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Pope tells John B: “don’t let him do anything stupid”, points at JJ like JJ isn’t there to see it.
But Pope never thought to wonder about what would happen if John B wasn’t around. And JJ, he’s like a magnet, north pole always reaching for trouble, messing up other people’s compasses as he goes. And yeah, John B is alive but he’s not around and Pope isn’t sure he can do it himself. Doesn’t know how to keep JJ focused on him like John B did.
When Pope first met them, he thought they were brothers.
But Pope doesn’t want to be a brother to JJ.
He dreams of a crossroad. In his dreams, he dies on it. Sometimes it’s of old age. Sometimes Agatha comes back to town and tears right through it, and him, splits him in half and laughs, now you don’t have to choose.
Dad used to say, I hate your friends. Pope always knew it was bullshit. But now, dad reaches for JJ’s head like he knows it’s the only affection JJ ever receives. Ruffles his hair like he doesn’t even think about it, autopilot on the way out of the house, autopilot in the kitchen, as a greeting. Pope doesn’t touch JJ at all. The jealousy burns through him, in equal parts unreasonable and unwelcome.
He dreams of JJ. In his dreams, JJ’s smiles are just as easy as in real life and one hundred percent less fake. Sometimes Pope touches the corner of a smile with his thumb. Sometimes he tastes it with his own lips, feels the salt, like a ghost, on his tongue.
JJ says: “You ok there, Dr. Spock?” like he saw even three minutes of Star Trek, looks at Pope like a puzzle he’s on the verge of solving and Pope feels fear in his fingertips, climbing up.
***
Kie says: “will you just tell him?”
And Pope says back: “there is nothing to tell.”
Pretends he’s not the worst liar in the world. Pretends that he sleeps through the night, doesn’t spend half of it watching JJ sleep, painted in moonlight, on the air mattress, looking so stupid, with his hair sticking out and drool running down his cheek.
JJ is anarchy in Pope’s otherwise orderly life. He’s a smooth-talking, fast-moving, wise-cracking, never-standing-still ball of energy that has nothing to lose. Pope doesn’t know how to reel him back without getting burnt up by his own fears and feelings in the process, without feeling his skin melt off his bones just by standing too close.
And then, JJ stops.
And Pope thought he’d feel better. But he doesn’t.
JJ that is always in trouble, is a familiar JJ.
JJ that reads his textbooks in Pope’s room is a depressive episode waiting to happen, it is a shadow in an unfamiliar room, a twelve-story drop into an abyss.
Pope says to Kie: “is he ok?”
And Kie shrugs, says: “ask him, I’m not his keeper.”
And that’s the issue, right? No one is JJ’s keeper, anymore. John B is gone, and JJ is like a kite in the wind, flapping around, untethered. Except he’s not, anymore.
Pope says: “are you ok?”
And JJ says: “never better”, goes back to reading.
Pope feels like crying.
***
They carry the keg into the boneyard like they’re still on the same page, Kie trailing behind them. With John B gone, Pope is on pour-duty, which is good. Keeps his hands busy.
JJ doesn’t come to get a cup but when Pope lands on a piece of driftwood, hours later, feeling the beer sloshing warm in his belly, clouding his mind, JJ is holding one, blood-red in the firelight. JJ is not drinking.
“You alright, man?” JJ asks him and Pope feels so bad, can’t even put words to it, can’t explain it.
He wants to say, where were you? He wants to say, where’d you get that? He wants to say, what’s going on with you lately?
It’s not his place, not his right to ask these things. Pope’s not his brother, not his keeper, not his girlfriend. Pope says: “Yeah,” forces it out of his too-tight throat, like glass clawing at his windpipe, “I’m alright.”
But he can’t stay, can’t sit next to JJ like he’s not feeling the heat coming off of him, only a few inches of space between them.
“You sure?” JJ says after a while. He still hasn’t taken a sip of his drink. “You’ve been kind of weird lately.”
Pope lets a laugh go, like a sigh, a pained sound, as if to say what about you?
“Yep,” Pope pops the ‘p’ instead, gets up to leave.
He doesn’t see JJ following him with his eyes, doesn’t turn around to look at him, lit up by firelight like some god, ethereal. Pope always knew JJ was beautiful.
Instead, Pope gets another drink and loses time.
When he remembers himself, there is a girl hanging off his neck. Blonde hair cut short and wavy, eyes blue, sparkling.
JJ’s own blues are like ice-picks deep in Pope’s chest, looking at him from across the fire and Pope sees it: JJ is sober, JJ is angry.
When their eyes meet, JJ gets up to leave.
Pope can’t explain this feeling. It’s deep in his bones, a conviction that if JJ leaves now, Pope will lose him forever.
He shakes the girl off himself, misses her cursing as it goes straight through him.
“JJ,” and even that much, Pope’s disobedient mouth manages to slur, “wait.”
JJ doesn’t stop, just keeps walking into darkness and Pope used to be afraid of the dark until he told himself he wasn’t anymore, until he made himself stop, but it’s all turning out to be a lie and Pope feels like a coward.
The ocean is coming in like a blanket at their feet. He hears the rush of the water but can’t tell it apart from the rush of blood in his ears.
“JJ?” Pope can’t see him, feels afraid he’d lost him. And then Pope is falling, feels a tangle of limbs, a heat of skin and breath, like sunshine at sunset: soft, hazy, the sand all grit and bounce under his back.
“Gotcha,” JJ laughs right into Pope’s ear, light, airy. Pope allows himself this weakness, wraps his arms around JJ’s solid frame, touches JJ right back, starts crying. Great big sobs wracking his body. Pope can’t make it stop.
“Hey,” JJ says, his hands drifting to Pope’s face, “hey man, what’s wrong?”
Through the tears, Pope makes himself say it, makes himself acknowledge it, thinks if not now, then when?, says “I thought I’d lost you,” and means much more than just in the dark or on this beach.
And JJ laughs again, a little disbelieving, filled with glee.
“Never,” he whispers, holds Pope tighter, runs his fingers through Pope’s hair.
***
They wake up in Pope’s bed. Pope’s head is like a melon on a spear, skewered all the way through and squishy in the middle, throbbing. He doesn’t even notice JJ at first and then a voice says: “I have never seen you that drunk.”
And Pope startles, opens his eyes to JJ hovering over him, smiling, blonde hair sticking out.
“What?” Pope tries to remember, tries so hard his head starts throbbing even more.
He says: “I don’t remember anything.”
JJ’s smile is mischievous as he says: “it’s okay,” and climbs right over him, thighs grazing thighs, hands pushing into shoulders. JJ is decidedly not taking any effort not to touch him and then it’s all gone in a flash, as JJ lands on the floor, soft like a cat.
In the bathroom mirror, Pope looks at his neck and wonders if he sees a bruise. He pokes at it, sends a photo to Kie and asks her what she thinks. Kie sends back an emoji of an eggplant and a peach and a kiss and some water drops, and nothing else, at all. Pope doesn’t think it’s very helpful, rolls his eyes like she can see him and regrets it when his head starts hurting again.
JJ is the same at breakfast, chatting with Pope’s mum about something. Pope is so busy staring at JJ but trying not to seem like he’s staring at JJ that he almost forgets to eat.
“What’s the plan for today?” his mum asks and JJ replies, easily: “Kie got me a job at The Wreck, first day today.”
And that’s news.
Pope’s mum smiles brightly at JJ, says: “you’ve been working so hard,” like she’s torn between pride and worry.
“Well,” JJ laughs, pops the last bit of his pancakes in his mouth, “a man’s gotta make a living.”
On his way out, he pats Pope’s head like he’s done it a thousand times, so much so that Pope has to search his mind, trying to remember if he has. He hasn’t.
Pope’s mum says: “honey, eat your breakfast,” and Pope wonders if she knows something he clearly doesn’t.
After their shifts at The Wreck, Kie and JJ pick Pope up from the dock. JJ steers the HMS Pogue into the marsh, lets Kie set up for some fishing as he takes off his tank top and jumps in for a dip.
Pope is trying to read. It was creepy business, this waiting, he reads and rereads again and again, only manages to move on to Sitting in the gloom, one got all worked up, on his fourth try at the passage. And then JJ climbs back up, tipping the boat a little as he goes and Pope glances up from the words, even though he knows he’ll lose his spot again. JJ is sun-kissed and well-toned but that’s nothing new. Pope always knew JJ was beautiful.
What is new is a dark patch of angry pink and purple, right at his collarbone that is decidedly not a bruise. Pope glances at Kie over his book just to see if she is seeing it too but she’s turned away, checking on her lures. Pope feels a flash of jealousy and then remembers his own weird patch of purple, much less obvious on his neck and the panic rushes in. He doesn’t mean to stare but JJ either doesn’t notice or doesn’t care.
Wet and cool, he slides into the seat next to Pope, pressing their arms together. He smirks as he towels at his wet hair until it’s a complete mess of soft spikes and swoops.
“Did they figure it out, yet?” he asks, and it takes Pope a minute to register the nod towards the book he’s holding.
“No, they’re just getting to it,” Pope says and buries his head back in it, makes his mind focus on the words.
Later, back in his room that has long become theirs, with the darkness pressing against their window, and JJ getting ready for bed on the air mattress Pope says: “tell me what happened last night.” Holds back the please, trying not to let on that he’s desperate.
“Don’t worry about it,” JJ says back to him, casual, turns the light off without looking Pope in the eyes.
In the dark, Pope says: “I’m not. I just want to know.”
“Why?” JJ asks from his place on the mattress. He sounds weary.
“Because I feel like I’m missing something important,” Pope says, earnest.
“If it is,” JJ says, quietly, “it will happen again.”
Pope doesn’t know what to do with that. Feels frustration roiling in his stomach like a hurricane.
“That’s not fair,” he says a little petulant, like a child.
“Maybe,” JJ agrees easily, “but so is me having to tell you.”
Pope thinks about that for a long time, staring at the darkness of his ceiling, listening to JJ’s even breathing as he sleeps. He tries to put himself into JJ’s shoes, tries to think like he might and feels so confused. Because for weeks, he’s been feeling like JJ is getting further and further away from him, like he’s losing him and yet there’s evidence, maybe, of closeness, matching marks on their skin, almost like a promise.
Pope doesn’t fall asleep until dawn.
***
Everything is just about the same, except it’s not. Because Pope feels like JJ is always touching him, now. JJ brushes their shoulders together, tugs at Pope’s wrists, lets his fingers wander into Pope’s hair, rests his hands on Pope’s shoulders and squeezes. And Pope wouldn’t mind it all that much except that every time it happens, he finds it hard to breath. Breathing, Pope reasons, is pretty fucking important for his survival, so.
But it’s comforting, also. A closeness Pope’s been craving, a reassurance that JJ might not be going nuts, spinning in circles, might be reading his textbooks and going to class, but he’s still here, doesn’t seem to be interested in going anywhere.
Eventually, Pope is starting to feel like he can touch right back. He rests his chin on JJ’s shoulder, reading over his homework. He traces the inside of JJ’s wrist, almost absently, as they lay about on the HMS Pogue in their spare time. He lets his hand dangle from the bed and run through JJ’s hair when they settle for bed. And Pope hears JJ’s breath catch in his throat every time, realizes that breathing is becoming an issue not only for him. And maybe he should be worried about JJ’s hemoglobin levels or whatever, but, instead, he feels elated, ecstatic.
Kie has them over one night, for movies and popcorn. JJ sprawls into him like Pope is a collection of comfortable throw-pillows, instead of a person. When Kie comes back in with the popcorn, they’re a tangle of limbs, JJ’s body leaned into Pope’s chest, Pope’s arm slung carelessly along JJ’s middle. She huffs, in annoyance, taking the armchair instead, says: “I guess you won’t be getting any of this, then,” lifting up the bowl of popcorn but there’s no malice in her voice, humour is crinkling the corners of her eyes.
After the movie, in the kitchen, leaning on the counter and watching Pope washing dishes, Kie says: “are you together now?”
And Pope doesn’t freeze, doesn’t panic, just says, “no”, like that’s that. Something is happening between them, yeah. Something big is coming. But until it gets here, Pope will run his fingers along the inside of JJ’s wrist, will grasp his fingertips in the darkness of their room, will press his hands into JJ’s shoulders and revel in it, this freedom just to touch.
Kie rolls her eyes like she thinks they’re both idiots. Pope doesn’t begrudge her that, they very well could be.
On their way home, they walk shoulder to shoulder. Their fingers graze as they walk, and JJ is all smiles as Pope takes a breath and entwines their fingers.
A man is standing outside Pope’s house. He turns, steps into the circle of light shining from the streetlamp.
It’s John B.
JJ drops Pope’s hand.
***
Pope is glad John B is back. Pope loves John B, they’ve been friends since grade school, so, yeah, he’s glad. Really.
JJ disappears for three days. Pope goes to The Chateau like a ship seeking anchor in the night.
“So, are you like with him now?” he hears John B say. To Pope, the silence that follows feels like the length of eternity. Eventually, he hears JJ say: “not yet.”
“You sound pretty certain,” John B tells him.
“Never lacked in confidence,” JJ says offhandedly and in his mind’s eye, Pope sees him shrug.
“Don’t you think you’ll be holding him back?” John B says, like he’s trying to be careful but also like he’s a bull in a china shop, crushing JJ as he goes. “He isn’t like us, man, you know, right? He’s going places.”
“I’m trying to do better,” JJ says, so quiet, Pope almost doesn’t catch it.
He feels like he’s heard enough. Pope clears his throat, pushes at the door and walks in like he’s coming home. He’s just in time to witness John B’s sceptical look.
“He doesn’t need to,” Pope says, doesn’t even try to pretend he didn’t hear him.
“Oh, hey, Pope,” John B says, sheepish.
“Hi,” Pope says, feeling a little like they’re strangers right now.
JJ’s ears are turning pink. He won’t meet his eyes.
“I’m assuming you were talking about me,” Pope goes on, as if he’s been invited into the conversation, isn’t sure where he’s got the nerve, really. John B has the good sense to look at least a little guilty.
“What do you think JJ,” Pope turns to the blonde, “are you holding me back?”
JJ doesn’t meet his eyes. “I might,” he says under his breath, but Pope catches it anyway.
“Do I get a vote?” Pope says, feeling angry.
“Pope, man, I didn’t–“ John B tries but Pope cuts him off.
“I know,” he says, easily, “but you’ve been gone.”
It’s not a rebuke, necessarily, just a fact.
“I didn’t mean to step on anyone’s–“ John B tries again and again Pope cuts him off.
“Well, you have,” he says without much thought and JJ’s eyes whip towards him.
Pope sees the glimmer to JJ’s eyes, the redness on the edges, just coming in and feels a fire growing within him, angry, scorching.
“I’m glad you’re back,” Pope says, hoping he sounds sincere, “but we’ll figure this one out on our own, thanks.”
Pope smiles at JJ, and gets a shy, watery thing back. It feels like a win.
“Let’s go home,” he says, easily. Reaches a hand to him.
“K,” JJ says back, just as easily, takes Pope’s hand, tells John B: “see ya later.”
“Good to have you back, man,” Pope says over his shoulder, leading JJ out.
At home, sitting on their beds, Pope says: “what’s going on with you two?”
“Nothing,” JJ says and the way he says it, Pope knows it’s true, but he waits for JJ to go on, anyway.
“John B always had influence on me,” JJ concedes eventually, “I guess I didn’t realize how much until he was gone.”
“You know you would never hold me back, right?” Pope says. “If that’s the issue, you have nothing to worry about.”
“I know,” JJ shakes his head and then tries again, “I know most days.”
Pope doesn’t push, just waits the silence out.
“It’s like, here,” JJ points to his heart, “it’s clear. But here,” JJ points to his temple, “it gets confusing. You know, you’ll be leaving soon and then where will I be?”
And Pope doesn’t even have to wait to think about it before he says: “come with me.”
JJ laughs like Pope just told a joke.
“I’m serious,” Pope says, “what’s holding you back?”
“Life?” JJ says it like it’s a joke, but Pope knows he means it.
“We’ll make it work,” Pope promises him, because he’s smart and resourceful, and has never been more sure of something in his life. He tugs JJ onto his bed until JJ is pressed against his chest, his long legs folded between Pope’s.
“Yeah?” JJ says like he doesn’t really believe it but like he’d like to.
“Promise,” Pope says.
They sit like that for a long, long time, until Pope’s mom comes into the room.
“Ok, well,” she says, “now that that’s happened, I guess we better move JJ to a different room.”
“What? Why?” Pope says, doesn’t feel nearly as embarrassed about the situation as he thought he might be.
“Because you’re still seventeen, and living under our roof,” she says like it’s obvious, “rules are rules, honey.”
Her smirk leaves Pope warm, if incredulous. She doesn’t close the door when she leaves and JJ laughs so hard, he might’ve fallen off the bed if Pope wasn’t holding onto him so tightly.
***
They leave for Cambridge with a couple bags and a couple thousand to their names.
Pope’s dad hugs them each in turn, tells JJ: “take care of him, will ya?” and Pope might’ve felt affronted, except JJ has really turned it around recently, taking on more and more responsibilities at the store and at The Wreck, so yeah, maybe that makes sense.
John B and Kie don’t come to see them off but John B does send them a text saying good luck and I’ll see you two soon, so yeah, they’re good.
And then, a couple months in, they get a huge deposit onto their account, seemingly out of nowhere.
And yeah, money doesn’t buy happiness but it sure as hell helps.
***
Some days, Pope lies in their bed or sits down on their couch and just watches JJ wake up or watch a movie or read and he can’t quite wrap his mind around how they ended up here. He can never remember the moment he saw JJ as more than a friend, can never remember the day he thought oh, yeah, I understand now, I’m in love.
The only explanation Pope has is that JJ was always sneaky like that, so no wonder he found a way to crawl into his heart and make a home there without Pope so much as noticing.
He tells JJ as much and JJ laughs so hard that there are tears in the corners of his eyes.
He says: “your lack of self-awareness is astounding.” And that stings a little. Pope thinks he has a lot of self-awareness, thank-you-very-much.
“Not where it matters,” JJ chuckles again and then pulls Pope to him, makes Pope lie on top of him, Pope’s mouth level with JJ’s collarbone, tucked under JJ’s chin.
“I can tell you when I first knew,” JJ says, tone like it’s a peace offering.
“Yeah?” Pope says, surprised.
“Yeah,” JJ kisses the top of Pope’s head, “remember when John B and I snuck into that motel room?”
“Yeah,” Pope says, a little confused.
“And you said to John B, don’t let him do anything stupid? Like I wasn’t even there,” JJ’s chuckle is soft, breathy.
“Yeah,” Pope says slowly, like he means, go on.
“That’s when I knew,” JJ says simply.
“I’m pretty sure I’ve said that to John B like a million times before,” Pope argues, lifts up on one elbow to meet JJ’s eyes.
“Yeah, probably,” JJ agrees. He’s smiling: “but that was the day it sunk in, that, you know, you might actually mean it. That it actually mattered to you whether I was okay or not.”
“Of course it mattered,” Pope says, incredulous.
“Well, that day,” JJ said, “I actually believed you.”
They lie in silence for a while, just listening to each other’s breathing, enjoying the lazy Sunday afternoon. Pope’s mind is jumping from one JJ-related thought to another even as JJ is right there next to him. Suddenly, he has a thought and he rises onto one elbow again even though JJ is breathing like he’s really close to sleep already.
“Wait,” Pope says, “are you saying that you fell in love with me because I cared about you? That’s weirdly self-serving.”
JJ laughs again, softly, and opens his eyes.
“I never said that’s when I fell in love with you,” his smile is coy, eyes crinkling with mirth in the corners.
“Then what the hell was it?” Pope says, a little indignant.
“That’s when I knew you were in love with me,” JJ says and rolls away from Pope and onto his feet before he even gets the chance to process the words.
“You little shit,” Pope says low and dangerous, rising from the couch.
JJ is laughing when Pope finally catches up to him in the kitchen.