The Big Smoke

Chapter Twelve: Streets of London

A/N:

Haven't done an author's note in the beginning before, but I wanted to say there will be mentions of throwing up/doctor/hospital/pain-related things so if any of that is triggering for you, please proceed with !!!!!CAUTION!!!!! Angst ahead. On the shorter side, but DRAMA and FLUFFFFF. Oh and, Christmas chapter next hehehehheheehhe.

Jamie's hands were trouble for many reasons. They were like a ruse. They seemed harmless, but they were the ones carrying out every action that caused a ripple in the calm, tranquil pond. It started out small, almost undetected, but by the time I realized it was all their fault, it was all too late.

It started at the Pen & Pad interview. We had stayed up late working all day and into the night  only for him to drag me along to his interview today where it only entailed more drawing. His lived and breathed drawing. The thing I wondered, after all his experience, how did his hands kept up, constantly working, constantly occupied with a pen or pencil.

"I mean I like to spend at least an hour on a sketch usually," Jamie laughed, then his eye immediately found mind as I glared from the corner knowing he was going to blame me next, "But that one over there always seems to find a way to make it take much longer."

I tried to stay hidden, not put in my two cents every time Jamie made a little remark or comment for the laughs or the producers around us. I held back my scoffs, my snorts, and my curses. I was on my best behavior, but Jamie was being bold. It most definitely wasn't out of character for him to say what he was saying or doing what he was doing, but since his speech, he has been nothing but consistently bold. It made me on edge. Like any magician, he had something up his sleeve but was waiting for the perfect moment to use his sleight of hand.

"I'm not anymore." I rolled my eyes as he claimed to not be a Star Wars fan anymore. I lost count of how many times I'd fallen asleep to that movie on in the living room. I'm sure the tapes were worn out by now. I t was my first time seeing him in an interview. He turned on this charm that I rarely interacted with myself. He seemed to save it for others and the camera. He was acting.

He looked the part too. He was dressed nicely. He was always put together, but he put a dash of effort in today. He wanted to look boyish. He achieved the look with his varsity jacket paired with a few rings. Jamie usually wore these rings, but they shined different in the light today on his long fingers. It helped that the camera I was looking at specifically focused on his doodles and highlighted his hands. I was mesmerized and I didn't even want to complain about it. And if I didn't I wouldn't know how. That was until the next question's response made me turn absolutely red.

What does tomorrow look like? Any other time, I would have taken his answer lightly, knowing he'd be answering it literally, honestly like he had been this entire time. But as he drew and as I watched him shape his caricature I noticed it was none other than me. My eyes widened as I wanted to rip the paper myself for his next question.

"For me, It's my morning coffee, my morning cigarette," Jamie answered easily, "and her."

----

"Jamie, look," I whispered in awe. Jamie loved to be up before the sun, but take his time leaving the house. I on the other hand was a terror in the morning. Never once in my life did I enjoy the morning. So, usually, as I scowled and cursed around the house getting ready, Jamie simply ignored me like he was trying to do now.

"Hmm?" He hummed deeply, sleep still lingering with him. He was making his coffee. The only noise in the house was the low rattle of the radiator and the sound of Jamie stirring the splash of cream he enjoyed.