Hearts Don't Break Around Here

Chapter 13 - Cinnamon Rolls

Present Day

Roseanne's house is just as comforting as it always used to be.

They haven't really visited home in quite a while, but the minute Jennie hears the familiar creaking of the wooden floorboards, it takes her back a decade. The musty smell of old flowers and worn-out wood fills her senses and leaves a buzzing warmth beneath her skin. Roseanne's family is asleep--it's 3 AM, after all. It leaves the house dark and quiet, just like it used to be when Jennie and Roseanne would sneak into the kitchen in the middle of the night to eat junk food and leftovers from dinner; with nothing but the refrigerator light filtering through the darkness.

Spontaneously traveling to Rossway Cliff was a very stupid, mushy, and cliche idea in Jennie's eyes. She honestly couldn't really believe that she did it. It was something straight out of a bad romance novel. But a couple of good things came out of it. A couple...great things.

Because now she's home again...which is great.

And now, Roseanne is pressed close to her, tangling their fingers together in a messy bunch and leading her through the doorway with a soft smile on her face.

And that... is even greater.

"Everyone is asleep," Roseanne whispers, turning around. Her skin looks so soft in the fuzzy darkness. She doesn't let go of Jennie's hand. "Wanna go upstairs?"

Jennie feels heat flooding her cheeks and nods nervously, letting Roseanne lead the way. They make their way up the creaky staircase, onto the fluffy carpet of the upstairs hallway. She doesn't know why she's nervous. She doesn't know why she feels dizzy, but it may have something to do with the millions of butterflies that have just been consistently exploding in her stomach for the past half hour.

Roseanne loves her.

Roseanne. Roseanne Park. Roseanne with the blonde hair and the gapped teeth, Roseanne with neon rubber bands on her braces and a spatter of freckles, Roseanne with smooth skin and bright, brown eyes.

Roseanne loves her.

It doesn't fit anywhere in her head. It doesn't fit in her chest. It feels like it's too much, too warm and wild and wonderful and Jennie has never had to stomach anything this exquisite. It's a new feeling that doesn't know how to make it past the skin on her burning, burning cheeks.

Roseanne's fingers detangle from her as they pad into her old room; a room that Jennie knows like the back of her hand. Roseanne doesn't even have to turn the light on for Jennie to see the photos littered on the walls, some of Roseanne with her family, some of Roseanne with Jennie. She already knows the soccer trophies on the dresser are lined up by height. She knows the sock drawer doesn't close all the way and hasn't, for years. She knows there's an embarrassing stain on her bed from when they tried to sneak red wine in here at sixteen years old and spilled it because Roseanne's mother burst in, scaring them half to death.

She wraps her arms around herself, feeling way too many things simultaneously. She glances around the room, eyes flitting over everything once, twice, three times, before they find Roseanne's face.

Roseanne is smiling at her, softly and earnestly. She looks at Jennie with questioning eyes and tilts her head slightly, towards her bed. "Wanna sleep?"

Jennie manages a smile back, not trusting her voice, and nods.

Roseanne, almost as a force of habit, strips off her shirt. Jennie is struck dumb by the sight of it, suddenly very very aware of the current situation that they are in and very, very unprepared. She watches Roseanne kick off her socks. She just stares, like an idiot, the heat in her cheeks finally traveling to the tips of her ears, and then back down her neck.