Psyche

Girlie drops them off at the show. The venue is much bigger than Monroe but painted more darkly so it reminds Jamie of a gothic club. A few people are bustling around the stage and the merch table, and more people come in as the minutes go by. Some of them Jamie recognizes from school.

He and Alexandria stand by the stage until the lights dim and the pop music playing on the speakers hush. Then Artemis Phantom comes out and readies their instruments, with some of the crowd clapping while others cheer and yell.

Jamie’s stomach twists on itself as he watches Jean softly strum his bass while talking to the crowd. He’s straightened his hair tonight, but it still goes in waves across his forehead, making his eyes seem bigger than they are. The plaid, buttoned up shirt he’s wearing is such a bizarre, bright purple Jamie can’t help but laugh. His stomach flips more and he presses it firmly with his hands.

“You okay?” Alexandria asks, touching his arm. “If you need to puke please tell me so I can aim you at that girl who keeps shoving me, trying to get to the front. I like her makeup though.”

“I’m good. I just feel nervous for some reason,” he says. Alexandria makes this odd giggle that freaks him out, but then she slugs her arm across his shoulders and he can only imagine how weird they look.

Artemis Phantom is known to be energetic fools on stage without anyone miraculously getting hit by swinging instruments (though it’s happened once and Jean got a broken nose from Ellisha’s guitar. Unfortunately, the surgery didn’t make his nose smaller). The band is sweating out songs and the crowd is jostling along, singing the lyrics back, and a few enthusiasts start a moshpit.

Jean searches the people’s faces that are close to the stage and his body breaks out in more happiness.

He sees Alexandria and Jamie.

The image of Jamie smiling at them and moving to the rhythm has his heart beating too fast and he almost stumbles over the lyrics. He focuses on the music and keeps going.

******

The band hangs around their merch table, talking with friends and fans, signing CDs and t-shirts. One fan gives Jean a pair of rad, white ray-bans, while another hands Nicholas a cute plushie of him they made. When Jean’s able to, he separates from everyone and dodges to where Alexandria and Jamie are by the DJ booth.

“Well?” he chimes. He notices Alexandria has pit stains from sweating and Jamie appears a little dazed.

“When you guys start touring across the country or get signed or something, can I be like your roadie or merch person?” Alexandria asks, clasping her hands. “Seriously though. I’ve always wanted to do that. I’m pretty good at persuading people to buy more than what they want.”

“We’ll see,” Jean tell hers, his eyes still hanging on Jamie’s form. He’s wearing some oversized Best Coast band shirt and jeans that hang off his hips despite his belt. If Jamie wasn’t a boy Jean would say he was a girl trying to cover up her curves so people would believe she was a guy.

“Hey, Jamie, I gotta talk to you,” Jean says, and walks toward the exit before Jamie can say otherwise. They head outside to the parking lot where it’s quieter and Jean doesn’t have to scream for Jamie to hear him. “I know you hate this, but you been feeling okay lately?”

“I just had a stomach virus. It was nothing,” Jamie laughs dry and long, and Jean wonders how he could possibly think he’s fooling anyone.

Jean leans against a lamppost and stretches his arms toward the sky, his muscles tightening and the bones cracking. He brings his arms back down and catches Jamie’s eyes still lingering on him. But they’re glossed over like Jean is reminding him of a memory. Jamie quickly blinks, licks his teeth and smiles awkwardly like nothing happened.

The air gets caught up in Jean’s throat and he has to breathe deeply to get it out.

It’s only Jamie.

And so Jean starts talking.

They talk about the show, and Jean tells him how there’s a chance Artemis Phantom could be getting signed. How surreal it sounds and how Jean hopes and prays it’ll work out for them. Jamie listens, talks when necessarily and smiles when needed. Jean doesn’t know what else to say anymore, and so he watches Jamie’s hair keep falling in his eyes and his face reddening every so often.

“What?” Jamie asks timidly, his arms crossing as if to make himself more unnoticeable.

The day Jean spent with Jamie after ditching school, and the day when Ellisha and Lewis had questioned Jean about liking someone, appears vividly in his head and he wants to laugh. You know what? All of it is ridiculous. Absolutely brainless and childish and . . . none of it matters.

Jean ignores what he’s thought before – about this, about Jamie -- because he feels so uncaring right now.

There’s something he wants to do, and he’s more nervous than he thinks he should be. Jean wonders how intimidating he looks stepping closer to Jamie, if he’s making him nervous like he always does, if Jamie feels shaky like Jean is.

“Do I still make you nervous?” Jean asks.

Jamie doesn’t answer this time and for some foolish it makes Jean want to laugh.
Something has hooked into his skin, jerking at him to go before his nerve runs away.

When Jean kisses Jamie he does it quickly and without insecurity. Jamie is engulfed by his being, and his blood feels too hot despite the cold breeze. His eyes remain open, gazing at nothing behind Jean, before he shuts them. Jean’s hands brush Jamie’s hips, and he kisses a little harder, mutters something onto his lips.

The reality of where they are, of what they’re doing, eventually sinks in, and with slight reluctance Jean pulls away first. His head is floating off somewhere and Jean tries to stand still, straighter, not faint. Jamie has his hands clutched tightly at his side and Jean has a strong urge to hold them in his.

“. . . Why did you do that?” Jean’s ears are dulled and he barely hears Jamie’s question. He looks at him, mystified, and a small smile forms on his face.

“Sorry. I forgot to ask for your permission.” Jamie’s mouth hangs open, and he weakly laughs once he makes sense of Jean’s response. He tugs at his shirt like it's irritating him.

“That’s not what I meant . . .” he mumbles. He looks down, bringing his forehead close to Jean’s chest, but never touching it. When Jamie talks his voice breaks often, and the undertone of hysteria in it probably scares him more than his question. “Do y-you . . . do you like me then? Like that?”

The question drags Jean into a brief sourness and he almost grimaces. Except there's a reason why Jamie asked that, and Jean remembers the reason to the point he wants to crawl into a dark void and apologize to Jamie again. He was a jerk for using him, before but now Jean knows better. He knows what he feels, he's pretty sure he does no matter how lame it sounds.

Jean answers hastily and clearly, like he’s thought it over and over again from different angles. Jamie almost doesn’t believe him --

“Yeah, I do. I do like you.”

-- but he sounds too sincere.

Jean moves Jamie’s head back and kisses the center of his lips.

He remains there for a long time.