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Even though CJ was far from over the moon following the rescue, there was no chance in the deepest depths of hell that he was going to let her return to the family home. Thistlehouse was the first place anyone looking for Cheryl would go to and in all honesty he couldn't be bothered with another extraction (especially if it involved Toni Topaz). So when the group began to split off after the escape from the Sisters, CJ forcefully tugged Cheryl away from the teens without even letting her say so much as a thank you and goodbye. The drive back to his apartment was utterly silent and it was only when CJ slammed the door shut behind him when Cheryl spoke up.
"I'm sorry." She muttered, repeating her words from earlier while she cautiously tugged at the bottom of the left sleeve of the cardigan.
"Yeah." CJ agreed mindlessly as he moved around his apartment. His gun was tossed carelessly onto his bedside table and his black hoodie had been thrown haphazardly and landed on the end of the bed, leaving him in a plain khaki t-shirt.
"CJ-"
"Stop, Cheryl." He demanded with less power in his tone than he would have wished. The entire situation had done nothing but tire the Southside leader. "I don't have the energy to be talkin' about all this shit right now. Look, go take a shower and do whatever you need to do, get out of those clothes that even you of all people are strugglin' to make hot, and then I'll see if I'm up to it alright?"
"Okay." Cheryl mumbled, for once not even willing to fight back against his tone. Due to her time at the Sisters she had little energy herself, and was so emotionally drained that the usual high capacity to feel anger had all but diminished entirely. She swiped up the discarded hoodie on the way to the bathroom and CJ noticed that a pair of grey shorts had also disappeared from their previous location. He cringed at the thought, knowing that seeing Cheryl look absolutely glorious in his usual grubby clothes would soften him up automatically. Trying to put his foot down for once was seemingly an impossible task.
"Shit." CJ whispered simply, running his hands through his messy hair before taking the time to slip out of his jeans and replace them with some black joggers. Out of an instinctual reaction to his anxiety and frustration, CJ soon found himself pouring out a couple of shots of jäger for himself while the water ran in the nearby bathroom. By the time Cheryl emerged from the bathroom, doing her best to dry her wavy hair using the already damp towel, CJ had consumed roughly four shots and was lying peacefully on one side of the bed.
His head slowly turned to look at her and he instantly regretted it. Because although it was noticeable that she had been crying for probably the twentieth time that day, Cheryl still looked sensationally undeniable. It was the hoodie; it had to be... he'd always enjoyed the thought of her in his hoodies and jackets.
"Can we talk?" Cheryl asked cautiously after placing the towel back inside the bathroom. CJ patted the space on the bed beside him and she slowly lowered herself to lay beside him, doing her best to withhold the multitude of comments about not being a dog that were itching to flow out of the space between her full lips.
