Jess's eyes were dry and her cheeks felt sticky. She wondered if she was imagining the smell of the tears as well; she wasn't sure if tears had any smell. But this was normal now. It'd been a couple of days since she'd called it off with Nick, and she'd been having trouble sleeping. She'd gotten so used to sleeping with her head tucked under his chin, enveloped in the mildly musky and earthy smell he radiated.
She hadn't even seen him since their breakup; he'd been coming back home late at night, and only seemed to step out once she was gone. The only sign of his presence was the scent of his bodywash that lingered in the shower sometimes, and the occasional empty cup of coffee in the sink if she was lucky. And of course, his quiet footsteps treading the hallway that she could hear through the sometimes disturbed slumber she fell into.
She was curled up on side, staring at the billowing lace curtain on her window. Sleep wouldn't come. No matter how hard she tried, it wouldn't. Her thoughts were almost always with him, and she wondered how he was doing. She yearned to see him, at least once. This thoughts flowed with so much more haste at night, even though throughout the day, she would miss how he surprised her at school during lunch hours, or how he would wake up to kiss her goodbye as she left for work.
And just like that, like every other night, she broke into a fresh wave of tears.
When Nick came home, he paused outside Jess's door for a few seconds, like he did every night. Like every night, he could hear the muffled sound of her sobs, and he had to do everything in his power to not open the door and curl up next to her.
Shaking his head, he turned to his own bedroom and closed the door softly behind him. His bed looked hard and cold, and he missed the sight of her lying sprawled on it, fallen asleep while reading a book to try and keep herself awake when he finally came home. She would sleep like a baby when he slipped in next to her, and nestled against her, breathing in her familiar scent.
His eyes fell on the drawer next to his bed; in it, was her scarf she'd forgotten to take back with her that day she'd moved her things out. He hasn't opened the drawer since, but can see the colour of the fibres that are sticking out over the top of the drawer. He stares at the shiny threads every night as he tries to fall asleep.
He was tempted to open the drawer, but he's afraid that the drawer would now smell like her and the moment he opened it, the scent would fade away. There was a certain comfort knowing that a part of her still existed in his room, but it also hurt because that part wasn't her. What an odd sense of solace.
One night, Nick comes home, and all he hears is silence from her room. His first thought is that she's gone, but he reminds himself that he'd seen her coat on the coat rack, as well her shoes, recklessly kicked off her feet. He worries for her and almost checks in on her, but doesn't.
Maybe she got over it at last.
The thought hurts him a little, but he's glad that she's not hurting anymore.
When he returns the next night, once again, all he hears is silence. His sleep is all the more restless than usual as he hopes that everything's okay with her. This goes on for a couple more nights, until weekend comes.
That weekend, she's not at home at all. He has no idea where she went, probably Cece's, and he doesn't ask the guys either. He is not in the mood for the questions that were sure to be shot his way; he was sick and tired of the wary glances they gave him as it is.
So he avoids them all day, and does all the chores he would usually avoid. He even does his own laundry, and before he could stop himself, he thinks that Jess would've been proud of him.
The next night, he can hear her crying again, and a few days later, the crying ceases. Again.
One night, he's standing outside her door and it's quiet. She'd cried the last night. He hesitates, but only for a second. He opens her door gently, and can make out her form curled up in her blankets, sound asleep.
The moonlight gives her face a pallid look, but she's breathing evenly. As he looks closer, his heart stops.
She's wearing his flannel.
Almost robotically, he walks towards her and sits next to her on her bed. She stirs, but doesn't wake up. When he reaches out to brush her hair out of her face, she holds his hand to her cheek and turns to his side, his hand now pressed between her cheek and pillow.
He stops breathing for a few seconds, and swallows thickly. He doesn't fight it for very long. He slips in next to her and pulls her close to him, tucking her chin under his neck.
She relaxes into his embrace, and he doesn't see it, but there's a small smile on her face as she snuggles further into him.
A/N: It's 1 a.m. and I'm not sure what possessed me to write this. Probably a little weird right, but like, the idea was there and I had to write it.
Dunno if I'll continue, but at the moment, it's a OneShot.
Let me know what you think!