J. Barakat

(A/N: So I realized how slowly I made the story move in time. So expect large time skips in the near future). 

"Alex?" I poke my head into his bedroom. "You decent?"

"You're already looking!" He exclaims, pulling his shirt on. I walk over and pat his wet hair. 

"You're so cute when you freak out like that," I peck his cheek. I walk over to the bed to grab my phone when he tackles me. He pokes my stomach and ribs. 

"You're so cute when I'm on top of you and you look at me like that," he smirks and pokes me again. "Jacky, your so small," he kisses my chest. "How are you so small, but you eat so much? I swear I've never seen you exercise except for gym class." 

"You're small too, you string bean," I pull him off and carry him to the window seat. I put my arms around him. "Alex, Thanksgiving's tomorrow. Do you want to come over to my place? I already asked my parents and they said your mom and Tom can come too if you want." 

"I'd have to ask mom, but I'd love to," he replies. I pick him up and slide him over so he's sitting on my lap. "Jacky-" he wraps his arms around my neck. "I'm not scared anymore." 

"Scared? Of who? Your dad?" I ask, pulling my arms around his waist to keep him balanced. 

He nods, "I don't know- I guess I'm tired of being held back, you know? I just want to be in the here and now. With you." 

"May I ask what sparked this sudden courage? Not that I'm complaining. I like that you feel brave and safe."

"I guess it's a mix of finding out about Kellin, Vic, Andy, and Sarah. I mean, there's so much we don't know, and we'll never know unless we find it. And... You being with me every step of the way. Jack, you inspire me every day like no one else. Thank you... For being you." 

"I'm going to assume that's fancy for 'I love you, let's cuddle'. I love you too," I press my forehead to his. "More than you'll ever know," I whisper and bury my face into the crook of his neck, breathing in his cozy vanilla scent. 

***Flashback***

"Jack!" My mom shouts from the kitchen. I throw off my headphones and walk down. "Can you take these to the new neighbors? I have a call to make and can't do it, but the cookies are hot. And no, you can't eat them, I have more in the oven." 

"Mkay, ma," I grab the plastic bowl and run across the street to the house. I bang on the door.

"Hello?" A boy with an accent asks, British, I think. I stare at his brown eyes for a few seconds too long because he clears his throat. "Is there a reason you're here... Or are you trying to sell me drugs and forgot what you're doing... Because you are on drugs." 

"Honestly, at this point, I have no clue. And uh- here," I hand him the bowl. "Don't worry, they aren't spiked. Trust me, my ma made them," I grin. He hesitantly takes the bowl. 

"Right, so I'm Alex Gaskarth. You are?" 

"Jack Barakat. Nice to meet you," I shake his hand, realizing how skeletal he is. "I live across the street, that house right there. My mom makes pizza rolls all the time, so drop by if you feel like it." 

"Alright then, Jack Barakat. Maybe I will." 

"And maybe I'll open the door."

"If you don't open the door, I'll be offended and throw rubbish all over your-"

"Wait- r-rubbish?"  I refrain from laughing. "You really are from the U.K!" 

He purses his lips. "Well, what do you Americans say?" 

"Trash," I blurt out. He giggles. 

"Trash? That just sounds rude." 

"And saying 'rubbish' gets you bullied. It's called American Public School. Also, technically, I was born in Lebanon, so I'm not one of them." 

"Well then, Jack Barakat, born in Lebanon, who likes saying trash, and definitely doesn't use drugs, maybe I'll see you again soon," he smiles. 

"Maybe," I smile back as I turn around and walk back across the street. Before I walk into my house I look back at him, still watching me. I wave. "See! House across the street!" I shout before walking in. 

***End of flashback*** 

We end up sitting with each other for a while, enjoying each other's heat. 

"Are you tired, baby?" I whisper, looking at the clock, it's already 11 pm. He nods slowly. "Come on," I pick him up slowly and lay him on the bed. I cover him up and lay next to him. He wraps his arms around me. "I love you, Alex Gaskarth, the boy who moved in across the street."

"I love you too, Jack Barakat, boy born in Lebanon, who likes saying trash, and definitely doesn't use drugs," he answers back, not even opening his eyes. I chuckle and turn the lights off.