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He doesn’t always look like this.
Normally, his face is twisted in some half truth, some excuse, some worry. He’s always thinking about the next move or the things that keep him up at night. He’s protecting someone, one of them. He’s dodging the people after them. He’s hiding from himself.
But this?
Head in John B’s lap, eyes closed and face free of wrinkles? This is bliss. For all of them.
Because he finally lets himself rest.
It’s the only time, really, that they all remember he’s just a kid. Just like them. It’s easy to forget. Forget that he’s the youngest. Forget about his dad. Forget about his past.
When he’s up and he’s full of energy and life— it’s easy to forget.
But there’s a bruise on his cheek and his eyes are still red from tears, and it’s like they’re all remembering.
He's the baby of the group.
Six months younger than Pope, and seven from Kie, but nearly a year younger than John B. It’s only nine months, but they’ll both die on the hill of one year younger or not, and John B always lets JJ win.
John B has his fingers in JJ’s hair, letting them run through absently. There’s a show on the TV, but none of them are paying attention.
Kie and Pope watch the two. John B, acting like this is just another day. JJ fast asleep, no signs of stress to set off alarm bells.
Kie tried once. To be John B— to slide into his role when he wasn’t there. Turns out, JJ would rather be alone than with someone who isn’t his best friend. And she tried not to feel hurt over it. She tried to brush it off, assume it had nothing to do with her.
But it’s still there. That nagging feeling in the back of her mind, pressing into her now. It’s why she shifts in her seat, looking from JJ to John B.
“How do you do that?”
It takes John B a second to realize she’s talking to him. He keeps one hand in JJ’s hair, uses the other to point to himself.
“Yeah, you,” she rolls her eyes. “I tried that once.”
“Tried what?”
“ That.”
She motioned to JJ, calm and still. John B looks at JJ and frowns.
“This isn’t new,” he says, hoping that would cover it. But he’s got Popes attention now, too, and both of his friends are waiting for him to go on. “It’s always just been us.”
“Not always.”
Pope says it quiet, and John B can tell he’s hurt. He’s not wrong. Pope appeared in their lives two or three years after they found each other, and it was like he’d always been there.
But John B isn’t wrong either.
Through it all, it’s always been John B and JJ. The two of them, attached at the hip. Always by each other's side. Thick and thin, good and bad, bad and worse. It’s the two of them.
If John B had to describe his best friend, he’d probably call JJ a black cat. He told him once, and JJ dead legged him right on the beach. John B didn’t miss the smile on his face, though. He could see it as his head hit the sand.
But he meant it in the best way he could. His dad was a superstitious guy, because of course he was. But he was also full of facts, and one of his favorites was about black cats. The master of good and bad omens. Different cultures saw its significance in different ways. Some saw bad luck, some saw good luck.
It was no different with JJ. Half the town wrote him off, just another fuck-up in a long line of Maybanks. The other half of the town, though. They loved JJ Maybank.
He’s a hard worker, and he’s a good friend, and he’s loyal.
His trust is a bit foggy and his morals skew a little. But he cares deep and he loves hard, and it’s so obvious it’s practically etched on his skin. It’s what drew John B in, and it’s what keeps him by his side. The best friend he’s ever had.
So when he thinks about the two of them, and he thinks about cats, and trust— it all goes together.
He never had a cat growing up. None of his friends did either, so the first time he ran into one was at the beach.
He and JJ were going surfing. A typical Thursday afternoon for them. But they were walking up with their hoards, and perched along the fence was this black cat. It was a skinny thing, small and thin. It spotted the boys immediately.
John B wanted to pet it. He reached out towards it, but just as JJ was pulling him back, the cat jumped into the brush.
“Careful, B,” he’d whispered. “He doesn’t know you yet.”
JJ had said it so confidently, so sure. Like they just had to be patient, and the cat could seek them out.
And he was right. Everyday for two weeks, the boys would surf and the cat would inch closer.
Then one day, it was making its way in between John B’s legs, rubbing its head against his ankles and calves. He looked at JJ, the biggest smile on his face.
It would sit in the beach, watch them surf for hours on end. It’s little eyes darting back and forth, between JJ and John B as they caught the waves.
Sometimes, if he was lucky, JJ would catch a fish and bring it to the cat. They never named it. Not officially.
But they got into the habit of calling it Lucky.
It was the first time John B thought about trust. And as he watched his best friend pet Lucky, he couldn’t help himself from comparing the two. Lucky licks JJ’s finger, JJ runs a hand along its back.
They were both timid and shy, but showed a sense of bravery that John B could only admire. Putting themselves out there, even when every bone in their bodies told them not to.
It’s how he noticed the shift in JJ. Studying the cat for so long— it gave him something to hold on to.
Because somewhere along the way, JJ had let him in. He made the choice to trust John B, and it was a leap of faith.
He’d never trusted anyone before. John B does everything he can not to break it.
Even now, his friend breathing steady in his lap. One wrong move— one wrong word and he’s dead in the water.
He knows it’s not that simple. Not that black and white, but he never wants to hurt JJ. No more than their teasing and brawling and boundary pushing.
This is just uncharted territory. JJ’s past.
Pope and Kie are still staring at him, waiting. Waiting for him to speak and explain and let them in.
He just shrugs instead.
“I dunno,” he says. “He just— he’s like a cat. A black cat—”
Pope raises his eyebrows, Kie chocks back a laugh.
“I don’t mean—” John B sighs, irritated with himself. “I just don’t count anymore.”
This earns him dumbfounded looks from both of them.
“It’s like,” John B looks to Pope, hand held out like he’s trying to make a point. “Like that term in all your fancy science classes. We counteract, dude. It doesn’t— it doesn’t matter if I’m here or not. Him laying here, on me— it’s no different than him just laying by himself on the couch. I don’t count anymore. I don’t take effort for him.”
He doesn’t mean it in the way he’s explaining it.
There’s no words to describe it; not really. Not when the all boundaries have been crossed, all anxieties understood, all fears spoken aloud. They’ve seen it all— the two of them.
Now, it’s like they’re just an extension of each other. John B could spend every minute of every day with JJ, and he knows he’ll never get tired of him. They’ll never run out of things to talk about, things to do, memories to share.
The same way they’ll never leave.
It wasn’t something that clicked for him until a few years back.
“I've seen all sides of him,” he says, quietly. His eyes are still trained on JJ’s hair. “I’ve seen every single side he has— for years. He can’t scare me off, he can’t freak me out. There’s nothing he can do that I haven’t already seen.”
He’s thinking about the night they’ve had.
If he was a professional and he had the capabilities of diagnosing and shit like that, he’d be almost a hundred percent certain JJ has PTSD.
He can’t confirm it, and he knows JJ would never admit to it, either. But he’s seen the way he jumps and hides and cowers, and it makes him feel sick sometimes.
So when they were watching a movie earlier and a horrifying scene played on the screen, John B knew what was going to happen before JJ even moved a muscle.
He might not know the memories that live in JJ’s head, but he knows how he reacts to certain things. The flinch that comes with a raised hand. The back slide that comes with a hug. The nausea that comes from TV and movies depicting anything stronger than weed.
So when the screen flashed the most grotesque, gut wrenching sequence surrounding the main character and his ex-boyfriend— John B knew he had three seconds before JJ was out of there.
And he was right. Of course he was. JJ grabbed at his stomach with one hand, his mouth with the other. The color fell from his face, and suddenly he was bounding from the couch. The bathroom door slammed shut, and he could hear quiet retching from his spot on the couch.
It was no surprise that Pope and Kie looked to him first. Kie tried to go after him, but John B had stopped her. Told her to give him a second.
Too soon, and it would be even worse.
John B gave JJ two or three minutes, and then he went to check on him. The kid was practically green, leaned against the toilet with the hair pushed out of his eyes. He looked awful. Tired and worn down, and John B resisted the urge to throw up himself, cursing every name under the sun for hurting his best friend.
He sat by his side, instead. He asked if JJ wanted to talk about it, and he didn’t— shocker . But he didn’t mind. He let a hand run down JJ’s arm, all comforting and soft like JJ liked. He kept the hair out of his eyes and told him he was alright, and JJ believed him.
He worried about what Pope and Kie would think, and John B assured him they would be okay. That they loved him and worried about him, just as much as John B did. JJ believed that, too, because he would believe anything that comes from John B’s mouth.
But believing and understanding are two different things, apparently, because he had to ask John B three more times before he finally got it. They love him.
Then, JJ did the unthinkable.
He told John B. He told him about his mom and about the movie, and how he never thought he’d see something so similar. He told him through short breaths and eyes squeezed shut, and John B held him close. In true JJ fashion, he didn’t go into detail. He gave the bare minimum to get across his fear and panic, but John B had learned to read between the lines.
He read and he listened and he held, and JJ was thankful.
Holding him now is no different. He’d do it for hours and days and weeks if it made JJ feel safe. And he knows JJ would do that same, because he has.
Each time Big John left and John B worried it would be the last. JJ would hold him and tell him it would all turn out. And he’d never been wrong– not yet, at least.
He doesn’t know how to tell them that. That he knows how deep JJ’s anxieties run, and how he’s passed all the tests.
“He cares what you guys think,” he says finally. “It isn’t about trust, and it isn’t about not wanting you. You know that, right?”
He hopes they do. He can’t be the one to reassure them, and he knows JJ won’t. He won’t, because they’ll never tell him how it makes them feel. To be chosen last.
Kie shrugs. It’s all she can do, because she might understand, but she doesn’t like it. Wishes JJ would let her in.
“It isn’t about that stuff,” John B looks at JJ. “He trusts you more than anything. He just— I think he feels like he has to hide. Like there’s something wrong, or shameful about what he’s been through. Letting people into that… it’s not easy.”
“How do we fix it?” Kies never heard herself sound so young, so desperate. John B is gentle, though.
“You’re here, aren’t you?” He asks. “He freaked, and you didn’t leave. That’s all it is. Sticking around.”
“We’ve stuck around for years,” Pope mumbles.
“And you’ve never seen this before, have you?”
Pope doesn't know what to say, and neither does Kiara. He doesn’t mean to get snappy. There’s just some part of him that would do anything to protect JJ.
But JJ is stiring, and he's looking at them now.
“I freaked,” JJ mumbles, all quiet and sleep ridden. “And you’re all still here.”
It’s small and timid, and his eyes are still heavy, but he keeps his gaze on John B.
John B mentally kicks himself. “How long you been listening?”
“You’re going on about black cats again,” he says, quiet. “Lucky wouldn’t like being used as a metaphor.”
John B bites back a laugh, nods slowly.
“We’re all still here.”
“Never leaving,” Pope adds, quick.
“Couldn’t pay us a million bars of gold,” Kie smiles, lets an arm rest on JJ’s leg. “We’re sticking around.”
JJ’s lips fall into an easy smile, eyes all teary again. He buries deeper into John B, tries to hide his face.
“Well, shit,” he mumbles into John B’s side. Grateful and loved and cared for, just like he deserves.
They all hold him tight, and they never plan to let go.