𝙞𝙢𝙖𝙜𝙞𝙣𝙚𝙨 | 𝚓𝚜𝚌𝚑𝚕𝚊𝚝𝚝

𝙘𝙤𝙢𝙛𝙤𝙧𝙩 | 𝟷/𝟷

[photo: from jschlatt's instagram of him in the Misfits podcast recording space | wc: 1,780 | note: I've been writing a lot of pure fluff so I wanted to try to mix that with a little bit of angst (not too much though, it's mostly still fluff). Let me know if more angsty stories would be interesting. I'm definitely more comfortable writing fluff, but I'd definitely be willing to give it a shot!]

You were supposed to be asleep, but you couldn't shake the sinking feeling that had settled in your stomach that something was wrong. A lot of major events happened recently and consecutively, and you knew they were taking their toll on Jonathan, though his stoic façade would lead the untrained eye to believe otherwise.

He had just face revealed to an extremely overwhelming audience, participated in or simply attended a lot of uncomfortably social parties and events, and was receiving a lot of pressure to move into the Lunch Club house permanently while you were here visiting.

The others laughed it off, ignored it, or couldn't really tell, but you knew that you were the only person to whom he felt able to open up. Even then, he tried to shield you from his more extreme emotions and concerns, as much as you reassured him that nothing could change how you viewed him.

Brought back to the moment, you noticed that, without socks on, your feet were freezing against the hardwood floors in the hallways and on the stairs. You were used to the carpeting of your apartment in New York and the large house setting was something you were still adjusting to, even if it was only going to be for a few weeks. You tiptoed and stepped carefully in a vain attempt to avoid the cold from the floors.

You weren't sure exactly what your plan was or where you were going, but something was guiding you, pulling you even, to the common area where the group had recorded the Lunch Club "You Laugh You Leave" stream.

A ray of moonlight shone past the curtains and onto the coffee table, bottles strewn around mostly empty, save for the full one next to a hand that tightly gripped a small box. You followed the light up his hand to his hunched figure. His other hand held up his head from within his hair and covered his eyes, unknowingly avoiding your gaze. He looked miserable.

"J-Jonathan?" You didn't mean to stammer, but breaking the heavy silence was difficult and your words hitched in your throat against your will.

He sat up quickly, obviously startled, but eased slightly when his eyes focused to reveal that it was only you. His emotionless persona disintegrated before your eyes and he swallowed to mask the lump in his throat as he went to speak. Leaning back against the couch, leaving the bottle on the table, and pocketing the box, his eyes began to water. He took a shaky breath and spoke just above a whisper, trying to mask his sadness with an airy chuckle, "Hey."

You stepped closer to him wordlessly, a sympathetic smile ghosting over your face, until you stood directly in front of him.

Despite his most valiant efforts, a tear that pooled at the corner of his eye began to flow solemnly down his cheek. He wiped his face with his sleeve, leaving his arm up to prevent you from seeing his face, and he choked out, "God, I hate this. 'm s-sorry."

"I know you do," You gently placed his head on your stomach while he moved his hands from his face to rest on your lower back, clenching the soft material of your pajama top under his fingers.

You buried your fingers in his hair, tangling them in small sections of his short locks, and gently massaged his scalp. As he pulled you closer to him, you moved your hands slowly down to his neck and shoulders, keeping your small movements consistent.

Time froze around you. You were only sure that it was still passing as you felt the sensation of movement beneath your hands, watching as short, choppy breaths tugged at his ribs. As your hands stilled on the back of his neck you felt his body shake once in a stifled sob.