WHEN IT ENDS || Jason McCann Fictional Story||

15.~|I'll be glad to|~

Songs for this chapter:

You're All I Want
by Cigarettes After Sex

Coping
by Rosie Darling

Time Out
by AJ Wander

The Way I Say Goodbye
by Emily Weisband

Fall Acoustic
by Justin Bieber

Diana
by One Direction

Swollen
by Francisco Martin, Julia Gargano

Brokenhearted-sunset
by Joan

Never See Anything 'Quite Like You'
by The Script

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"Ha—ah—hachooo! Sorry."

"Oh, great! Now I am infected."

"You are already infected on your own."

"Yeah, but now I have your germs with me too. Bless you, by the way."

"You're a little too late for that."

"A—phfth! Like it even matters."

Here's the thing— we're sick, if that isn't obvious by how we're snickering over each other's salivary droplets. Apparently, we were too busy with . . . my casualty, to remember that we were drenched in rain, and that I was once again out there in the balcony when it happened. Jason —I'm so used to the name now— was no different. He only had his basketball shorts and a thin fabric as T-shirt the whole night. Well, he did put on a hoodie later, but that was after the damage was already done. The blanket we draped us over with didn't do any brilliant job to block out the disgusting cases of cold and runny nose, who are now busy bantering over it. Well, we are having alternating rounds with 'who is more contagious' and 'who needs to rest more'.

We're something.

Oh, something, alright

Though it's still hazy why he did what he did last night, the awkwardness subsided as soon as Walter blasted through the door to the room we were in screaming, "Holy Cow! You guys did it?"

I meant, the awkwardness increased to a whole new level.

The scene that greeted him probably gave him the wrong idea. I'm a pretty organized sleeper if you ask me, however, Jason isn't. And last night proved how wrong I was to think that he sleeps in 'attention' mode.

We were all into each other's arms, my head resting on his steadily heaving chest -which, over the night, had this odd sound reverberating along with his heartbeat, probably from the soreness to his throat- and my nose was alarmingly close to the abyss in the middle of his hard chest. I didn't mind it, to be honest. Jason didn't retire to the pillow. His face was peacefully settled on the plush headboard as he snored lightly. His part of the earphone was hanging down from his shoulder, mine was still plugged in, and Roslyn by Bon Iver and St Vincent was being played.