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Trashed and Scattered

Chapter Sixty-Seven: We Never Change

"I know I've said this a thousand times," Peyton smiled, letting Jimmy spin her in a small circle as they grooved along to his and Brian's project band.
He'd insisted that Peyton give it a listen; he was overwhelmed with curiosity for her approval. In their time apart, Jimmy had developed interests and passions. In their time together, he was determined to share them and catch her up. She'd always shared a main vein with him--and he figured Pinkly Smooth would be no different.
"But I can't believe how tall you fucking are," she finished with a fond laugh.
He cackled, "Six feet whatever of all man!"
"It's unnatural," she smirked. "Like some gothic deer or something."
"I'm not a deer," he groaned, letting his fingers slip from hers with hesitation. "I'm not nearly graceful enough for that level of wildlife. I'm like a drunken mongoose or some shit."
Peyton stared at him, "A mongoose."
"Sure!" he grinned.
"Or..." Peyton half-laughed. "Maybe a coyote. That might be up your alley, no?"
He rolled his eyes playfully, "I don't understand why you think I look like a coyote. I don't get it. I've never got it."
"You don't need to," she smiled. "And you don't look like a coyote...You make a coyote face. And you fucking know the one so don't you give me that shit, Sullivan."
He let himself sink into the joy it brought her to revel in his exterior. He'd always gotten a kick out of her gentle observations of all things to do with coyote faces. It was a habit that thirteen years hadn't had the dexterity to break her of.
"Lex," Jimmy breathed loudly, flopping himself onto his parent's sofa with a steady hand permanently fixed on the half-downed bottle of tequila. "Tell me something."
"Is it how much like a coyote your face can get?" she asked lazily, her words slurring ever so slightly as her head began to spin.
She twirled around in a half-circle as her hips instinctively rolled to the groove pouring through the cheap speakers.
He grinned, his eyes glistening with inebriation, "No. I want to know which you think is better? This shit or Avenged?"
"You already know the answer to that," Peyton laughed, knowing far better than to step into Jimmy's fishing trap.
He shook his head, stealing a swig from the bottle, "Tell me! I can take it!"
Peyton groaned, rolling her eyes into the back of her head as she abandoned her post in the center of Barb's carpet. With an exasperated grunt, she flung herself onto the cushion next to her childhood friend and hoisted the bottle from his fingers.
"They're both pretty great," she smirked, flushing the words through her system with a little help from the alcoholic liquid. "I can't choose."
"Come on," he whined. "Humor me!"
"I am," she chuckled. "Avenged is...well...you already know what Avenged is. And I have a personal attachment to it now because it means I can hear your sick drum skills. But..."
Jimmy tried his best to commit a mental note to memory: he had to berate Peyton for admitting he had not only any drum skills--but sick skills. He made a secondary note to get her drunk more often; she was far more loose-lipped with a dozen ounces of tequila nourishing her blood.
"But?" he pressed when she paused.
She held up a finger, taking another long swig from the bottle.
"Give me that," Jimmy laughed, swiping it from the brunette to mimic her own indecency.
Peyton shrugged, "I really love your voice...So Pinkly Smooth is cool for that. Plus, Pinkly Smooth is weird as fuck, Jimmy. In the best way."
He snickered, nodding his head, "It's meant to be."
"I get it," she grinned. "I'm musical too, remember?"
"Of course I do," he replied happily, slapping at her knee with his free hand. "Speaking of that, when are we going to jam together, Lex? It's been thirteen years. I think it's overdue!"
Peyton whined dramatically, leaning all the way back into the cushion, "You'll make me play the fucking guitar!"
"Of course I will," he laughed loudly. "I don't fucking know how!"
She erupted into a fit of giggles--which were, admittedly, far too excitable given the mediocre level of hilarity Jimmy had dished out. But their drunken stupor was heightened beyond reach by the indescribable adrenaline they offered to one another without effort. Every glance was electrified, every touch like the first. Jimmy could look at her in just the right way and she'd be keeled over in hysterics. He was never far behind.
"Well, I think it's safe to say that we're way too shit-faced for that," Peyton managed between giggles.
Jimmy narrowed his eyes at her with disgust, "I didn't fucking mean now, Peyton."
"Woah!" she gasped, laughing inwardly. "Did you just Peyton me? I'm not sure I deserved that!"
He nodded with a grim seriousness, "I did and you do."
She gripped at her chest, "My fucking heart."
"What heart?" Jimmy jabbed, a devious grin spreading his lips apart.
"Shut up," she laughed. "My feelings are hurt."
Jimmy jutted his bottom lip out, widening his eyes in a presumable attempt to be adorably broody, "Did I make you sad?"
Peyton pouted, nodding slowly.
"Want to be cheered up?" he asked her shallowly.
She did her best to shake away the intoxication. Her emerald eyes beat into the gaze staring back at her, trying to search for context. Was he being flirtatious? Was that some sort of proposition? Was he going to sideswipe her and suggest they go skinny-dipping in the pool down the street? She cursed the alcohol for blocking her analytical skills.
When he was met with silence, he was sure she simply hadn't heard him. So, naturally, he leaned ever so slightly into her.
"Do you?" he repeated slowly, trying his best to spark some sort of reaction.
Peyton parted her lips, a perplexity washing over her features, "How are you going to cheer me up?"
Jimmy grinned, "How would you like me to cheer you up?"
"I'm..." Peyton tried but failed, feeling suddenly unabashedly nervous.
"Open to suggestions?" Jimmy smirked, glancing back and forth slowly between her lips and her piercingly green eyes.
She swallowed hard, "Um, I..."
"I've got it!" Jimmy declared, slapping his knee with his hand before climbing to his feet.
As he disappeared around the corner and out of sight, the bottle tipped up to the heavens, Peyton took the opportunity to collect herself. It's not like she'd never shared a moment with the drummer; it isn't like they'd never explored each other's forms. She'd memorized the feel of Jimmy's lips against her own at the very first opportunity.
And yet, he'd left her somehow breathless. There was an intensity to Jimmy's crystal blues that Peyton had always found comfort swimming beneath. But that night, it was all she could do not to drown.
Her mind fluttered to New York, reminding herself of the million reasons not to plant seeds in California. She had an entire life waiting for her--a business that she'd poured her heart and soul into. Her reputation, her family, her friends...Joanna. Hell, even Joanna's stupid cat. Peyton had taking the time to forge herself an existence inside the city; could she fathom leaving it behind?
It was then that Peyton caught herself picturing a life of abandonment. Nothing had even happened as far as she was concerned--and yet, she was running through scenarios where she'd be somehow propositioned to move herself to the West Coast.
"You're fucking ridiculous," she muttered to herself, giving her head a shake.
With the realization of her wandering hallucination, Peyton reeled her thoughts back in. She waited patiently for Jimmy to return with the tequila, dead set on drowning out those pesky imaginative thoughts. She'd never leave New York.
Especially when no one had asked her to.
Jimmy's head peaked around the corner, a playful glimmer in his eyes. Peyton couldn't hide the smile that spread across her lips like wildfire.
"Close your eyes," Jimmy instructed her.
She furrowed her brows, "And if I don't?"
"Then you'll fucking ruin it and bum me out," he half-laughed. "Close your fucking eyes."
With a sigh, Peyton pushed her emeralds behind their lids, "Fine."
She listened intently to Jimmy's heavy steps until they ceased. Anxiousness crept in as she waited.
"Arms out," he instructed her.
Normally Peyton was against blind instruction. She held far too many reservations and nerves at her chest for such a grotesque display of indifference. But with Jimmy, she figured the worst it could be was some garden snake pulled from the grass to elicit a shriek. At best, it was his heart.
She pushed her tattooed arms out into the open space before her, praying for the latter but expecting nothing but air.
A weight fell upon them, shifting her muscles with a light tension.
"Open your eyes!" Jimmy exclaimed giddily.
Peyton cracked an eye open, letting it fall to her arms with skepticism. As soon as she realized what she was now holding, her second eye flew open with excitement.
"I spent all fucking afternoon peeling those things," he told her with a smile. "You sleep like the fucking dead, by the way."
Peyton's heart was lifted, but she couldn't seem to muster her voice with such bravado, "Not usually..."
"Do you like it?" he asked, a tinge of uncertain hope clinging to his voice.
Her fingertips lingered along each edge of each sticker Jimmy had placed atop a brand new hard covered sketchbook. He'd sought out some of her favourite bands and had made sure to include one large deathbat front and center. She felt somehow like a teenager after a punk show, reveling in the newest merchandise haul.
She couldn't bring herself to speak. As she flipped open the cover and whisked through the empty pages, she'd never felt quite so full. Her lashes brimmed with appreciation.
"I figured it made sense," Jimmy told her nervously. "I bought you your first set of pencils and now I've got you a book...So...You know, like I said, I'm responsible for your success now."
Peyton smiled, lingering over the gift for another moment before looking up at her tall friend.
"Do you like it?" he asked quietly. "I know it isn't the same...And you can't get your drawings back and shit..."
"I love it," she assured him wholeheartedly. "I don't know if I've loved anything more."
He grinned from ear to ear, "Is it okay? I don't know fucking anything about drawing shit. The guy at the store told me this was quality paper...Is that even a thing? Are there different qualities of fucking paper? That's ridiculous. I think he may have lied to me. In fact, I'm sure of it. He just wanted--"
"Jimmy," Peyton laughed, willing him with her gaze to stop his ramblings. "It's perfect."
His nerves relaxed into relief, "Good."
"Thank you," she managed, the wind knocked from her chest again. "You're too good to me."
"No one will ever be good enough to you," he told her sincerely. "Or for you."
She swallowed down her anxiety, "Are we including you in that list?"
He shrugged limply, "Like I told you, you're perfect..."
"I thought maybe you'd forgotten you said that," she half-laughed, running her fingers over the work Jimmy had done.
"I remember every time I look at you," he said softly.
Her green eyes found him once more as her brain beat itself bloody working up something to say. Anything. But nothing came and the moment settled on them like a gaping sore. Sensing that his mind's work might not be the soundtrack to house his emotions, Jimmy set off to switch the atmosphere. He knew exactly where he was headed into the universe of melody. There was no better way to seal a picture perfect moment than to flood Peyton with her alleged favourite band. Jimmy wasn't convinced that was fact but chose to conveniently ignore the cynicism. As the first few words sounded, Jimmy hurried back to Peyton's side.
Jimmy reached down, pulling the sketchbook from her arms and setting it onto the table sprawled out before them. He then held his palms to the brunette.
I want to live life and never be cruel. I want to live life and be good to you.
"Dance with me?"
Peyton's cheeks burned red, "I might fall...I'm very, very drunk."
He smiled, "I'll hold you up."
She nodded, slipping her hands into his as he pulled her slowly from the couch. They made their way to the center of the room, where liveliness had exploded against the carpet only ten minutes before.
Jimmy pulled Peyton into him gently, letting his hand find the small of her back with ease. As she settled her hand against the back of his shoulder, he wrapped his fingers around hers and held it their united palms close.
"You don't even like Coldplay," Peyton noted softly, her words against his skin sending tingles up and down Jimmy's spine.
"No, but I like you," he smiled.
She leaned further into him, basking in the feel of his hips moving slowly with hers.
We never change, do we? We never learn, do we?
"You know," Jimmy said, "I don't know why you say Coldplay is your favourite."
"Because they are," she challenged oddly.
He laughed to himself, "Bright Eyes are your favourite."
"No," she protested lightly. "I love them but no."
"Yep," he insisted. "That's all you ever want to listen to."
Peyton didn't find a need to argue. She was too content dancing beneath the ceiling, watching the full moon in its stagnant brilliance through the open window.
"So why do you say it's Coldplay?" Jimmy asked curiously.
She sighed, "I told you. They're my favourite."
"You're so full of shit," he chuckled quietly.
"I've never lied to you," she reminded him fondly. "And I definitely wouldn't start with something weird like my favourite band."
Jimmy smirked, "Can we just agree that Bright Eyes are tied?"
"Why does it matter?" Peyton giggled, her grip on his back tightening.
Oh, and I don't have a soul to save. Yes, and I sin every single day.
"Because Bright Eyes I can live with," he smiled. "But Coldplay..."
"Oh, shut up," she laughed, leaning in to rest her head against his chest.
They fell into an enamored silence, per Peyton's request. They swayed to the music, letting Chris Martin's words push them closer together. Neither one had ever felt quite so at peace.
"Peyton?" Jimmy asked quietly, his voice low and unsure.
She considered quizzing him about the sudden use of her real name but decided, given his tone, that he may have purposefully slid it into conversation. To call her by Peyton meant something serious was headed her way. She gripped tighter, desperate not to let him slip through the cracks of her fingers once more. If only for the night.
"Yeah?" she answered, breathing his scent in as she drowned.
"Are...Are you happy?"
She smiled, "I am now."
He nodded, his grip on her place undeniably tensing, "Me too."
So, I want to live in a wooden house where making more friends would be easy. I want to live where the sun comes out.

Notes

Oh god. Pellivan. My cold, dead heart! Oh good god.

xx

Comments

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RamonaFoREVer RamonaFoREVer
6/18/19

@fyction
It is one of my favourite things. I melt every time!!

kiss my sas kiss my sas
6/11/19

@kiss my sas
I know! Isn’t it sweet?! Guh. Pellivan <3

fyction fyction
6/11/19

@fyction
BUT PELLIVAN IS TRUE LOVE!!!
I still get giddy when Peyton says 'I love you' to Jimmy... urgh! Such a long time coming!

kiss my sas kiss my sas
6/11/19

@kiss my sas
I mean.... Breyton could be revived... never say never ;)

fyction fyction
6/11/19