𝐒𝐄𝐕𝐄𝐍 𝐖𝐈𝐒𝐇𝐄𝐒; jj maybank ² [𝐎𝐍 𝐛𝐫𝐢𝐞𝐟 𝐇𝐎𝐋𝐃]

XVIII. blossom in new soil

— ⚓︎ ⚓︎ ⚓︎ —

   IT'S SAFE TO SAY NO ONE COULD SLEEP THROUGH THE NIGHT. Piled up around the bed in which Oakley and JJ lay, the Pogues are scattered on the ground, some bothering to snuggle into sleeping bags and others— Such as John B— simply refuged in the cold comfort of the floor. They'd been mostly quiet throughout the slumber of the girl, and although Kie got about two hours of rest and Pope and John B had their heads falling in exhaustion at small moments of midnight, JJ's eyes were wide awake for every single minute. His finger never truly stopped the even caressing of her nose, mostly because he was terrified that the second he'd take a break, she'd stop breathing.

But it never happened, and it's now eleven in the morning and Oakley Clifton is, thankfully, still breathing.

Kie is scrolling lazily through her phone, her body curved oddly between the tangled bedsheets she'd gotten on the floor. Pope lays beside her, staring blankly at the ceiling while John B sits up against the door, doing much of the same. JJ looks down at Oakley, his finger already away from her nose given the painless redness that's been marked by his touch. Her sleep isn't as profound, and he can tell by the way her breathing isn't as deep as it was only an hour ago. They wait, patiently and tiredly, for the girl to come to, with a glass of water ready on the bedside table.

And eventually, she begins stirring. Her first movement is the awakening scrunching of her eyebrows, dipping enough to bring life into her icy blues that gently pry open. Her mouth comes next, lips ungluing from each other with a weak breath that informs the rest of her consciousness. JJ sits more up on the bed, looking down at her with his eyes attentive and expectant.

"Oak?" John B calls out, looking up at her as Pope and Kie's heads pop up as well.

"Top of the morning to ya'," she mutters, turning her head and letting her forehead drop on JJ's arm for about a second, her warmth spreading on his skin.

Pope stands up, walking beside the bed and handing her the glass of water, "How are you feeling?"

"My throat feels like sandpaper. My head is pounding so hard every time I blink I completely stop hearing. My eyes are non-exaggeratedly heavy and I can literally feel how pale I am," she takes the glass and goes to gulp it down before stopping when her throat burns, "Oh wow, that hurts,"

   "I have to say, your stupid overconsumption recovery program involves some seriously deep sleep," Kie sits by the foot of the bed as Oakley sits up with the help of Pope, "I wish it was funny,"

   Oakley looks down at the glass held in her hands and sighs, "I'm sorry," she slides her finger around the rim of the glass, "That was really stupid,"

   "Yeah. It was," Pope states sternly, shaking his head, "It was horrifying. Something none of us would've liked to see," JJ glares at him.

   "Pope—"