author—
allforyouremy

Beta: Lisa
Title: The Jacket
Just some fluff.
Dedicated to sweetanddeadly , proving that romance is possible without someone being angst in the process.



Beautiful boy, hunched over his guitar, plucking away furiously. Bless him and his calloused fingers, even though it did sound like complete and utter shit, it was still music to my ears. I could listen to him strum all day; if only he’d let me. His eyes snap open once he hears my footsteps by the door and he shoots me an accusing, burning stare. I smile awkwardly, waving at him half heartedly and close the door behind me. He sticks the pick between his teeth, wincing slightly. "What are you doing here?"

"Watching you play." I shrug innocently, fiddling with the stray strings of my sweater. I don’t know why he insists on asking foolish questions, he knows the real reason I’m here. I think he’s trying to hurt me, trying to make himself forget that he ever had feeling for me at all; eternal sunshine for the spotless mind or some sort like that. Bless him, makes me love him more.

He takes his time to talk to me next, spitting out the pick and lowering his eyes to the string; his pinky hooks around the last string and he plucks it sharply, sighing at the sound that pops out, a quiet yell in a sea of deep voices. His eyes are impassive when he looks up. "Why do you keep coming back?"

I shrug, "You left your number on my arm and I realized you disconnected your phone."

"Wouldn’t you take that as a hint to bugger off?" Another pluck, second string, deeper yell but not quiet deep enough for his liking. He taps the guitar with his other hand, wantonly letting go of the neck and caresses the body all sultry like. I close my eyes and look out the window. Damn him.

"Would I?" I snort and he strikes another string twice. It still doesn’t sound right. I’m agitating him, I can tell. Good. His lips curl and he grasps the neck of the guitar again, eyes like slits.

"You don’t react well to subtle hints. So if I was to tell you to get the fuck out…"

"Well, that’s rather blatant." I pout out, licking my lips slightly. " As well as rude. Not trying to break my heart, are you?" I shift uncomfortably, fingering the keys within my pocket. It doesn’t feel like home anymore, but then again, it never did. Sometimes I like to trick myself into believing that he cared enough to project some sort of feeling at all into our relationship, but due to the way he was acting now I highly doubted it. It made me sort of sick, actually-- a cold, twisting feeling inside my stomach telling me to go before I ended up doing something foolish and reckless like telling him that I was in love with him or something.

"No, never." He’s lying. Three more plucks and then a hiss. I glance up, looking at him now sucking his wounded finger. "Look, Nick, what do you really want?" He stops strumming and sucks on his finger angrily; I find it hot, my stomach flops again. Only he could make my body hot with unwanted lust at the most awkward and annoying times. "Do you want the keys to the flat, because you know that it wasn’t officially yours in the lease. It’s mines. I still own this flat, and I’m not moving out. You don’t want money, do you, unless you want to take the small fucking change I get from performing in the middle of the town."

"No," I sigh out, looking around the bare apartment. It looks so lonely. So empty. Well, it is empty, but I’m sure Alex prefers it that way. "Nothing of that sort."

"So what in the bloody fuck are you here for?" He snaps out, pick flying from it’s place between his warm, pink supple lips. It slides across the floor and lands by my feet. I look at it’s dark black and orange coloring and bend down, picking it up. I missed watching him play with vigor and life like he used to. He just seems like another broken down solo acoustic artist now.

I walk up to him slowly, sliding past the old worn down carpet in the middle of the floor and over the sheets of scattered scales and notes, bottles of empty vodka and rum, wads of used tissues and rental videos and step between his legs which I spread out slightly on the stool that he was perched upon. He swallows nervously and I revel as his Adam’s Apple bobs up and down. "I forgot my jacket." I whisper out, breath warm and hazy, hovering over his lips.

"That’s the forth article of clothing that you’ve left behind this week." He whispers, eyes lowered and suddenly shy demeanor. His arms come around my waist slightly, pulling me just close enough so that when I utter the next sentence my lips brush up against his delicately:

"And yet you still never get the hint."

Whatever words of protest or anger he has die out immediately as I kiss hip, his lips taste of maple and cashew nuts. I lick the salt off his lips slowly before gaining entrance to his mouth. It’s a leisurely kiss, nothing fierce and ardent about it, just cuddling and snogging. And let me tell you, despite what people say that’s all you really need in a relationship sometimes. It’s fucking lovely.

When I pull away I see that small flicker of longing in his eyes and I wonder why we broke up again in the first place. But then the keys turn inside of the lock and Paul comes in, dropping his bags to the floor and looks at me with an odd glimpse, mixed with confusion and somewhat of a jealous glare. And then I remember why.

"Alex, what is he doing here?" Paul asks it calmly, but he looks nervous and sad and confused all wrapped up in one big emotional stare. I had enough common sense to back far away from Alex before he got fully inside the door, so I was now hovering over my jacket, reaching to pick it up.

"He forgot his jacket." Alex sighed, picking up the guitar again and slipping the pick between his lips. I’ll say it again, bless him. That was his dismissive gesture, we both know it and I nod to Paul, face void of anything near passion or want. "Ja, sorry about that. I was just leaving anyway." I walk past him and out towards the door, hands grasping the brass knob slightly.

Paul doesn’t notice it, but I do, as Alex shyly looks up one more time with me and we both glance at the shirt hanging on the door on the other side of the room. I smirk as the door closes with a click; another article of clothing left behind for me to pick up another day.