AN:
Wow. It's been a long while.
I'm honestly so sorry for disappearing for such a long while. I just really needed to readjust since I had to move back to New York and all that. And, I was also dealing with a minor symptom of writer's block. I couldn't find anything I was interested to write in. I mean, Kim and Jerry continuously inspire me, despite the show ending and all that. I just couldn't find the perfect AU or story to base them off. You might have seen me post a story called Four Steps earlier this year and I was going to post that one, but it just didn't inspire me enough. So, I dabbled in other stories for a while on Archive of Our Own as the user properlycolorful, and I guess the space helped a little.
Nevertheless, I was watching Kickin' It a couple weeks ago and I was so inspired. I hadn't gotten the opportunity to watch season four at the time so I binged, I guess? I watched all of it and suddenly inspiration hit. Yeah, all I had to do was give Kim and Jerry some space for a while and then come back later to write for them.
Anyway, The Roommate Conundrum is sort of supposed to be like a literary sitcom or series? Like if I was writing the show Kickin' It in the form of a story? I mean, it's not exactly Kickin' It, more like an AU of what probably happened once the show ended and the characters grew up a little. If you have any constructive writing suggestions, let me know in the reviews.
Here we go.
1.
The Roommate Conundrum
"Hold on," Jerry starts, pressing a small cardboard box against his stomach. He squishes himself against the door, tightening his abdomen, small veins through his arms constricting, letting the small box through.
Kim stares and stares, but never really helps. She doesn't think she's obligated to honestly. She just lifted over six boxes over five flights of stairs; she's done for the day.
Besides, she's not the one moving in today. Jerry asked over a week ago if he could move in and she couldn't really decline. Jack has a girlfriend, Milton is married, and Eddie is about to have a kid. It was basic human decency to let him stay for a while. And, just a week ago, he broke up with his girlfriend Poppy. They had been in a relationship for a long, long, long time. Kim couldn't really remember when they started going out nor when they met, but she knew that they were pretty much soul mates for a good while. Time had been good to them. It's confusing to see them break up, especially since Poppy looked so happy the last time she saw her, but it wasn't any of her business anyway. All that mattered was that he told her that he broke up with her and needed a place to stay. Naturally, and regretfully, she said yes, mostly because she cared about him and because sometimes it did get a little lonely here. It wouldn't hurt to share an environment with Jerry...well, it would―especially since he was absolutely disgusting―but that wasn't the point. She's his friend and friends show that they care. He's lost his girl, for whatever reason it is, and she needs to be here for him.
Jerry moves into the front entrance, placing his small box onto the white, probably quartz, kitchen counter. There's a kitchen on the right of the door, a small dining room on the left, and the living room set across. He's a little nerved at the new surroundings, but he takes it in slowly, gradually. He's glad to be away from Poppy.
"You okay?" Kim steps closer beside the anxious boy, pressing her hand to his shoulder.
He nods, breathing in wearily. "Yeah, I'm good."
"So, what'd you call me for?" Milton asks, digging his hands into his pants.
They were walking underneath some boardwalk by the dojo, strangely the only place they ever met up in for private discussions, and Rudy had come to tell him something. He had called about five hours ago urging him to meet him up at four, because he knew that if hadn't called five hours early then he would never be able to make it, since apparently Rudy needs a lot of preparation time and Milton is too "busy" that he has to make appointments with him. He had, of course, disagreed―not with the "preparation time" thing, Rudy is an egomaniac―but was still a little relieved he did make an appointment. Who was to know if he had gotten busy?
"Well, I just need your help," Rudy begins, facing the redhead, "you're the only smart one in the dojo and Kim is apparently busy helping Jerry settle in―I mean, I don't know when anyone else is more important than your sensei, but whatever, I don't care, I respec―"
"Rudy!" Milton sort of warns him. "You were saying?"
The older one eyes him for a moment, trying to remember what he means, but then nods amusingly and understandingly once he remembers his train of thought. "I need you to help me find a place. Francine's my fiance now and I can't have her living with my mom anymore. I mean, she's driving us crazy."
"Yeah, my mom's really neurotic too." Milton nods knowingly, taking a step forward in the sand.
Rudy shakes his head briefly. "No I mean Francine, she can't stand my mom and she keeps picking a fight with the cat."
The paler one stares confusingly, and a little annoyed, but doesn't say a word. He shakes his head and turns towards the path ahead. There's a small shuffle his hands make in his dark blue jeans, but he tries not to let Rudy know that he's half-annoyed and just half-uninterested. His sensei tends to think that everybody cares about everything that stumbles into his head, or all the rambling he loves so much to do, but nobody really does. He doesn't know if Francine even does. Nevertheless, Milton continues to listen, because he cares about his sensei, and when you care about someone you show it.
"Anyway, I need you to find me a place by the end of this week. I'm not asking for much." Rudy smiles at him, earning a smile back from Milton.
"Well, you can count on me. I know a lot of good places around Seaford," the smaller one replies cheerily, slapping Rudy's back, "and one of my power walking friends is a realtor. I bet he knows some locations too. What exactly are you asking for?"
His sensei taps his chin. "Oh nothing. I'm not really picky, I can settle for anything."
"Oh okay," Milton halfheartedly says, understanding that Rudy was more than just picky. He could say that he was fine with something one day, but the moment its in his fingertips he'll find all kind of reasons as to why he doesn't like it. For Pete's sake, he knew that he was even picky about what kind of cat he wanted―and he even read cat recommendation letters, which Milton didn't even know existed. Francine was the only thing he wasn't picky about, and even then Milton worries one day he will be.
This is why he's got to do it right. He can't let that happen.
It's been two hours and Jerry has been walking to and fro the entrance. There were about three boxes that he had to pick up and then some little trinkets that he had to carry with care. Nevertheless, Kim notices that he's forgotten something, but he's pent up on believing that he brought it here. It's typical of Jerry; she knows she should help him before he drives himself crazy.
Kim, lethargically, whips her feet from under herself and pushes herself off the phthalo green couch. She faces him with something like a sardonic smile, but it's a little more warm than bitter. "Jerry, you okay?"
Jerry looks at her, still a little dosed of adrenaline and drive, stopping in the middle of his tracks, and slowly calms. "Yeah, I'm fine. I think I just left something, but it doesn't matter."
She shakes her head at him, raising an eyebrow. "Why don't you just go get later? If it means that much?"
Jerry rubs the back of his neck. There's a twinge of something else besides anxiety going on his eyes, but she doesn't budge. He seems like he just needs to adjust, new environments and all that. "Nah, I can live without it. I just feel a little―icy? Usually that thing would make me feel more at home. Your house is just so empty, Kim."
He takes a small step to the side, moving around her, and angles his head towards the living room. There's a dark green, more bluer than most greens, couch facing the wall in the middle of the room. There's a few white pillows on the couch and a warm fuzzy green blanket, but it still looks so hard and cold. Just a few good spaces ahead, however, lies a large television screen. It looks a little recent, but he can tell by the scratches on the side that it's been here for a while, maybe two years? Other than the those two items, there's a small bookshelf in the corner stacked with books Kim has probably never read, and a large window facing the couch's armrest. Jerry's a little disappointed that the house feels so cold and icy and bitter, but he knows that that can change with him around. He's a true homebody.
"It's not empty," she defends, extending her hands to the couch, "I mean―look there's a couch, a TV, and a bookshelf. That's a lot of stuff."
"Yeah, and there's also a ceiling and a floor," he retorts. Kim raises an eyebrow. "Just because you have stuff doesn't mean anything. It's the little things that make a home."
Jerry crooks his head towards the dining room. There's a white round table settled with two white chairs around it. There's no fruit bowl, no plate mats, no candles, no plates or forks. It's surface is spotless; Kim probably never eats there. There's also no lighting, that corner is dark and, once again, cold. He wouldn't even want to eat there.
"I mean," he begins to say, "do you even eat on that table? Let alone cook in the kitchen?"
"I cook!" She frowns lightly, lurching her head forward.
Jerry stares. Really?
"Sometimes," she continues to say.
Jerry crosses his arms and slings his head to the other side. You sure?
Kim stomps her socks against the dark hardwood floor, trying to retaliate against him. She does cook...sometimes. It's very rare, but she does cook. She means, she remembers cooking...about six months ago. It was for a get-together, but she did it. Well, maybe I don't cook then? Oh my god, she can't believe she's actually agreeing with him. "Fine," Kim continues further, "I don't cook. What's your point?"
"My point is: you need to start," Jerry declares, facing the kitchen on the right.
The kitchen had the coldest ambiance than any other place in the house. It was white quartz counters and white cabinets with the cleanest―literally, the most newest―stove he's seen in his life. It was clean surfaces―and he's not trying to say that clean surfaces mean lack of cooking or ambiance, but there weren't any fruit bowls, coffee makers, or microwaves anywhere! He feels almost saddened to walk in the kitchen for fear of dirtying anything, and that's not how a kitchen should feel. It should be the warmest place in the house. He has to do something about this.
"This house shouldn't feel so cold." He lifts his shoulders a little, throwing his eyes into places that could use renovations.
"It doesn't!" Kim shouts, maybe a little too loud, but he was acting a little too entitled for a house that wasn't his. "Not to me."
Jerry just watches her, taking in every little wrinkle on her face―the lines between her eyes, the dip between her nose and lips. He understands that she's mad, he gets that it's unsettling and unnerving to have someone walk around and make you feel bad for what makes you happy, for what makes you feel at home―trust him, he gets that. However, Kim couldn't keep ordering take-out for the rest of her life and winter was coming soon. They needed more candles, more sheets, more lighting, more warmer things.
"Kim." He steps forward, taking in the lines between her eyes and how they tighten. "We're roommates now. I might get a little annoying, maybe a little loud, and really gross, but trust me when I say that care about you. Chica, you're my best friend. I know you better than I know myself, and that's a little weird―"
"Really weird," she corrects, her arms still crossed, but her eyes a lot softer.
"But it's true," he adds, moving away from her. His smile as soft as Kim's eyes, before he turns on his feet and examines the wall. "Now what do we do about this place?"
Kim sighs.
"Okay, so this place is perfect," Milton starts, placing his worn-out sneakers onto the next step of stairs, "it has a master bedroom, guest room, open concept kitchen, two bathrooms, and an awesome balcony. You'll love it, Rudy."
Rudy, who's about five steps behind, is heaving and stretching over the stairs. His eyes are angled upwards towards Milton, but his attention is obviously lacking. He waves his hand in the air momentarily, before using it to help himself lean on the white, probably, stone stairs. "I'm fine," he pants out, "but I'm not really a fan of this place. You did―you did a good job, but what kind of ten story apartment doesn't have an elevator? That's just cruel. And frankly, despicable. They can't put this place up for sale, that's just crazy."
Milton sighs, giving the heaving man a small smile from above. "Yeah, I'll just look for some other place. I promise your new house will be perfect."
Rudy clutches onto the white wall laughing, before Milton steps down.
He's a little disappointed because he searched so earnestly, profoundly. He wanted Rudy to have the perfect place, because honestly, he deserves it. A home is the most important part of someone's possessions―it's where you relax, where you grow, where you can get away, and where you feel most comfortable. Rudy's been living with his mom for years, and he believes that that's mostly because the guy doesn't feel at home anywhere else. So yeah, he might be taking this a little too seriously, but he cared so much about Rudy and he wanted him to be happy. If that meant that he had to go searching all week for a house then he will be searching all week for a house, no questions asked.
Milton's already by the building entrance downstairs through all of these thoughts, when he hears Rudy whimpering above. "Hey Milton," he cries, "can you help me get up, please?"
Milton sighs, and turns on his heel back up the stairs. Oh boy.
Jerry eyes the picture he's placed on the wall, centered behind the couch. It doesn't look right.
He had taken a nice little picture out of Kim's room the other day, where she was standing with her mom and her dad. It was somewhere out of Seaford, because there was a lot trees, bushes, and hay―he thinks he sees―in the background. He knows that Kim's family actually isn't from here, he's heard some of them talk with a drawl before. But anyway, he thought it would be a nice little touch if he hung it up. Kim would feel a lot more at home―or at least her house would―if she could see and feel family around. It reminds her that she can be as close to them as she wants, no matter where they are. He knows that she tends to live life a little reclusive than most, which wasn't really a problem, but he knows she feels lonely sometimes.
Consequently, Jerry takes the picture in his hands, suddenly forgetting that he was going to move it, and looks at it properly, lost in a small haze. It's been a while since Kim has smiled like that―almost as if she was living through the warmest dream. That's definitely gonna change with him around, but he still struggles to see that, especially since―
"Jerry!" Kim breaks his thoughts, snatching the small portrait from his hand. Her eyes are filled with something similar to anger, but there's a dose of disappointment too. He doesn't want her to be disappointed in him.
Jerry tries not to think too much into it, because Kim is always unintentionally violate, but he feels a sense of guilt. He sputters his words over, and the disappointment suddenly begins to hit harshly. "Uh Kim, I―I―I was just trying to make the place feel more like home. I swear, I didn't―"
Kim lurches her head forward. Fire swirls in her eyes. "I don't care! You're not supposed to be in my room! How could you just―I thought that you'd respect―"
"I―I―I'm sorry," he stutters, taking a step back, "I didn't―I didn't mean to―it's not my―"
Suddenly, Jerry blinks. He blinks and takes another step back. Kim notices a slight change in him, but she doesn't say anything. She knows that he has been editing the house recently, placing fruit bowls all over the place, and candles in the hallway. She knows he's been trying to make this place nicer. She knows he's trying to do this for her, but it's her place! It's her home! Not his. She couldn't understand the sudden urge to step into her room. How could he do that? How could he―
"I'm trying to help you, Kim!" He steps forward, extending his finger. She sees a sudden flicker swirling in his eyes―like he's mad, like he's hurt―and her confusion strikes. He was the one in her room. Why is acting this way? "I don't need you to yell at me! I don't want you to yell at me! I just care about you! I just want you to be as happy as you are in that picture! I'm sorry that I keep making mistakes! I'm sorry―"
Kim's eyes soften; she reaches for his shoulder. She doesn't like where this is going. "It's okay, Jer. It's okay, I'm not―"
Jerry flinches, stepping away. "I―I'm sorry―I should―you're right, that was wrong."
The blonde squeezes her eyebrows at this, suddenly concerned. She didn't mean for him to take it too literally. She didn't mean for him to get hurt. And now, she's feeling responsible, now she's feeling terrible, because Jerry had been thinking about her. That's something he never does. He had been thinking about what would make her feel happy. He had been taking his time to make her happy. And it's so concerning to see him switch gears like this; Jerry is never apologetic. Jerry is never guilty. Jerry never snaps. What's going on?
The brunette notices her concern, notices the change in her expression, and bows his head. "I should―I need to go to my room. I'm sorry," he apologetically adds, before quickly brisking away from Kim as fast as he could. It was almost soundless as well.
And Kim doesn't like anything about that. He was just trying to be nice―how could she be so brash? His intentions were in the right place. He just cares about her. He―god, she didn't feel right about this. She needed to apologize.
Milton strides into the apartment, holding the doorknob in his left hand. He knows that this place is great; he's checked everything about it―service, price, design, and functionality. He even checked it in person, there didn't seem to be anything wrong with it. It's practically catered for Rudy, besides the weird guy living across from him.
The apartment is a little more spacious than detailed, and a lot brighter than in the picture, but it still flows greatly. The kitchen is beside the door, structured behind a wall that Milton stands close to, white and all marble, with sleek, silver appliances. The living room, which stands across from Milton, is wide and floored with gray stone tiles. There's enough space in there for a small dining room, in front of the nice little balcony. And beside the kitchen, lies a little hallway. It's all great; Rudy should love this.
"You're gonna love this Rudy," he says, turning to face the older man in the hallway.
Rudy's talking to the weird guy across the hallway―Richard―and they're already making plans before he's even moved in. He's in the middle of a sentence when Milton turns to face him, "―yeah, this Friday! Sausage tacos! Yeah―what? I'll be here! I'm a man of my word! Yeah―yeah!"
Milton's already annoyed by the time they're becoming best friends so he tugs the other man's left arm forward. "Yeah, okay. Richard and you can talk later. Can we look at the apartment?"
Rudy shuffles and stumbles in Milton's grasp, but keeps his eyes trained on the guy across the hallway. After waving a goodbye and passing a warm smile, he turns to Milton. It doesn't take long for the smile to shift and for a light pout to form on his lips. Milton still has his arm in his hand, gripping around the blue jacket sleeve, when he stumbles clumsily in. "Ow, ow, ow! Alright―I can walk myself. I don't need a helping hand," he snaps at him, ripping his arm away from the taller man.
Rudy turns towards the apartment. The smile comes back again. "Oh, this is nice. I like the balcony―I can dry my feet after a nice long shower there."
The two of them step forward, taking in their surroundings, though the younger one has done this before. Rudy doesn't take long to twist and turn on his heels, dissecting everything and anything in the apartment. He's smiling and gawking when he starts to speak. "This is awesome Milton. I knew I could count on you."
There's a small tug on his cheeks when Rudy says that―and it's contagious too. Milton looks down just to hide it. Mostly because he's so excited that he found the perfect place―the perfect house―the perfect―
Oh, oh, god, what's that smell? It hits almost like a fast and silent train, not even a warning that it's near. And it smells like piles and piles of rotten eggs tossed into one small container until someone fell in and died and the body started to rot. Holy Christmas nuts, he needs to get out of here.
"Oh, oh god," Rudy starts, smacking his hand on his nose. "What is that? It smells like Francine passing gas when she eats too much ice cream―and when you're lactose intolerant, that is not a good smell!"
Milton's steps forward towards the balcony, where the smell seems to get worse, and lets himself face the warm, repugnant breeze. He barely lifts his hands off his nose, but he can still smell everything in the air―from the dead corpse to the old chicken someone had for dinner, but the sun is still nice. Taking one step forward, he leans his face over the edge of the balcony, holding onto the railing itself, and peers down below. With his eyes squeezed, he sees a large dark garbage truck down the street, already done loading from the big blue stretched receptacle below.
Rudy's balcony is above a trash compactor―a freaking trash compactor.
Milton plants his head onto the railing, and sighs. Why does the universe hate him?
It's midnight on a Tuesday and somehow, again, Kim can't sleep.
There's a small yellow light in the middle of the hallway, kind of warm to the eye, radiating beneath Kim's door. It's all she's been able to look at, even if the color is pleasant. Kim can't really sleep with light, however small it is. She sees hints of it in the corner of her closed eyes, like an annoying, persistent glow that swirls in front of her eyes, and finds that she wants to look at it all night―and never, ever sleep. She likes the warm glow of it, and the strange feeling of contentedness that settles in her stomach; she likes feeling that way―especially in her own home.
Ah, she sighs, I wonder where I got that lamp from. I mean, I don't remember getting one exactly. Did Jerry buy it?
Squeezing one eye shut and fluttering another one open, she faces the light beneath her door. And like a moth to a flame, she literally finds herself drawn to it. Maybe it wouldn't hurt to look at it, besides it was nice of Jerry to do―if he did buy it, that loser. It made her feel so, so...at home? Perhaps he does know whatever the heck he thinks he's doing.
Kim shuffles her feet out of the orange duvet, pulling and harnessing all of the energy within her to stand on her two sockless feet. And boy is the floor icy.
She rubs her tired eyes, before treading softly towards the door. She's only in some pink tank top and plaid pajama pants―the only cute pajamas she owns―but she doesn't feel as cold as she thought it would be. Her feet feel a lot icier than her in general, and she silently thanks the apartment heater for that.
Nevertheless, she wraps her hands around the doorknob, which is just as icy as the floor, and steps into the hallway. She sees the lamp on a small, round brown coffee table―one he probably brought or bought―and it immediately fogs her senses.
She hasn't brought that lamp out since her grandmother died. Where―how did he find this?
Without much thought, she walks forward. Her eyes focused on the oil lamp―the one she hasn't seen since God knows when. She blinks at it several times, mostly because she doesn't remember where it even was, but it was nice to have it around. It was a little stinky and smoky, but she always felt at home with it. Nevertheless, she hid it deep within her closet, far from where she could find it, when her grandmother died three years ago. Seeing it now, it still hurts, but she feels...a little nicer with it around, like her grandmother's still here or something.
Jerry, that loser―why was he such a rude, intruding, dismissive, yet thoughtful loser?
Kim turns her head towards the door across the hallway. Between the small gap, right in the middle of the wooden frame and the actual doorknob, she can actually see his eyes shut against the white pillowcase. And, he looks...at home.
So, she smiles.
It's only a Thursday afternoon, under a warm boardwalk close to the open shore, when Milton is fluttering his eyes in disbelief.
He can't actually believe what he's hearing at the air is fresh and he can feel the breeze brush against him, but he refuses to believe he's here. He refuses to believe that he's heard what he's heard. He refuses to believe that Rudy's found an apartment. You mean to tell him that he's been searching for apartments for Rudy―nonstop, for almost two weeks―to now have Rudy buying an apartment from someone else, some guy he just met, off the bat just like that.
He rubs his scalp exasperated. "So, that's it?"
Rudy lifts a side of his lip upward, facing the confused boy in the brown jacket before him. "Yeah, I bought it! Turns out Richard moved out because it was too big and he felt lonely," he shrugs nonchalantly, "so I searched the place and it was perfect."
Milton bows his head, trying to take all of it in―all of the work and consistent searching, and it makes his head hurt. He doesn't even face Rudy when he speaks, "Yeah, Rudy, that's great."
He's attempting to make his way back home, stepping away from his mentor, because really this was all too stupid and he needed some sleep. He should have known better than to try and impress his sensei; the most simplest of things could be the greatest gifts he's ever gotten. And he's angry that he let himself get ahead with this, he's angry that he even took this whole new-apartment-space conundrum seriously―
"Wait! Hold on," Rudy tells him, yanking his arm backwards, "Me and Richard are gonna celebrate! Not only do I have the most awesome apartment ever, but I have a new friend to share it with. And I wanted you," he looks at Milton straight in the eyes, like a dad who's taking himself too seriously, "to celebrate it with me."
Milton sighs, he's really not having it. "Why?"
"Because you helped me find Richard," the older one states simply, adding on, "and you made me realize why I'm glad to be your sensei. I mean, look at all the work you put in for me, it's great, especially since I didn't have to do any."
The brown jacket boy smiles, not feeling completely at ease with everything, but feeling a little more inclined to eat out. At least he notices my intentions, old Rudy would have never done that.
"Now, c'mon, let's go get some fries―you're paying!" Rudy says, before he makes his way to the other side of the boardwalk, where the birds aren't eating up old seafood bits.
And then Milton refutes the latter: Rudy is still there, except he's grown up a tiny bit...just a tiny bit.
Kim is sitting on the dark green couch, wrapped around with her orange duvet, when Jerry walks in, and she's up on her feet immediately.
She thought a lot about him. She thought a lot about his behavior, and yeah she's extremely concerned, but mostly she's extremely concerned that she let herself get so ahead of something. He was obviously too inclined and nosy to be walking into her room like that, but he was also being strangely, and almost irresponsibly, thoughtful. She can at least thank the small guy for that. She's never really felt as at home since he's started decorating the place and adding small designs here and there―cooking and feeding her for some reason. She can't believe she reacted so violently, instead of just pulling him aside and telling him that what he did was unacceptable. She didn't need to snap as volatile as she did. However, Kim digresses a little on that part, because he had walked into her room and sneaked some very important photos to her out. She just wishes he would have asked or something, so that's what she tells him.
"Wait, Jer," she starts, placing her hand on his chest, "I need to talk to you―"
Jerry lifts his head up at her in his black hoodie and shakes his head. "No, Kim. What I did was wrong, really wrong, and just because I'm dealing with some stuff doesn't mean I should have treated you with...disrespect like that. You don't have to explain any―"
"Shut up, Jerry!" She suddenly screams, furrowing her eyebrows together. Jerry flinches at this, maybe a little too much, but she tries not to let it pick at her too much. If she feels sorry for him then she won't properly tell him and everything will be a waste. "Listen to me, you shouldn't have gone into my room―"
"I know, and that's why―," he quietly comments.
"No," she cuts him off again, pressing a finger against his chest, "you shouldn't have gone in my room. But, I'm happy that you did. That doesn't mean you can do it all the time, but I'm happy that you did. I'm happy that you took out my grandmother's lamp. I'm happy that you pulled those photos out. And I'm happy that you keep doing stuff around the house for me...and for you."
Jerry looks at her in shock, eyes screwed in confusion. "Oh, you are? You―I thought―I mean, I know I'm not―I'm confused," he says finally.
Kim laughs and plants her palm on his shoulder. "I'm trying to say that even if you shouldn't have, and should never again, stepped into my room, I'm happy that you did. I feel a lot more at home than I ever did."
The boy is still a little confused, looking at her befuddled, but he tries to pass it off. Not everybody is the same, he tells himself. "Oh, um―"
And then, Kim hugs him, wrapping her arms around his upper back. Her small fingers interlock at the middle, and he can feel them curl against his hoodie. Jerry doesn't know if this is real or if it's just the calm before the storm, but he likes the feeling of it anyway. He leans into her, pressing himself a little closer, and raises his small arms softly against her back. He guesses that she wants him to hug her back. Like normal people do. "I'm happy that you're here, Jer."
He smiles, and so does she. And, they both conclude that maybe being roommates won't be bad after all.
AN:
Did you guys enjoy that? Was it slightly aggravating, slightly funny, or just really, really irritating? Anything works.
Nonetheless, what do you think is going on with Jerry? Or Kim? Has time changed them? Leave some responses in the reviews along with some constructive criticism. I also wanted to let you guys know that most of this story is going to tackle real world issues sometimes. It'll be light and all, but I really wanted to flesh out these characters realistically.
And yeah, this is a Kim and Jerry story, don't worry about that. It's just that this story now includes Kickin' It characters and my own original OC's instead of the typically isolated Kim and Jerry reign. I might write about Jack, Eddie, or Milton on the side, or even Rudy and my other OC's, while still maintaining the story on Kim and Jerry all the while.
Yeah, yeah, I'm done. Have a good weekend.