Re: Capital: Jamie & Seven Friday night
Jamie could. He could like, summon that shit from underneath the knot in his gut that twisted and undulated as if it were living entirely independently from Jamie himself. He could roll out assured, hit on the guy so mercilessly those sweatpants were destined for the carpet, but he didn't want to. Not until he'd unknotted shit, made it easy again. It had been easy for a while, and Jamie didn't even know how long. He didn't pay attention to that shit. He looked at Seven, confident and assured and the weight of his hand warm over Jamie's knee. The muscle banked behind his shins ached, and his calves hurt and his feet were knots, but he waited for Seven to like, SAY something and he knew none of that shit was surface. Jamie prided himself on being able to dance through shit.
Seven's voice was way sceptical. Sceptical as fuck and Jamie's mouth tilted in an answering smirk, all smug self-certainty. The guy's hand bunched under his calf, like Seven couldn't talk this shit without touching Jamie and he breathed in, soap and damp skin and the warm heat of a really fucking obvious joke. "I'm your charity case?" The guy's knee knocked his, Jamie laughed when Seven told him he wasn't nice. Which was probably the point, but yk, Jamie wasn't nice to the people he fucked. That was like, the point.
"That wasn't an answer," he said, deliberately, with the kind of grin that was practically smug. "But like, you're not like, this isn't a thing. For you." The smug didn't like, stick around. It was pretty much a genuine question and Jamie asked it like that, the smile curling at the edges like a worn-out piece of paper. "Because, like, I've been thinking." Which he had. Technically only since Holly, but Jamie focused on grit that sifted surface in his head. "The rules stuff. So like, do you?"