𝐨𝐤𝐚𝐲, 𝐛𝐚𝐦𝐛𝐢

𝟸𝟾. 𝚒𝚏 𝚢𝚘𝚞 𝚐𝚒𝚟𝚎 𝚊 𝚍𝚘𝚐 𝚊 𝚋𝚘𝚗𝚎

❥ nsfw. 18+. mdni.
— ignore typos. i'm going on a trip & wanted to get this out. enjoy !!! 🪐
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No one has ever been this careful with you before.

And you don't know what the hell to do with it other than to lay with your whirling head rested on the armrest of Jean's car door and stare up at him with a stilled chest. Stare up at him until your brain can decipher the code of his kindness and dumb it down in a way that is simple enough for you to understand.

But your mind, as it pounds, can't seem to be anything but nervous and guilty for your thighs full of scars and the mishap that came with it, turning a sharp corner onto the avenue of ashamed, making Jean's words spoken so gently to you a bunch of undefinable nonsense.

You didn't mean for it to happen. To react in such a fearful way. Breaking the spell of the engrossing moment that you didn't even realize you wanted to occur until it was happening and you very quickly found that you didn't want the experience of Jean's closeness and his dirty possessive acts to come to an end.

But it has. It's ended, shattered into irrecoverable pieces smaller than shards of fiberglass, and it's all because of you and your foolish inability to function like a normal human being experiencing normal human things.

When the hell is that going to change? When the hell are you going to be able to successfully outrun your past the way you've been trying so damn hard to?

It's moments like this when you realize just how stuck in the middle of it all you still remain, despite the endless amount of energy you've put in trying to make sure it doesn't come back to bite you in the ass.

But it's back now. It's biting, and it's biting hard with its sharpest teeth; the flesh off your velveteen heart, the meat off your bones, the heat off the moment you were hoping to die in.

It's not that you're scared that Jean might harm you, especially not in the way Porco had in the past, ripping you open with his words and vile hands that both brought you far more pain than they ever did the solace the broken girl in you needed the most. It's not that at all. Nowhere close.

In fact, you know very well that the man before you, with benevolent eyes that see transparently to your soul with their honey undertones, a mullet as disheveled as a mane on the crest of something wild, and cheeks and nose habitually blotched so red it makes you crave a batch of strawberries picked freshly from a tended to field, would never hurt you in any shape or form.

Jean might be someone who acts like nothing but a lone wolf, biting the throats clean out of unwanted trespassers with the drooling need to protect himself; selfishly licking his own wounds clean that mark all the places that boldly indicate where he should be deemed dead like an obnoxious, incandescent light of a flashing billboard illuminating bright enough for the whole city of Trost to see.

But with you, it's different.

With you, it seems, the plates of his heart he feigns ignorance of, shift like the sanded ocean floor and it suddenly becomes you who he protects. It suddenly becomes you who he selflessly gives to. It suddenly becomes you he so carefully tends to the abrasion of.

He has proven all of this by being the very one to save you from all the bad and distressing things. In Stohess. In Trost. In the weeded land of your own consciousness.

So no. Jean hurting you isn't even something that has rolled past the threads that make up the pattern of your mind.

It's more so your unbridled fear of possibly revolting Jean by letting him gain witness or feel these pulverized parts of your body that has caused you to shut down in a way not even you saw coming until it arrived.