♫-not allowed-TV girl

If JJ had to make a list of all the things he hates about living at his best friend’s place, it would be pages long. But, the thing he hates the most? Now that has to be the nights. The fucking nights. With the chateau only having one bedroom, naturally, he occupies the living room pullout couch. You can hear everything sitting there. Making coffee in the kitchen, people talking outside, shower running in the bathroom, and unfortunately the noise from John B’s bedroom.

No pillow can help kill the unbearable sound of grunts and moans. It’s karma he thinks, for all the times he brought a girl here. Except, John B didn’t have feelings for any of them. Not the ones he bears for the girl in the bedroom.

He noticed something after being forced to listen to the noise enough times. you is always silent. It might be because you knew you're not alone. But, his thoughts go in a completely different direction. are you satisfied? Can John B make you feel as good as he knows he can make a girl feel? Considering his lack of experience before you, it’s unlikely.

Sometimes the nights end in tears. He is begging for sleep to hit with wet cheeks under the pillow. There’s not a lot he can do without guilt consuming him. Wanting you is already enough.

The territory of those thoughts was too dangerous. It felt wrong, like a betrayal. But god, he couldn’t help himself. Not when he had spent countless nights replaying every accidental touch, every lingering glance, every time you had leaned into his side while the group laughed around a campfire.

He had no right to feel this way. No right to imagine the soft curve of your lips against his own, the warmth of your skin beneath his calloused fingers. No right to be jealous. But the heart wants what it wants.

JJ hadn’t slept at all last night. He’d rolled onto his back, eyes fixed on the ceiling, the bitter taste of jealousy coating his tongue as he tried to drown out the sounds from John B’s room. He had clenched his fists so tight his knuckles had gone white, the familiar sting of jealousy settling deep in his gut.

The sun had barely begun to paint the sky in soft shades of pink and orange when he finally gave up on sleep. He’d grabbed a joint from the stash he kept under the couch and stumbled outside, letting the salty morning air fill his lungs as he lit it up.

The smoke curled lazily around him, and he leaned forward on the porch steps, elbows on his knees, trying to focus on anything but the pain in his chest. He took a long drag, letting the smoke sit heavy in his lungs before exhaling through his nose, eyes trained on the horizon as the marsh came alive in the morning light.

He didn’t hear the door creak open behind him. Didn’t hear your soft footsteps as you stepped out onto the porch, the cool morning air prickling your bare arms. You were still in John B’s old t-shirt, the fabric loose around your frame, the collar slipping off one shoulder.

When you spoke, your voice was a quiet, sleepy whisper.

“Couldn’t sleep either?”

JJ flinched, the joint almost slipping from his fingers. He looked back over his shoulder, his eyes meeting yours for a brief, heart-stopping moment. You looked tired, your hair a little messy, lips slightly swollen, and he could still see the faint lines on your cheek from where you had pressed against a pillow.

He swallowed, his heart doing a stupid little flip in his chest.

“Nah, just…needed some air,” he said, forcing a smirk, but it felt hollow. He took another drag, hoping it would steady his nerves.

You came down the steps, settling next to him on the porch, your shoulder brushing his. He had to bite back a curse, his pulse spiking at the simple touch.

For a moment, you both sat there, staring out as the water crept higher into the sky, painting the marsh in hues of gold and soft pink.

The silence stretched on, the air thick with unspoken words, stolen glances, and the sharp aching tension of something that could never be.