୧ 𝓙 ＯＢＥ ＢＥＬＬＩＮＧＨＡＭ
BEING WITH JOBE FELT LIKE LAUGHING IN THE MOMENTS THAT WEREN’T MEANT TO BE SERIOUS. Not because of what you were doing — but because it was him doing it with you.
You never thought you’d see him standing in front of you in the bathroom, a fluffy headband with little bear ears holding his curls back. But here he was.
The smell of cleanser and lavender mask hung in the air, warm steam still clinging to the mirror. You sat on the counter with your legs swinging, dipping your fingers into the jar, scooping up the cool cream, while Jobe gave you his most exaggerated glare.
“I can’t believe you talked me into this,” he muttered, though he didn’t move away when you leaned forward and painted the mask across his cheek.
A smear of green spread over his skin, and you had to bite back a laugh. He caught it instantly. “Nah, you’re enjoying this way too much.”
He reached out with his own finger, swiping a streak down your nose before you could dodge. The both of you cracked up, the sound bouncing off the tiled walls.
For a moment, you just looked at him — face half-covered in the mask, eyes still shining with laughter, lips curling into a smile he couldn’t fight. He didn’t look like the boy the world saw on the pitch. He just looked like yours.
“Admit it,” you said softly, rinsing your hands, “you love this.”
He rolled his eyes but slipped his hand into yours, sticky with mask and all. “Maybe I just love you.”
And in that messy, silly little bathroom, with the both of you covered in clay masks, you realized he wasn’t joking.
@𝓜𝐑𝐒𝐑𝐄𝐘𝐄𝐒𝐒