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At 11:28 in the morning, JFK woke up with an ache in his right arm. He looked at the scarlet head of hair that was nuzzled into the crook of his neck—the head of hair responsible for the painful numbness. He smiled to himself as he realized he’d woken up before Joan. This meant that he could spend the next few minutes admiring her as she slept, quietly snoring and murmuring to herself. He couldn’t see her face, but he knew that it must’ve looked cute. She always looked cute. She was cute when she was ranting about her classmates, when she was concentrating on studying—hell, she was even cute when she was scolding him for being a bit of a perv.
It was a shame that he didn’t get to see those faces very often. At least, not after prom. Ever since their hook-up at prom, things had been... rocky. After being caught with JFK, Joan made a big effort to avoid him in public. JFK knew she didn’t really enjoy being with him, but he noticed that she was trying harder to stay away these days. She would take longer routes to class—ones that were far from JFK’s locker. She would sit on the opposite end of their homeroom class and refuse to make eye contact, even when JFK was practically staring at her. When she came to the Grassy Knoll and saw him sitting at a booth, she’d do a full 180 and walk out of the diner. It was like she was disgusted at the thought of even being in JFK’s vicinity.
Which just made it even more confusing when, one night, Joan called him at midnight exactly. He answered the phone, groggy from being woken up, only to be met with Joan’s shaking voice. Her breathing was uneven, and she sounded stuffy, like she’d been crying. Panicked by this new display of emotion, JFK offered the only thing he could think to comfort her with: a bed to lie in. Surprisingly Joan accepted. Within ten minutes, she was at his house, no makeup, eyes red. He ushered her inside. He didn’t ask for details, and she didn’t give any. JFK didn’t feel like he was equipped to console anyone, let alone a girl, but he found himself holding her anyway. He let her feel the warmth of his embrace. He let her hands move up to cup his face and let her lips connect to his. He let her put her hands and lips wherever she wanted. He let her press her body against his in ways that were far more than platonic. He let her do what she was comfortable with. He let her take her mind off whatever was troubling her. He let her feel good for another night. He let himself enjoy it, too, knowing it would probably be the last time.
This happened four more times, including last night.
JFK endured the pain in his arm as he watched the beautiful girl lying next to him, wondering how they ended up like this. This wasn’t the plan for either of them. At the beginning of the school year, his goal was to bag Cleo, and he partially succeeded. Hers was to date Abe, and, well, she wasn't as fortunate. They both were in love—was it love?—with different people, yet somehow, they got here. JFK was fairly certain that Joan didn’t have any non-sexual feelings for him... But he wasn’t sure he could say the same for himself.
As if she knew she was being thought about, Joan stirred awake. “Morning,” she mumbled.
“Morning, sleepyhead.” JFK beamed.
“Oh, ew, don’t call me that,” she groaned. She tried to sit up, but quickly gave up and lay her head back down on JFK’s chest.
He chuckled. “Hey, what’s the rush? You just woke up.” He patted her head gently despite the prickly feeling in his nerves.
“Toots is expecting me back early. He wants me to help him clean the house.”
“You can be a little late, can’t you?”
She shook her head and her soft hair tickled JFK’s bare chest. He giggled.
“I can’t. I’ve been late getting home twice now. He’ll get suspicious if I keep it up.”
“Oh. Well, I’m, er, sorry for always keeping you up so late.” He smirked.
“It’s not so bad.” She looked up at him. “The staying up late and, you know, the sex.”
Joan slowly lifted herself off JFK and, eventually, off the bed. She seemed reluctant to leave the warmth of his body and the blankets behind. JFK didn’t want her to go either, but he at least could admire how Joan looked as she stood, back turned to him, clad in a pair of his boxers and an old t-shirt. The boxers were big on her, fitting like a loose pair of shorts. They came most of the way down her thighs, which were covered in a small smattering of hickeys. JFK blushed a bit as he silently commended himself for his good work.
“Hey, do you know where I put my toothbrush?” Joan brought JFK out of his thoughts. She was searching through her overnight bag across the room. “I thought it was in my bag, but I can’t find it.”
“Uhh, I’m not sure. It’s not in my bathroom?”
“No, I remember bringing it out. It’s gotta be here somewhere. Will you help me look for it?” JFK nodded and started to get out of bed before the breeze caught up to him. Joan covered her eyes. “And I forgot. You’re naked.”
“Hey, don’t act like you’ve never seen it before,” he teased.
“Just put some underwear on, at least,” Joan sighed.
“I would, but, uh, you’re kind of wearing ‘em.”
She looked down. “Right. I am. Fine, here.” She pulled a pair out of the drawer next to her (JFK made a mental note of how she remembered where his underwear drawer was) and threw them to him. He quickly pulled them on and got out of bed to help her. They searched around JFK’s room for a few minutes, looking under pillows, behind chairs, and on every available surface.
“Zip, zilch, nada. No toothbrush here.” JFK shrugged. “Guess you can’t leave, then.”
Joan rolled her eyes. “Funny, but that’s not how it works. I can come back for the toothbrush, I guess, but I still gotta go.” JFK watched as she picked her underwear and clothes from last night off the floor and got changed. He would’ve liked to spend this time cherishing the sight of her half-naked again, but instead, he was disappointed at her eagerness to leave. With her clothes back on and her bag packed, she started for the door.
“Wait, don’t go yet,” JFK said. Joan cocked her head. “Maybe we could have, er, breakfast together or something. Or I, er uh, could pick you up when you’re done cleaning and we could, uh, go to the Knoll.”
Joan sighed. “I appreciate it, JFK, but I just wanna get back home. I had a great night. But that’s all it was: one night.”
“One night out of five,” JFK muttered. “Six if you, uh, count prom.”
“You know what I mean. We’re just hooking up. That’s it, right?”
JFK’s lips fell into a frown. “I guess.”
“Come on, man. You’re used to this, aren’t you? You’re Clone High’s player. This is newer to me than it is to you.”
“Well, yeah, I’ve got experience, but... I don’t know. It’s different with you.”
“What do you mean it’s different?”
“I’m not sure. I, er uh, don’t immediately want to kick you out when we’re done banging?”
She rolled her eyes. “Gee, thanks.”
“Sorry, that wasn’t right... Gah! I don’t know, Joan. I think what I’m getting at is that I care about you.” Shocked by his own confession, he added, “Or something...”
Joan paused for a moment, allowing herself time to process these words. She sat on the edge of the bed and patted the spot next to her, inviting JFK to sit with her. When he did, she began. “Listen, Kennedy. I’m not ready for this--”
“It’s not like I’m getting on one knee and proposing or anything, Joan--”
“I know! I know. Still, I’m not in a position to be having breakfast with you or going on dates to the Knoll.”
“Why? Are you embarrassed of me?” She hesitated, and JFK took that as an affirmative. “You are, aren’t you?”
“No, that’s not it. I’m not embarrassed of you. But you've gotta admit that this,” she gestured between the two of them, “isn’t normal for either of us. You’re not supposed to be hung up on anyone but Cleo, and I’m certainly not supposed to be with you.”
“Well, who cares what we’re ‘supposed’ to do? I like you, Joan, I do! I’m crazy about you, even!” He moved to hold her hands, but she pulled them back.
She shook her head. “It’s not a wise decision.”
“What? Liking you?”
“Yeah. You’ll be disappointed.”
“Who says?”
“Me.”
“And why should I listen to you?”
“Because you’re the one confessing to me?” she scoffed. “I’m still into Abe, Kennedy. I’ve liked him for years. Those feelings don’t just go away after a few good hook-ups.”
“Nice to know you thought they were good,” JFK commented. “But I’ll wait for you, Joan. If you’ve still got feelings for that bozo Lincoln, then I’ll wait for them to go away. In the meantime, I’ll show you how much better I am. I’ll prove to you that he’s no good for you anyway.”
“You don’t know what’s good for me,” Joan said, her voice rising with annoyance. “I don’t need you to prove anything to me, especially not when it comes to my love life. We’re sleeping together, okay? Nothing more.”
JFK shrunk back. He was used to Joan scolding him, but this time it kind of hurt. He didn’t like admitting to himself that he liked—maybe even loved—her, and he especially didn’t like being rejected. Sure, he enjoyed the physical parts of their relationship, but (and this was very unlike him) he really did want more. He didn’t want to see her cry over some lanky kid who always looked past her. He wanted to be able to enjoy her touch in any other context besides when she needed a distraction from her heartbreak. For the first time, he wanted something serious.
He stayed silent, not knowing how to respond to Joan’s cold words. He spoke up after a while. “I just want you to be happy, Joan. Whatever will keep a smile on your face, that’s what I want for you. And if that means never speaking to me in public and only calling me to ask for sex in the middle of the night, then so be it. As long as you’re doing alright.”
He rose off the bed and put on a sweatshirt lying nearby and the closest pair of pants. “I’ll, er uh, walk you to your car. If you’ll allow it.”
Joan’s gaze fell to her feet, shuffling back and forth on the carpeted floor of JFK’s room. Her expression was hidden behind a curtain of red hair. As she continued to stare down pensively, JFK awkwardly fiddled with his fingers. He was so used to voicing his every thought that he couldn’t really bear not knowing what Joan was thinking.
“Thanks,” Joan finally spoke. She moved the hair out of her face and looked into JFK’s cool blue eyes. “For caring. And I’m sorry for snapping at you.”
“It’s alright, Joan. Wouldn’t be the first time, huh?”
She couldn't bring herself to laugh at his attempted joke. “Yeah. But I mean it, too. You were just being honest with me. I can’t be mad at you for that.” She sighed. “Just give me some time, please. I need time to figure out what I feel.”
“I’ll give you all the time in the world.” He smiled softly at her, his eyes shining with nothing but genuine kindness.
She smiled back. “Thank you, John.”
“You, uh, can call me Jack too, if you want.”
“We’ll get there.”
JFK nodded. “Baby steps.”
“Yeah, baby steps.” Joan agreed. “Speaking of... I wouldn’t mind if we got dinner tonight.” JFK’s face lit up. “I’m choosing the restaurant, though. We’ll meet there. I’ll arrive and leave in my own car and you yours.”
“Can I bring you flowers?”
She considered his idea. “As long as they cost less than ten bucks.”
“I’ll take it. It’s a start.” JFK crouched in front of Joan. He reached for her hands and, this time, she accepted. “I, er uh, can’t wait to show you a good time. For real this time, not just, uh, using my body.”
“Well, I never complained about that,” Joan teased. “But I look forward to it.”
Just then, Joan’s phone rang from inside her bag. She rushed to answer it, responding with variations of “uh-huh,” “ok,” “alright,” and “I know.” She hung up and sighed.
“That was Toots. I’m late for the third time in a row now.” She shrugged. “I guess that’s on me for oversleeping.”
“It’s not all your fault. Like they say, it, uh, takes two to tango.”
“True,” she chuckled. “Well, it’s time for me to go.” She headed for the door again but stopped. “Shit, my toothbrush. It sucks I wasn’t able to find it.”
“You could always leave it here.” She gave him a quizzical look. “I mean, you’ll be back, won’t you?”
She grinned. “I guess I will be. Treat my toothbrush right, ok, Kennedy?”
“It’ll be in great care,” he bounced back. “And so will you.”