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“What are we?”
Those three simple words had stumped him. What are we ? Jean couldn’t blame you for asking. Hell, he’d even been wondering the same thing! But for you to be so forthright with it, so blatant and unashamed… well, it had thrown him for a loop.
He turned his head to the side to look at you. You were draped in his bedsheets, the delicate fabric falling across your body in a most beautiful way. He could see every curve and dip of you beneath the covers. Of course, he could. You were completely naked underneath.
This was now the sixth time you’d fallen into bed with Jean. The first one had been an accident: you were both hammered and decided to sleep together for fun. Now, however, these hookups were intentional and always happened when you were both sober. Most recently, Jean had taken you out to dinner then brought you back to his place to “watch a movie”.
The TV had never actually been turned on.
And yet, despite how it all seemed, neither Jean nor you had ever identified the evening as a date. So, you decided to ask the question: What are we? You knew the implications of such a question, and you were aware of the possibility of scaring him away, but you couldn’t do this much longer without knowing.
You were prepared for any answer, and you were prepared to accept whatever it may be. You wouldn’t mind if you were just friends-with-benefits, and you certainly wouldn’t mind if he said you were his girlfriend - not that you actually expected him to say that.
Jean blinked a few times then let out a sigh. “I’m… not sure. I don’t know,” he finally answered.
You weren’t prepared for that answer, mostly because it wasn’t an answer at all.
“I didn’t mean to put any pressure on you,” you reassured him.
“No, I know. You’re just curious. And honestly, so am I. But I… I don’t know.”
“What do you want us to be?”
He hummed as he thought, playfully tapping his chin. You watched and waited, wondering what his answer would be.
“Friends with benefits” was what he settled on.
You nodded along slowly, agreeing that that situation worked for you, too. And you wanted to believe that it did, but your chest felt tight as you spoke.
A part of you had been hoping he would say you were dating. After all, the dinner he’d taken you to tonight certainly seemed like a date more so than just a couple of friends going out for food. Though, you guessed it must have seemed far more casual to him than it did to you.
Jean, admittedly, had viewed tonight as some form of a date. But he wasn’t quite sure how you would have reacted if he said you two were dating. Would that be coming on too strong? You two had been friends long enough that he knew you well, which meant he knew your history with relationships.
“I don’t trust dating,” you’d said before. “I hate all men,” you’d complained more than once. “I’d be fine growing old and dying surrounded by more cats than you can count,” you’d told him.
So, would you really want him to call you his girlfriend?
Seemingly content with the answer he’d provided, he felt you kiss his cheek then watched you roll over in bed. You’d be staying the night, just like you had the past three times you slept with him. Jean didn’t mind. In fact, he liked it when you stayed. His bed felt less empty when you were in it.
The fact that you fell asleep so quickly made Jean believe you were satisfied with his response. If you were more upset, he figured it would have messed with your mind and kept you awake.
Like it was doing to him.
He didn’t want to just be “friends with benefits”. He wanted you to be his. He wanted to give you the title of his girlfriend. He wanted you to know how much you meant to him, that tonight had been a date, and that you were always on his mind.
But you were fine. You were fine being friends with benefits. You were fine without the title, you were fine without him . The thought kept Jean awake that night, stirring and stewing in his thoughts until he was too mentally drained to stay up any longer.
What Jean didn’t know is that you were dealing with the same thing. While sleep had come easily, your dreams were filled with angst and thoughts of Jean. Just as much as he wanted to be your boyfriend, you wanted to be his girlfriend. All those things you’d said about hating relationships and hating men in general were true, but not when it came to Jean.
He was different; he was caring, attentive, sweet, and kind. He’d proven time and time again that he would be there for you no matter what, even as a friend. And you knew him well, you knew he had so much love to give. You were more than willing to accept that love…
But he didn’t seem willing to give it to you.
The next morning went as most mornings in Jean’s apartment do. You both woke up, had breakfast, then bid farewells with a promise of seeing each other again soon. You both ignored the looming feeling of awkwardness and the subtle tension in the air, both believing it was a one-sided feeling.
After you’d gone, Jean cursed to himself in the shower. The cold water woke him up as it cascaded down his body. Alone in his shower with nothing but his mind, he was forced to confront his thoughts yet again. They were nothing new, the same things flooding through his mind from the night before. He balled his hands into fists, frustrated and angered by his inability to tell you the truth. With a sigh, he lathered the shampoo into his hair and closed his eyes, trying to think about anything else.
In your car, you were no different. You were alone and, much like Jean, felt forced to replay the events of the night before in your mind. Should you have stood up for yourself? Should you have told him you wanted to be more?
You shook your head. Maybe saying those things would have scared him off. Maybe it was better this way, even if your heart felt like it was about to tear in two.
Even if your heart was broken, it would all be worth it to keep Jean’s in tact.
Texting with Jean seemed as normal as it always had. You tried to keep things flowing and remain as you always had. It was easy to fake emotions over the phone. Nobody could prove the words you typed held underlying sadness. Only you would know the truth buried behind those messages.
And Jean would only know his own truth - the truth that his words were fake, too. Each joke felt forced, each text felt weak, each word felt heavy as he typed it on the screen. It was hard, lying to you, pretending everything was fine, but he had to do it. He had to pretend he was okay.
When you suggested meeting up for coffee the next day, Jean was pleasantly surprised. Even though he knew seeing you in person would only make his heart ache more, he knew that the other half of his heart would light up with joy. He agreed without any hesitation and the plan was set.
Neither of you thought of it as a date, though you both wanted to.
Jean called your name from outside the cafe, waving his hand to and fro as if you couldn’t spot the 6’ 2” man without it. You laughed as you jogged the rest of the way to the door, eager to be by his side.
You immediately engulfed him in a hug. “It’s so good to see you,” you told him.
He returned the embrace with a simple, “You, too.”
Neither of you wanted to let go, but Jean pulled away first, willing his arms back to his sides before he made you feel uncomfortable.
“L-let’s go inside, yeah?” He offered.
You agreed, following him inside to wait in line. While conversation usually flowed easily between the two of you, neither of you knew what to say. It had only been a few days since you’d last seen each other, meaning there wasn’t much to catch up on that hadn’t already been said. So, you stood in line, silently eyeing the menu as if you didn’t already know what you wanted.
“Excuse me,” came a voice from behind you. It was accompanied by a tap on your shoulder that caused you to turn around.
“Yes?”
“I just wanted to say that you’re really pretty,” the man behind you said.
“Oh, thank you,” you responded, “I’m really flattered.”
He continued, “Can I get your number?”
If Jean weren’t already staring this man down, he was now. The man didn’t seem to mind, or maybe he didn’t notice, given he had his eyes glued on you.
Regardless of your relationship status, the man that had tapped you on your shoulder was clearly far older than you. You had to give him props for bravery, but his age alone was a deal breaker.
“I’m sorry, but I’m only 19,” you explained.
The man laughed. “Age is just a number, baby.”
You internally cringed, disgusted by his words. Was he being serious right now?
“I don’t feel comfortable giving you my number,” you insisted, standing your ground.
“Come on, baby, don’t be like that,” the man teased, raising his arm and extending his hand.
As he seemed about to put his hand on your arm, Jean grabbed hold of his wrist. The man grimaced and turned to acknowledge Jean for the first time during this entire encounter.
“What the fuck is your problem?” The man complained, trying (and failing) to get his hand free of Jean’s grasp,
Jean scowled. “My problem? She said no, dude. Stop asking.”
“Fuck’s it got to do with you?” The man asked, finally yanking his arm free. “We’re having our own conversation, man, so butt out.”
Jean took a step forward, his height alone making him tower over the other man. The man gulped as Jean’s glare intensified into a look that could kill. As if that wasn’t enough, Jean grabbed hold of the man's collar and pulled, causing the man to nearly lose his balance.
“I said stop harassing my girlfriend,” Jean sneered, his words sending a chill down the man’s spine.
Jean released him with a shove that sent the man teetering backwards. Embarrassed (and frankly frightened), the man left the cafe in a hurry. When he was finally out of sight, Jean turned back to you.
“Are you alright?” He asked, expression full of concern and worry.
“I’m fine, thank you,” you answered. “But…”
“But?”
“But… you said I was your…” Your face flushed with heat. You were too embarrassed to say anymore.
Jean took a moment to think back, eyes widening when he remembered he called you his girlfriend.
“Gosh, I’m so sorry. I… I know you only wanna be friends with benefits and calling you my girlfriend was totally out of line. It’s probably too much too soon but I just… I got caught up in the moment, yeah. I don’t wanna ruin our relationship,” he rambled.
You cut him off by dragging his face down to your level by the collar of his shirt. When he was stunned into silence by your actions, you took the opportunity to kiss him. This wasn’t the first time his lips had been pressed against yours, but this was the first time the kiss held true emotion behind it. The action was tender and sweet, unlike every other lust-filled kiss you two had shared.
When you both pulled away, Jean looked shocked. His jaw was slack and his eyes were wide with surprise, almost as if he didn’t believe what had just happened was real.
“I never wanted to be friends with benefits,” you admitted, “I wanted you to be my boyfriend.”
“Really? But I thought-”
“You thought wrong, idiot,” you scolded with a laugh.
Jean couldn’t help but smile, lacing his fingers into yours.
“Pretending I didn’t want to be with you was so hard,” he admitted.
“Then why did you? Pretend, I mean.”
He shrugged. “I didn’t want to lose you. If I had scared you off by saying I wanted you to be my girlfriend, I don’t think I could have lived with myself.”
“You dummy. Nothing you could do would scare me off.” You squeezed his hand in yours and he smiled back at you.
“I hope you really mean that. Cause I’m in this for the long run. I’m crazy about you, darling. I hope you know that.”
He brought your hand up to his lips and kissed the back of your palm. Your face turned red and you couldn’t help but smile.
“I hope you know I’m crazy about you, too.”
You repeated his actions, bringing your interlocked hands to your lips and kissing the back of his hand. He smiled back at you and gave your hand a tight squeeze.
“Now,” he began, “can I treat my new girlfriend to a cup of coffee?”
Though you wanted to tease him for being so cheesy, you couldn’t find it in you to argue when you were so darn happy. So, instead, you accepted his offer with a simple, “Yes, you may.”