send.

(mood) swing

Jon does everything in his power to take your mind off of what's happened as the two of your wander around, telling jokes and holding you close and asking a million questions about the town. Even if it doesn't really work, you appreciate the effort. The two of you eventually wind up at the small park not far from home. You move automatically towards the swings. For as long as you can remember, when you wanted to get away without confining yourself to the quiet of your basement hideaway, you would slip out to the park and sit on the swingset.
Jon trails after you as you make your way through the mulch, motioning you onto one of the swings and standing behind it, wrapping a hand loosely around one of the chains.
"Come on. I'll push you."
You're reluctant for a moment, but quickly decide that being pushed on a swing still wouldn't be the most childish thing he's seen from you. You lower yourself into the seat and hold the metal links, kicking your legs a bit, your toes just barely touching the ground. Jon's hands press against your back and push you slowly forward, rising up before falling back. He continues on with that pattern, following you up and then falling back to let you catch momentum, and before you know it, you're soaring.
In spite of yourself, along with everything that's happened, you let out a giddy laugh at the floating feeling that fills your stomach.
You can tell he loves the sound by the goofy grin you spot on his face when you turn your head to look down at him. Soaring high above, you get a good look at his windburned face, his smiling eyes, his hands outstretched to catch you for the next push. Your heart flies even higher than you do.
He cares so much about you. More than anyone else ever could.
Things start to get sketchy when you're getting some ridiculous air, and you screech as the chains squeal, kicking your legs wildly.
"Stop it!" you yell, though both of you are still laughing so hard you can barely breathe. "Stop me, stop me, stop me!" In between your flailing and his hands around the chains, the two of you manage to stop the swing. You slow to a halt and gasp for breath as Jon circles the swing to stand before you, wheezing with his chuckles. His hands rest just above yours on the chains, fists curled loosely over them, and you let your fingers wander up over his. They trace his knuckles, following the loose curves and dry skin, distracted until he leans close to catch your lips.
You blink a few times in surprise before your eyes flutter shut, leaning comfortably into him. A sigh falls from your lips, fitted against his like a puzzle piece, and you feel the swing sway just slightly as he presses himself closer to you.
You don't know when you started crying, but you're forced to pull away as a hiccup rattles your lungs.
Jon's own eyes open, and pools of blue scan your face with concern, causing you to apologize profusely. You don't know why you're crying either, not sure why you're letting something as insignificant as your father's opinion get to you, and then you remember the fear from before, the fear of what comes after Jon's flight out, and you start to cry even harder. You try to turn away and bury your face in your hands, but then both of his palms are on your cheeks, cradling your face, thumbs swiping away your tears faster than they can drip from your jaw.
"No, no, don't be sorry..." His voice is frantic and concerned, but you can tell he's fighting to stay calm, trying to keep you calm, too, but you can't stop sobbing and oh god you are such a mess. You don't deserve him, you don't deserve any of this, you're just wasting his time, you're wasting everyone's time. All you do is waste time because you're an absolute disaster-
He grabs your shoulders and forces you to look into his eyes, and only then do you realize how hard you're shaking, how harsh your gasps for breath are.
"Talk to me, Sock. You have to talk to me."
"And waste more time?" Your voice is hoarse, strangled, struggling to find air and force out your words at the same time. "We both know where this is going, Jon. You're gonna leave, and then everything's gonna go back to shit. Everything is gonna be dull and colorless and terrible because now that I've seen things with you, had you around, nothing else is ever going to feel like this. Nothing is ever going to feel good, because it's not you. I can't have you and it hurts, and I am going to spend forever missing you, and-"
His frown deepens as you break off with another sob, pressing your fist to your lips and shaking your head. He pulls your hand away, uncurls the fingers, squeezes them between his own. The only sound is the wind shaking the branches of the bare trees, the ocassional squeak of the swing's chains, and your short, rough breaths.
"Just because I can't be here forever doesn't mean that none of this matters." He's soft, gentle, his words as warm as the thumb that rubs comforting circles against the back of your hand. You look up at him, but he's staring down at the mulch.
"It's still important. Every second's important, because it's what I'll be thinking about on that long flight back, and what I'll have on my mind every single second until I get to see you again. I'm not thinking about the end, because I'm too busy trying to remember all of this. Now."
He's too smart for his own good. Too smart for you. You hold his hand silently against your chest and let the wind whisper the words that neither of you can seem to find.
You eventually manage to climb to your feet, still clutching his hand as you tug him gently away from the swings.
"There's... an arcade, in the middle of town. It's old, but it's something, if you wanna go..."
He doesn't need any more prompting, falling into step at your side and squeezing your hand tightly in his own. If you didn't know better, you would think that his stoic silence and blank expression indicated that he was upset with you.
You know he's just giving you time to feel like yourself again.
You appreciate that.
Hand in hand, you guide him through the winding sidestreets to the aforementioned arcade, telling stories about the endless tokens lost to its machines all throughout your childhood. He's an attentive listener, never once looking away from you.
By the time you approach the glass double doors at the front of the building, the block of ice in your chest has melted away, and you're starting to laugh again. The sound puts a smile on Jon's lips.

(note: i know this is kind of shitty and short and im reeeeally really sorry for that. i expected my week off to make me more productive but that doesnt seem to be the case :-(((( im already working on the next chapter though so that should go up soon. i hope that makes up for it! as always, leave any requests or ideas in the comments, and feel free to predict what you think might come next for our lovely dorks. thanks for reading ♥️)