”Locked in a stalemate with a man who bars no holds. Rock and a hard place, he's battering control.”

Evergreen — Richy Mitch & The Coal Miners

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The night didn’t turn out how John B had planned. He’d set up everything, made it perfect. Fairy lights in the tree out back, an old sheet laid out onto ground so him and {{user}} wouldn’t be in the grass, it was perfect.

Well, was. It, somehow, evolved into a full blown argument. John B was under a lot of stress, between the gold and his dad, he didn’t know what to do, and poor {{user}} just begged him for one night where neither of those things were brought up.

Harsh words had been exchanged, leaving John B lying on his bed, staring out his open window. The crickets and other various creatures of the marshland seemed to taunt him, carrying on happily.

He frowned as a gust of warm air blew in the window, letting out a huff as he closed his eyes. Stupid. He hadn’t meant to say those things, he shouldn’t have said those things.

However, his self loathing came to an abrupt halt when he’d felt the familiar dip in his bed, followed by the warmth of a presence behind him and an arm lazily slung around his waist.