just random stuff

There it was again—that small, half-conscious sound, so unguarded it landed somewhere unreasonably deep… It was just a sleepy approval, quiet and warm and trusting, like of course he would stay if you asked… Except that wasn’t how it’d go normally. 

He stared at your hand still bunched in his shirt. You were barely awake—that much was obvious. Your grip wasn’t strong enough to actually keep him there if he truly wanted to move. One tug and he could have freed the fabric, stood up, gotten his water, and come right back up, as if the movement had never existed. Under normal circumstances, he definitely would have. But something about the sight of you like this, the looseness of your body against his, the faint crease between your brows from having noticed his absence even half-asleep, the quiet certainty of staying without even needing to say much more than that… it hit him in a place he would rather not examine too closely.

“You’re very demanding for someone barely conscious.” He muttered.

“Stay anyway.” Your answer came softly.

That should not have worked on him as well as it did. Later, if he were forced to account for himself, Jamie would blame the hour. He would blame the long day, the low light, the fact that he was more tired than he liked to admit, and therefore not operating with his usual judgment. He would blame the warmth of the room, the television, the weight of your leg over his, the drowsiness making him slower and weaker and less immune to… nonsense. He would not, under any circumstances, admit that it was simply you.

But it was.

“As if I had a real choice.” He grumbled, but there was no real heat in it. A small, drowsy smile appeared on your face, making a vague little noise of satisfaction, and tugged weakly at his shirt—just to remain where he was, here, with you, because sleep had reached for comfort and found him first.

Jamie lay back down, one arm slid around your waist and pulled you in with a firmness that made your body go loose against him all over again, and the feeling of that—your immediate, unthinking softness, the way you yielded without resistance, the way your whole weight seemed to settle closer the second he gathered you in, made the fondness in him turn almost sharp with too much of it. He exhaled through his nose, and it was his turn to tuck his face into the curve where your neck met your shoulder. One of your arms came to wrap around his back, fingers splayed across the side of his jaw, while your hand loosened the hold you had on his shirt to slide down to his side. That, too, should have embarrassed him more for liking it too much.

He was not usually excessive. He was not, by nature, someone who really buried his face in his partner’s neck like proximity itself had become an itch he needed to soothe. But ever since you both began dating… his “normalcy” was changing a bit. And here he was. Completely smitten by a very sleepy you.

The first brush of his lips against your shoulder was almost done absentmindedly, but the next one, closer to your neck, was done with intent. Then a third, because the first two had not been enough. He couldn’t get enough of you.

Your fingers shifted slightly against his side, a slow drag, half a petting motion, half something your body had done on reflex. That, in turn, made Jamie’s arm tighten a bit more around your face. He could feel the shape of your ribs through your shirt, the soft rise and fall of your breathing, the warm line of your thigh over his… every small detail of your body seemed magnified by proximity until touching you stopped feeling like one sensation and started feeling like too many all at once.

You stirred with a faint hum, your lips brushing the side of his head when you moved. “Jamie…” There was a smile in your voice, and he heard it immediately. 

“Don’t start.” He muttered, though he had already made the mistake of kissing the side of your neck, and then doing it again. It made you giggle, feeling a little ticklish.

He could feel your smile widen against him now. Not because he could see it—his face was still half-hidden against your skin, and perhaps that was part of why he stayed there. Looking at you directly seemed unwise—it’d just make things worse for him. It was easier to pretend he was only tired, only settling back in, only taking advantage of the nearest patch of warmth like any reasonable person might. His mouth found the slope of your shoulder again, and this time the kiss turned at the end into the lightest press of teeth—not enough to hurt, just enough to make you jolt a little and let out that breathy, surprised sound that turned into a huff of laughter into his hair. “Did you just bite me?” He nuzzled your neck. “You were being smug.”

“No, I’m not. I’m half-asleep.” You spoke teasingly.

He grumbled. “A likely story.” His response made you laugh softly.

His hand slipped under the hem of your shirt by then, palm warm against the bare curve of your side, thumb dragging once in a slow, thoughtless pass… simply feeling. Reassuring himself, perhaps. Indulging the urge to keep you close in every way available to him. His fingers hold you there as if he could press the warmth of you more firmly into memory by touch alone.

The truth of it, the part he would not say aloud, was that he felt absurdly fond of you at that moment. In a very specific, nearly unbearable kind of intimacy. Fond of the sleepy drag in your voice, of your touch, of the way you had all but ordered him to stay and then gone soft with satisfaction the second he did, of your laugh, of the way you fit under his arm as though his body had learned yours and no longer cared to pretend otherwise. It made him want to keep touching you until the feeling settled.

…And he had a feeling it wouldn't for a while.

Jamie looked up at you and saw how your face was still soft with drowsiness, your mouth parted slightly, your lashes casting those faint shadows against your skin. Entirely too trusting, too pleased, and too cute for his current level of exhaustion. He let out a sigh before settling to make himself comfortable. The two of you on the couch together had taken up a lot of space, but he didn’t want to move. He liked the closeness it offered to be able to lie down on the limited space the couch had offered.

“Do you want to move to the bed?” You asked.

Instantly, he answered. “No.”

You hummed. “You sure? It’ll be more comfortable. I figured you’d prefer that.”

That’s right. In normal circumstances, he would. Not right now, though. “Let’s just stay for a little while. We can move later.” He answered.

“Hah—alright. I’ll make myself comfortable, then.”

And you did by fully wrapping your arms around him, your lower limbs, and his, a tangled mess at this point. While Jamie shut his eyes, fully draping himself over you, like a very comfortable, albeit a little cold, blanket.

Or vice versa

Brushing hands as you're trading papers

Quiet glances that end in eye contact in laughter

Passing notes even though no one else is there

Swoon-worthy as you're recounting it to Dee and Cam

Jamie:

The most productive because when you said study date, he actually thought: studying. Locking in.

I feel like Jamie wouldn't consider it a proper date

It's still meaningful because quality time, but like, it's not going to be as romantic as say, a day downtown together

If you're studying and confused, he'll teach you

If there's any time to get starry-eyed on him when he won't notice, it's during a study date

Uno reverse, too, like, once you lock in, he kind of can't look away

It's romantic in retrospect, in like the subtle way

I fear that the most outwardly romantic thing that might happen is if y'all close the shutters and start making out

Freak Jamie canon, so I don't feel like getting him in the mood is hard, but I don't think he's into the whole... public thing

Sorry Jamie fans, I think you'd have better luck with other outings

Percy:

Sorry, but y'all ain't studying for longer than 30 minutes

I'm sorry, but he gets distracted by you so easily

You're HIS PARTNER, his irresistible, beautiful partner!

He'll start flirting to distract you

Diverts your attention by doodling or whatnot

You go for a snack run and come back 5 minutes before your study room time ends (you left the room with like an hour-thirty)

That snack run is the actual date

If you insist on staying inside, he'll switch to conversations to keep y'all busy

Games on y'alls phones, etc, anything but locking in I fear

You'll have fun for sure, but you will need to study at home still

. . .

MC’s eyes shone, wet at the edges. It was not quite tears yet, but the sight landed like a punch. Guilt clawed up the back of his throat. He wanted to apologize, to explain, or maybe to unsay things. But explanations meant letting them see what lived behind the mask, and every instinct in him screamed to keep the door shut. Instead, he looked away, shoulders stiff, and jaw clenched tightly. They sighed, feeling hope slowly slip away from their fingers as they watched him. But the fragile restraint Percy had stitched together started to fray. The urge rose up so strong it made his breath catch—a deep, bone-deep need to close those last centimeters and answer the question hanging helplessly between them. He shouldn’t. They deserved someone steady… and that was not him. His hands were full of broken pieces, and he couldn’t ask people, especially not MC, to step around the mess inside his head. He wouldn’t want to watch something good rot from the inside because he didn’t know how to hold it gently. He also knew, with a horrible clarity, that it was too late anyway—he was already halfway in love with them.

When he felt MC begin to step away, his hand moved in an instinct to hold theirs. That immediately stopped them from going any further away from him as they tried to catch his eyes—he only closed them. The hold on their hand was fragile, uncertain. His fingers trembled slightly, almost as if he was begging them not to go. They truly didn’t know where they stood with Percy; they knew what they wanted, and it was him. MC felt it deep in their heart, no matter how complicated, that… he wanted them too. He was simply holding himself back and pushing them away for whatever reasons they didn’t know yet.

He let out a shaky breath before finally finding the courage to open his eyes and look at them. Still the same MC, looking at him with those beautiful eyes. His resistance finally buckled, and he moved—the hold on their hand remained, while he raised his other one to hold them by the waist. He pulled them closer to him as he leaned forward, almost reluctantly, like gravity had worn him down bit by bit. But he hesitated at the last second, giving them the tiniest window to step back, to change their mind, to save them both. They didn’t move, and the air that left his lungs in a shudder could have been a curse or a surrender.

Percy let go of their hand, lifting it instead to touch the side of their neck. His touch was careful and shaking at the edges, like he wasn’t sure he deserved the right to hold them at all. Then, he leaned in completely to get rid of the remaining space between them. The first touch of lips was softer than the moment deserved. His mouth brushed theirs once, barely a kiss, and for a second, it seemed like that might be all he’d allow himself. But the feeling of their soft lips against his… the taste that hit him—it was familiar in a way that made no sense, like a flavor he’d been missing without knowing its name. Heat shot down his spine, pooling low, thudding through his veins in a wave that burned away every last “shouldn’t” left in his head.

Percy kissed them properly this time. The hesitation vanished as muscle memory kicked in—his lips pressed theirs with more pressure, more intent, the angle shifting slightly as he adjusted, seeking the fit that felt right. He moved with the practice ease of someone who had done this before, but never like this… never with the weight of so much unsaid sitting behind every motion. MC’s response was immediate and devastating. They leaned into him, into the hands that hold them, into the steady frame of his body pinning him to the wall. Their lips parted under his without thinking, answering his silent ask with one of their own.

They slid their hands to his chest, feeling the way his heart slammed against it like it was trying to get out. They kept their hand there, while they raised the other to curl their fingers around the collar of his shirt, pulling him down those last millimeters like they were afraid he might vanish. He pushed off the wall just enough to meet them halfway, to give them what they needed. The kiss grew heavier, layered with urgency that had nothing to do with pent-up emotions alone. Their mouths moved against each other in a rhythm that found itself too quickly, like all the ‘almosts’ over the last few weeks had been rehearsals leading to this.

Experience made Percy precise. He knew when to ease up, when to press in, when to let the kiss hover on the brink of too much, and when to pull it back to something heartbreakingly gentle. He caught their lower lip between his for a second, a slow drag that set a shiver through MC. He felt it in the way they straightened and pressed their body into his, and the way their hold on his collar tightened. He then dropped the hand he had on his neck to wrap both of his arms around their waist as he adjusted. Almost unconsciously, he slipped his thigh between theirs to steady them when their knees wobbled. The contact sparked along his nerves, making him feel unsteady in his own skin, but he held them anyway, because if there was one thing he could control right now, it was not letting them fall. And they trusted him not to let that happen, too.

MC’s breathing grew ragged, mingling with his in hot bursts that fogged the tiny space between them whenever they broke apart for a fraction of a second. Each time, one of them chased the other back in, unwilling to let the connection snap fully. Their lips met again and again, kisses stacking up on top of each other until time blurred and the argument felt both minutes ago and a lifetime away. Underneath it all, the ache remained. Percy could feel it pressing against his ribs, a dull throb that no amount of heat could erase. This was everything he’d been too afraid to reach for—and it tasted like punishment and relief in the same breath.

When his lungs finally protested in earnest, he slowed. Their mouths parted with a reluctant, damp pull, the last brush of lips lingering like a closing parenthesis. He didn’t retreat far, just enough that he could see them—their faces were still painfully close. The room swam in the edges of his vision, but MC was sharp and clear in front of him. Their lips were swollen, parted as they dragged in air, breath trembling. A flush stained their cheeks, high and fevered, climbing down the line of their neck where his hand had been. And then, finally, the thing he’d been half-expecting and wholly dreading happened.

A tear slipped free. It welled at the corner of their eye, catching the lamplight before sliding down over their skin. It was slow and inevitable. It traced over their cheek, cutting a thin, gleaming path toward the edge of their mouth. They were vulnerable, unable to hold in the mixed emotions they felt for him, and something inside him lurched in that realization. The guilt hit all at once, vicious and cold, riding the tail end of all the warmth like a wave crashing over a fire. His chest tightened so hard he had to fight not to flinch, especially as he felt their hands drop their hold on him. In turn, his own arms loosened. This was exactly what he’d wanted to avoid… the proof, written in saltwater, that wanting them this much came with a cost. Still, his hand lifted before he could stop it. Fingertips hovered for a heartbeat, then his thumb brushed the new tear that fell away. The motion was unbearably gentle, the pad of his thumb warm against the cool track it left behind. It wasn’t enough to fix anything; it didn’t stop the wetness from gathering again in their lashes, threatening to fall. But it was all he had in that moment—this tiny, helpless attempt to smooth over damage he knew he’d had a hand in causing long before tonight.

His lips moved, shaping words he didn’t trust himself to say out loud. They formed a familiar pattern, a quiet apology that tasted like failure and still not enough. The sound never came, but the meaning sat heavy in his eyes, in the way his thumb lingered at their cheekbone, in the way his jaw clenched like he was swallowing broken glass.

Percy couldn’t stand the distance between them anymore. His hand slid from their face to the back of their head, the other arm wrapping fully around their waist. In one unsteady motion, he pulled them into his chest—the hug landing with a force. Their bodies collided, his ribs protesting under the impact of their weight and his own urgency. He folded them into him like he was trying to hide them here, his head fell on the side of their head, breathing heavily. Their own arms came around them, gripping the back of their shirt gently, but in a way that almost felt like they were scared he’d disappear. He could feel their heartbeat, or maybe it was his own—hammering against their sternum, wild and uneven, as if it was trying to climb out and wrap itself around them too. He felt another damp spot bloom through the fabric near his shoulder, warmer than the room, more painful than any bruise. His grip tightened in response, arms holding them closer, as if he could shield them from himself by holding on tighter. Want and regret coiled together in his chest until he couldn’t tell which hurt worse. He had wanted to protect them—from his mess, from the uneven shape of his love, from the restless, scared parts of himself that didn’t know how to stay.