A/N : Jodie is one of my Bully OCs. I never published any of my work before but I want this fic to be out there. So I hope you'll enjoy this, fellow Tad simps!
"You know what we could do?" Jodie places her hand on Tad's shoulder, the other one resting on his.
"What?" Tad asks nervously, sliding his fingers through his once, carefully-combed hair. The voice that's coming out from his throat is shaky and different. It's a voice that commands attention. And even though his eyes are starting to swell up from the excruciating rubbing alcohol—burning on his busted lip and all over his face, causing him to turn away now and then to wipe the tears—he's managed to keep a straight face.
Jodie smiles. She presses her index finger onto his palm, where his eyes seem to be drawn to it like moths to a flame.
"Let's draw each other," she suggests. Her finger traces the contour of his palm, along his veins protruding out underneath his skin. Her finger continues until it reaches his wrist. "You don't have to be good at it. Just start somewhere. You can erase it or whatever later. So what do you think?"
"Yeah... It could work," Tad replies, a short pause, "I think we have a scrap paper somewhere. I'll go look for it."
He gets up from his chair, stumbling over to a desk drawer—which he begins to search through—before he looks back at her. "Here it is." He sets a piece of lined notebook paper on the table, extended with two pairs of red Sharpie markers.
"Will this do?"
"Perfect." She rips off a sheet of paper, careful to leave a little piece of paper behind before setting it on top of a clear plastic folder with her name on it. She lets him have the rest of the notebook, and watches as he scurries off to find a place to draw.
So she shifts closer to Tad, who is already sitting on the opposite side of the table from where she was. Knees touching, shoulders brushing. His mind is racing, possibly trying to come up with the best way to draw her.
"We're not supposed to sit together, Jodie." He's twisting the lid of the sharpie, "What's the point of that? We can see each other's drawings, that will spoil the fun." But he hasn't moved away from her.
"Fine, get as far away as you want," Jodie fake sighs, "I'll leave you alone." She lies with her head on the table and props herself up. The warmth that seeps through his clothes from the contact of their bodies is leaving him paralyzed. If he didn't know any better, he'd think his body was trying to tell him something.
Tad is thinking about how to draw Jodie (without screwing everything up).
Jodie is thinking about how to make him feel at ease.
Tad exhales and lays the marker down to start fresh. He begins at the top of the page, draws a squiggly line, which could be mistaken for a curl or a wave of some sort. It's shaky at first as if he's not quite used to the marker. But as he goes along, the lines become more fluid and relaxed.
Jodie observes from her position, lying down on the floor. She studies his face, his eyebrows, his lips—anything she can get a read on. That's when she realizes. He looks peaceful. Like he's somewhere else entirely. She imagines the pressure of whatever secret he's hiding is being pushed from his mind, allowing a new thought to take its place.
Astir in her chest, as if something is trying to disrupt her breathing, makes her sit back up.
Tad is looking back and forth between the page and her. He's captured something of her in that drawing—a smirk, maybe. Or a mischievous glint in her eye. He tilts his head to the side, studying it.
"You're done already?" Jodie asks. Tad shrugs his shoulders in response and attempts to hand her the page, but she pushes it away. "Hold on, I'm not done! Not done at all! Will you wait, Mr. impatient?"
She dives back down to look at her drawing more closely, but he grabs it from her. Her elbow jabs forward, forgetting he's a trained fighter and can dodge much easier than she could give him a shove.
He slips the drawing out of her reach again as he stands up.
"Time's up. Sorry, hun." His smile grows wider, but the tremble in his lip shines through as he takes a good look at her drawing before handing the page back to her. He covers his face with both hands, but his laughter erupts through both of his fingers. "That's... That's not bad. Really."
"You're not allowed to see it yet!" Jodie demands. Her cheeks heat up as she laughs back, "I bet yours is nowhere as good."
Tad makes a face, "Yeah... Yeah, keep telling yourself that, sunshine."
"Huh, well let me see then!" Jodie stretches out her arm to receive the page. She snatches it from his hand and looks at his drawing. Of course, it looked nothing like her. But in some way, she could tell it captured something of her quality she didn't know he would pay attention to. That's cute. He even added details. The freckles on her shoulders. The way her hair curls around her ears when it's windy. Though, her eyes were crossed a little. Even the smudge of dirt under her nose is there. So silly, but it's endearing.
"Pretty good, huh?"
"Yeah. I see you." Jodie nods her head with a smirk on her face. Tad's cheek flushes a deeper shade of red as he looks down to his feet. He looks like he's waiting for the inevitable teasing, but it never comes.
Jodie rotates the page to see what he had written and her eyes widen at the sight.
'Thank you. For this. I think we're going to be alright now. -T.S.'
She reads it again, to make sure she's not imagining things. And she isn't. His handwriting is smaller than usual, but she can still make out the words. She feels her face growing warm on the third read-through.
"Tad, you're so thoughtful." She says, looking up to him. "I didn't know you have a sweet side, too. Are you sure you're not a closet romantic?"
Waving his hand in an awkward motion, he says, "Don't speak of it. It's embarrassing." He's fidgeting on where to place his hands, or what to do with his feet. Jodie can't tell, all she sees is the silly smile on his face. It's infectious. She smiles back. Then, without thinking, she leans in to give Tad a hug.
Jodie feels his arms wrap around her back and embraces her in return. And as their faces grow closer together, she feels him stiffen as well. Loving, gentle, but also terrified. He's holding her away from him, almost as if he's afraid she'd disappear if he closes the gap.
"Tad?" her voice comes out in a whisper—a mere thread of sound.
He takes a step back, but his hands don't let go of her. It's as if he has no confidence in himself to hold her the way he wants to. All he can do is stare into her eyes. Her own are shining back at him in the light, she couldn't make it any clearer if she tried.
"Yeah?" he asks, eyes leaking with eagerness.
"You've made this quite a bit easier than I could have imagined." Her answer comes in a rush. She grips his shoulders with both hands and gives him a quick kiss on the cheek. Tad flinches at first but then relaxes into the small gesture. It'll burn into his skin more than the sting of an open wound ever could, but he'll have it. A reminder he wants to carry back home with him. To replace the feeling his father would leave him, a broken toy that doesn't do what it's supposed to.
He wants to tell her how near he was to just give it all up. Like yesterday, how he tried to do it. But he knows, deep down, he's always been too much of a coward. He was always told so by the man who raised him, and he would believe it.
For the longest time, he let it consume him. It never leaves him. No matter if he tries to give in to it completely or fight it every day. The voice is still there, mocking and screaming at him for what he is.
That doesn't stop Tad, ever, from wondering though—if someone would miss him, or try to find his body. Maybe, just maybe, he'd find peace in that.