𝐋𝐢𝐚𝐫, 𝐋𝐢𝐚𝐫 | 𝐉𝐉 𝐌𝐚𝐲𝐛𝐚𝐧𝐤

12. do you like me, like me, or just like me? (pt. 1.)

T W E L E V E
do you like me, like me, or just like me?

My movements aren't gentle, I grab the wet paper towel doused in rubbing alcohol and just rub it against the cut across JJ's lip, and the other places he's smeared blood. His flinches back from my harsh movements.

"You're meant to warn me that it's going to hurt," he hisses and pinches his eyes shut. He braces his hands either side of my waist, fingers slightly pressed into my skin.

I shake my head, despite knowing he can't see. "Well, then you'd be nervous, the blindsided approach is much better," I decide.

My thumb presses against his cheek, while my fingers hold themselves against his neck, holding his face still so I can clean it off from the dirt. "And would it kill you to be a little more gentle?" He asks I press particularly hard.

"Do you want to die of an infection, JJ? Have you not been paying attention to Grey's Anatomy?" I scoff.

He opens his eyes and looks displeased with my service, "I should've got someone else to help me."

I throw the paper towel in the bin and stand back looking at my work, then wash my hands in the sink. JJ's hands linger, the initial sturdy grip loosening somewhat, but it's still there. I ignore him, not entirely sure what else I'm supposed to do. His thumbs begin brushing over my skin, tucking themselves just under the hem of my tank top. His touch burns my skin, I make eye contact with him, a kind of glare, kind of confused look washes over my face. When I say kind of confused, I mean pretty much all glare and perhaps a hint of confusion.

He looks back at me with an expression much softer than my own.

"You stress too much, you're going to go grey," he tells me.

"Well, your hairline is receding," I harden my glare. My retort doesn't really make much sense, it doesn't address what he said at all.

"Is it?" He asks with a smirk, "Because I really don't think so."

"Denial. It's a powerful thing, I was in denial about a lot, and look where it got me," I reply.

"In a bathroom with me. Honestly, if denial gets me in an enclosed space with you I can find something to be in denial about," he doesn't miss a beat.

"I don't like the trajectory of this conversation," I narrow my eyes.

His hands tuck themselves a little higher, "What's wrong with it? Because I'm pretty content."

"I'm thirsty," I grab his wrists and pull them from my skin, the intense heat is exchanged for a cold sensation.

I walk out of the bathroom, and through to the cluttered kitchen of the Château, now painfully aware that we are the only ones inhabiting it. Everyone else is somewhere else and I wish they were here.

JJ follows me like a puppy as I grab a clean cup and fill it up. The tap is awful and a stream of water hits me square in the chest. I turn it off, not moving for a second because I'm worried if I do I will scream, and that seems unnecessary. Thankfully at least half my cup is full, so I chug that. Then I turn around, JJ stands a few feet behind me. He looks at my wet shirt, I glance down.

"Oh, that's so great," I grumble as I see the pale-coloured tank top is now completely sheer, and you can see my black bra. "Don't act like you haven't ever seen boobs before, you're not in junior school." I roll my eyes.

"I can't help it!" He manages to stop staring.

"How can't you help it!" I give him the exact energy he gives me. "You've got perfectly working eyes, that can move away from staring."