Things were tense between them as of late—everyone could see it, but no one really understood and tried to decide why. They thought one of their infamous escapades got them into trouble or made things shift—made their voices more hushed and private. But that wasn’t the case.
It wasn’t the both of them, it was Jude and he had no idea how to get himself out of this funk. He tried squashing the feeling down—tried squashing the memory of a mistaken kiss down with an iron fist, tried getting into trouble more often, tried perfecting tricks on his skateboard, tried to forget the clumsy warmth that slicked along his lips when they first made contact with his best bro’s.
It still didn’t help.
Not even now, here, with—
Soda and salty chips and candy and little packs of chocolate cookies and a last desperate reserve of jelly beans only got a man so far. It was nights like this that Jude would start to believe they would at-least try and be more normal, well, as normal as they use to be.
Jude eyes the pile of wrappers with real sadness and sent an empty bottle spinning, watching it slow to stop between them. “I get to kiss you.”
“Spin the bottle, man,” Jude explains, belatedly.
“Who plays spin the bottle with just two people, dude?” Jonesy considers this statement further. “Who plays spin the bottle with just guys when we can get girls?”
Jude bites at his lower lip, fingers automatically flying up to tug and pull and rearrange his beenie, nervous and fidgety. “Fiiiine. Truth or dare.” He drawls, and if his voice is lower and more strangled, more hurt than it usually is, Jonesy doesn’t point it out.
Jonesy rubs his forehead. “No.”
“You didn’t even-“
“Dude, really, fine! I’ll just go, ask away.”
Jonesy’s eyes dart up, the over-confident smirk that always fails to make the ladies swoon, but makes Jude oddly warm is curling at his lips. He leans in, elbows at Jude’s stomach, says, “Truth or dare then.”
Upon the gesture, Jude rolls his eyes and lets out a long-suffering sigh. He had no one to blame, but himself. It was his fault anyway. He stares at Jonesy—stares at him and watches him stare out at the house across the street with lit windows—where Nikki resides.
Jude settles back in his chair and traces Jonesy’s face in the golden afternoon light. “Truth,” he says, trying—finally getting Jonesy’s attention on him.
And it’s satisfying, rad as hell as Jonesy finally shifts and sends a smile his way.
“Who do you like, man? C’mon, who’s the lucky hottie? You haven’t really talked about any of the girls at the mall and I’m dying to know, dude!”
If Jude’s heart stutters to a stop, and if the smile suddenly falls from his lips it’s not like Jonesy would notice or hear.
Jude glances up, expression oddly blank as he plops another salty chip in his mouth. The crunch, crunch, crunch of it filling the silence he doesn’t want to break. Doesn’t dare to.
He takes his time, let’s the silence stifle them, watches Jonesy watch him, stares and traces; the line of his jaw, the bow of his lips, the curious quirk to his brow, trying to remember how they taste before finally swallowing and coughing the taste right back up—his heart is thumping in his chest—and man; it sucks, it bites, it hurts.
“Who do I like?” He repeats, drawls and doesn’t miss the way Jonesy nods already ready to rank said girl on a scale from one to ten. Jude wants so desperately to say Star, man, she’s really cool, but he can’t bring himself to say it. Not this time. Not with Jonesy looking at him, like that—smile cool and oddly nice.
Jude looks away, shrugs his shoulders and says softly, almost to himself and not really meaning it. “No one, dude. No one.”
lord in heaven
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