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“Oh, you are just adorable,” JD says, a scowl twisting his features, and Veronica bursts into laughter. JD doesn’t move, his expression remaining stony throughout her fit of giggles until eventually, his eyebrow raises, and the corner of his mouth twitches ever so slightly. Even if he spends all night denying it, Veronica has that one win.
“You like it,” she teases, hopping down from the stairs. “Admit it.” She sways from side to side, the fabric swishing around her small body. “You like it.” His mouth falls open, his eyes widening as if the suggestion itself has offended him. His eyes move up and down her body, taking her in again, and his eyes somehow manage to get wider.
“Where the hell did you even get a trenchcoat from?” he asks.
The trenchcoat was, in fact, the hardest part of the costume.
“Second-hand store,” she replies. “They have all kinds of fun stuff in there. Plus a whole army surplus section,” she adds, and JD groans.
It had begun as just an innocent joke, muttered to Martha during study hall. They had had a nice little giggle about it, and the idea burrowed itself into her mind, finding a nice little spot to stay. The problem is, the longer it stayed there, the longer she thought about it, and as the days passed, it began seeming less absurd. It was still a joke, obviously, just one she could take one step further. So she told Martha about it, and as her best friend choked on her laughter, she agreed to help her put it all together.
Black coat, check. Grey t-shirt, check. Flannel, jeans, boots? Check, check, check. She had even found some dog tags at the second-hand store and finished it off by twisting her hair up and letting it fall over her face so that her locks mimicked her boyfriend’s bangs.
And now it’s like looking in a mirror. Only she’s a head smaller than him, and while she grins, JD looks like he’s about to combust.
“I cannot believe you did that,” he remarks. The shakiness to his voice evens out a little, and his lips turn up when he fingers the collar of her coat. His eyes glitter when they meet hers, and that’s when he lets it drop. He shakes his head and chuckles, the sound warm like the blankets he drapes over her, and steps closer. He wraps his arms around her waist, his nose brushing against hers. His breath smells like mint and coffee, and it makes her heart flutter even now. “You’re truly one of a kind, Sawyer.”
She doesn’t have time to reply before he presses his lips to hers, and so he gets a slight squeal instead. He doesn’t seem to mind, tilting his head slightly and running his thumb along her jawline.
She pulls away sooner than she’d like, conscious of the time and of lingering parents. JD frowns at first, but realisation dawns on his face when she nods in the direction of the living room. Her intuition turns out to be accurate as well because not two seconds later, the floorboards creak, and the telltale sign of her dad’s heavy footsteps comes.
JD wipes his hand on his pants as her dad comes into view, and she tries not to smile.
“Evening, Mr. Sawyer.”
“Jason,” her dad greets. He folds his arms across his chest and nods over in their direction. “Nice costume. You’re a robot, I guess.”
“Close, it’s the uh, tin man from Wizard Of Oz,” he corrects carefully. He holds out his arm and extends his silver-colored hand before adjusting the carefully-made tin hat as if that should make it more obvious.
“Oh, how cool,” her dad says. “Do kids still say cool these days?”
“I think so, sir,” JD replies.
“Anyway, we have to motor if we’re going to make it there in time,” Veronica adds. “Heather asked us to be there early to help set up. I think Martha’s already there too.”
“Okay, well, have a good night, kids,” her dad says. He walks behind them as they head to the door, his distance just shy of respectable. “And don’t do anything we wouldn’t do.”
“Dad!” she groans, heat shooting up her cheeks. She thought, maybe naively, that now that she’s finished high school, her parents would finally start treating her like a person. Even if they never have the easy friendship that JD has with Claire, where it’s more like having a big sibling, she hoped she’d get somewhere. But nope, here she is still, blushing because of her dad. “Seriously?”
“What?” he teases. “You have a house key, don’t you?”
“Yep.” She jingles the pocket of her coat, and JD rolls his eyes. “See you later!”
Her dad keeps waving from the porch as they climb into the front seat of JD’s car. Well, Claire’s car, as evidenced by the knitted cushions she keeps on the seats and the notebook sitting on top of the dashboard, rainbow-cloured post-its sticking out in all directions. JD is careful as he backs out of the driveway, his tight grip only loosening when her dad is out of view.
“My dad does like you, you know,” she tells him. He smirks at that, the lowering sun glinting off his hair. He looks at her out of the side of his eye, and his shoulders shake with laughter.
“God kissing you was so weird back there,” he says.
“What? Why?”
Maybe not her brightest moment, and so JD takes his eyes off the road for a fraction of a second and replies, “because you look like me, dude!”.
“Oh. Yeah,” she says before bursting back into hysterical laughter. She leans on the dashboard, the changing leaves overhead painting her skin a kaleidoscope of fall colors. She wasn’t sure she was going to make it here, but then college announced a few days off classes for Halloween, and she was on the first plane over. And damn, she’s glad she did. She might love Duke, but her heart is in Sherwood, held by the boy sitting next to her. She rests her head on her hands and turns to look at him, squinting slightly against the fading light.
“So, did you enjoy making out with yourself?” she asks him. JD presses his lips together and turns up the radio as an answer. She sits back in her seat and grins.
She doesn’t know if she wants the answer to that question, but damn, this will be fun.
Heather’s front door is unlocked when they arrive. Veronica feels compelled to take off her shoes, as she always does when she enters Heather’s place and looks back to make sure she’s not tracking unexpected dirt all over her mom’s nice white carpet. Outside, JD’s is the only car in the drive; the fancy cars her parents drive both gone.
She follows JD into the kitchen, their hands loosely joined together. Martha stands at the counter, looking like she stepped out of her Disney video. Even with the costume being a perfect Snow White dress, including the little cape because, of course, she committed to it, her hair is in perfect princess curls, tied with a neat red bow. Her while her skin isn’t white as snow, her make-up is perfect. No doubt Heather had a hand in it, Veronica thinks.
“Shouldn’t you have like, cartoon birds or something helping you out with that?” Martha jumps, a small shriek escaping her, but her smile is bright when she turns to face them, as is the laughter she bursts into.
“Am I seeing double?” she asks, and JD makes a show of rolling his eyes.
“I’m assuming you knew, Dunnstock,” he says as they cross over to the counter. “And I, for one am disappointed you didn’t talk her out of it.”
“Have you met her?” she asks. “I can’t talk her out of anything, and frankly, neither can you.” He shrugs helplessly, his hands shoved into his pockets.
“So, where’s Heather?” Veronica asks, only to be answered by footsteps scurrying across wood, and her wide-eyed, panting friend appearing in the doorway seconds later. She looks great, dressed as the Prince (or Princess) Charming to Martha’s Snow White, but Veronica doesn’t have time to compliment her. Her friend’s eyes go wide the minute she sees them, and they don’t even get a greeting.
“Okay, so I have four sharing bags of chips and three tubs of dip. We bought two boxes of the Halloween cupcakes, and we couldn’t decide between ghosts, bats, or cats for the cookies, so we bought all three,” she explains. “We also have lollipops, gummy worms, Haribos, and JD, did you bring the stuff?”
“I’m a man of my word,” he says as he hands her over a Tupperware box. “Claire Monroe’s mini brownies, guaranteed to spice up any party, with or without pot.”
Veronica barks a laugh, as does Martha, but Heather’s skin turns even paler.
“There’s no pot in these, right?” she asks. She’s in front of him in a second, her brown eyes wide, the box shaking slightly in her unsteady hand. “My parents will literally kill me if there is so much as a trace of drugs in this house, and I have it bad enough with Kurt and Ram. So, Jason Dean, tell me that you did not sneak pot into my Halloween party.”
JD chuckles weakly and waits for her to laugh it off.
She doesn’t.
“There are no drugs in these brownies, Buttercup,” he tells her. She lets out a short breath and steps back, the careful composure reconstructing itself, and turns to check on something in the oven.
Veronica’s eyes meet Martha’s, and her friend just gives her a resolute nod that tells her all she needs to know.
“All day,” she says in a low voice so that her girlfriend doesn’t hear. “She has been panicking like this all day.”
“For real?”
“Why do you think I got ready over here?” she asks with a sideways glance at Heather. “I wanted to make sure she didn’t accidentally burn something down.”
JD whistles under his breath, the three of them falling completely still lest they panic her even more.
“She could use a little pot brownie,” he mutters, just loud enough for them to hear.
Veronica elbows him in the ribs for it, and Martha hides a smile.
Heather manages to calm down without the use of any drugs, and by the time guests start arriving, she’s the Heather Macnamara that everyone expects; bright as the yellow bow in her hair, cheerfully greeting everyone and directing them to the drinks, all traces of her initial anxiety gone. It makes Veronica smile to see it, and what really makes her smile is the way Martha appears behind her and wraps her arms around Heather’s waist, how Heather relaxes into her girlfriend’s embrace. It doesn’t take a genius to work out what-or who-has had the greatest effect on Heather’s state.
The most unlikely of pairings, Martha and Heather, and yet they’re pretty close to perfect.
The couch sags as JD sits down next to her, two plastic cups in his hand.
“If there’s one thing I love about hanging out at Heather’s, it’s that she always gets the really nice alcohol,” he tells her. “Gin and lemonade for yourself.”
“Ooh, thanks.” She takes a sip, and she can’t say she disagrees with him on the alcohol front. “So, how many people have misunderstood your costume so far?” she asks.
“Far too many,” he sighs. “Although I have been asked by a sexy Dorothy if I wanted to dance, so that was nice.” Veronica turns to him, her eyebrow raised. Some people would ask why she’s not more disturbed by that. Maybe in the early days, it might have shaken her. But now, she just looks at him and grins. “Don’t worry. I told her I’m taken by a girl who happens to look exactly like me.”
“At which she thought, ‘okay, this guy has some weird shit going on.”
“Either that or she thinks there actually is pot in the brownies,” he sighs. He stretches and slides his arm around her shoulders before pulling her close to him, his lips pressed to the top of her head. She rests her head on his shoulder, turning her body so that she’s pressed into his side. People surround them like they’re fish in a tank, moving and dancing and drinking the night away. Chatter hums through the air, a companion to the music blasting from the stereo. And yet, with all this company, she feels like they’re the only two people here.
“You know for the record,” he murmurs into her hair, his hand trailing up and down her arm. “I really, really like the costume.” She giggles and presses little kitten kisses to his neck. “I thought you would.”
They can’t stay on the couch forever, though, not when their old classmates try to squash on too. And certainly not when the song changes, and a knowing smirk cuts across JD’s face. He gets up before Veronica realises what’s going on and causes her to almost faceplant into the couch. He’s laughing slightly when she pulls herself up, pushing her hair away from her face, but he holds out his hand too.
“I think the lady owes me a dance,” he says, eyebrow raised. She rolls her eyes fondly, but of course, she takes his hand.
“As long as we’re not doing the robot,” she teases.
He grins and pulls her out on the dance floor, squeezing through the dancing bodies and narrowly avoiding having drinks spilled on them. He twirls her around just as the chorus of Video Killed The Radio Star hits, her laughter cutting above the music, her trenchcoat swirling around her. Her head spins a little, and she doesn’t know if it’s the alcohol or the dancing or if it’s just him, even now.
Over a year on, and she still gets giddy with him. She doesn’t know if and when it’ll end. She hopes it never does.
The night goes on, far more successfully than last Halloween. While people get drunk, as young, nearly-adults do at parties, nothing gets broken, and even the usual worst offenders refrain from anything beyond stupid comments and hair-pulling. Kurt and Ram keep their hands to themselves. In fact, the only person they touch is each other. Even Heather Chandler is polite and almost sweet with guests, catching up with old classmates from Westerberg. She doesn’t grace everyone with her presence, and there’s a notable theme amongst the people she doesn’t speak to, but it’s a start. She even manages to be in the same vicinity as Martha, and not once does a crude remark pass her lips. College must have humbled her, she guesses. No longer the demon queen of high school.
She’s growing up. They all are.
It’s a scary thought and one that makes Veronica cling to JD a little tighter.
“You all right, darling?” he murmurs, just loud enough for her to hear. They’re still on the dancefloor, this time swaying slowly to Time After Time. Her head nestled beneath his chin, her arms wrapped around his waist, his hands resting softly against her hips. She closes her eyes, lets his heartbeat drown out the music for a few moments.
“I missed you.” The words are quiet, almost accidental. But he hears them, and he presses a kiss to her forehead.
“I missed you too,” he tells her. “I’m really glad you made it down here. Halloween would have sucked without you.”
“Same,” she sighs. Her eyes flutter closed, the late hour and mixed drinks coming back to haunt her. “Because wearing this costume on campus would have gotten me some really weird looks.”
He laughs at that, a faint smell of cider on his breath, and his fingers toy with the fabric of her coat.
Maybe she wouldn’t have asked if she were soberer, but the alcohol has disintegrated her filter, and so the words “You’re sure you’re okay with me dressing like this?” slip out. She hadn’t realised this was a worry until right now.
JD pauses for a split second, almost enough to make Veronica nervous, but then his cheek is against her head, his smile buried in her hair, which now half-falls out of its careful updo.
“I am completely okay with it,” he assures her. “In fact…” “I think you make an even prettier Jason Dean than I do.”
There’s meaning behind those words, even if it’s disguised as a joke. He’s getting better; she’s seen it. Everyone’s seen it. But she’s also seen the struggle it’s taken to get here and the long road he still has to go.
She could, of course, launch into a speech about how he’s worth more than he thinks, and how she loves him for him, and how his past and his damage don’t take away anything from him. She’s said it all before, and she meant it, still means it. But none of that feels right. Not here. Not now.
Instead, she just pulls away and tilts her chin up to look at him, her finger tracing his jaw.
“Well, I had a lot to live up to,” she says. “Because you’re pretty damn beautiful.”
And when gratitude shines in his eyes, bright against the low light of Heather’s living room, she knows that’s the best thing she could have said. He bends down and kisses her, almost lifting her off her feet as he does. He tastes vaguely of alcohol and mint and feels like home, if home could ever be a person. He stretches up on her toes to meet him fully, her hand cupping the back of his neck, and melts into his embrace, gets lost in the secret language only they share.
“Happy Halloween, Ronnie,” he whispers against her mouth. She grins and buries her face in the crook of his neck.
“Happy Halloween, J.”