𝐂𝐑𝐔𝐄𝐋 𝐒𝐔𝐌𝐌𝐄𝐑! [𝐉𝐉 𝐌𝐀𝐘𝐁𝐀𝐍𝐊]

chapter six.

CRUEL SUMMER!
chapter six.

( to hell with them. nothing hurts if you don't let it. )

It's an awfully strange feeling, waking up with someone next to you. He's never spent the night before. It's always been somewhat of an unspoken, though established rule, one he apparently had no issue breaking.

It seems last night was a first in a multitude of aspects, though I can't quite grasp what that exactly may mean.

He lays beside me now, soft, languid snores falling from his lips. His light strands of hair are tousled, with knots poking out every which way in an utterly unkempt nest of bed-headed blonde. He should look like a mess, but he really doesn't.

The sight of him sleeping is quite strange. Perhaps that's because I've never seen this side of him before. Quiet, relaxed, unmoving - it's quite a contrast from his usual overwhelming nature.

Unsurprisingly, he's taking up more than half the bed. His obnoxiously long limbs are sprawled out to invade well past what should be considered my side of the space. The early morning light peaks through the blinds of the window, drawing yellow lines of sunlight over the frame of his bare back, and warming up the room briskly.

Watching him, watching the way his skin glistens beneath the sunlight and the way his hair falls slightly onto his forehead, I can only retrace the memory of the night before. 

What he was saying is outrageous, no doubt. He could've still been high. It's the only way that his ridiculous blubbering would make any sense, because what other genuine motive could he have for saying something so unnecessary? The blatant kindness to his determined declaration, the way he seemed nearly desperate to get me to believe that he was being genuine— It's the sort of reassurance nobody has ever given me. The sort of comfort I've never once asked for it, never even desired before. But even then, he's given it to me.

"I'm making you feel better," he had answered then, and now those words, scorching and unforgettable, echo tirelessly in my brain, weighing down on me.

I don't realize I'm reaching out to smooth the tempting strands of blonde until my hand is just barely hovering above him. The recognition of my actions makes me halt sharply, like something has caught my wrist and seized it with a cold, deliberate force. Immediately, I retract my hand, fingers curling into my palm.

It's becoming unacceptable. I can't keep indulging, can't continue to be irresponsible. Even now, I've hardly had the time to consider the most recent of our findings. I have the pictures I took of the map just on my phone, after all. It could take no more than a minute to simply look through them and find some answers, but with him constantly around, invading my space and taking up all of my time - it's simply impossible.

With a huff, I lean back against the headrest and cross ny arms over my chest, trapping my traitorous hands before they can get any other ideas.

It's possible I may have underestimated what a dedicated distraction JJ would end up becoming. He's good at his job, I suppose, so at the very least I have to give him that much.

Unwittingly, I turn to look at him again. His blonde eyelashes cast mellow shadows upon his cheeks, flushed and rosy, and his lips are pouted boyishly as soft snores gently push past them. Without meaning to, I find myself terribly engrossed by the sight of him yet again.

Because it's like I'm being introduced to a version of him I've never met before. And what's so startling about it is that the more I know of him, the less I seem to be indifferent.