Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

It felt like the school day just didn’t want to end, and Joan was starting to get sick of it.

She was sick of all of it.

The pervading stench of sweat that stuck to the inside of her nose, the constant buzz of mumbled gossip, the endless sea of insecure teens just trying to get through the day, she was tired of it all.

Especially Abe and Cleo.

It was Joan's last class of the day, and she felt like she was about to snap at any second.

Abe and Cleo were standing a little ways away from her at Cleo’s locker, his arm hanging over her shoulder protectively. Cleo’s arms were linked around his waist as she asked him to give her a ride to The Grassy Knoll after class for a milkshake.

Joan could only look on as Abe smiled dopily and kissed Cleo on the forehead.

It hurt seeing Cleo get all the casual affection that Joan wanted.

She wanted someone to be so proud to be seen with her that they didn’t care who saw them together. She wanted that intimacy, that care.

Joan swallowed thickly as the final bell rang and they walked away leaning on each other.

She was so distracted she didn’t notice that JFK had come up to stand beside her, his usual wide grin missing from his face.

“Hey, er uh, Joan?”

She rolled her eyes and sighed.

“What do you want, JFK? I’ve had a long day and I just wanna go home.”

He took a slight step back and raised his hands in a surrendering movement.

“I just wanna ask you somethin’.”

Joan held back a groan and turned to face him. She really wasn’t in the mood for whatever bullshit he was going to spout.

“Well, er uh,” he began, rubbing the back of his neck anxiously. “I know that, er uh, you have the hots for Lincoln-”

“I really don’t see how that’s any of your business,” Joan snapped.

“And I want Cleo back as well, so I, er uh, have an idea.”
Joan raised an eyebrow. JFK wasn’t one for coming up with ideas, so it must have been something important to him.

“Well, what is it?”

JFK looked around the hallway at the students still milling around and frowned.

“There’s too many people here, step into my, er uh, office.”

He held onto Joan’s arm and pulled her toward the boys locker room.

It was a mess. Discarded socks littered the corners of the room. The stench of deodorant, or lack thereof, was overpowering. A moulding jockstrap was taped to a locker. In thick black sharpie “Vincent Van COCK!!!” was scrawled on the door. The jockstrap was signed “from JFK.”

Joan scrunched her nose as she looked around.

“Why did you bring me in here?”

JFK sat down on one of the wooden benches, his elbows on his knees as he hunched over.

“Remember, er uh, when you helped me with my campaign and, er uh, we made that smear ad against Lincoln?”

Joan nodded, her arms crossed over her chest.

“Well, I don’t know if you noticed but, er uh, Cleo got kinda jealous and, er uh, spent more time with me after it.”

“And I’m supposed to care, why?”

“And with Cleo hanging out with me, you got to, er uh, hang out with Lincoln more.”

Joan narrowed her eyes and furrowed her brow.

“So what’s your idea?”

JFK pressed his hands together and pointed them at her, a wicked grin spreading across his face.

“We pretend to be boyfriend and girlfriend to make ‘em both jealous!”

Joan blinked in surprise, letting his words sink in.

Her instinctual reaction was to punch him in the face and walk away, but Joan stopped to think if his idea had any merit.

Abe was mad at her after the campaign for helping JFK instead of him. He didn’t like it when she spent time with other guys, and he would always take her out for a milkshake if he caught her hanging out with other dudes.

Sure, he would spend the entire time telling her off, but it was better than being ignored.

Joan stared at JFK, trying to check if he was joking.

His big eyes looked up at her expectantly, shining brightly under the fluorescents. His fingers were clasped together tightly against his chest. He looked so earnest, waiting impatiently for her answer. Joan was pretty sure he was going to start vibrating if she didn’t reply soon.

“Fine.”

JFK shot up from the bench and wrapped his arms around her as he laughed and spun her around in a hug.

“Thank you, Joan! This idea will never backfire on us! Haha!”

“Put me down!”

Joan wrestled out of his strong grip and pointed a finger at him.

“We need ground rules if we’re going to do this properly.”

JFK nodded, staring at her keenly.

Joan cleared her throat, smoothing her mussed hair as she thought about what she wanted from this.

“No kissing. Forehead and cheek kisses are okay, but no kissing on the lips.”

“Gotcha, no smoochin’. Anything else?”

Joan bit on her lip as she thought, struggling to think of rules on the spot.

“Once Abe and Cleo break up, we’ll ‘break up’ a week later so it isn’t obvious that we aren’t dating.”

“Mhmm,” JFK hummed in agreement, writing what Joan was saying in a small notebook. His tongue was poking out between his lips in concentration.

“Are we, er uh, gonna announce it to the school? And by announce it to the school, I mean-!”

“We can go on a few dates before we start telling people. Oh, and Kennedy?”

Joan took a step closer to him, making intense eye contact with the boy. He took a small step back, raising his little notebook between the two of them.

“We are not going to have sex. Got it?”

JFK nodded, using his notebook as a shield.

“Sure thing, Joan. No sex. Gotcha.”

Joan stepped back, her lips curving into a satisfied smile.

“This was your idea Kennedy, what now?”

JFK straightened up, putting his notebook in his pocket.

“Joan of Arc, will you, er uh, go on a date with me?”

Joan smiled and linked her arm in with his.

“Yes I will, Kennedy. Yes I will.”

Chapter Text

The drive to The Grassy Knoll was quiet. The rumbling of the engine seemed to fill JFK’s car as they both sat in silence.

Joan leaned back in her seat and looked out the window, watching houses and shops race past them.

She could feel JFK’s eyes staring at her as she looked out the window.

“Probably wondering why he ever wanted to do this,” she thought.

Joan didn’t quite understand why he asked her of all people to do this with him. Catherine the Great would have agreed to this, and Marie Antoinette. Why her?

Her thoughts were interrupted as the glossy red car pulled up and parked near the door of The Grassy Knoll.

Joan went to open the car door, but was beaten to it as JFK frantically lunged out of the car and across the hood to open it for her.

“Really, Kennedy?”

“What can I say Joanie? I’m a romantic dude.” he said breathlessly as he offered his hand out for her to hold.

Joan scoffed jokingly and took his hand as she got out of the car.

She scanned her eyes across the parking lot to see if anybody saw them. It was fairly empty for a Wednesday afternoon, only a couple cars in the lot.

Joan cursed and ducked her head as she saw a familiar blue and white car parked a little ways down.

“Fuck.”

“What?”

“Abe and Cleo are here.”

JFK frowned and looked through the window of the diner.

“Yeah, I can see ‘em in there. Come on,” he said lowly, still holding her hand as he walked toward the door of the place.

“Are you crazy?” Joan whispered frantically. “What if they see us?”

“I, er uh, thought that was the point of this?” said JFK.

Joan frowned for a moment before giving in. “Fine.”
She held her head high as they both walked into the diner, hand in hand. She mumbled to JFK that she was going to grab a table. He nodded, and squeezed her hand gently before she left. As Joan walked away, she heard JFK order them drinks.

She smiled slightly to herself as she noticed that he didn’t even flirt with Marie.

Joan walked to a booth, the cracked red leather squeaking as she sat down. From where she was sitting she could see where Abe and Cleo were sitting.

They were on the other side of the room, both of them huddled into the same side of a booth. They were sharing a strawberry milkshake, taking turns drinking from the same striped straw. Abe was talking about something, the hand not wrapped around her shoulder waving wildly as he spoke. Cleo started laughing cheerfully, covering her mouth with her hand as Abe continued to talk.

Joan tore her eyes away from them both and glared at the waxy table, her hands clenched on the table.

They really just had to flaunt their relationship in front of everyone, didn’t they?

JFK chose that moment to arrive at the table, milkshakes in hand.

“Hey, er uh, Joanie? Do you want, er uh, chocolate or vanilla?”

She blinked out of her reverie and tucked her hair behind her ear.

“Chocolate. How much was it?” she asked, reaching for her wallet in her bag.

“Joanie, we’re on a date. You ain’t paying.”

She scowled, hands still reaching for her money.

“Dude, I get the original JFK was from the 60’s, but times have changed. I’m paying for my drink.”

JFK frowned as Joan threw the money across the table to him.

“It was three dollars Joanie, keep your money.”

“It was three dollars Kennedy, take the money.”

They stayed in this staredown for some time, neither wanting to take the money on the table.

Eventually Joan broke, snatching the money back.

“Fine, but I’m buying next time.”

“Next time, huh?”
JFK grinned, his straw pinned between his teeth as he smiled widely.

Joan winked and took her straw between her teeth.

“You heard me,” she smirked.

JFK laughed and leaned back into the sticky leather seat.

“So what does a date look like for, er uh, Joan of Arc?”

Joan pressed her lips together as her smile dropped. She stirred her milkshake absentmindedly and stared down at her drink.

“Well, uh, Joan of Arc doesn’t really get asked on dates, so.” Joan shrugged, picking at the plastic straw.

“You’re kiddin’ me,” JFK said doubtfully. “This is your first date?”

Joan nodded self consciously and pursed her lips.

JFK hummed disapprovingly and took his mini notebook out of his pocket, jotting down a quick note.

“You should have, er uh, told me. I can do much better than a diner, Joanie.”

“Well as long as Abe and Cleo see us, you can do what you want-” Joan cut herself off as she saw JFK take a different notebook out of his other pocket. “- but no mariachi bands or string quartets.”

JFK huffed, and shoved his second notebook back into his pocket.

“You’re no fun.”

“We aren’t actually dating, Kennedy. You don’t need to do any big romantic gestures. And besides, it’s not a big deal. I don’t really care about not having been on a date.”

JFK rolled his eyes and slumped onto the table, resting his head on his hands.

“If you don’t care about dating, then why are you tryin’ to make Lincoln jealous?”

Joan sighed, and rested her elbow on the table, cupping her cheek with her hand.

“Abe’s a good guy. He’s honest, caring, and he really listens to people.”

“Does he do that with you?”

Joan scowled and angrily took a sip from her milkshake.

“Well, why do you want Cleo back?”

“You’re dodgin’ the question.”

“So are you.”

JFK frowned and combed his fingers through his hair as he sat back into the chair.

“She’s hot, I’m hot. She’s popular, I’m popular. What else is there?”

Joan rolled her eyes and stared at him.

“What else? Do you even like hanging out with her?”

“Well, we don’t exactly hang out, it’s more like we, er uh, make out and fuck, I guess.”

“You do that with every girl in school anyway, what else do you like about her?”

JFK’s frown deepened and he pointed a finger at Joan accusingly.

“Hey! Making me think about my motivations isn’t part of our agreement, doll face.”

Joan scoffed.

“Doll face?”

“What? What’s wrong with doll face, doll face?”

“I’m not a doll, Jack.”

“Did you just call me Jack?”

“It’s your name, is it not?”

JFK’s eyes narrowed. He grumpily took a sip of his milkshake and crossed his arms, “hmph”ing loudly.

They sat in silence for a beat, before Joan snorted quietly. Her small snort quickly built into a full gut busting laugh.

“I’m sorry, Kennedy, but I can’t take you seriously when you make that face!”

Joan kept laughing, her arms wrapping tightly around her chest..

JFK tried to stifle his own laughter, but the sound of Joan uncontrollably snorting as she laughed only set him off.

His loud cackling did nothing to help calm down Joan’s fit of laughter.
She couldn’t even get any words out, she was laughing so hard. She could only raise her finger in his direction, trying to explain what she found funny. Her ribs ached, and her stomach was tied up in a massive knot.

Out of the corner of her eye, Joan could feel a collection of people turning to look at the commotion they were both making. She didn’t care, too busy desperately trying to calm down so she could take a full breath.

JFK massaged his stomach, wheezing out a last few chuckles.

“Gosh, that made me kinda hungry. Wanna, er uh, split some fries?”

Joan nodded, still laughing quietly.

“Sure. C-chilli cheese fries?”

JFK gave her a thumbs up and waltzed a little ways behind her to the counter.

“Joan?”

Joan sat up straight, giggling as she wiped a few tears from her eyes.

“Y-yeah?” Joan stuttered, choking slightly on her laughter as she looked up at the source of noise.

It was Abe and Cleo. His arm seemed to be glued to her shoulder as it was still hanging there securely. Abe’s letterman jacket was tied around Cleo’s waist , her arms crossed in front of her chest.

“What are you doing here?” Cleo spat, staring suspiciously.

“I’m getting food? This is a diner, Cleo.” Joan replied sarcastically.

“She meant what are you doing here with JFK?”

Abe looked at Joan disappointedly, his voice low and condescending.

Joan shrugged, and tucked her hair behind her ear.

“We’re on a date.”

She licked her lips nervously. She didn’t like lying to Abe like this, but a little white lie like this would be forgotten once they started dating. If anything, it’d be a fun story to tell at parties, right?

Cleo scowled fiercely, her face screwing up in anger.

“You little slut, JFK is my back up-”

“What did you just say?” Joan growled, glaring daggers at Cleo and she stood up slowly.

“You heard me, you man-stealing, desperate whore!”

Joan opened her mouth to snap back at Cleo, fists clenched in tight fists at her side. How dare she call her a whore?

“Joan, she isn’t wrong.” Abe sighed.

All the air suddenly left her lungs as she stared in slack jawed shock at the boy.

“What?”

“JFK is an asshole, Joan. I’m sorry but you must be kinda desperate to go on a date with him.”

“Abe,” Joan stuttered, swallowing the thick, wet stone in her throat. “Why would you say that?”

“It’s the truth.” He shrugged casually. “You must be feeling whore-ish if you’d willingly hang out with that dude.”

JFK returned then, smiling sheepishly with a small tray with a basket of nachos.

“Hey, er uh, Joanie! They didn’t have chilli cheese fries, so I got these instead, is that, er uh, okay?”

His smile dropped slightly when he saw her obviously holding back tears.

“Joanie? You okay?” He placed the tray on the table and cupped her face in his large hands, looking intently into her eyes.

“What happened, doll face?”

Abe scoffed and rolled his eyes.

“Dude, leave her alone. I just told her what she needed to hear so she wouldn’t keep making this,” he gestured at JFK with his free hand, “mistake.”

JFK stared at him in confusion as Joan stared at the ground in shame.

“He called her a desperate whore,” Cleo stage whispered, cupping her mouth with her hands.

Without saying a word, JFK suddenly lunged forward at Abe, pulling an arm back to punch him.

Abe screamed girlishly, falling on his ass on the floor as JFK came down on him like a house of bricks.

“No one talks to her like that, you twiggy little asshole!”

“Jack, stop it!” Joan yelled, reaching forward and grabbing JFK’s arm before he could actually land a punch on Abe.

JFK whipped his head around to look at her.

“Sorry, doll, but I’m not gonna let him get away with sayin’ that to you.”

Joan stared pleadingly into his eyes, holding his tightened fist in her hands.

“Leave it, Jack. Let’s just go.”

JFK breathed heavily, swallowing his rage. He turned his head to glare ferociously at Abe. He looked at him on the floor in disgust before spitting bitterly at Abe’s feet. He wrapped his arm around Joan’s shoulders, hugging her tightly as they left the diner.

“Well,” Joan laughed weakly. “People are definitely going to know we’re ‘dating.’”

JFK stared ahead as they walked to the car. “Let them.”

And if Joan didn’t push his arm off her when they were out of sight of everyone, who was to know but them?

Chapter Text

Again, Joan and JFK sat in silence in his car as he sped away from the diner.

His knuckles were white on the wheel, gripping it tightly as he drove. His nostrils were still flared and Joan was pretty sure he was going to start breathing fire if he didn’t calm down.

She was still upset, of course.

She was expecting Cleo to be spiteful at best, homicidal at worst. But she was devastated that Abe really said that to her. Why would he call her a desperate whore?

Abe had always had a jealous streak as wide as he was tall, and he always held Joan to an impossible standard.

No, not an impossible standard, she corrected herself. Just a high one. He’d always had her best wishes at heart, and he always would. That’s why she loved him.

Joan gazed out the window as trees and houses flew by in a blur, blending and blurring together, strips of colour against a setting sun.

They were blurring together fast.

Too fast.

“Jesus, slow down, Kennedy.”

The car kept driving.

“Kennedy.”

Still driving.

“Jack, slow down.”

JFK growled, and swerved the car and pulled over on the side of the road.

“Why are we stopping-”

“Does he talk to you like that a lot?”

Joan stared at him in confusion, her eyebrows furrowed in puzzlement.

“What do you mean?”

“Does he really say that kinda shit to you? To your face?”

JFK stared out of the windshield, hands still gripping the wheel as if he was trying to snap it in half.

Joan scoffed, and slumped in the passenger seat. She crossed her arms across her chest and scowled out of the window.

“I trust Abe to talk straight with me, alright? Everyone needs someone that’ll tell us when we’re being an ass.”

“Joanie, there’s a difference between a friend that’ll call ya’ on your shit, and a grade-A fuckin’ asshole.”

Joan whipped her head around to glare at him.

“He isn’t an asshole, Kennedy. He’s just honest.”

JFK screwed his face up in frustration, and spat a derisive chuckle.

“Yeah, an honest-to-god asshole.”

“Kennedy.”

JFK turned to look at Joan, his eyes filled with concern masked by anger.

“What do you want me to do, huh? Just stand by as he calls you a whore, calls you desperate?” He sucked air sharply between his teeth and shook his head. “I respect you too much to just sit by and watch him talk to you like that Joanie. Nah, I ain’t gonna let it happen.”

“Well it’s not like i asked you to fucking hit him, Kennedy.” Joan hissed as she hugged her arms around her tighter.

JFK threw his hands in the air in desperation.

“What? Do you want me to sit back and clap like it’s some fuckin’ show?”

Joan turned her whole body toward him, gaze steely and cold.

“I’m pretending to date you as a favour, JFK. Don’t think that this is anything more than that.”

With that, Joan opened the car door and got out, slamming it hard behind her.

“Joanie,” JFK sighed, following behind her as he left the drivers seat.

“Come on, get back in the car.”

Joan started walking along the side of the road, arms stiff by her side as she sped away.

JFK jogged up to her, walking alongside her as he tried to keep up with her fast pace.

“Joanie-”

Joan stopped suddenly and spun to face him.

“Don’t call me Joanie. I’m not your girlfriend, I’m not your buddy, or pal, or chum. Fuck it, I’m not even your friend.” She took a step toward him, her eye line barely coming to his chin. Her eyes were cold, her tone colder.

“Right now, just the two of us, I’m your coworker, got it? This is business. We made a deal, an agreement. We pretend to date, Abe and Cleo break up, and we move on.”

Joan looked JFK up and down before spitting, “Don’t think it’s anything more than that.”

JFK watched with flushed cheeks as Joan spun on her heel and stalked ahead, rage radiating from her in hot waves. He stared at her as she walked away, stunned into silence by her intimidating words. After a moment, he shook his head slightly and licked his lips as he ran after her.

“Joanie- Joan, I’m sorry if I overstepped. It, er uh, wasn’t my place.”

Joan regarded him coolly out of the corner of her eye as she kept walking.

“But as your, er uh,” JFK cleared his throat. “coworker, I really think you should get back in the car. It’s startin’ to get dark and your place is still a while away.”

Joan stopped in her tracks. As much as she loathed to admit it, he was right. The sun was almost finished setting, and there were no streetlights to light the way home.

She took a deep breath, and sighed frustratedly.

“Fine. But I’m getting in the car because I want to, not because you told me to.”

Her words were acidic as she changed direction back toward JFK’s car.

JFK swallowed, his eyes glued to her as she stormed past him.

“Gotcha’. Your idea, yeah.” he laughed nervously, rubbing the back of his neck as he gazed at her in awe.

Joan turned and stared blankly at him.

“Well? Are you gonna drive or what?”

JFK nodded, and jogged back to the car, choosing to ignore the heat in his cheeks and stomach.

The drive to Joan’s house was thick with silence. The sun had set completely now, the only light being the headlights on the car as they drove through the fresh night.
JFK tapped his fingers on the wheel nervously as Joan continued to glare out of the window, brooding viciously.

“So, er uh, our deal is still on right?” he asked anxiously, his eyes darting to the moody girl beside him.

Joan sighed through her nostrils and nodded, not trusting herself to speak in case she blew up on him again.

JFK bobbed his head, biting the inside of his lip. “Cool, cool, cool.”

They didn’t speak again until he pulled up to Joan’s driveway, the car clunking as it hit the pavement at an odd angle.

“So, will I, er uh, pick you up for school tomorrow?”

“Yeah. Be here at eight thirty.”

Joan opened the door and got out, closing it swiftly behind her. She paused, thinking quietly to herself. She then leaned down, resting her elbows on the window as she looked in at JFK.

“You can call me Joanie in front of people, if you want to.”

With that, she turned tail and speed walked to her front door, closing it resolutely behind her.

In the car, JFK grinned widely. He laughed loudly to himself as he pulled out and drove away.

“The Kennedy’s always get what they want.”

Chapter Text

The sky was glum, and threatening to storm when Joan and JFK pulled up to school the next morning.

The drive was more amicable than the night before. The car radio played the Top 40 faintly as they talked about nothing. JFK told Joan about the last track meet, about how Sudworth had starving cheetahs chase them so that they would all beat their personal bests.

He stared wistfully out of the windshield, a shadow of horror falling over his dark eyes.

“We lost good men that day.”

Joan talked about an underground film she saw a few weeks ago about a girl and boy who only had a month left to live. It was Swedish and was told entirely through interpretative dance.

“Seems a bit grim,” JFK smiled jokingly, poking fun at the girl beside him.

“I mean, yeah.” Joan chuckled. “It was really depressing.”

They arrived at the student parking lot a few minutes before the first bell. Just as Joan was about to get out of the car, JFK held her arm gently to keep her in place.

“Hold on.” JFK reached behind Joan to the backseat and searched around for a bit before pulling out a familiar orange and white jacket. “Put this on.”

Joan raised her eyebrow. “You want me to wear your varsity jacket?”

JFK shrugged, the corner of his mouth tilting into a crooked grin. He held it out hopefully, the white embroidery of his initials glimmering on the lapel.

“We are dating, right?”

Joan scoffed cheerfully, and put on the thick jacket. It was huge on her, easily swallowing her slight frame. The fabric was soft on her skin, and the faint smell of JFK’s deodorant wafted deliciously to her nose.

“Well,” Joan said, putting her hands on her hips and posing, “What do you think?” She smiled, and flipped her short hair in an exaggerated motion before letting her face drop into a dramatic pout. “Do I look like the girlfriend of the most popular guy in school?”

JFK smiled, enjoying the image of her wearing a jacket with his name on it a little bit too much.

“You look, ah, great, Joanie.”

Joan hid her small smile with her hair and opened the car door, hoping JFK didn’t see the slight blush growing across her cheeks.

JFK followed suit, locking his car behind him as he came up to stand beside her.

“You, er uh, ready to go in?”

Joan swallowed the nervous lump in her throat as she bobbed her head.

“Yeah, yeah. Let’s face the wolves, huh?”

JFK swung his head from side to side, eyes scanning the parking lot suspiciously.

“Did Scudworth let a pack o’ wolves loose in the halls again?”

Joan smiled sweetly, and took his hand in hers. She linked his fingers with hers, seemingly fitting together like puzzle pieces.

“Come on, Kennedy.”

Joan held her head high as she walked through the doors of the school, refusing to let anyone see her as anything but strong, fierce and unapologetically herself. JFK squeezed her hand tighter as they walked through the halls, his nervousness getting the better of him. Joan looked up at him and smiled, running her thumb soothingly on his hand.

“We got this.”

JFK nodded and released a shaky breath.

The crowded hallway seemed to split like the Red Sea in front of Moses, stunned into a sacred and aggrieved awe. Whispers echoed along the concrete walls, the sound bouncing off the metal lockers like a tinny radio. People weren’t even trying to not stare as they walked past resolutely.

“When did they get together?”

“I don’t know, but honestly? They’re kinda cute.”

“How did he manage to bag that?”

“Do you think she slaps his ass like bongo drums?”

“Oh, for sure, man. You could bounce a quarter off that thing.”

They walked past it all, holding onto each other as they made it to JFK’s locker. He released a long breath and leaned his forehead against the cool steel of his locker.

“I don’t know why I was so nervous. I, er uh,” he laughed nervously, “ I didn’t realise people cared who I dated.”

Joan rolled her eyes half heartedly and leaned her back against the lockers.

“You’re flattering yourself, Kennedy. They just like the gossip material.”

JFK laughed and opened his locker, his lips still locked in a smile. Joan stared at his face for a little bit too long, the curve of his lips catching her eyes. She didn’t want to move her gaze, trapped in the view of that damn grin.

“Will I, er uh, walk you to your first class?”

Joan shook her head, biting the inside of her lip as she kept staring at him.

“Nah, you head to class.”

She paused, before boldly leaning toward him. She kissed him softly on his cheek.
“See you later, Jack.”

She turned and walked away quickly, shoving her hands in the big pockets of JFK’s oversized varsity. Internally, Joan berated herself. God, what if he thought it was weird? Was it too out of nowhere? Did he even want her to do it?

Did he like it?

Joan didn’t turn back as she walked through the halls. Because of this, she didn’t see JFK gazing dopily after her, touching his cheek lightly. He didn’t want to brush her kiss away accidentally, resigning himself to tracing the ghost of her lips with his fingertips. He whipped his head around and snapped out of his reverie, suddenly worried about prying eyes. He moved his hand to rub his nose and cleared his throat awkwardly as he turned back to his open locker. Time to never examine why he cared so much about the cheek kiss!

But did she mean anything by it?

No, he reasoned with himself. It’s just part of the act. Besides, she loved the Lincoln doofus. He felt his eyebrows turn into a deep scowl at the thought of Abe. God, he was such a bozo. He had such a great gal right there in front of him, willing to hold the sky for him if he wanted. Lincoln must have been blind if he couldn’t see what a kind, caring and hilarious dame Joanie was. Not that he cared, though. Joanie made it very clear the other night that she didn’t want him stickin’ his beautiful face in her business. Besides, he was only doing this to get Cleo back.

Right. Cleo.

His train of thought was interrupted by the ear splitting ring of the bell. JFK growled under his breath and slammed his locker shut, stalking into the crowded hallway, disappearing amongst the bodies. His head was starting to hurt.

Reflecting is a difficult thing for a guy like him to do.

Chapter Text

The school day was rather uneventful, which Joan was happy for. Classes came and went, teachers droned on about people who had been dead for decades, and students didn’t pay attention, instead choosing to toss paper and pens across classrooms at each other.

It was chaotic, and business as usual.

What Joan didn’t enjoy, however, was the staring.

For the entire day, she could feel the hungry eyes of gossips bore into the back of her head. People went quiet when she came into a room, and only resumed talking when they thought she wasn’t listening.

She was almost tempted to take JFK’s jacket off, just to curb the unwanted attention. But every time she passed JFK in the hallway between classes, his eyes would shine so sweetly and he’d smile that dumb, happy grin.So she wore the jacket, if only to see him smile at her like that.

But that was all just for the act.

It was the period before lunch had just ended, and Joan was putting books back in her locker. She was going to meet up with JFK at lunch in the cafeteria in a few minutes, so she was getting her stuff together for the classes after lunch.

She slammed her locker door shut, only to be greeted by the disappointed face of Abe. She jumped, and put a hand on her chest to try and stifle her small yelp of surprise.

“Jeez Abe, you scared the crap out of me.”

Abe scowled at her and crossed his long arms over his skinny torso, huffing angrily.
Joan looked at him in confusion, slinging her bag over her shoulder.

“Why are you looking at me like that?”

Abe huffed again and stared at her more pointedly.

“Well obviously you like people staring at you, so I’m giving you what you want right?”

Joan furrowed her brow in confusion and started walking toward the cafeteria.

“Where did that come from?”

Abe stalked after her, gesturing to JFK’s jacket frustratedly.

“You’re wearing his letterman jacket!”

“So?”

“So?!”

“Cleo wears your jacket,” Joan scoffed.

“Yeah, because we’re boyfriend and girlfriend-”

Abe cut himself off and stared at Joan suspiciously.

“Wait, wait, wait. You guys are officially dating? After one date?”

Joan felt her face go bone white. She really did hate lying to Abe, but it was what had to be done. After taking a deep, reassuring breath, she spun to face him, stopping him in his tracks.

“That wasn’t our only date, Abe.” she lied. “We’ve gone on more than one, y’know.”

“How long have you guys been,” Abe waved his hands in the air, searching for the right words. “How long have you been together?” His words were laced with spite and acid.

Joan could feel herself beginning to sweat, her eyes darting around nervously.

“It’s none of your business, Abe.”

She turned away from him and dashed down the hallway. Abe took off after her, his long legs easily keeping stride with her.

“None of my business? It is my business, we’re best friends.”

Joan could feel a wet lump forming in her throat as she scrambled to come up with an excuse.

“I knew that you would react the way you did at the diner, and I didn’t want that.”

Abe rolled his eyes and groaned.

“Is that what this is about? Come on, Joan, you know I was right.”

“What? You’re right about me being a desperate whore?”

“You’re twisting my words. I never technically called you a whore, I said you were whore-ish.”

Joan tucked her shaking hands into the pockets of JFK’s jacket. She bit her tongue and pursed her lips.

“Yeah, because that makes such a difference.”

Down the hallway, JFK leaned against the doorframe of the cafeteria. He had a small hand mirror in one hand, and he used his other hand to swipe any hair that escaped from his magnificent coiffe back into place. He grinned at his reflection, and blew a gentle kiss into the mirror.

Abe scoffed, and pointed at JFK.

“Look at him, Joan.”

Joan nibbled nervously on the inside of her lip. She ducked her head, not letting herself look at Abe.

He patted her shoulder, turning to walk away.

“Gandhi and I will be in the library, you know, when you come to your senses.”

Joan stood there, listening to Abe’s footsteps disappear into the cacophany of high school gossip and rumour.

JFK looked up from his mirror and made eye contact with her. He beamed, his eyes sparkling brightly.

Joan walked up to him and crossed her arms.

“Jack, I need to talk to you about our arrangement. Can we talk somewhere privately?”

JFK’s face fell. The corners of his lips curled downwards slightly, but he nodded. Joan took his hand in hers and led the way, and JFK let himself get carried by her. Her hands were almost the opposite of his in every way. Her fingers were long and thin and her palms were smooth. Her nails were coated in chipped and cracked olive green nail varnish.
JFK was suddenly conscious about his own hands, about how ugly they seemed in comparison to Joans. He almost wanted to let go of her, so that she wouldn’t have to hold him anymore.

Joan led them both to the school AV club and closed the door tight behind them. JFK saw the tension in her shoulders relax slightly. It was just the two of them now; no one was watching anymore.

“What’s wrong, Joanie?”

Joan pursed her lips, looking at her scuffed boot marks on the linoleum. She almost couldn’t bear to look at Jack. But, she reasoned, he deserves that much.

“Jack, I don’t know if I can do this.”

JFK furrowed his brow in confusion, and almost reached out to hold her hands in his. He curbed his impulse and forced himself not to, ignoring how badly he wanted to do so.

“What do you mean?”

Joan sighed in frustration. Not frustration at Jack, no.

Never Jack.

“It’s Abe- I think our deal is making his opinion of me worse. It’s backfiring on me.”

JFK scowled at the mention of Abe. Joan watched the boy swallow thickly. He leaned back on one of the tables and crossed his arms. She could almost hear the gears in his head turning as he thought.

“Joanie, I’m gonna ask you a question, and I want you to answer it honestly.”

Joan ducked her head and nodded, looking at her scuffed boots.

“When was the last time he was nice to you?”

Joan pursed her lips, rolling her eyes.

“Are we really doing this Jack?”

JFK shrugged, his hands gripping his biceps angrily.

“What, do you wanna talk about it after you realise he doesn’t like you the same way?”

Joan scowled and took a small step toward the boy.

“Watch yourself, Jack.”

He cocked an eyebrow and pushed back from the table, stepping toward the smaller girl.

“What? You gon’ tell me that it’s none of my business?”

Joan could feel hot anger rising to her cheeks and the tips of her ears. She glowered viciously at JFK, head tilted up to look him in the eye.

“You’re goddamn right. How I feel about Abe has nothing to do with you.”

“Actually doll,” JFK said gruffly. “I think it is. We’re in this deal together, you can’t back out-”

Joan poked her finger into the centre of JFK’s chest, cutting him off harshly. His shirt did nothing to mask the firm muscle underneath. Joan could feel her nail poking through the fabric. She chose to ignore the sudden red flush that spread across JFK’s nose and cheeks.

“Never say what I can or can’t do.”

There was no space between them, only Joan’s hand on JFK’s chest.

He felt stuck there, stuck in the same way a moth is stuck to light and an addict is stuck to their vice. He was entranced.

JFK kicked his dry lips and swallowed the trapped air in his throat.

"Never."

Joan's glare lessened, but her words remained steadfast under the heavy weight of their magnetism.

The lack of space between the two of them did not go unnoticed by Joan, and she could feel her cheeks flush at their proximity.

Hot breath puffed from her lips as she looked at him, really looked at him.

He was in front of a ring light that was left on by a previous student, and he looked positively angelic. High cheekbones that she once saw as haughty and arrogant, seemed now so gently sculpted and hollow. His once stocky jaw was now strong and defined. But his eyes, by god his eyes.

They were hypnotising. They were droopy, and soft. His stare was crisp and startlingly blue, and Joan couldn't help but be locked in place by his captivating gaze.

She didn't want to give up on her righteous anger, nor did she want to give in to what she knew deep down was true.

Joan relaxed her hand on JFK's chest and sighed, leaning her forehead against him.

"I don't know what to do, Jack."

He slowly circled his arms around her, wrapping the girl in a hug.

JFK held Joan gently, afraid of his own strength. Right now, she was porcelain and the last thing she needed was a bull crashing through her life. He was scared she'd shatter in his arms, in his clumsy embrace. So he simply silently vowed to only be a comfort to her, not a weight on her conscience.

"You'll know when you're ready."

Chapter Text

JFK tried to float through the rest of his day like he usually would, laughing at his own jokes, flirting with the teachers and generally not putting much thought into his actions, but his conversation with Joan played in his mind like a playlist on repeat.

He repeated what she said to him in his mind and his responses at the time seemed lackluster in hindsight.

He trundled through his final classes quietly and uneventfully. Students muttered sussurussly in his direction, but their mutters weren’t as loud as the single conclusion he had come to that was circling in his head.

He loved Joan of Arc. Joan. Joanie. The weird, goth, artsy girl that he wouldn’t have even spared a second glance at last year.

The thought ran around in his skull like the CIA ran to cover its’ suspicious tracks; methodically, consistently, and thoroughly. There was no doubt in JFK’s mind about it, about the fact that he liked Joan. It wasn’t a thought, a theory, or even a hypothesis. It was a fact.

As the final bell trilled its absurdly cheery tune and JFK headed to his locker to get himself ready to go home, his phone buzzed in his pocket.

Joanie<3 : hey im gonna head straight home and take a nap. I dont need a ride. dont wait up for me. call u later x

JFK’s fingers hovered over the screen momentarily before he replied.

JFuckingK : gotcha doll, lookin forward to it :D

His eyes lingered on the ‘x’ before he sent the message and stuffed his phone back into the pocket of his slacks. He huffed under his breath as he gathered his belongings and made the arduous trek through the student parking lot towards his convertible.

The car ride home was quieter than usual. It was strange, he noticed, how quickly he got used to having someone sitting in the passenger seat. The car felt colder, more lonely without the second presence. The thrumming hum of the engine was more grumbly, the click of his turn signals more grating. Having someone in the car made all the regular cranks and clanks of driving less annoying and more soothing.

Having Joan in the car was soothing.

JFK pulled into the driveway of his house and turned off the engine, but he didn’t get out of the car. He sat there in the lonesome quiet, staring intently at the reflection of his eyes in his rearview mirror. He glanced around suspiciously, making sure he was alone. He took a shaky breath, and returned his stare to his reflection.

“I love Joan of Arc.”

The sentence oozed out of his lips like cement, a heavy admission that only served to make his shoulders tense up more and for his brow to furrow deeper.

“I love Joan of Arc, but she loves another guy.”

The cemented words turned to concrete in his throat, and JFK sighed to try and relieve the pressure on his brain. He gripped his steering wheel until the skin was pulled taught over his knuckles and glowed white. He loved her, but a deal was a deal and JFK resigned to the fact that she was in this deal to get with Abe and not him.

He clenched his jaw as he came to terms with the simple fact that Joan of Arc didn’t love him, couldn’t love him.

Wouldn’t love him.

--

Joan tossed her book bag into the far corner of her cluttered room and jumped, flopping face first unceremoniously onto the downy comforter of her bed. She buried her face in her sheets, ignoring the lack of air and uncomfortable heat of suffocation. When she could no longer bear it, she ungracefully rolled over onto her back, glaring holes in her ceiling.

“Fuck.”

What is it with clones of American presidents? If she had any connection to God, she’d curse the fucker for hurling them at her from every direction.

As Joan stared at the dusty cobwebs crowding the corners of her ceiling, she thought about JFK.

Jack, who was so much softer than she once thought. Jack, who blushed crimson all the way down his neck when she stared at him too intently. Jack, who held her tenderly in his arms in the AV club as she crumbled under the crushing expectations of Abe. He didn’t hold her like she was some porcelain tchachki that he was afraid to break, he held her so she wouldn’t fall apart. He held her together.

Joan closed her eyes and imagined him lying beside her staring up at the ceiling. She imagined the space he’d take up, the impression he’d leave in the sheets, the warmth he’d radiate.

Eyes still shut tight, Joan turned over and wrapped her arms around her pillow, and imagined it was him.

He’d chuckle, she imagined. He’d laugh softly and wrap his arms around her too. He’d rest his chin on her head and they’d both sigh contentedly.

If Joan imagined it clearly enough it’d be true.

If she imagined the smell of his deodorant, the familiar texture of his sweater, the firmness of another warm body lying beside her, it’d be true. It’d be real.

Joan sighed, and splayed a hand on the top of the pillow where Jack’s chest would be. It was alright to lose herself in the fantasy, she reasoned. It was alright.

Her mind and body succumbed to the dream of being held by another warm body, someone who was there to hold her, to be held by her. A warm body that would whisper to her. “I care about you, I care about you. I am here because I care about you. This is me caring about you on purpose.”

“I love you,” Joan sighed sleepily.

It took a moment for her fantasy addled mind to comprehend what she said. Her eyes shot open and she threw herself up into a sitting position staring bewilderedly at the pillow. She blinked away the rest of her musings, brushing her imaginings into the back corner of her mind.

“What the fuck.”

Chapter Text

Joan splayed her fingers across the pillow beside her and she took in what she said.

I love you.

She let the words linger on her tongue and she swirled them around her mouth to taste the sweetness of the confession.

I love you.

She let her eyelids flutter closed as she imagined strong arms holding her. She pictured the warm body of another person, one person in particular, saying the only words that can matter in these close exchanges of intimacies.

I love you too.

Her fantasy was interrupted by the monotonous buzzing of her phone across the room, the electronic hum dissolving the youthful dream of unrequited crushes. Because there was no way he liked her too, Joan reasoned. She was the weirdo goth that he was pretending to date to get the popular girl to like him. No way in hell would he ever actually have feelings for her.

She pulled herself out of her own daydreams to pick up her phone from inside her bag.

JFuckingK: hey doll
JFuckingK: marie is throwing a party tonight, her moms r out of town
JFuckingK: wanna come?
JFuckingK: with me
JFuckingK: to the party
JFuckingK: ill give u a ride :)

Joan could feel the corners of her lips pull into a muted smile as she stared at the collection of texts, all sent in the past ten seconds. Her fingers hovered over the screen as she typed out her response.

Joanie<3: yea sure. Lmk when ur gonna be here x

Ellipses immediately popped up in her conversation with Jack.

JFuckingK: in an hour?
JFuckingK: seven
JFuckingK: also
JFuckingK: its a pajama party
JFuckingK: wear smth sexy

Joan closed her phone screen and tossed it on the bed away from her at a speed so quick she didn’t even realise her phone wasn’t in her hand.

She had to be ready in an hour, and be dressed in something sexy? She wasn’t even a sexy girl! Who even owns sexy pajamas? Just sleep in a big shirt and underwear like the rest of humanity.

Joan paused. Lingerie would be considered sleep wear, right?

Joan’s mind went into overdrive as she scoured her underwear drawer for her cutest bra. Coloured lace and satin straps all blended together as she searched desperately for something that would look good on her.

After upending all the clothes in the dresser, she finally found what she was looking for. She remembered that she got it all a few months ago in a bout of self confidence, but promptly threw them in the back of her wardrobe in a fit of shame that quickly followed suit.

A short, black, silk slip dress.

A pair of sheer black stockings with a matching black lace garter.

A small black corset with embroidered detailing in between the boning.

She huffed, and tossed it all on top of the pile of bra on her bed.

Joan plastered her usual makeup on and got dressed, not letting herself catch a glimpse of her reflection in the full length mirror on the back of her door. Her fingers fumbled with the lacing of the corset, the thread slipping out of her hands and that seemed to be the last straw.

God, what was she doing? Getting ready to go out dressed like an emo hooker just to impress a guy she wasn’t even actually dating.

What if no one else was wearing anything like this? Is she too overdressed? Was she wearing too much makeup? How recently did she shave her legs? Who wears Docs to a sexy pyjama party?

Joan paced around her bedroom, biting at whatever nail varnish was left on her nails just as harshly as these questions bit at her.

There was a sudden sharp honking of a car outside snapped her out of her reverie. At the same time Joan whipped her head around to the slight buzz of her phone on the bed.

JFuckingK: im outside queenie
JFuckingK: if u arent ready i can wait btw
JFuckingK: unless u need a hand changing ;)

(JFuckingK deleted a message.)

JFuckingK: ignore that last one hahaha
JFuckingK: please

Joan held her hand to her forehead, squeezed her eyes shut, and sharply exhaled.

She Exhaled.
She Exhaled.
She Exhaled.

She Inhaled?

No, she didn't.

“Fuck.”

She let herself sit in her anxiety for a second. Her back hunched, her shoulders rolled forward and her head curled into her chest.

She inhaled.

She exhaled.

She exhaled.

She inhaled.

“Okay.”

Slowly, Joan unraveled herself, her spine rising, followed by her shoulders. She tilted her head back, and breathed deeply.

“You got this.”

Shaking the nervousness out of her hands, Joan threw Jfk’s varsity over her shoulders and grabbed a small bag. She threw her lipstick and phone charger into it quickly, and typed out a short response to Jfk.

Joanie<3: omw

_ _

Jfk leaned his elbows against the wheel of his car and held his head in his hands.

Why the fuck did he send that text?

He rubbed his eyes with his fingertips, and slumped into his chair. Stupid, idiotic thing to say. His eyes darted around the hood of his car, looking for anyone in case they saw him send that text. It was a criminal thing to do, after all.

His eyes fell upon the house in front of him. It looked warm, he thought. Hazy white curtains hung in the window, backlit by soft orange light.

He saw a figure dart past the window, a glimpse of a black silhouette, airy and floaty.

It was a cold evening, and Jfk could've sworn the figure was a spirit.

His theory was stepped on as the front door opened, and he saw the ghost that haunted him.

Oh, Joan.

There were no words that came to Jfk’s mind. Nothing, no one, no phrase, or synonym or antonym that could describe what Jfk was looking at right now.

It was her.

Joan stepped quickly down her drive to his car, head down so no one could see her face.

She threw open the car door, and slumped inside, shutting it just as forcefully.

She sat up straight, and pulled a strand of hair from her lips and glanced at Jfk, before pulling down the mirror to check her lipstick.

“Hi.”

It was like a gunshot.

He melted, and smiled tremblingly.

“Hey.”

Joan pushed the mirror back up and settled into her seat.

“I don't think I've gotten ready that fast before, it was insane, Jack. I was running as quick as a Greek olympian, I swear.”

Jfk pulled his face together and secured his smile on his face.

“You look fantastic Joan. You really do.”

Joan smiled shrewdly and ducked her neck slightly.

“Thank you.” Her eyes staked him up and down. “You do too.”

He shrugged, and looked down at his white tank top and grey joggers. He saw the strap of his red heart boxers was visible, but he decided it was on theme.

“Aw shucks, it's nothing special.”

He watched Joan's eyes dart up and down his body again.

“I think it is.”

Jfk felt his smile slip for a second, a crack in his armour. Special? To her?

His pulse stuttered, and his thoughts got caught in his throat.

“Gee, thanks.” He coughed slightly, and turned the keys in the ignition. He pulled out of the driveway, and set off down the cold blue roads of the suburbs.

“So who’s going to this party anyway?” Joan asked, scrolling through her phone. The blue light of the evening was pushed away by the white light of her phone reflecting back in her face.

Jfk shrugged. “The usual crowd, extras, Ghandi, er uh-” he cut himself off. “-Cleo and Abe.”

Joan paused for a second in her scrolling.

Inhale.

Exhale.

Breathe.

She resumed scrolling on her phone, staring resolutely at the screen.

“Cool.”

The drive was quiet, as if they were the only people on the road. As if they were the only people in the world. The only ones who mattered.

In that car, everything was theirs. The air, the music on the radio, the sound of the breeze in the cracked window, it belonged to them.

Jfk pulled into Marie’s drive, and felt a familiar cement graft with his shoulders and drag him down. Back to reality.

In reality, the guy doesn't get the girl, he thought. In reality, Joan leaves this sacred space and leaves him alone, hollowed out in a steel church to her. In reality, Joan wants Abe.

Jfk breathed deeply and screwed his smile back onto his face. He turned, and smiled at Joan warmly.

“You ready to go in, Joanie?”

Chapter Text

As JFK approached the gilded door of the Antoinette home, Joan reached out and grabbed his hand. Her fingers interlaced with his, and she gripped his hand tightly.

“You okay, Joanie?” asked JFK, gently stroking his thumb along her hand. He knew he should let go of her, to set her free from him but he couldn’t let go. Not when she was the one who reached out.

Who knows when she would reach out to touch him again?

Joan shook her head and straightened her back. “No, no, it's fine. I needed an extra bit of courage, that's all.” She looked up and smiled at JFK. Her smile was stiff and plastic, and it scared him. Her face didn’t suit that fake grimace. Something dark flashed in her eyes, quick enough to be dismissed by someone else. JFK’s gut twisted in a raw, instinctual way that shouted that something was wrong.

He let her answer hang in the cool air, giving Joan the chance to change her mind and to tell him what was going on.

JFK wanted her to open up to him. He wanted to know what she was thinking. He cleared his throat.

“Are you, er uh, sure?”

Joan nodded, dropping his hand and stuffing her hands in the pockets of JFK’s varsity jacket.

“You getting soft on me, Jack?” she laughed softly.

He shrugged, and ran his fingers through his coiffed hair.

“Maybe I am.”

Joan hid her blush behind her hair, and opened the door in front of her before she lost her boldness.

The door opened to reveal a spacious, warm living room lit by lamps on dark oak furniture. People draped themselves across tan, plump couches and Marie pottered around the room putting coasters underneath their abandoned drinks on varnished tables.

“Are you people savages, oui ou no?”

Music played out of speakers in the kitchen in the next room, filled with scantily clad teenagers chatting boisterously around a large table covered in cups, snacks, and community drinks (for the freeloaders).

It was relaxed and calm, but Joan was still on edge.

JFK nudged her with his elbow, and nodded toward the kitchen.

“D’ya want a drink?”

“Sure.”

They waded through the swath of chilled out classmates, most of which pointedly stared at the unlikely couple.

“JFK’s hiding nothing with those sweatpants.”

“I knew JFK was buff, but man, those arms are a glorious sight.”

“Where has Joan been hiding that bangin’ bod?”

“I’d let her lead a crusade down south.”

Joan stifled a sigh of relief when they finally got to the kitchen.

“Geez, people can be gross, huh?”

JFK pouted as he grabbed two drinks from the table, popping one open and handing it to Joan.

“You get used to it after a while.”

Joan took a sip of her drink.

“What do you mean?”

“Well, you know,” JFK hummed, toying with the tab of the can. “People say I’m hot all the time, which is nice. I think they forget I can hear everything they say.”

Joan frowned.

“Everything?”

“‘JFK’s dumb,’ ‘JFK’s an airhead,’ ‘JFK had an eight pack last month, now he only has a six pack, he let himself go.’” JFK took a gulp of his drink. “The usual.”

Joan paused to really look at the boy in front of her.

“Does it get to you?”

“Sometimes. It used to bother me a lot, but then I realised they don't really mean it.”

JFK smiled and laughed brightly.

“I’m a popular guy. Talking about me is like talking about the weather. I’m a conversation topic, you know?”

Joan reached out and touched his arm gently.

“I never liked talking about you. I like talking to you.”

JFK swallowed, and curled the corner of his lips to one side in a poor imitation of a grin.

“Please, I’m nothing more than a jock character in most of these people’s lives.”

Joan moved in closer beside him, snaking an arm around his waist to hug him softly.

“You're not a character, you're a person. You're people too, Jack.”

JFK tilted his head in thought, leaning back against the table.

Huh. He often didn't feel like he belonged to himself. He was so used to being a topic of conversation to others, used to being small talk amongst friend groups, used to being a slab of meat for the lonely kids to gawk at.

It was hard to have things for himself, because people treated him like he was theirs. If he had news, everyone already knew. If he had secrets, people wanted to know. Nothing was just for him, everyone wanted to know what he did so they could titter with their friends about what silly thing JFK did.

“You're people too, Jack.”

He didn't feel like it.

JFK smiled and released his slowly tightening grip of his drink.

“Eh, what can you do? People say what they say. Nothing to be done about it.”

Her arm still draped across JFK’s waist, Joan stood in front of him. She linked her hands together behind him as he leaned against the table, and she smiled.

“Wanna know what people say about me? Nothing. I’m invisible to these animals so maybe, if you’re lucky, you can be invisible too. It’s nice sometimes, being left alone.”

“You want to be my meat shield, Joanie?” JFK chuckled, putting his drink down on the table.

Joan rolled her eyes and grinned. Her anxiety was curbed for the moment which made her bolder, more brash.

“I’ll be your knight in shining armour, protecting you from such vicious things as small talk and popularity. I’ll slay the beast of infamy and whisk you away to the dreamland that is being under the radar in high school.”
JFK’s smile grew wide as he wrapped his arms around Joan’s waist and rocked side to side.

“You’re my hero, huh?”

Joan giggled at the sudden swaying movement, nodding her head in agreement.

“Uh huh. Don’t you forget it, princess.”

JFK wanted to live in this moment forever. His arms around Joan, her arms around him and both swaying in time with the music of the party. Her dress was shimmery and thin, and he noticed when his fingers grasped Joan’s waist she seemed to lean toward his touch.

Joan’s hands slithered from his waist, to his arms, to wrap around his neck and JFK’s vision went white with the touch of her hands to his skin. She sighed contentedly and tucked her head into his chest, letting her eyes flutter shut.

JFK froze for a moment before letting himself relax into the contact, resting his head on hers. They swayed in the busy kitchen of the Antionette household, and while his brain screamed at him that this was fake, that this wasn’t real, that Joan was lying to him, he let the thoughts pass him by. Because right then, in that moment, he was a guy in a kitchen, dancing with a girl he liked. That moment was his, and no one was going to take it from him, not even himself.

But as is life, the good comes with the bad, and the bad walked through the front door in the twin form of Abe and Cleo.

Chapter Text

“Cleo!”

“Looking good, Cleo!”

“Hey, it’s Cleo!”

Joan didn't dare to peek a glance at the front door. She kept her eyes shut tight and ignored the raucous wolf whistles and jeers directed toward Cleo in her white lingerie and Abe in a knee length blue striped nightgown, complete with a sleeping cap with a matching blue bobble.

Cleo’s eyes scanned royally over the crowd of teenagers in front of her, drinking in the acknowledgement and attention. She looked out on her followers, her plastic smile shining brightly in the dark room. Abe stood just behind Cleo’s shoulder holding two six pack beers in his arms. His gaze never left his slippers, downcast and glum. His eyes tracked the crowd sneakily, before catching Joan wrapped in JFK’s arms, her head tucked into his chest. His eyes dipped again, and didn’t rise.

“Looks like the party is finally able to begin.” Cleo announced. “Let’s go fucking nuts!”

The partygoers cheered wildly, drunk on their previous drinks and the thrill of breaking the rules. Music boomed louder from the speakers beside Joan and JFK and they watched as their classmates began jumping and dancing dizzily to the bumping music.

Abe trudged through the field of moving bodies to the kitchen, making his way to the fridge. He put the beers inside, and took one out for himself. It shut quietly in the bustling, busy kitchen and he risked another look at Joan. Abe turned his head, sighed, and his eyes fell to the floor again. He popped open his bottle, drank deeply and sighed. His hands found the handle to the back garden and he slipped out quietly, closing the door behind him.

Cleo’s dark eyes met with JFK’s blue, and her smile curled slyly. With practiced poise and grace, she began to weave between the roiling bodies in the living room toward the kitchen. People tried to get her to dance with them, but Cleo waved them away with a cordial laugh and a promise that she would join them later on, she “just had a job to finish really quickly, I’ll be back in a sec. Pinky promise!”

JFK stared at cautiously as Cleo walked into the kitchen and stood beside him, picking up a can from the table slowly. Her eyes dragged up and down his arms as she held the drink in her hands. Her eyes landed on Joan, who stared back, and for a moment the regal warmth Cleo exuded warped to something hotter, more cruel. She blinked, and her warm gaze snapped back like an elastic band and Cleo settled her sights on JFK.

“JFK,” she hummed. “Can you open this for me?”

Cleo held the can toward him and looked up at him with wide eyes, fluttering her eyelashes daintily.

He paused for a moment before unwrapping one of his arms from the embrace with Joan, taking the can in his hand. He opened it with a crisp pop, and held it out to Cleo.

“There you go.”

Cleo tilted her head and gently took the drink from his hands, feathering her fingers against his. She looked at their hands grazing each other, looked back up to JFK’s eyes, and smiled.

“Thanks, J.” Cleo expertly brushed a single strand of hair behind her ear and rested her manicured nails at her collarbone. “Will I see you later?”

Joan interrupted Cleo sharply. “What about Abe?” She frowned.

Cleo slid her eyes to look at her, pupils sharp and predatory. “What about him?”

“He’s your boyfriend.”

Cleo coughed a short, sharp laugh and shot a look at JFK. “And he’s yours?”

Joan’s frown furrowed into a scowl and took a small step toward the other girl. “Excuse me?”

“Well,” Cleo matched Joan’s step forward. “I’ve known about your puppy dog crush on my boyfriend Abe since we started dating.” Putting her untouched drink on the table, Cleo stepped closer to Joan again.

Joan felt like someone had hit her in the ribs with a lead pipe. “What?”

Cleo rolled her eyes. “Come on, everyone saw that miserable niche film you made. You were obsessed, Joan. It’s kind of weird.”

JFK held out his hands, putting one hand on each girls shoulder. “Uh, guys-”

“- and here you are now, Joan.” Cleo cut JFK off, brushing her shoulder out of his touch. “You put in some effort for once. Instead of dressing like you’re a burlap sack trapped in a pigsty, you’ve fished clothes out of the trash from the hooker Toots fucks.”

Joan stepped out from under JFK’s hand toward Cleo, attempting to level her gaze at her. She flickered her eyes over Cleo’s face, never settling long enough to sustain the eye contact. “Don’t say my dad’s name.”

“But,” Cleo continued. “What I don’t understand is how you pulled your pathetic, sappy ass together enough to trick my ex-boyfriend into your bed.”

Joan pulled her hands into a tight, whiteknuckle grip to stop them from shaking. Her chest heaved up and down unsteadily.

“Stop it.”

Cleo bared her teeth in a smile, and let out a harsh, barking laugh. “But Joan, I have some more questions. I mean,”

She tucked her short hair behind her ears, revealing an uncharacteristic lack of jewellery in her ears.

“How did you get all of the cobwebs out of your bed before you fucked my ex boyfriend? How did you manage to convince J to be with a loser fucking virgin like you? Unless,” She took a final step forward, the pointed tip of her nose in line with Joan’s. “You let him do whatever he wants. You must really hate yourself for what you let him do to you. No, I bet you like whatever freaky shit he has you do.”

Her eyes were black with anger, completely void of reason and rationality. Joan could feel tears begin to collect at the corners of her eyes. Cleo glared hotly at Joan, eyes trained completely on the shaking girl in front of her.

“Fucking slut.”

Cleo pulled back and slapped her hand across Joan’s face sharply, the crack of skin against skin causing the entire party to snap their attention to the kitchen.

Time froze, and so did Joan. No one dared move. They were all looking at her.

The booming music felt like it was going to shatter Joan’s ear drums. Tears bled down her hot left cheek, stinging and mottled red from Cleo’s hand. Crying freely, she turned her head back to look at Cleo.

Cleo wiped a few loose tears away with a quivering hand, breathing uneasily. Cleo wouldn’t meet Joan’s eyes, lost and staring at her lips. Her hand twitched at her side unpredictably.

Shakily, Joan reached a finger to the corner of her lip. She wiped at the matte lipstick, and came back with a grotesque mix of purple and red.

JFK grabbed Cleo’s shoulder, breaking the silence.

“You split her lip? What the hell is wrong with you?”

Cleo pointed desperately at Joan, voice thick with angry tears. “She was trying to take you from me, JFK. You want me, not her, JFK. Okay, she- she can’t have you. She can’t have you.” Her voice, usually so sure and direct, was mangled by pure emotion. She stammered out, “She can’t- you- she just took A- not you too-.”

Cleo screwed her face up, taking deep breaths as JFK began to speak.

Joan didn’t hear JFK’s response, because she stopped listening. The world around her warped suddenly and sickeningly, until it stopped as if it had never happened at all.

Joan then watched her body peel away from the growing crowd in the kitchen, people hungry to watch heated arguement , and through the back door into the garden. She watched her body stumble on the mowed, cold grass to the side of the house, away from the noise and light of the kitchen, away from Cleo, away from JFK- away from everyone.

Joan watched herself sit on the ground, hunching her back against the wall of the house. She wiped at her lip again and winced slightly at the sudden touch, sucking air through her teeth sharply. Joan scoffed.

Cleo hit Joan so hard she split her lip. She wanted to laugh incredulously, and would have, if she didn’t think she would start screaming instead.

Joan stared at her shaking hands, her twitching fingertips spotted with her own blood. She tried to centre herself, running her fingers through her hair and holding her head in her hands as she attempted to get air into her lungs. Each breath shuddered and wheezed and her chest shook with how powerfully each breath left her body. Air wouldn’t stay in her lungs, it just kept going out, out, out. Joan could feel the well of tears in her eyes begin to cascade down her cheeks like a tsunami, following the outline stinging red mark left by Cleo’s hand and washing her makeup away. Her eyes were blurred and mascara smudged watery black lines all down her face and neck and Joan cursed herself for thinking that she could be loved.

Her chest groaned with the gross effort of her sobs. It pulsed and heaved as Joan tried again and again and again to calm down her sporadic breaths. She tightened her fingers in her deep pink hair, gripping and pulling with her hands to relieve the pressure on her chest.

“Joan?”

Joan shook her head desperately. “Jack, not now. Please, not now-” She raised her head to look up at the voice and wiped the blur out of her eyes. As her vision cleared and her eyes focused on the boy in front of her, Joan's eyes also focused on the sleeping cap on his head and the blue slippered feet in front of her.

“Abe?”

Chapter Text

Joan rubbed her hands under her eyes, scrubbing the tears away. Her mouth opened to say something, but her words caught in her throat which was raw and scratchy from crying.

Abe knelt down on the grass in front of her, his hands hovering hesitantly near her shaking shoulders.

“Joan, what- Are you okay? What happened?” He stared closely at Joan’s tear struck face. “Joan, what happened?”

Joan shook her head and clawed her hands into her hair again, overwhelmed by her own distress. Cleo’s words flitted through her mind, and Joan heard a sound escape from her own mouth. A sad, mourning sound - high pitched and keening.

Abe tore at his lips with his teeth as he settled in front of his first true friend. He reached out and untangled Joan’s fingers from her butchered scalp, smoothing her knotted hair with unsure hands. He pressed her unsteady hands against his chest and breathed exaggerated, but regular, deep breaths.

“Follow my lead, Joan. In for four, hold it, out for four. Nice and easy.” He spoke clearly, if a little panicked himself. He continued to breathe to the rhythm, setting a pace for Joan to follow.

Joan’s brain was so fried and her mind so overwhelmed that she matched Abe’s breaths unthinkingly. She gulped at the air like she had been pulled from the sea, saved from drowning. They sat and breathed together for some time, and Joan began to really feel the grass against her legs, and the wet dew soaking into her dress. She heard crickets chirping and she finally acknowledged the boy in front of her. Even after Joan regulated her breath, Abe held her hand in his uncertain grip.

“It’s been a while since you had a panic attack like that Joan, what-” His eyes squinted at her bloodied lip. “Did Cleo do this?” Abe asked desperately.

“Yeah,” Joan choked, tilting her head up at him. “Don’t be so surprised, Abe. She’s your girlfriend.”

Abe's face turned stony and he moved to sit next to her with a mournful sigh, a sudden weight dragging him down to the ground.

“She dumped me. For real, this time.”

Joan felt her face screw up in understanding. “Shit, Abe. She didn’t deserve you anyway.”

Abe scoffed, and looked at the ground. “I should’ve seen it coming. It was never me she wanted, anyway.”

Silence hung around their shoulders like a heavy coat. Joan stared at her fingers interlaced with Abe’s gawky fingers, and braced herself for the answer to her question.

“Abe, did - did Jack and I have anything to do with your breakup?”

Abe laughed breathlessly, his usually toothy smile not quite reaching his twisted eyes.

“You guys had everything to do with it. Y’know, no one saw you guys coming. Joan of Arc and JFK, the hot, new, it couple. You come to school together, you have lunch together in the AV club.” Abe turned to look at her, tears gathering in his wispy eyelashes. “You wear his varsity jacket.”

He inhaled through his nose sharply. “I have no problem with you guys, I don’t. It’s just that-” he licked his lips bitterly. “Cleo knows that JFK is head over heels for you.”

A weak grin tried to grow on Abe’s face, as if trying to trick himself into believing that this was all a wistful memory in his head.
Joan watched his Adam’s apple bob as he swallowed his welling tears. His voice was scratchy when he spoke.

“Cleo wasn’t happy with that. She was so unhappy with her ex boyfriend being so happy with someone else, that she dumped me to try and get him back.”

His grin sharpened into a grimace as he turned to face Joan fully.

“But she didn’t just dump me, Joan. No, she has a reputation to keep up, right? So she dumped me in the car, on the way here, and she made me walk in the door with her and pretend. Pretend to be her boyfriend. I couldn’t do it. I - I ran out of the back door and I’ve been here since the start of the party because I can’t be in the same room as her.”

Joan watched Abe’s smile crack as tears began to flow freely from his eyes. Abe stared back at her, and she could almost hear his heart breaking.

“I just can’t.”

Snap.

“Oh, Abe.” Joan wrapped her arms tightly around his shoulders, securing him in a hug. “I’m sorry.”

His arms whipped around her body and he tucked his head into her shoulder, muffling his own desperate sobs.

“I loved her, Joan. I really did.”

Joan rubbed slow circles into his back and digested everything Abe said. His words ambled through her mind and she swirled the bitter taste of victory in her mouth.

Joan and JFK’s plan worked; their pretend relationship broke Abe and Cleo up. She didn’t expect it to actually work, but it did.

Abe sniffled harshly and pulled back, grasping Joan’s shoulders and staring at the bruising handprint on her cheek and her cut lip.

“Whatever - whatever Cleo did in there, I didn’t know. I didn’t know she was going to do anything to you, Joan. Please, I - I didn’t know, you have to believe me, Joan. Don’t be angry with me, please Joan - You’re my best friend Joan.”

Memories flashed like bursting camera bulbs in her mind of what he had said over the course of her and JFK’s relationship. His cruelty, his snide remarks, his harshness.

“You were mean, Abe. You were mean to me.”

It felt like she was stabbing herself with her own words, and she could see the same pain stick into Abe.

“I didn’t want her to leave me. Pathetic, I know, but it’s the truth.”

Joan searched his face, looking for any sliver of a lie. After a brief minute, Joan smirked ruefully and held her hands on top of his own on her shoulders.

“There’s my honest Abe.”

Abe’s frame collapsed like a tent with no poles, relief flooding his face.

Joan swallowed the growing shards of glass in her throat and gripped his hands tightly. She pulled her lips together and decided to finally tell her own truth.

“Abe,” she cracked. “I liked you once. Like, liked you, liked you.”

Joan looked everywhere but Abe’s face as she scrambled her thoughts together to form words that would get her feelings across.

“But then, something happened. To cut a long, long story short, I started hanging out with Jack and I realised how little I knew about him. I know he seems like some stupid jock, but he’s not. He’s passionate, and sweet, and so protective that it makes me want to shake him by his stupidly broad shoulders. He’s complex, Abe. There’s so much more to Jack than I’ll ever know, and I’m desperate to find out. He’s so sensitive and- and he’s hurt, Abe. Jack has a huge heart and, honestly, Abe - .”

Joan let her lips stretch into a beaming grin as she stared at her old first love, and her new best friend.

“He has my heart too. I really like Jack. I - I think I love him.”

Abe smiled and helped her to her feet.

“I’m happy for you, Joan. Let’s go home and get that cut looked after.”

He draped a long arm around Joan’s shoulder and started to lead her to his car. Joan frowned briefly.

“Weren’t you drinking?”

Abe shook his head, embarrassed. “It’s zero percent - all of the liquor stores remembered me and Ghengis from last time.”

Joan snorted and followed Abe to his blue clunker, leaning into his side fondly.

“Dumbass.”

As the two friends made their way to the car and peeled away, headlights beaming in the dark of the night, JFK watched from the unlit porch.

JFK watched Joan get into the car of her first love, and his fists clenched tightly.

Chapter Text

“Jack, please. I can’t do this without you.”

Cleo’s mascara was smudged underneath her wide and desperate eyes. JFK tried not to look at her. He stared at the wall behind her, at the drink in her hands, at her lack of jewellery in her ears. He avoided her eyes, and he tried to avoid the stares of the hungry partygoers surrounding the two of them. They were all enraptured at the display, the drama. He couldn’t blame them. It had been quite the show.

“Cleo,” he whispered. “Can we talk somewhere else?”

Cleo shook her head. “No, Jack. I need you to tell me why.”

“Why what?”

Cleo gripped her drink so hard the can crumpled slightly in her hand and liquid spilled across her fist. “Why her, Jack? Her, of all fucking people!”

JFK cursed, and tried to hold her shoulder to bring the two of them to a more secluded area. The eyes were getting hungrier.

“Not here, please.”

His hand touched her bare shoulder and Cleo crumpled like the drink in her hand into his shoulder, falling and leaning against his chest. The tank top he was wearing was thin, and JFK could feel the wetness of her tears soaking through to the skin.

As quickly as she leaned into his touch, she retreated, wiping her barely birthed tears from her cheeks. She smiled, teeth gleaming. She patted his chest as she pushed herself away from him and wiped the liquid from her hand on a napkin.

“Don’t worry about it, J. I’ll talk to you later.”

Cleo turned away from him. He saw her look at everyone looking at her, and JFK saw Cleo smile with her teeth. The sea of eyes parted as she strode through the crowd. She held her head high - too high - and her hips swayed confidently - too confident. JFK stared at her retreating back, confusion bubbling up his neck and boiling his brain.

Cleo didn’t look at anyone she walked past. She walked slowly and calmly from the kitchen, through the sitting room and up the deep brown stairs of the house. Her manicured fingers didn’t grab the varnished railings, there was no white knuckle grip to indicate any of the distress she had just caused - or probably felt.

“Cleo? Wait-!” JFK called after her as he pushed through the crowd of people that had clumped together after her passing. They did not part as easily for him. They were too busy gossiping and rumour mongering, and texting, and talking about him. Always fucking talking about him.

JFK wrestled through the kitchen and ploughed his way through the sitting room, before throwing himself up the stairs to go after Cleo.

He reached the upstairs landing, and all of the doors around him were closed. It was a small area, carpeted with a musty cream fuzz that covered the whole floor. Beside him, there was a small table with a stained doily. It had a landline phone and a notepad, with an old lamp, which emitted a low, oily, yellow light. Marie hadn’t expected guests to come up here, so it wasn’t as pristine or orderly as the downstairs had been.

“Cleo?” He called out. He didn’t know which door to check. They all looked the same. Four doors, two to the wall on his left, one in front of him, one to his right. Tall and imposing, they all seemed to cry out to be opened - they all screamed to be left closed.

“Cleo?”

JFK walked to the door in front of him. He raised a hand to knock, and pushed himself through his hesitation and committed to the action. “Are you in here?” He spoke lowly, as if the quieter he spoke, the more he could pretend that this was still a secret. That no one knew what had happened, that the fight was still a private affair. He spoke quietly as if Cleo didn’t even know what had happened.

A door behind him opened, the second door on his left that he had ignored. JFK turned to look. There, Cleo stood with a full bottle of tequila in one hand and her other on her hip.

“I found Marie’s parents room.” she said, looking at the bottle. “They tried to hide the hard liquor in here, but it wasn’t hidden very well.” Cleo didn’t look at JFK as she went back inside the master bedroom, but she didn’t close the door behind her.

JFK followed her into the room. It was spacious. A large king sized bed lounged in the centre of the space, with a charming beside locker on either side. White gossamer curtains hung over the windows, and Cleo stood in front of a large wardrobe, searching her way through Marie’s mom’s clothes.

“I don’t know what I was expecting from a pair of lesbians,” Cleo said. “But there’s exactly as many button ups as you think there would be.”

JFK pushed the door nearly shut behind him. “What was that, Cleo?”

Cleo sighed and spun the lid off of the bottle of tequila with a flick. She raised the bottle in offering to him. He ignored her, and she shrugged and took a swig. Her face wrinkled and her shoulders shook involuntarily.

“I don’t know why they bothered to hide this, it’s not worth keeping safe.”

“No tequila tastes nice.”

“You haven’t had the good stuff then.”

“Cleo.”

“J.”

She locked eyes with JFK and moved to perch on the end of the bed, crossing one knee over the other. Her tanned and dark legs looked long and gorgeous under the soft and warm light.

She held the bottle of tequila out to him again. An unspoken deal - drink with me, and I’ll talk with you. JFK always knew when Cleo wanted something. She wasn’t as subtle with her deals as she thought she was. Yet, it worked on him every time.

He crossed the room to sit next to her, the bed sinking under his legs as he settled in. Their arms grazed, skin against skin. She was warm, he noticed. Cleo held the bottle out to him for the third time, and finally he drank. It burned as he drank, but still he did, and let the liquor slosh down his throat to his twisted and knotted stomach.

It was quiet in the room, but not silent. The music had started back up downstairs, and so had the party. Raucous laughter and bumping bass from the speakers pumped through the floor. JFK could feel the music through his feet. Voices creeped in through the cracked door.

“I’m not a good person, J.”

JFK turned his head to look at Cleo. She stared straight ahead at the door in front of them. Two complementary robes hung from hooks on the back of the door. Her voice was flat.

“I don’t think I’m a bad person, but,” she shrugged. “I’m not good.”

JFK said nothing. He took another drink of tequila and stared at the door.

“We’ve known each other for a long time J.” Cleo tilted her face in his direction, but still she didn’t look at him. “You’ve seen a lot of different versions of me.”

JFK nodded, pushing the acrid burn of alcohol down into his body and keeping it there. “I have.”

“Do you think any of them were the real me?”

“Do you?”

“I don’t know. Some of them had to be.”

Cleo took the bottle from JFK and drank. “I think I was the most myself when I was with you.”

JFK stared at his hands.

Cleo shook her head. “No, that’s not true - I don’t think - I don’t know. I feel -” she trailed off. She raised her eyes to the ceiling and tried to gather her thoughts. JFK waited and stared at the door.

“I feel like,” she began, the words oozing slowly from her lips. “I feel like I didn’t need to try hard around you.”

JFK nodded. “You were used to me. I was used to you. Why bother trying when I knew what you were going to do?”

“I don’t think I didn’t try. I think I just -” Cleo took another long swig of tequila. “I got used to you being there. Every time I dumped you, even if it was for the most stupid reason, I knew you would still be there.”

JFK pursed his lips. “I’m not available to you anymore Cleo. I’m not around like that.”

“I know.” Cleo swallowed. “That scares me.”

JFK stared at the carpet. He thought of Joan dancing with him in the kitchen. Her grin as she declared she would look after him. Her hands on his arms. Her hair grazing her shoulders as she laughed and reached her arms around his neck. Her eyes looking into his. The purple of her lipstick against the white of her teeth - he couldn’t believe so much bad had happened since that single, beautiful moment.

“I really like her.” He looked at Cleo, who didn’t look at him. “I really, really like her.”

Cleo’s face twisted suddenly. The blank and neutral face of contemplation turned and a vicious sneer crawled an ugly crack across her face. “Of course you do. Of fucking course you do. The weird, goth girl that was so hung up on one guy for so long that you hadn’t even noticed her-” Cleo spat as she gripped the edge of the bed tightly. “- is suddenly interested in you and you can’t just let something be, J. You have to go after the new thing.”

Cleo turned to look at JFK with damp eyes, but her voice betrayed her anger. “You can’t stay with something familiar. You need something new to keep your attention.”

“She didn’t come after me, Cleo.” JFK took the bottle back from Cleo. “I went after her - sort of.”

Cleo’s eyes narrowed. “Sort of?”

“It doesn’t matter.” JFK drank. “What matters is that I care about her. I like being with Joan.”

Cleo fixed her eyes on the door again. Light spilled in through the crack like boiling oil.

“Did I fuck everything up with us?”

JFK shook his head. “No. I’m pissed and I don’t like what you did. But like you said,” he took her hand in his. “We’ve known each other for a long time, Cleo.”

Cleo turned to face him. Their noses were close enough to touch, and JFK could feel a nervous tension building in his gut. Her hand was warm under his, and he squeezed it gently.

“You are special to me, Cleo. But I can’t be your second option.”

Cleo pressed her lips against his, and they were kissing. Her lips were soft, soft as they always were, and JFK could feel her hands starting to sweat against his. He kissed back out of habit, because he was JFK and this was Cleopatra, and this is what they always did. He moved the hand that was holding hers to her face. He stroked his thumb against her cheek and Cleo tilted her head into his touch.

This was familiar. It was comforting, in a way. Cleo knew what JFK liked. She knew what exact buttons to press that would make him fold, that would make him turn to putty in her hands. JFK knew what she liked too. He knew how to make her feel good. She knew he liked to be taken care of. He knew she wanted to be needed.

Cleo parted her lips and darted her tongue against his, and unthinkingly, he let her in. She tasted like tequila and mint. Racy and fresh. Her tongue danced along his teeth, and he kissed whatever part of her mouth he could get to. Her lips, her tongue, the corner of her mouth - whatever he could reach. It was needy, and childish, and it felt so, so good.

Cleo twisted her body, lifting her leg over his lap until she was sitting on him, never once breaking contact from his lips. Her hands moved and massaged his back and waist, dipping into and lifting his tank top - enough to leave JFK panting. He reached his hands around her back to her neck, angling her head to deepen the kiss further.

JFK knew Cleo, and she knew him. Was that enough?

Cleo leaned forward, sitting heavier on his lap and she tested a slow roll of her hips against him. JFK sighed against her mouth and let her continue to move on him. It felt nice, it felt comfortable, it felt familiar.

Cleo’s lips pushed harder, and he let her push him down. Down again, onto the bed, and Cleo’s hair tickled his face as she broke away to kiss his jaw and neck. JFK stared at the ceiling, popcorned and uneven and under the spinning haze of liquor he let Cleo drag her tongue along his neck. His breath caught in his throat as she kissed that spot. That spot, which she knew would knock the breath from his lungs. That spot which she knew would lead him to grip her waist tightly. That spot, which would pull her closer to him. That spot, which makes him putty in her hands. That spot, which makes him malleable.

“I need you, J.” Cleo whispered, laying her body on top of his. She rubbed her hands along his waist and the side of his ribcage as she trailed her lips against his ear. She pressed her lips to his skin again, kissing and licking where his pulse beat hard against his skin.
“Please.”

JFK placed his hands on Cleo’s waist. She looked great in the white lingerie. It complemented her deep skin and it flattered her body shape. “We both know,” he mumbled, struggling to speak while Cleo worshipped his neck and jaw. “We both know that this means nothing, Cleo.”

She breathed against his jaw before moving to gently kiss his cheek. “It feels good. Isn’t that enough? Do I make you feel good, J?” Cleo trailed her lips back to his, and cradled his face in her hands as she started kissing JFK in earnest.

“Yes.” JFK felt his fingers grip her waist harder before his brain caught up to what he was doing. He wanted to give in. This was good. It felt good.

But under his hands he imagined paler skin, clad in black instead of white. He thought of purple lipstick smudged against his face and neck. The short hair he felt tickling his forehead and cheeks wasn’t black. In his head it was pink, and in his head he knew he didn’t truly want to be doing this with Cleo.

It felt good, but it didn’t feel right.

“Cleo, we have to stop.”

She stilled above him. She didn’t move a muscle, like a child caught with their hand in the cookie jar.

“Don’t do this, J.” She whispered, still a hair’s breadth away from his lips. “Don’t.”

“I love Joan.” He confessed, hands resting shyly on Cleo’s hips. “I do.”

Cleo pushed herself up and swung her legs off of JFK. “You have a funny fucking way of showing it.”

JFK sat up, rubbing his face with his hands. “Cleo, I don’t know what the fuck is going on.”

“You’re going to replace me,” Cleo yelled, stomping to the door and ripping one off of its hook. She threw it over her shoulders and stared at JFK with a hot, angry gaze. “You don’t want me anymore.”

JFK stood and stepped toward Cleo. “God, no, that’s not it. I-” He ran his fingers through his hair and looking around the room as if it would reveal any answers. “I love Joan, and I love you, But it’s different kinds of love. I don’t want you like that anymore.” He gestured toward the bed, the sheets significantly more wrinkled than when they came in here. “You are one of my longest friends Cleo, and I still want you in my life.”

“You don’t want me anymore.”

“I love you.”

“Not in a way that’s important.”
“Why can’t that love be enough, Cleo?”

“Fuck you, JFK! Fuck you, and fuck your love!”

Cleo clapped a hand to her mouth, and smothered a sob. JFK ran closer to her and wrapped his arms around her in a tight hug. She leaned into his arms, her free hand gripping his arm fiercely. “I feel so alone, J.” She choked. It took Cleo a second to gather herself enough to let herself speak. “I’m so scared that no one actually wants to be around me.”

JFK kept holding Cleo. “I do. I know you, Cleo. I’m still here.”

Cleo wailed into JFK’s arms, her legs buckling at the knees. She breathed and cried, and breathed again. She hiccuped through her sobs, and dug her nails into JFK’s arms just to keep him there. He wasn’t going to go, he thought.

“I broke up with Abe, and I don’t know why.” She cried after a small beat, pushing her face into his chest. “He could’ve known me.”

“He still can. You just need to let him.” JFK spoke into Cleo’s hair.

She still used the same brand of shampoo that they used when they were dating, he noticed. Shea butter and coconut. He inhaled the nostalgic scent and realised that that’s all that their romantic relationship was - nostalgia. Memories of a different time in their lives.

“He won’t take me back.” Cleo moaned. “I broke his heart.”

JFK stroked her hair and pulled away from her, breaking the vice grip she had on his arms.

“Try. It’s scary, but you have to try. Let me go, and let him in.”

Cleo fell forward into him again, and he let her. They stayed like that for a while as Cleo regained control of herself, and internally built up her walls and masks again. He let her build herself again, because he knew her, and he knew that’s what Cleo needed to do.

Eventually, Cleo breathed one last heavy breath, and she pulled away from him. She removed herself from the hug, but held onto JFK’s hands with hers. She had never looked so young and scared.

“Can I kiss you one last time?”

“No.”

Cleo hung her head and nodded. She took her hands from his and walked through the cracked door. Her shadow was long against the rich warm light of the hall peeking through that sliver of an opening. JFK watched her shadow disappear as Cleo shut the door firmly behind her.

JFK stayed behind. He closed his eyes, rubbing his hand against his jaw to his neck to the back of his shoulders, and he sighed. He stood there for a few minutes, absorbing all that had happened in the last twenty minutes or so. He stood there and absolved Cleo of her violence against Joan, and in the same thought condemned himself for his makeout session with Cleo.

“I’m a fucking idiot,” he said to the air, hoping for someone to shame him too. But no angry hoard burst through the door. No mob came for him with their pitchforks. It was just him, alone in a room, punishing himself for what he had done. For what he had let himself do.

“Fuck.”

JFK stood for a second, his face hidden by his hands to hide his shame. He breathed, and felt his gut twist and revolt against him.

You kissed Cleo - his conscience spit - and you liked it.

He tore open the bedroom door and ran down the stairs, desperate to confess. He wasn’t religious, but the original JFK was a Catholic man, so he knew that this steadily forming guilt was a biological part of who he was. He needed to confess, he needed his saint who would forgive - or condemn - him. Who would forgive, or condemn, his mistake.

JFK reached the bottom of the stairs and whipped his head around, looking for a shock of pink hair and the gleam of a black silk nightgown in the crowd of people. He saw it, eventually. Through the people, through a window, through a lush garden, and even further through the window of a blue and white beater of a car. JFK saw that beautiful woman, whom he knew he loved, get into the car with the boy she thought she needed.

JFK watched Joan drive away.