send.

daydream believer

     "Okay, but you really thought animal crackers were made with animals. Like, actual animals, Sowachowski."
     "I was eight, for starters, and that's the biggest of your concerns? Really? Out of everything I've told you?"
     Jonathan laughs at that, an open laugh, tossing his head back and placing a hand over his eyes.
     "Not my biggest concern, persay, but it's ranking pretty high right now."
     You whack him on the arm, laughing yourself, and shake your head. You open your mouth to protest, but any sort of refutal dies down as he tosses the arm over your shoulders. You fall against his side, looking up to him as a dopey grin stretches your lips.
     "That's a bit disappointing. I'll have to try harder next time I wanna raise your concerns, I guess."
     "Oh god," he protests, looking down at you with wide eyes, "no. No way. Keep things just the way they are. Stay at your current level of just-enough-trying, for my sake and everyone else's."
     "You're so mean to me, hot stuff," you laugh, leaning over just a bit more to bury your face in his sweatshirt, and he scoffs softly, rolling his eyes at you. He offers some sort of snarky response, but you're too busy inhaling the smell of sandalwood and the ocean and everything that's ever mattered to you all right there pressed against your side. He's taller than you imagined, even though he's told you his height multiple times - 5'9, towering a whole five inches above you - and it never fails to please you that you can disappear under his arm without effort.
     You're torn from your thoughts when he bumps you lightly atop the head with his knuckles, and when you look up, he's grinning crookedly down at you. You tilt your head up, chin resting on his chest, blinking curiously.
     "I'm listening."
     "No, you clearly aren't, because I just asked you twice if you were. Nice try."
     You can't help but laugh as your face reddens, caught in the heinous act of all your daydreaming, and sigh, batting your eyes.
     "Can you blame me? Impossible not to let the mind wander when I'm up close and personal with the infamous Jonathan Combs."
     "Oh, give me a break," he laughs. "You've been 'up close and personal' from day one. Space was never your thing."
     "What can I say? I stay true to my character."
     You beam easily up at him, earning another eyeroll before he looks down at you quietly for a few moments. It sends a chill down your spine to look him in the eyes; blue, blue, so blue you want to drown in them, and it feels like you might be when he leans closer. Your own eyes widen, breath catching in your throat, and you can tell he notices from the way his arm tightens just slightly around you, his free hand moving to your cheek. His touch is a wildfire, racing across your skin, flaring up ferociously as his lips come close enough to your own to feel his breath ghosting over them.
     His thumb is on your chin, hand beneath, tilting it upwards, and those brilliant blues flutter to narrow slits as soft lips graze your own, and you swear on everything you've ever known that you are absolutely crazy for Jonathan Combs.
     He's driven you insane from day one, and having him here, hands on bodies, lips on lips, fingers creeping up into blonde hair and tracing over features with a gentle but needy air of desperation, isn't helping you one bit. You're hooked, gone, absolutely and utterly lost in the way he breathes your name into your mouth, his hands cupping your face.
     "Sock."
     Jon, you want to reply, but your breath flutters uselessly in your lungs. He speaks again, a bit louder this time.
     "Sock..."
     He doesn't sound like himself anymore, leaning back and looking down at you. Your brows furrow, hands curling in the front of his shirt. You open your mouth to ask what's wrong, what you did to ruin the moment.
     "Sock!"
     You shoot up in surprise, blinking blearily and looking around. The room is bright, too bright, and it registers in your head that it is, in fact, morning.
     Morning. You have school.
     Fuck.
     You leap out of bed, swearing aloud as you hear your phone tumble out of the tangle of blankets along with you, pausing your mad rush to scoop it up. You have a few texts from - conveniently enough - the guy of your dreams. What a joy. Seems you fell asleep in the middle of typing a reply to him. He was a bit disgruntled at the sudden silence, but you know he understands. Besides, you'll make it up with all your incessant pestering today. Your classes are much easier to text in than his own. Perks of a shitty school.
     That's the least of your concerns, though, as you race to change, hopping around as you tug on the first pair of torn-up jeans you find, discarded on the floor near your bed. Good enough. You've got nobody to impress anyway.
     Much to your dismay, the only one you care about impressing is only present in your dreams.
     A few minutes later, as you race down the hall and out the front door, bag bouncing over your shoulder, you manage to compose a text while sprinting to the bus stop.

[7:03 AM] you: sorry, passed out & had the wildest dream
ill never tell you what it was obviously but it was way better than usual and man you shouldve been there

(note: i told you it wouldnt be sad!! frustrating, maybe, and very short (sorry!!) but not sad. i stay true to my word B)) i'll try and write another chapter tomorrow - a longer one in which both characters are awake, hopefully - and build up some more actual plot. this was moreso just because ive been itching to write some sockathan contact for sooooo long.
brief side note: if i just started a big collection of sockathan drabbles, would anyone be interested? i've been considering it for a while, because there's a lot of times where i want to write stuff that isn't part of this storyline but still pertains to my beautiful spooky sons, so i might do that. in any case, as always, hope you enjoyed! thank you so much for reading ❤️ )