Just A Ghost [DISCONTINUED]

Chapter ElevennevelE retpahC

im so fucking sorry that it took so long to update its just been fucked up lately and school and just agh.
thanks for waiting guys. and thanks for the support i really do appreciate it frands.

media: holding on to you by twenty one pilots

enjoy!!

recap:

Jonathan just chuckles and mutters, "Idiot."

^^^

Sock

Jonathan carries on...carrying me. I don't actually mind this, being carried by Jonathan. I'm comfortable, it's warm in his arms, it's just, I'm scared. I'm 99.72% sure that Jonathan's arms are dying due to my overweight self. I mean, no one, not even semi-built Jonathan can carry me for twelve minutes and seventeen seconds. Yes, i most certainly am ignoring the fact that he indeed already has held for that long, with no sign of struggle at all.

"J-Jonathan, you know you can p-put me down. I think I'll be f-fine-"

"Nope. I'm holding you, and I will continue holding you until we get to my house," Jonathan pauses, and dramatically looks ahead. "It is my destiny."

I look at his face for a moment, then burst out laughing. "Jonathan, you fucking dunce!"

"Oh, my lady. What is this foul language you speak?" Jonathan asks in a British accent.

"Lady? Who the fu-"

"But there you are again, m'lady! Restrain yourself if you can, my queen." Jonathan bows slightly.

I huff and roll my eyes. Throwing a foul remark back at him, I realize that this, this moment right now, is so easy. There's no tension, no cruel accusations or pitying eyes. Only laughter and fast passing time.

So throughout our journey to Jonathan's house, this is how we go, going back and forth about my cruel and dirty nature or cursing and Jonathan insisting on me calling him Alfred.

Before we know it, Jonathan takes his final steps onto the porch of a familiar quaint and colorful little house.

"This is the Murder House!" I shout before I can stop myself.

"The Murder House?" Jonathan inquires.

I blush a beet red and look up at Jonathan between my fingers. "Murder House? Who said anything about that?" I jump from his warm and accepting arms -which I deduce I never wanted to leave them in the first place, seeing how easy it really was- and stumble back. "Why, I said nothing of the sort! I said erm, I-I said...Burger Mouse?"

Jonathan looks at me skeptically, "Why are you asking me? You said it."

"I mean. Yeah! I said Burger Mouse!" I yell triumphantly -for what reason, I'll never know.

"Jonny? What is all this yelling about?" I hear from inside the house, a Britsh accent seeping from the cracks inside the old wooden house.

The purple mahogany door bangs open, revealing a pale, fragile young woman. Her slim figure accentuated her small face, cold blue eyes and a narrow nose just shouting, "I'm a Brit, now where's my cuppa?"

"H-Hi mum," stutters Jonathan beside me, his faux British accent from earlier creeping back.

"Don't 'Hi mum' me, introduce your friend already, would you?"

"R-Right. This here is um, S-Sock. Sock, this is my mum," Jonathan gestures to Mrs. Combs, and I nod in respect.

"Hello Mrs. Combs, it's nice to-"

"Oh no no no, stop right there. Don't you dare call me Mrs. Combs, that was my mother for saints sake. Call me Eli. Also-" Mrs- I mean, Eli pauses and takes a breath. "Jonathan is this your boyfriend?!"

"What? Mum no. It was the first day of school. Who gets a boyfriend fourteen hours into their first day in town?" Jonathan scoffs. He turns to me. "Come in, Sock. I've got fruit roll ups."

I laugh -a real laugh- and nod my head, following in after Jonathan.

"So, Sock," Eli inquires as Jonathan and I sit ourselves down on the stools presented in the kitchen. "What's your 'dealio' as the youth say now."

Jonathan scoots up to his mum- I mean mom (damn British people) and whispers something in her ear.