| 𝓞𝓯𝓯 𝓣𝓸 𝓣𝓱𝓮 𝓡𝓪𝓬𝓮𝓼 | A Joost Klein Fan fiction

4- Technicolor dream

Tw: mentions of blood/injury. Slight mention of PTSD
Continuing off last chapter...
Bonnie POV

"I won't peek if you don't want me to."

At first, confusion hit me. Why would Derick even say that? Then, realization fucking slapped me. Derick's mouth wasn't moving.

I turned my head slowly to find a familiar sight. One that I felt like I could get used to seeing-- nevermind!

Tall.

Blonde.

Handsome.

I'm not even going to attempt hiding it, that blue suit instantly caught my eyes. Perhaps not because of its unique fashion, but more so the swagger that it held. An electric blue with the striking confidence of its owner. In a strange way, I kind of envied him.

Being sleep deprived and star struck, I said the first thing that came to mind. "Oh-- You can bother me anytime."

Was this unhinged? Yes. Did I look like a creep with zero boundaries? Also yes. But that was just my instinct. Something took over me and...said that.

I had a carefree smile on my face while saying those words, the actual meaning of them just not hitting me yet. As soon as I realized, I put on an uneasy expression. Seriously, what sort of creep says that?

But what actually surprised me was the fact that he stood there with an unwavering expression, lightly chuckling.

He held out his hand, "Joost Klein."

I took his large hand into mine, eyes tracing the '1983' inked deeply just below his knuckles, "Bonnibel Blue."

I was pleasantly surprised at how he didn't flip out once I said that weird shit. Instead, he took a facetious approach and went along, "Better keep the shower curtain closed, huh?"

Maybe I won't— Hey! Bonnie, stop!

I laughed genuinely for the first time in a long period. Usually, I only actually laugh when I'm with Derick.

I handed him the hotel keycard, "Lead the way, Joost."

I quickly turned to Derick and started aggressively whispering in his ear, "Catch me tomorrow morning, I'm gonna go now—" I tried to go after Joost but Derick pulled me back by the collar.

As soon as I was yanked back, Derick started giving out to me, "I know that look on your face and I'm so not letting you get away with it."

"Get away with what..?" I asked, clearly playing thick-brained.

He raised an eyebrow at me, "I'm serious. You're not here to be a prostitute, you're here to sing and have fun."

Here we go again with the lecture about my lewdness...

First of all, how dare he call me a prostitute?! Like that's kind of insulting to prostitutes, I'm way worse. Second of all, I'm obviously never going to jeopardize Eurovision by being a stupid hoe. Well...Maybe.

"How about a little harmless flirting?" I pouted, my eyes silently begging him. "Come on, just a little! I'm not going to be freaky and creepy—"

Derick let go of my collar and pressed his fingers into his brow bone, "Fine, just so that you don't implode." Then he held a stern finger right in my face, "But don't make the poor lad uncomfortable or anything. I don't want you to be known as the Eurovision sex offender."

I cringed slightly as I pushed his finger out of my face, "That won't happen. I promise."

He sighed deeply, before turning back and going out of the lobby. Poor Derick.