#pitt talks

you’ve only been dating officially for a couple of weeks, and you’ve definitely spent the night at each other’s places, but only in the context of him fucking you to sleep after a date night, or him collapsing into bed after a night shift next to you long after you’ve woken up.

he’s never actually seen your night routine fully fleshed out.

so now, after a rare day shift, when he’s come back to yours using the spare key you’d given him, he’s utterly bewildered to see you curled up in your cloud-like duvet with your tv showing an older southern woman whispering about her aldi haul. the fluffy eye mask skewed on your pillow-smushed face is the cherry on top.

jack doesn’t think to bring it up until the next time he spends the night at yours, his day off meaning you get the same bedtime for once.

“hey, doll”

“hm?” you chirp from the bathroom, heading sticking out from the doorframe with a sheet mask and your toothbrush dangling from your mouth

“what were you watching the other day?”

you stick one finger up, turn to spit and rinse, and then head back into your bedroom, “be a bit more specific, handsome, i watch a lot of shit”

he smiles knowingly- he’s seen your netflix watch list and he’s nit sure how you’ll ever get to the bottom of it, “was some lady whispering. think she was going through her groceries or something”

jack sees the minute your brain computes, your eyelids shutting and lips tightening in embarrassment, “oh…yeah…um”

his eyebrows raise in confusion. how are you supposed to look at your forty something year old boyfriend and tell him the only way you can sleep is by listening to people whispering and making strange noises

“it’s um…called asmr. it’s like whispering and stuff. it-it’s like clinically proven to help people sleep so um..”

“oh. and you watch it every night? it helps you?”

“yeah, i’ve watched it for years. helps with the insomnia sometimes”

“huh.”

two weeks later, you’ve got jack hooked. every night you spend together without him buried inside of you, he’s sat against the headboard with you tucked into him, watching that same woman rearranging nail polishes in walmart or making sandwiches for her kids with drooping, glazed over eyes.

he’d never admit it but the matching fluffy eye mask you bought and silently left on his side if the bed is also made good use of - only when you’re sound asleep.

fighting with park but he’s impossible to argue with.

yes, you’re mad at each other. so irate you can feel the warmth sizzling off of your skin. you haven’t even looked at him in the thirty minutes you’ve been stuck in the car trawling through downtown pittsburgh traffic.

you can hear his huffed inhales, but other than that he looks almost completely unaffected by the continuing argument (does it count as an argument if you aren’t actually verbally fighting, you wonder).

it settles something within you to know he, too, is angry with you and the situation and whatever. but that same settled sliver becomes another set of raised hackles as he strokes the back of your hand with his thumb.

your hand that refuses to hold his. but, even more stubborn, brendon refuses not to hold yours.

see, even during fights and arguments and spats- all healthy things for most couples- he simply refuses to not be near you.

there is no “getting some space” with brendon.

there is no “cooling off from each other” with brendon.

unlike his teethy moniker, brendon has chosen you- for life.

and, in his mind, there is no need to be apart from each other. whatever needs working out can be worked out whilst he’s stuck to your side. even if that means sitting in stewing silence for hours on end.

it irritates you to no end. well, you like to pretend it does.

truly, you know that it calms something in him. that part of his brain that needs to know you are safe and looked after and warm and not wanting for anything.

really, you’d do anything for him- just as he would for you.

so, even with you sat sucking your teeth in rage, you’ll let brendon rest his palm on the nape of your neck as if scruffing a kitten. or tuck his hand into your back pocket as he leads you down the ortho wing corridors.

or- a mutual favourite of yours- stick his tongue down your throat whilst he grips your hips, angrily thrusting into you as though in an attempt to shove you through the mattress.

in the morning, kissing the marks left behind from his fingertips as an apology.

you can be mad at brendon and brendon can be mad at you, but he will always always want to touch you.