Work Text:
“Next time Belly’s coming over can you give me like a head’s up.”
Jeremiah said to Conrad. He was taken aback.
“It’s Thanksgiving." He responded as if that made it any different.
“No, I think it’s better for everyone if we just keep some distance, okay? You do your thing and I’ll do mine.”
“Sure, if that’s what you want.” Conrad responded, a glint of guilt sprinkled in his gaze as he watched his brother nod his direction.
“Good night.” Jeremiah slowly headed up the stairs, his eyes swiping to his mother’s room catching a glimpse of Belly as she stood in front of a floor to ceiling mirror laughing as she held up a baby pink t-shirt to her chest.
The sound of her laugh caused his heart to drop. He felt a pang of jealousy recalling that he hadn’t heard that laugh in so long. That he hadn’t been able to hear the sound of her voice for months. That he wasn’t the reason for her laughter now and hadn’t been for a long time now.
The cold of the metal door knob broke his chain of thought as he entered his room. A dimly lit himalayan salt lamp eminnated an amber color throughout his cold room. He collapsed on top of his bed, kicking off shoes before tucking them into his blanket.
He had survived the evening. He had successfully presented a cordial demeanor in the midst of absolute heartbreak and his parents, Laurel, even Steven were all none the wiser. His mom had a great Thanksgiving. That's what mattered most.
Mattered more to him than how hollow he felt watching the girl he once called his best friend sit across a table holding his brother's hand, all coupled up, all nauseating, entirely oblivious to how much it felt like the knife was twisting all over again.
She looked so innocent in her white sweater. So beautiful and so at peace. She looked ..happy. It made him so sad if he was willing to be honest about it. He was not the reason she was happy. He was.
Jeremiah took a pillow and covered his face. He smothered a frustrated groan that escaped from the depths of his belly. It left him shivering. Tears began to stream down his face, crawling down slowly past his ears. Why did she have to come and remind him of everything he carefully tucked away into the crevices of his mind these past few months.
She was supposed to be his girl. This should have been their first Thanksgiving as a couple. Her delicate fingers should have been interlaced in his own. They would have been enjoying a game night and singing karaoke and-
*Knock* *Knock*
His train of thought was interrupted by two subtle knocks to his door. Jeremiah stayed still. He was not in the mood to speak to anyone. He figured if he stayed quiet, the person would leave him be to the morning. His mother has plenty of assistance tonight between Laurel, Conrad, his Dad and whatever it was it could wait.
The door creaked open. Her scent filled his room and before he could decide if he should respond, he heard the door shut slowly.
“Jere? Are you up?” came her voice in the dark.
Shit. He was a coward. He pretended to sleep.