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When JJ was thirteen and John B was fourteen, John B got braces.
It was foreign idea to him– something he never considered, but Big John had other plans. It was strange enough he was going in for a regular appointment.
It was a Thursday afternoon, and John B was laid back in one of those stiff, dentist recliners, tolerating the young hygienist who insisted on pulling his lips every which way. He listened to her call out numbers and felt her poke around, and over all, it was just not a pleasant experience.
When the chair was finally lifted and Big John was finally called in, the dentist mentioned something about braces. And John B couldn’t help but laugh, because there was no way his dad was falling for something as stupid as that. But then he did. And John B felt a pit in his stomach, a rock just sitting there. Listening as his dad made an appointment for the next week.
At least it wasn’t today. At least he had time to think of some excuse to tell his friends. A reason why his dad was going along with the kookiest thing on earth.
But he didn’t tell his friends. He didn’t know what to say, how to say it. So he didn’t. And soon, it was next Tuesday, and he was back in the office.
The ride home was quiet. Big John would nudge his shoulder, try to crack a joke. Nothing landed. John B sat in the front seat, mouth closed in a tight grimace, lips too big.
He wanted to know why. Why his dad would spring for something like this— something so frivolous. He thought he was fine before. Didn’t think anything was wrong. He doesn’t get it, but he doesn’t ask. He doesn’t feel like talking.
Big John tells him anyways. John B isn’t really listening, but at the same time, he is. Big John says something about wanting John B to have nice things.. People judge others on their smile.. It can tell a lot about where you come from..
And then it’s all just words. They don’t seem to have meaning anymore, and John B tunes out.
JJ came over later that night. John B was nowhere in sight. He pushed open the screen door, called John B’s name. Nothing. He made his way inside, most of the lights dim. At the dinner table, Big John sat with an opened beer.
The house was quiet. Too quiet. The kind of silence that washed over his own home after his dad went after him, but JJ knew it wasn’t like that. He didn’t have to tip-toe, not like he does when he sneaks out of his room, doing his best not to wake his passed out father on the couch.
No, he doesn’t have to tiptoe here. Not from John B, not from Big John.
But it’s still eerie. It’s still uncomfortable.
It makes JJ’s stomach flip.
He knocks on the wood of the door frame.
“Anyone home?”
It comes out quiet, nervous. He watches Big John soften, eyes now on JJ. He nods him inside.
“John B here?” JJ asks, making his way to the table. On it, two untouched plates of mashed potatoes, peas. “I texted him, but I didn’t hear back.”
“Yeah, he’s in his room.”
“Oh,” JJ says, rubs his neck. He eyes the table again. “Is he alright?”
“He’s not too happy with me, that’s all,” Big John shrugs. Takes a sip of his beer. “Hey, you want dinner, kid? There’s more on the stove.”
JJ’s stomach growls. He shakes his head. “I ate earlier.”
“He’s probably up, still. I don’t think he wants me comin’ in there, though.”
JJ nods, and he watches Big John carefully. He was sad. Quiet.
John B’s room is dark. The small lamp on the nightstand didn’t emit as much light as it could’ve. He’s reading a book. Unlike John B.
JJ stands in the doorway, waits for his friend to notice him.
He doesn’t.
So JJ knocks, and John B looks up. He tries to smile, but it doesn’t really work, and it makes JJ sad.
He watches John B close his book, and JJ takes this as an invitation. He jumps onto the bed. The mattress shakes, and again, John B tries to smile. Lips tight against his teeth.
He doesn’t say anything, though, so JJ sits up normal, arms wrapped around his knees.
He waits, but John B says nothing. JJ is restless, doesn’t know what to do with the energy pent up inside him, but he can tell John B doesn’t want to move.
He pokes John B’s cheek, playful. Gentle.
John B frowns, so JJ frowns.
“What’s going on with you?” JJ asks, asks it like it’s the easiest question in the world. Because that’s JJ. Everything feels easy around him.
But he’s tired, and his head hurts, and his jaw aches, and he’s frustrated with everyone, including JJ. Not for anything in particular— just for being his easy, careful self.
And nothing feels easy, or okay for John B, and he doesn’t know how to say it. Because how could something so silly feel so big?
So John B doesn’t answer, because he doesn’t know how, and JJ is still restless.
“Your dad told me.”
This gets John B’s attention. He looks at JJ, eyes all wide and nervous.
“You knew?” He asks, quiet. “And you still poked me in the cheek?”
JJ grins, rolls his eyes lightly. “You’re not made of glass, John B.”
And John B doesn’t say anything, because sometimes it feels like he is. He’s strong, but he’s not as strong as his dad, or as JJ. They’re gentle with him, careful. Like he could break at any minute.
JJ flops onto his back, letting the bed wrap around him.
“You’re not the first person in the world, you know that?”
“I’m the first person on this island.”
This gets JJ— he smiles softly, and he doesn’t say anything, because John B’s got him there.
“Yeah, but it’s not the end of the world.”
John B falls beside him. Their thighs are touching now, boney knees hitting each other.
“It’s embarrassing,” he says, quiet. “And it hurts.”
JJ frowns. The sun is almost set now, and the room is dark. The two are cast in a blue outline, they’re barely able to see each other's faces.
“It hurts?” JJ asks. He can’t see him, but he knows John B is nodding. “How so?”
John B shrugs, and JJ can feel the bed shift with him. He scoots closer to JJ, their shoulders touching.
“It feels like that time you punched me in the mouth,” John B says, playful. JJ laughs, then pokes his ribs.
“I didn’t punch you,” he says, but he’s still laughing. “You were at the wrong place at the wrong time, John B.”
“Yeah? It still landed on me,” John B nudges him back.
JJ smiles. He likes it when John B messes with him. For a while, John B stopped. He showed up at the chateau with a few bruises, and it was like everything was different. Big John had checked his pupils and pressed ice against his ribs and his eye, and he felt wrong. Now, every time he comes over, Big John tells him to stay a few nights and makes him dinner.
The bruises have faded since then, and thankfully he could hide the new ones that were planted. So they were back to normal, and JJ was thankful. Big John still kept extra dinner on the stove, and John B kept extra pillows in his bed. But things were normal.
“I dunno,” John B says, breaking the silence. “It feels like pressure. Everywhere.”
JJ is back to frowning, and he has this overwhelming sensation that he wants to feel John B’s lips. They’re soft, and warm, and JJ can’t stand to think John B feels any differently.
So he does.
JJ half expects John B to push him from the bed when he reaches out, but John B doesn’t flinch.
It’s like he’s expecting it.
He lets his fingers brush over John B’s lips, he back of his hand against his cheeks. They’re warm. John B is always warm. He’s home, and he’s familiar. JJ can feel it radiating off of him— the feeling of home.
He can feel John B’s breath on his hand, gentle and hot. JJ can feel his eyes burning into his, but he barely notices. He’s too busy looking at John B’s mouth.
He pushes at his lips, careful. John B parts them, and JJ is in. He can feel the etches of John B’s teeth, and right above, the stiffness of metal. He follows the wire as far across as he can.
When JJ’s finger feels the curve of John B’s teeth, he stops. It’s one of the pointy ones— his finger caught the bracket, and he pushes gently.
John B groans, quiet. JJ almost misses it. Finally, he meets John B’s eyes. He’s still looking at JJ, waiting.
JJ takes his hand away. He watches John B’s lips fall back into place, and it’s like nothing has happened. No invasion of privacy or exceeded intimacy. It’s just the two of them.
“I’m sorry you hurt.”
“It’s silly.”
“It’s not silly, JB,” JJ says, quiet.
They don’t talk about it after that.
The rest of the pogues tease John B when they find out, but JJ just nudges his arm all gentle and soft.
“Hey,” he says, smiling his crooked grin. “Y’all are just jealous John B is gonna be even more perfect than the rest of us.”
John B would roll his eyes, purse his lips. He didn’t know how to tell JJ that he was the perfect one. No one could compete with him.
Over the next few months, JJ prides himself in the full smiles he gets from John B. He’s never known John B to get embarrassed easily, but that’s changed, and it makes JJ’s chest hurt.
So he works extra hard, goes the extra mile to make his friend laugh. And nothing feels better. Nothing could possibly feel better than seeing John B grin, eyes all scrunched as he holds his stomach from laughing.
It’s like a challenge— for all the pogues, really. Making John B erupt into a fit of laughter, so pure he doesn’t bother to cover his mouth or hold it in. They’ve gotten pretty good at it.
JJ doesn’t really get the logistics of dentists or braces or any of those things, because he always thought John B was perfect how he was.
And over time, he starts to wonder what that means. The idea of being perfect. The idea of being flawed.
He was at the chateau one night, looking at his own reflection in the bathroom. His eyebrows drawn together, he smiles at himself in the mirror. And he thinks. Points out everything that could be deemed imperfect or wrong.
It sort of spirals, and he goes from looking at his teeth, at his lips to his stomach and his arms. And he doesn’t know how he got here, studying his crooked smile to pulling at the small edges of his hips, somehow still covered in purple bruises from last week.
But John B is at the door now, and he’s looking at JJ like he’s the most perfect person in the world. Despite the bruises and scars and curves and etches.
And JJ shakes his head, tries to protest, but John B is hugging him and telling him that he loves him. And JJ just melts into his arms, because that’s what he and John B do.
And then John B is taking JJ’s cheeks in his hands, all gentle and soft, just like John B. And JJ is smiling, until this wave of discomfort washes over him, and he lets his lips cover his teeth, pressing them together gently. And then his eyes are sad again, and John B feels his stomach turn.
So he runs a finger over JJ’s lips, shakes his head. “No, J,”’he says, soft. Because somehow, he knows. JJ doesn’t know how, but he does, and it’s left JJ with the thought that John B knows him better than he will ever know himself. “You don’t have to do that. Not with me”
JJ lets out a breath, like he’s frustrated. Tired. He parts his lips, and John B can see the tips of his bottom teeth, and he thinks JJ is going to say something— but he doesn’t.
He just looked at John B a second longer, and then hugs him again. Tight and warm, and then his hair is in John B’s nose, but he doesn’t mind. Because it smells like JJ, and it smells like home.
JJ can feel John B’s arms wrapped around him, and he keeps thinking about the idea of perfect as he runs his tongue over his teeth. John B hugs him tighter, and his hand presses into a bruise his dad left, but John B doesn’t have to know that.
“It’s silly,” he says finally.
He can feel John B shakes his head, but he makes no move to separate from JJ.
“Not silly, J.”
So maybe he doesn’t get being perfect. Maybe he doesn’t understand it. But he knows one thing: in his dictionary, John B’s picture would be right under the word.
He thinks about it a lot, more than he’d ever like to admit.
It’s small things that catch his attention. Feeling too big or two small, too loud or too silent. One extreme or the other. Too broken. Too silent. Too torn up inside to react or care or live.
He thought about when he was fourteen and John B was fifteen, and when he was fifteen and John B was sixteen, and he still thinks about it, even with hurricanes and treasure and the chaos that is their lives.
He thought about it when John B still had metal on his teeth, and he thinks about it when it’s been long gone, everytime John B flashes that perfect grin.
And sometimes he still wonders. Wonders what being perfect feels like, wonders what it means. And anytime he’s fallen too deep in the pattern of wondering and watching and wishing, John B pulls him back.
When JJ feels so broken, so fragmented that he feels like he has to prove his worth. Like he has to go out on a limb, tear something up, throw a punch. When he loses control, John B pulls him back.
He tells JJ how much he loves him. How important he is to him. How he couldn’t do life without him. And JJ nods, because he feels the same. JJ wouldn’t be JJ without John B.
The urge to make John B laugh never fades. JJ still works just as hard, doing what he can to make John B burst at the seams. At the end of the day, JJ knows John B better than he knows himself. It’s always been that way, and it always will.