send.

everything is (not so) simple

There are a lot of things in your life that are simple, easy to understand. For example, the literature homework you're working on at the moment, or the children's books stored under your bed because you're too sentimental to part with them.
Unfortunately for you, Jonathan Combs is not one of those things.
Hell, you'd have a better chance of getting a hold on the more complex functions of rocket science than you would of ever wrapping your head around the enigma that is this absolute hot mess of a human being.
'Hot mess' working as a functional term in more ways than one. Also unfortunately for you.
Poor you.
Jon is... something else, to put things simply.
Grumpy, usually. Apathetic, for the most part. Music-obsessed and plainly dressed. In a lot of ways, he's the exact opposite of your colorful, lively, eccentric self. Maybe that's why he makes such a perfect counterpart.
As far as you're concerned, it only serves to make your head a jumbled mess.
You've been best friends with Jonathan for years - about four, by now - and things have only gotten progressively more confusing. The filing cabinet in your brain labeled 'Jonathan' has been on fire for the past few months and nobody's bothered to put it out. They just keep throwing more papers into the already-overstuffed drawers and making your life a living hell.
Somebody should be fired up there. No pun intended.
Back to the point, though: Jonathan Combs, in his entirety, has been both a blessing and a curse, and you are not sure what to do about that, for a variety of reasons. Some of the smaller ones include a fear of awkward silences both upon and forever following your mentioning of the situation, or of giving Jon such an intense blast of skeeviness that he never speaks to you again - a difficult task, considering the things you've discussed, but you don't doubt yourself in that field.
The most prominent concern, though, would have to be the fact that Jon lives approximately 2,496 miles away, which makes things quite difficult as is. Fulfilling all your stupid, fluffy fantasies would be a tedious process.
Your internal woes will have to wait, though, because Jon is calling your name and you know you've zoned out once again. Nothing new.
"Jesus, Sock, are you even listening?"
"Of course I am!"
"Bullshit. I asked you if you're gonna let me finish that calculus packet for you and you said 'not much, how about you?'. Wake up."
"Shut up." Your face reddens, though you know he won't notice through your shitty webcam, and you shake your head, looking up briefly from the neat words on your page to his furrowed brow and narrowed eyes. "It's like you forget that I'm three whole hours ahead of you. God forbid I get sleepy at eleven at night."
Jon snorts indifferently, rolling his eyes, and you feel a flood of relief. Spared for another day.
"No, the problem kicks in when I remember that you don't sleep until three or four, and that's on a good day."
"Exaggerating much?"
"Do I need to pull out the messages?"
You cringe even as you laugh, shaking your head and adjusting your laptop atop your sheets, looking down at it while you rest your cheek in your palm. The familiar background of Jon's own room splays out behind his head within the tiny box you've become accustomed to seeing him in. You know he's at his desk by the pixelated rectangle behind him, which can only be his bed. After four years of examining, you know his room about as well as he does by now, though you sometimes get mixed up trying to figure out what it would look like from the inside.
Of course, any thought involving Jon's room usually takes a different turn, so that never gets far.
And you've fallen silent again. Keep it together, Sowachowski.
"Spare me the torture. I know after two I stopped making any sense."
"You're telling me. I had to beg you to go to bed. Couldn't take any more of your shit about Sesame Street."
"Jonathan Combs, begging me into bed?" You can't help but bat your eyes, tipping your head a bit. It's all teasing, always teasing, even if you sometimes wish it weren't. That's just how things are with you two.
"Never in your wildest dreams, man." You like seeing the smile tug at his lips, especially when you know you're just about the only one who can pull it out of him. As much as he denies it, you both know that Jon's got a soft spot for you, under all of his all-encompassing distaste and grumbly lack of care.
"Don't even talk about my dreams."
"You're so gross. Help me pick a movie for tonight before I retch all over my keyboard."
Conversation turns to simpler things, leaving room for your mind to wander once more, although it goes right back to its favorite topic like a loyal dog: Jonathan, of course.
Jonathan and his venomous words and sharp comebacks, the way they mask softer smiles and endless layers of meaning. The late nights when his guard falters and he tells you things, more than he's ever told anyone else, in a cloud of trust and emotion that disappears the second he decides to put his walls back up. Jonathan in general, with his countless complexities and everpresent air of mystery.
Your mind is comprised of mostly simple things.
At the forefront of all of those things, waving and screaming and flailing like an absolute maniac, is Jonathan.
It'll take a lot longer than four years to figure out what exactly you should do about that.
For now, you watch movies with your best friend on a laggy screen-sharing site and rag on him for his poor taste in indie horror. You're okay with it.

( note: *current cover credit to artisticdagger on tumblr* first chapter done! hope everything turned out okay. it's super late and i'm super tired but i have an undying urge to post this so i'll proofread, tweak, and make a decent cover in the morning. i know everything's kinda slow and rambly right now but i promise it'll pick up. i just wanted to flesh out my precious angsty baby a little. more to come! )