Needle and Thread

11

With Jj, Harry feels like he's constantly grasping at straws. As blunt and honest as Jj can be, Harry has no idea what he's actually thinking or how he actually feels.

Take now, for example, as they traipse the wooded path leading to Jj's house; Jj is chattering happily, as if their argument back at Alex's party is a thing of ancient history, and Harry can do nothing but listen.

Jj, with moonlight in his hair and the remnants of raspberry vodka on his tongue, talks about nothing of importance in the same way people discuss their most beloved hobbies. He sounds like Harry when the topic of music or books comes up, but the version of Harry that only exists inside his head. Harry doesn't talk about the things he likes anymore.

With Jj it was so easy; just two kids abound with passing interests, too much excitement, and vivid imaginations. Now that Harry has grown up, however, he can't seem to be able to talk about those very same things without cringing. He sounds too childish, too immature, too wistful. At eighteen, his hobbies should be more substantial than listening to other people's music and reading other people's words, but alas, Harry has never been able to leave that part of himself behind.

"Oh, look! A spider!" Jj exclaims, stopping both himself and Harry in their tracks. His gaze is focused on the younger, which can only mean one thing: he has become home to one of those creepy crawly cretins.

"What?" Harry blanches, searching what's visible of his own body with panicked hands before registering that could mean touching the spider's crooked little legs, or beady little eyes. "Where?"

Jj looks amused as he points vaguely in Harry's direction. "Just there, on your shoulder."

Harry gulps dryly, but he doesn't scream. Spiders can sense ill-will, he's sure of it, and he does not want to get on the bad side of an angry arachnid. "Can you- can you get it off?"

"Why?" Jj grins tauntingly, wiggling his eyebrows. "You scared?"

"No, I'm not scared. I just really-"

"Really hate them, I know," Jj finishes, his smile smaller but sincere. "I remember."

"Hm. So can you..." Harry coughs, gesturing to his shoulder with a tight lipped smile.

Jj rolls his eyes, a poorly disguised grin tugging at his lips. "Alright, you big baby."

"Some time tonight would be good."

"Oh my god, it's harmless! Stop panicking. And stop moving too, while you're at it."

Jj's left hand clamps down on Harry's spider-free shoulder hard enough to hurt. His fingers dig into the thin material of Harry's t-shirt, the crescent curve of his nails cutting against the skin beneath, but he barely even feels the pain. If anything, it feels like Jj has reached through Harry's chest instead and clutched his lungs tightly in his grasp.

I can't breathe.

I can't breathe, I can't breathe, I can't breathe.

It's like a mantra, playing on a loop in Harry's head. His chest feels impossibly tight, knitted together in a tangled mess he doubts he'll ever be able to unravel.

Jj face seems so close yet so far away all at once, sort of dreamlike, in between the shadows and moonlight spilled through the trees in pools of blue and silver. His mouth curves like the moon before parting into two crescents, eclipsing the glint of his teeth. It takes Harry a minute too long to realise that Jj's mouth is not merely moving of its own accord.

"Harry? Are you okay?" His voice comes into focus like Harry has just broken through the surface of a pool after being submerged for seconds, minutes, hours .

"F-fine," Harry stutters, his own voice coming out strained and tight, like the knots have spread to his throat and tongue.

Jj's brow creases with a concerned frown and his tongue peeks out to lick those cursed lips. "Look, I'm sorry for making fun of you about the spider. I guess they can be kind of scary-"

"I said I'm fine," Harry snaps, shaking himself free of Jj's hold. It's like he's a dog, hackles raised, gnashing and biting and growling in the back of his throat.

"Okay," Jj says, slow and wary, like Harry really is a rabid dog rather than an eighteen year old boy with a storm swirling inside of him. His eyes are wide and round, and if Harry looks close enough, a glint of hurt seems to reside within the gilded gold.

"You're fine. Noted."

"Fine."

"Fine."

"Fine."

"You said that already," Jj points out, a little too pleased with himself for saying so.

"I know," Harry says indignantly. "I was just trying to hammer the point home."

"Consider it done."

"Okay. I'm glad."

"Happy to help."

The air between them fills with the sound of heavy breathing and the tangible tension of their frustration. Jj looks oddly pained, like Harry's words have actually hurt him, but there's something else that resides within the depths of his eyes, hidden by what the moonlight refuses to reveal.

Jj looks desperate.

What Harry does next can only be blamed on the beer and the beer alone, because he refuses to accept his actions as sober or conscious in any way, shape or form.

One step, two steps, three, and the space between them closes. A twig snaps, someone gasps, and then mouths meet in a messy crash of tongues and lips. It's disastrous, like a car crash, or an earthquake, or a volcanic eruption. Harry's hands scrabble for purchase before tightening in the fabric of Jj's shirt, clutching the hem tight enough to tear and pulling Jj impossibly closer.

Jj's mouth tastes strangely sweet, like ripe raspberries, melted sugar, and liquid sunshine if such a thing could exist. His tongue dips between Jj's lips, warm and wet, and his hands rest at the nape of his neck, tenderly strumming the short hairs between his fingers.

An owl hoots somewhere in the trees, leaves rustle in a silent breeze, and Harry swallows down the quiet groan that threatens to bubble into their kiss. Kissing has never felt like this before. It has never felt so dangerous.

Harry feels like he's standing on the edge of the world, waiting to fall. All he needs is one, last push.

That push comes in the form of Jj's teeth scraping the swell of Harry's lower lip, drawing a pained hiss with a nip of the tender skin. They pull apart, torn like the segments of a citrus fruit, letting sour silence pool between them, bitter and full of pulp.

Jj's lips look like a blood moon. Harry has never been so scared.

"I need to go," He says, stumbling backwards until his back hits the trunk of a nearby tree.

"Harry," Jj begins, taking a hesitant step forward.

"I need to go," He repeats, head spinning, heart pounding, ears ringing. The innate wrongness of it all turns his stomach, churning its contents into a rancid, foaming mess.

Harry trips over his own feet in his haste to get away, but there's no way he can stay here with Jj. There's no way he can let his dreams become a reality.