Rainy Days

Chapter Sixty-Four: Jordan🥰 / Ron😢

[jordans house–about eleven-thirty, saturday night]

JORDAN SIGHED, flipping the page of his book. Luther, Ben, and Ron has all gone upstairs to get some sleep. Earlier, after pizza, Allison had put stitches in his leg. That had been both nerve-wracking and painful. Now, however, he was sure that he was still drifting on the pain meds Klaus had given him right before the stitches. Allison was upstairs helping Vanya get ready for bed. Klaus had announced he was taking a bath. He and Five where the only ones left.

"Why don't you go to sleep?" Five asked, erasing something off his paper. The blueprints he'd been drawing where arranged like a puzzle all over the coffee table; soon they'd have to be moved to the floor. "I'm just going to keep drawing."

"Well, who's going to keep icing caffeinated tea and getting Dr. Pepper from Ron's not-so secret stash?" Jordan says right as Fives pencil led snaps. He swears and sighs, rubbing his eyes. "Or sharpening the sixteenth pencil of the night." Jordan adds with a smile as he grabs the pencil and sticks it in a hot pink owl sharpener. After a moment of quiet, he hands it back.

Five sighs and takes a chug of the mug of cold tea, closing his eyes and exhaling slowly. Then, he picks up the pencil and stars sketching again.

Jordan leans down, grimaced as his leg sends a shock of soft pain, and kisses the top of Five's head. Then, he leans back against the armchair, opens his book, and starts reading.

~

Ron couldn't sleep. He'd been sitting on the stairs, right in the nook where you can see into the living room, waiting and waiting for Jordan to get up so he could talk to his brother. He needed his brother, he had to talk to him, but Ron had always been such a nuisance. He didn't want to interrupt what his brother was clearly loving—the sickeningly domestic scene of him and Five lounging in the living room, Five sketching and Jordan helping where he could.

But right before he went to bed, Ron had realized that he'd started his period.

Panic had overwhelmed him in an instant. He'd fallen onto the bed, clutching his sides and taken a single, shaky breath before bursting into tears. It'd been like, all of the sudden, a switch had been flipped. Everything was too much. The skin on his hips, on his arms, his fucking boobs, the red wetness on his underwear, the dresses hanging in his closet, the hair curling on his shoulders. It was too rough, too soft, too much of everything. His mind couldn't hold onto one single thought for longer than five seconds, jumping from hatred of his body to hatred of his mother back to his self-loathing. He looked through all the places he kept pads—backpack, suitcase, nightstand, bathroom cabinet. But there was nothing.

He'd needed Jordan.

So, he stumbled down the hall, hiccuping and trying to quiet his sobs as he struggled to see through his blurred vision. Then, he'd heard his brothers laugh, hitting him like a brick.

Jordan was happy. He was laughing like he did when they where eight and playing with Hamerina the Hamster. And if Ron went downstairs sniveling like a little baby about his stupid, insignificant issues?

Ron couldn't do that to Jordan. No matter how mad he was.

So he'd sat down on the steps and waited, crying into his knees.