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CHAPTER TWENTY EIGHT. this is what the drugs are for.
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"ARE WE REALLY gonna get high out of your window?"
JJ stares at me dumbfounded after my proposal, his body expressing that it's ready to leave after not even a few seconds in the vicinity of my room. He stands rigid, drenched from his shirt to his socks, stiffness not faulting an inch the longer I gesture my eyes to the open glass. Getting him up here — a second time, may I add — was a challenge in itself, and he only adds onto it verbally.
I express exactly that in my words, "Well, do you wanna get caught?"
"I think that has a higher chance of happening if we stink your room up with weed." he argues, justifiably in retrospect.
"It won't stink," I shrug, "we'll be in the window."
"In the window...?" JJ repeats.
I roll my eyes, hands flailing about, "In, out, on, whatever preposition floats your boat."
"And how the hell will that work with both of us?" his brows knit together, partial judgment and partial amusement in his expression.
"It just will." I simply grin, choosing to drop the subject and rummage around for a dry set of clothing.
My knees click as I bend down at my bedside dresser, prioritizing JJ in my search and hunting down any sort of male attire that can replace his drenched self. The easiest to find is a shirt; a faded red cotton blend, Jason's former. This pick is shortly followed by black soccer shorts, whose previous owner I can't seem to recollect — I dated-slash-slept with a soccer boy? God, my standards are low. Lastly, I discover a bundle of mismatched socks, which admittedly are an eyesore, but must be better than the pair JJ has on now.
I set the collection down in a folded pile on my bed, and free myself up to search for myself. As I don't feel a particular care for my fashionable appearance this late at night, I remain diving through my dresser and not my closet, opting to pull out some off the rack sweatpants and, upon searching for the upper half of my loungewear, my hands fall onto the hoodie JJ left at my house all those moons ago. Logically, it'd make sense for him to wear what's his and me to wear what's Jason's, but I'd rather freeze to death than wear something that even once belonged to that hobbit.
