Not This Time

Nina: September 29, 1987

     I felt wonderful. For the first time in weeks, if not months, I didn't feel like I was falling apart. I was tired from the day, but not exhausted like I used to be. Jon and I hadn't argued about anything beyond our usual playful banter for weeks. The entire show, including set up and strike, had even gone seamlessly. All in all, the entire day had been just grand.
     We were in my room again tonight. We usually spent nights together these days, whenever Jon could get away from Reg. He had never really gotten over the mystery of how Matt had gotten out of my room that night months ago. Matt hadn't shown his face since then, but Jon had never trusted him. He didn't like not knowing when Matt might pop up again out of nowhere. He was being pretty protective, but I didn't mind that he wanted to be close.
     I sprawled out on the bed, stretching across as much of it as I could. It felt good to stretch and even better to relax. I let out a sigh and looked across the room at Jon's suitcase and the guitar case sitting next to it. He was gonna work on the song.
     With a small smile, I rolled over and lost myself in the wonderful thought of him writing a song about me. About us. Never in my wildest dreams would I have guessed that Living In Sin was for me. It sort of made me wonder how many other songs weren't written about what I thought they were. I thought about it for a minute and then shook my head. I was sure I'd find out eventually.
     I turned my head to look over at the bathroom, where Jon was cleaning up for the night. My mind started to wander and I enjoyed it for the briefest moment. Then I looked away; we needed the sleep more than we needed more sex.
     Without much thought, I got up and sank to the floor next to Jon's guitar case. I didn't know how to play much, but I loved the idea of guitar. I opened the case, picked up the instrument, and cradled it gently, overly cautious with Jon's beloved acoustic. I ran my fingers along the strings, romanticizing a little, and then my fingers fell into a vaguely familiar position on the frets. I smiled to myself and gently started playing the only song I knew how to play.
     I Feel Fine.
     After a minute or two, Jon stepped out of the bathroom, brushing his teeth. I could tell he was grinning at me. Clearly he recognized the song. When I glanced up at him, he shook his head and stepped back into the bathroom. It was only a second or two before he stepped out again, wiping his mouth with the towel resting on his shoulder.
     "Is that The Beatles?" he chuckled, as if the only thing I could possibly be playing was a Beatles song. He laughed more when I nodded. Then he mirrored me, still snickering, "Of course."
     Despite his teasing, I hadn't stopped playing. It was ingrained in my memory from childhood, oddly enough. It was surprising that Maribelle hadn't done more to get it out of my head, being against all good music and all. Before I realized what I was doing, too, I was explaining to Jon why I knew that song.
     "My granpapa was obsessed with this song," I told him honestly. Granpapa had loved The Beatles from their very first album. He'd known how to play most of the songs, but I Feel Fine was his favorite. He'd play it whenever I stayed with him and Mémé for a weekend or however long it would be. I smiled to myself. "He used to play it for me to dance around to when I was little and he'd sing it to Mémé," I reminisced, still picking lightly, distractedly "He taught me how to play it on his guitar when I was old enough and whenever Dad took me for a visit, Granpapa would insist that I play it so he could see that I still knew our song." I looked up at Jon and smiled a little more as I finished, "And we'd have a little concert for Dad and Mémé."
     Jon sat down on the floor next to me with no shirt and that towel that had been draped over his shoulder was now gone. He looked ready for bed, but he was watching me attentively, probably very aware of every little move I made with his guitar. He smiled a little nonetheless. "Mémé, is that French?"
     "Yeah, my dad's side," I confirmed with a nod, "Dad's side is French and German. Maribelle's side is Irish and..." I paused to think, "..mostly Russian." Jon smirked at me, but I shook my head. He didn't understand. "Apparently, my Granma on Maribelle's side was Swedish and Russian. Otherwise known as the most beautiful woman on Earth." I sighed, still picking the Beatles song loosely, without time, "And I never met her."
     Jon reached for his guitar and shook his head. "You're the most beautiful woman on Earth," he mumbled. He wasn't even looking at me. He stated it as if it was a known fact and I was just being stupid. I stared at him until he got his guitar settled.
     He didn't even look up, further confirming my suspicion that he'd meant it as a fact rather than a compliment. I smiled silently to myself but didn't reply. I could feel my face burning. It was so sweet of him to say such a thing. It made me happy that we'd been together for almost two years and he still made me giddy, that he could still make me blush. I loved that.
     He started picking a little playful line that could have gone into the song. It was a good pattern, but I knew it wouldn't make it in. Just as I thought he would, Jon made a face and dismissed the progression with a loose shake of his head. He let out a tired sigh and finally looked up at me. I smiled and he smiled back a little. Then he nodded me over.
     I crawled around his guitar and leaned affectionately on his shoulder. He never minded that as long as he could still pick and play. I gazed up at him lovingly, admiring, once again, how his hair fell into his eyes. My eyes traced his face, drinking him in.
     Then I heard the progression he'd been playing as an intro for the past few weeks. He vamped a little and then began to sing softly.
     "I don't need a license or to sign on a line," he sang in a tune very similar to what it would be.
     "I don't need a preacher to tell me you're mine," I sang, just as he expected me to. He had a thing about duets; he wanted this song to be one. Not that I minded singing a song with the man I loved. "I don't need a diamond," I went on.
     "I don't need a new bride," he finished, looking over at me and giving me a gentle smile as he did so.       I harmonized with him as we sang together, "I just need you, baby, to look me in the eye."
     The melody was still rough, and I knew some words here and there were gonna change, but it was coming along. I sighed contentedly at the idea of this song being about us, not even realizing that Jon was still picking. He gave me an expectant look. I'd forgotten I was supposed to start the second verse. I wasn't used to this song in duet style yet, or his working lyrics.
     "Right," I muttered before continuing cautiously, "You know she doesn't like it. And Daddy don't approve."
     "But they can't do anything to keep me away from you," Jon answered. I made a face at the same time Jon stopped playing. The words didn't feel right. Even he could tell. I'd told him before that I didn't like it. "What do you think it should be?" Jon asked.
     I shook my head. "Nuh-uh," I snickered, "I'm not a songwriter, Rockstar. Talk to Desmond."
     Jon frowned at me and my unhelpfulness, which made me giggle. He'd sworn up and down that this one was just for us and wouldn't be going on an album, but I knew better. I knew he'd show it to Desmond out of pride and once Desmond got a hold of it, there was no way it wouldn't go on the album.
     "Maybe try again with the second bit," I suggested, sitting up a little. I leaned toward him, snaking my arms around his shoulders assuringly as I added, "But the first part is good."
     He was picking the opening again, but he didn't sing. I could tell he was thinking about how to word things. I hummed the melody, slipping into what I was familiar with. I didn't even realize that he was playing along until he looked up at me. It was right when I hummed the bit about the new bride. He caught me off guard and I actually stopped humming. We were so close, our faces only inches apart. He locked eyes with me and sang that last line in a very quiet voice. "I just need you, baby, to look me in the eye."
     And then I closed the space between us.
     Jon took a hand off his guitar to hold me close to him as we kissed. I ran one hand up into his hair and held onto him as well. He kissed me like it was our first kiss all over again and like he'd never kiss me again if he let go now. I honestly couldn't have cared less how he did it. Ever since we'd set a reveal date for our relationship, it was like we were in a second honeymoon phase. I just wanted to make out all the time.
     In the break of one kiss, Jon leaned away without warning to let out a big, tired yawn. I leaned back too, licking my lips and smiling to myself as he brought a hand up to cover his mouth. I just watched. I don't know why I found his yawn so adorable, but it was. He was adorable. When he dropped his hand, I smirked at him.
     "Is that you trying to avoid telling me you're too tired for sex?" I teased.
     He chuckled a little but didn't deny it. "Aren't you?" he snickered back.
     "No, I am," I sighed, leaning toward him again, "I wasn't going to suggest it. I just really like kissing you."
     Jon smirked too. "Well I think I can manage that a little longer," he mumbled as he leaned in and kissed me again.
     After just another minute or two, though, I had to pull away. It was my turn to yawn. Jon laughed at me and kissed my forehead. I finished my yawn and smiled sleepily. It wasn't my fault yawns were contagious. He took a deep breath again, like he was trying to stifle another one. I couldn't help but giggle at that. Yawn chain.
     "Maybe we should just go to bed," he chucked. I couldn't argue. We were both tired; we both needed the sleep. I just wanted to cuddle. I smiled a little and nodded, pulling away and very lazily getting up off the floor.
     I watched Jon carefully put his guitar back in its case. I was almost surprised he'd actually let me handle it, let alone play it. That guitar was his baby. He latched the case shut and then leaned back on his hands and just sat there.
     "You alright?" I asked gently. He looked up at me as if he had just noticed I was standing there. Finally, he nodded and pulled himself up off the ground with another tired sigh.
     Jon stepped closer to me and took my hands affectionately. "Yeah, I'm okay," he replied softly, looking down at our hands as his thumbs stroked the back of hand absently. He looked back up at me with weary eyes. "Just tired. How 'bout you?"
     "I'm fine," I assured him with a pretty smile. He offered a weak smile in return and let go of my hand. I brought my arms up and hooked them around his neck again. Then I leaned in and sang gently, "His baby does this thing, y'know. She makes him wanna sing, y'know. He said so." Jon's smile grew as he recognized the melody. "He's in love with me and I feel fine," I concluded, leaning my forehead against his.
     "That's not the words," he whispered.
     "But it's true, isn't it?" I whispered back, inches away from his face, just as before.
     Jon tilted my chin up and gave me one of those soft, sweet kisses that he did every once in a while. He knew I loved those. They always made me melt inside. Just as always, I never wanted it to end, but as always it did. I let him break the kiss and he stayed close to me, gazing into my eyes for a moment as he nodded.
     "Yeah," he finally said. I smiled and he pecked my lips one last time before pulling away with a very conclusive, "Let's go to bed."
     As he stepped away from me, I turned and crawled across the bed from the foot of it like a child. I was already getting under the covers when he stopped at his side of the bed and took off his shorts. I watched him pull back the comforter and slip under it with me. He took a second to get comfortable before I turned out the lamp and settled into the blankets myself. In the dark, I felt his hand find my waist and he pulled me toward him. I giggled, cuddling up against him as he put his arm around my shoulders instead and hugged me to him.
     "I call it love," he muttered into my hair after a moment of silence.
     "They call it living in sin," I murmured in response. He gave me one last affectionate squeeze and I heard him yawn again. "I love you," I added as I closed my eyes. I could hear the sleep creeping into his voice when he answered. "Love you too. Goodnight babe."
     "Goodnight, Rockstar."