Chapter Text
JJ can’t believe the words that come to mind. He hated bars. All the grinding, sweaty bodies, the screaming of lyrics, the creepy guys trying to drug any girls drink that they could, let alone his friend's insistence on him getting on the dance floor and letting go. Parties were good, easy. Good booze, even better weed and fucking hot guys. It was JJ’s dream. But in bars, all there was was kooks trying to get into any pogues pants just to cause more hatred between the groups. Oh, and to show off their money and wealth.
“Can I get another?” questions JJ, nodding down at the empty glass in his hand.
The bartender scoffs out a dry laugh, rolling his eyes. “Haven’t you had enough already, kid?”
JJ laughs. “C’mon, it’s shitty beer anyway. One more won’t even get me tipsy.”
Letting out a sigh, the bartender hands JJ another glass, ignoring the smug expression on the teens face. “Your funeral, kid.”
“Whatever.” JJ chides, turning in his seat to watch his friends dance like their lives depended on it, grinning and laughing.
It wasn’t like JJ hated fun, he was the definition of fun and bad decisions. He just hated the idea of being groped by all parties and feeling sick to the stomach. What he did like was sober, consenual, no strings sex. He couldn't get that here, all he could get was a slap on the arse or drunken lips kissing at his neck.
“JJ!” Cleo gasps out from beside him, planting her hands to his shoulders, a grin plastered across her lips. “Come dance with us, live a little.”
Shaking his head, JJ allows the breathless girl to have a sip of his drink. “Nah, I’m good. I prefer to sit and not be touched.”
Cleo pouts. “C’mon, we’ll protect you.”
“Maybe next time.” JJ assures. “Before everyone here is too shit faced to be decent human beings.”
“Suit yourself.” Says Cleo, ruffling JJ’s hair. “Let us know if you change your mind.”
Smiling, JJ nods. “Will do.”
JJ watches with sad eyes as Cleo makes her way back to the dance floor, rolling his eyes at John B’s pout. He turns back around, the flashing bright lights displaying shadows across his back. It was nice to be out with his friends, away from his toxic homelife, but all JJ could seem to think about was the letter he had found on the front porch that afternoon, the same exact handwriting on it as all those years ago.
He couldn’t bring himself to read it, not yet. He could already imagine what was inside. ‘I’m sorry for leaving you’, or, ‘I’m here now.’ JJ didn’t know what to do other than request a night out to get his mind off of it.
Why was she getting in touch now? Had the guilt finally caught up to her? Being born into the Maybank family was enough of a curse, he didn’t need his mother returning ten years later to say fucking sorry. She was a Maybank through and through, even if she was married into the name. She was still one, and she always would be.
JJ was only eight when she left. He tells himself he didn’t miss her, for it was her fault he was left with Luke, but deep down, he knew he couldn’t stay mad at her. She left an abusive environment in fear of being killed, but left her son to deal with it. That's the one thing JJ has never been able to get his head around. Why the fuck did she leave without him?
“Hey there.”
JJ groans inwardly. Fucking hell. Turning to face the very much unwanted person with a glare, a soft, nice smelling cologne fills his nostrils and sends his body back to ease, the glare slowly falling from his facial features. Every so often, a drunk or highly stoned guy would take a seat beside JJ, completely unforeseen by the pogues, and would try to start small talk. JJ always made sure that his face was disoriented in a harsh glare that would usually scare the men away, making it very clear that he was not in the mood for whatever was happening. However, this time, it was different.
The voice was just as soft and as nice as his cologne, no beer nor alcoholic scent to be found. Locking eyes with the stranger, JJ’s heart sinks. Flash clothes, credit card in hand. A kook. Great.
“What do you want?” JJ snarks, sipping at his beer angrily.
“I’m new to town, I was just wondering if that drink was decent enough to get?” the stranger replies, smiling easily, yet seemingly awkward at the same time.
Rolling his eyes, JJ lets out a breath. “Who comes to a bar on his first night in town? Don’t you still go to high school?”
Chuckling, a deep rumble in the back of his throat, the stranger shrugs. “Some guys I met earlier today made me come with them. And I could ask the same thing, ``why are you in a club on a school night?”
“Who actually gives a fuck about school these days?” Inquires JJ, downing the last of his beer with a grimace.
“Me.”
JJ scoffs out a laugh. “Of course you do. You actually have a bright future, unlike us pogues. School will get you somewhere.”
“Pogues?” The stranger asks, thanking the bartender for his drink and taking a sip.
“Don’t act so oblivious. I’m sure your other kook friends have filled you in on what happens in this town.”
“Actually, they haven’t. Care to enlighten me?”
Turning to face the stranger, JJ allows that same glare to take place on his face. “Whatever it is that you’re doing, it’s not gonna happen.” Says JJ, sliding off of his seat and standing on his feet. “Stay away from me before you get yourself killed.”
“Wait,” the stranger calls out, stumbling off of his seat and catching hold of JJ’s wrist, forcing him to turn around. “I didn’t get your name.”
“It’s JJ.” JJ replies, irritated and ripping his arm free.
“I’m Pope.”
“And zero fucks were given.” turning on his heel, JJ makes his way through the crowd, having to shove away grinding bodies just to get to his friends. “We’re leaving.”
“What?” Laughs John B, pausing momentarily from his continuous dancing.
JJ groans. “I want to go.”
Furrowing his brows, John B tilts his head. “Did something happen?”
“No- I- I just.. I don’t feel good.” JJ says, running a hand through his hair. “I wanna go.”
“Okay.” with a simple nod in JJ’s direction, the others follow JJ and John B out of the club and into the cool air.
They walk towards the twinkie with no words spoken between them, clambering inside and keeping the music low, their heads banging angrily. “Anyone got some panadol?” Kiara asks, gripping the side of her head.
“I doubt it.” John B replies, rummaging through the compartments. “There’s some back at mine, though.”
The entire drive back to John B’s, JJ can’t stop thinking about the letter stuffed inside of his bag on John B’s bed, just waiting for him to rip it open and sob behind his hand. In all the ten years that she had been gone, no contact was made. No phone calls, no letters, no emails. Nothing. Why now was she so desperate to get in contact?
Did she want money? Or did she want JJ to move in with her? The possibilities were endless. All JJ knew was that he was dreading opening it.
As soon as his head hits the pillow beside John B, snuggled up under the covers, JJ’s thoughts change to the kook, Pope, at the club. Who the fuck names their kid Pope? And who the fuck lets their kid who is new to town go out and get shitfaced the day before school? What a fucking idiot. JJ thinks to himself. A hot idiot, but still. What kind of kook was that dumb?