself within hours, because you couldn’t be without him, but that wasn’t the point.
John closed his mouth, thin lips forming a thin line and nodded, sadly, and without another word, you broke the eye contact, pulled away from his grasp and stepped out of the room.
“I’ll see you later.” You muttered.
“Bye.” His voice cracked, barely audible.
He’d never really fought for you to stay. Not really.
And really, sometimes you think you should have known all along why that was.
* * *
After a few drinks at the bar with some of the guys from The Last Chance Diaries, you made your way outside through the back exit of the venue. The back exit led to a dimly lit alleyway, where the vans had been parked. You reached into your back pocket and pulled out your cigarettes, then went fumbling for your lighter. When you found it, you lit up, and leant against the wall, inhaling the toxins into your lungs. You kicked at the ground as you stood there, swaying slightly from the alcohol in your system. You hadn’t felt drunk; you were just feeling a little tipsy, but you had the feeling it didn’t matter so much anyway.
Standing in the warm summer air, you began to hum the tune to ‘Young, Loud and Scotty’ one of your favourite Lifetime songs. It was this humming that drowned out the sound of the door of the back exit swinging open, so it startled you when the sound of his footsteps approaching you from behind. You turned to see him, and he smiled gently, but you ignored it, exhaling the smoke from your cigarette and staring out down the alleyway. You had no idea why he was still following you after all the hell he’d raised in one night, but you almost didn’t want to know what else he had planned for you.
“Good crowd, right?” He struck up the conversation, yet again.
“…Yeah. Great.” You mumbled, out of politeness, and looking back now, you don’t know why you bothered.
Jesse leant against the alleyway wall, running a hand through his perfect hair, thinking of his next line.
“Think it went well, right?”
You didn’t even justify that with a response, as it was pretty much identically the same question. Instead, you flicked the ash off the tip of your cigarette and take another drag. That amused smile began to creep across Jesse’s face once more as he looked directly at you, watched every fraction of an inch you moved.
“Doesn’t smoking fuck with your voice?” He asked. You kept quiet, just shrugged. “And I mean… John hates it, right? I mean, he’s got to share a van with you and all, so -”
And you didn’t know where it came from, but suddenly, you wanted to talk about what happened that night, so you flicked your cigarette down to the floor and stamped on it, before turning to him, leaning sideways against the wall. He backed up a little bit, but looked pleased that he finally got your attention.
“Where the fuck did you get off on doing all that?” You exclaimed. Jesse looked at you, a mock-puzzled look on his face. “In there. What the fuck’s your problem?”
“Excuse me?” Jesse’s grin tugged at the corners of his lips. “Are you feeling okay?”
You sighed, exasperated. It was typical of Jesse to make you feel like it were all in your head; especially as he’d probably just come from John that very moment, and John had probably been ranting about your made up illusions of the two of them.
“We were doing it for John, Jesse! And you had to go and turn it into a game,” You argued. “And don’t you even dare try and pretend like this is all in my head. That wasn’t a fucking friendly team effort in there. You were trying to show me up.”
“Well. I thought it was okay, and John said he thought it went well… Up until you lost it, that is… So…” Jesse shrugged innocently, before continuing. “Don’t try to push your insecurities on me, Lazzara. If you don’t want to play with me again, no one’s going to force you.”
You had never wanted to hit him more than you did right then, because he had that twinkle of amusement in his eyes that said everything was going according to plan for him, regardless of what you had said onstage.
“Whatever.” You spat. “Fuck you.”
“God… John said you were hard work, but… Wow.” Jesse shook his head to himself, looking down at the floor as he crossed his arms over his chest. You looked up at him, hurt.
“John said what?”
“…Hmm?”
“J-John… John said what?”
“Y’know,” Jesse laughed, stepping towards you. “You seem awfully fixated on him. Is that what this is? You’ve got a schoolboy crush on Nolan?”
“No,” You shook your head as you backed away from him. “John’s my b-best friend.”
You choked on these words and Jesse burst out laughing, and you could feel the blush creep across your cheeks, so you mumbled yet another "fuck you", pushing past him, but he grabbed you by the arm and pulled you back, swinging you around to face him, bringing you close so you could see eye to eye. And suddenly, when he spoke, his tone was very harsh, not the slightest bit of amusement to it. Suddenly, his tone was threatening, but underneath it all, you could hear the faintest trace of something else.
…Hurt.
“You don’t get to think of him as yours, because he’s not,” He said through gritted teeth. “You may be in a band with him; you may throw your little hissy fits when anyone else gets a little too close to him. But that means nothing, okay?”
And you’d almost felt sorry for him. Almost. But instead, it was your turn to smirk smugly in his direction.
“And I’m the one with the ‘schoolboy crush’?” You’d mocked, licking your lips before shaking yourself free of his grip. He let you go easily. “Right. Possessive much, Lacey?”
“I don’t need to be possessive. It’s John.” He spoke with an edge of certainty, but there was a quake in his voice. “See, Burbank. The thing you’re failing to see? The big, huge factor that you happen to be overlooking? Is that you’re temporary. You’re irrelevant.”
“You don’t own him, Jess.” You said firmly. Jesse chuckled and began to pace the alleyway.
“Really, Adam. If you want to play, I’ll play, but I’ll warn you; I know what’s going on, and I could really make things difficult for you in fairyland, okay?” He smirked, walking over to you until he was standing inches away from your face, your eyes holding contact, and you were glaring so hard that your eyes are burning. “You do know John, right? Uptight, insecure, impressionable… Catholic John?”
“Fuck you,” You spat. “Are you fucking threatening me? Fuck-”
“What does it look like?”
And it was then that you reached out and shoved him away from you, with much less strength than you could usually muster due to you inability to stand completely straight at that moment in time. He responded instantly, pushing you roughly back into the wall with a thud, and you had to spread your arms to keep from falling. He laughed.
“Carry on making doe eyes at him, following him around, flicking your hair, have fun. But just know that the minute he knows I know? You’re a blip in a very, very boring history. Nothing more.” Jesse muttered. “You’ll soon find out just how much of John I still own.”
Jesse was heading for the door and you were holding yourself up against the wall, trying to get the alleyway to stop spinning. You were suddenly aware that you were a lot more intoxicated than you had originally assumed, and it frightened you being that vulnerable right then, but not enough. Either way, you had to do something, despite the trouble you would later find yourself in. So you stumbled over to him, pulled him back with all the strength you could find and slammed him up against the wall.
“D-don’t even think about touching him.” You spat, fists balled up in his shirt. Jesse laughed, mocked your stutter, and you slammed your fists against him once more, gritting your teeth - and you’re not usually an aggressive person, but Jesse just knows how to make you tick. You watched him lean forward, mouth to your ear, felt his breath tickling your ear and shuddered.
“I could tell you some really brilliant stories about me and John.” He whispered.
And that’s when something inside you snapped, and without thinking, you swung your fist into Jesse’s jaw. Jesse let out a startled noise, before punching you right back, directly in the stomach. You doubled over in the alleyway, collapsing to the ground, and he looked down on you, rubbing at his jaw.
“You’re pathetic, Lazzara.” He spat.
“You’re right there with me.” You muttered, giving yourself breather before getting to your feet, standing level with him once again. And then… “…I’m sorry I hit you.” And you realized he was right to call you pathetic, I mean, come on.
Jesse laughed.
“Swing for me all you like, Laz.” He grinned. “I can do more damage than you.”
And you don’t know exactly what happened at that moment, but the next thing you knew, you had him pinned against the wall, your hands holding his either side of his head as you kissed him, and it wasn’t soft and sweet, it was more rough and aggressive, almost needy, but he was kissing back. After a few moments, he shoved you back, and the two of you stared at each other for a moment, but as you opened your mouth, searching for some excuse, he’d grabbed you and pinned you against the wall, pressing himself against you, hands in your hair, and it felt like everything had been flipped upside down… Because this was Jesse Lacey. Jesse fucking Lacey, and all you could think about was how right it felt.
How John never kissed you like that.
…John.
The second John crossed your mind, your eyes shot open and you pushed him away from you. Jesse stumbled backwards, looking just as confused as you, and you could see in his eyes that that hadn’t been part of the plan, that it was genuine, and it frightened you; at least you had the excuse that you were intoxicated, even though it still made no sense. But Jesse? Was stone sober, and the look of panic on his face was something you had never witnessed before.
“I-” He began, but you shook your head, your hand against your lips before stepping away from him, heading indoors. You had to get away from him, and so you left him in the alleyway, with swollen lips and an aching jaw, and you went in search of John.
And when you stepped into the dressing room, sure enough, he was there alone, and he jumped up and ran to you, hugging you close and apologized. And all you could think to say was…
“I’m sorry, too.”