[ To be truthful, waking up and living here has been the most lonely she'd felt since the death of her parents, since living here meant the absence of so many things that gave her life worth. The loneliness is painful and haunting (not that she ever made anyone aware of it), but meeting people like JJ made it easier to keep going - being face to face with someone that she has strangely grown much fonder of than she would normally, who at least seemed to care for her, reminds her of one essential fact.
Above all else, she desperately wants to be loved, wants to be important to someone else in any way that she can, to somehow make her meaningless life...meaningful again. Maybe it was the alcohol and the plants, but it felt good to be looked at fondly, the way he's looking at her right now - it's comforting and fulfilling in a way she isn't too familiar with. And in this moment she wanted to feel more of this feeling, whatever it was. ]
Hmmm.... you are probably thinking that...
[ She mumbles shortly against his lips before likely surprising him in being the one to close the distance between them, tipping her head forward the slightest bit to slot their lips together. It is quick and fleeting, but the gloss on her lips makes the kiss sweet, and makes it feel like it had lasted longer than it had. She whispers again as if she hadn't just done that: ]
You are probably thinking that Misa is even prettier up close.
[ It was impulsive to kiss him, but then again, she was someone who acted impulsively when she felt things. And whatever force was compelling her to feel this way... her drunken mind didn't really put too much thought into combating it. ]
[ The contact runs through him like a current; nostalgic in the way that none of his other friendly encounters during the night had been. It's the stickiness of her lipgloss, and the soft smell of perfume under the haze of alcohol that hovers around them both. It gets his heart racing in his chest, hot with longing for everything that he used to have and misses so much. Everything that he wants to have again so, so badly. ]
Are you magic? That's exactly what I was thinking. [ His voice hushed down to an uncharacteristic whisper, as if awed by the intimate gesture. His tongue sweeps out to take in the sweetness over his bottom lip. ] I was thinking that you are beautiful...
[ He misses the connection; the trust and understanding, and he wants it to be here again. Their not lovers by any stretch of the imagination, and so much of what they know about each other is still superficial, but this is the closest thing he has. And when he's drunk like this, he's willing to make it into whatever he wants it to be. ]
You're beautiful, strong, talented and creative. [ Normally he'd offer such compliments with a dramatic flourish, but instead he says them quietly, laying them at her feet like offerings. (Beneath the magic and the alcohol, knowing that something's not right and trying to compensate for it. ] I... [ love you, he wants to say. Except he doesn't. Even though he wants to say that to someone and have it be true, and hear it said back to him. Seven of the loneliest months of his life, and still all he can do is cling to friendships, hoping that they don't break or drift away.
But he is clinging to them, taking an mile for every inch he gets, always willing to push boundaries and test limits. Maybe that's why he's the one to move their mouths together again, devouring the warmth and softness and the way that sticky lipgloss smears across his lips with one hand threading to her hair to press firmly against her nape, the other still steady at her waist. It's probably not right when his head is still swimming of imagines of Misa and Isabella both, but he holds on and thinks about how much he doesn't want this connection to disappear all the same. ]
[ She said that she wasn't taking advantage of him, but in reality, she really is - using the words you're beautiful and kissing him as an opportunity to feel something, anything than the nearly unbearable loneliness that she covered up with her bright facade, not unlike concealer over scars. While he whispers, she doesn't respond, not even with a smile or any acknowledgement of what he was saying, just blinking at him like he was speaking in another language to her. Misa is no stranger to people admitting to her beauty, but in ways as intimate is this...it is strange. Was it strange because Light never spoke to her that way? Or was it because these words weren't coming from Light? She doesn't know.
In contrast to how familiar contact like this must feel for JJ, she can't help but think of it as foreign - not just the compliments, but the kisses too. It shows in how she hesitates to push back, almost clumsily, her delicate hand moving to frame his face more tenderly. But she will admit that this feels nice; the absence of her steadfast and almost worship-like devotion to Light at the front of her mind gives her the chance to experience being kissed this way, and held this way. It has been so hard, so incredibly hard to go without feeling like the object of someone's affection, and she can take advantage of this moment to feel that again, like the first rain after a long drought.
His lips are softer than she thought they would be (not that she previously thought about it in that way), which makes the glide of their kiss all the more pleasant. It's easy enough to move to rest half on top of him in-between gentle and slow presses of their lips, her free hand coming to rest on his chest - and it's so warm, the flush from the alcohol and what they're doing making her blood run hot. But when she breaks away to take a breath, her lower lip clings to his, and she lets it linger there for a few moments before she retreats away just enough so that their foreheads aren't touching. She just stares at him, holding his face in place all the while, the hands on her waist and nape suddenly feeling ticklish and weird because - oh, that's right, his name is Jean-Jacques Leroy and not Light Yagami.
She can feel how fast his heart is beating. More distantly, she feels how fast her own is beating, too. ]
What are we even doing... [ Her lips are still tingling and she feels dizzy, but despite voicing concern out loud, still feels like leaning in again. Luckily (or unluckily?) her lack of a filter in her drunken haze lets her ramble on: ] You're not Light, and I'm not I...Isabelle?
[ She says it (wrong name and all) so distantly, as if reading a script for the first time, her expression seeming uncharacteristically blank. ]
[ There are a lot of rules that JJ lives his life by. It's the nature of the beast: success takes discipline, and JJ has too much passion to do anything but aim for the top. He might never have had fought in a war, or risked his life for the world, but he's had his own set of struggles and challenges. There are days where he'd wanted to sleep a little longer, rest a little longer, or give up out of frustration after performing wrong again and again. And there were days where he didn't want to pull away after pressing a soft kiss to Isabella's lips, where it's a struggle to distract himself by draping an arm over her shoulders to keep his hands from wandering any lower. It's especially hard when he knows that she wouldn't mind.
Everyone has moments of weakness.
Like the way that JJ had been justifying this entire endeavour—"it's just mistletoe, a bit of holiday fun!"—seems to fall away when he actually has her mouth against his; her weight, warm and steady pressing down against him. There's a flash of heat that flushes through his body, and for a moment he just wants, as much of a hot-blooded male as anyone else, promises and responsibilities forgotten in the face of how easy it would be not to just not think about the weight of everything he doesn't have for just a moment.
But, lazy mornings and cheat days regarding his diet aside, this is at least something that JJ has never indulged. He squeezes his eyes shut when Misa draws away, wishing the way that she says Isabella's name wrong wasn't so jarring. A familiar defense of his fiancée wells up, and if he's going to commit to that, then he needs to tamp on the ugly urge of infidelity first. ]
It's Isabella. [ He corrects with a wry smile, growing not cold, but at least less pliant.
Squeezing her waist where his hand is settled as a warning for the way he shifts and sits up so that they're no longer still half-sprawled over the floor, he swings back to drunken giddiness, fighting away the urge to curl closer to her and stay there with sheer force of will. ]
This is nothing! Just mistletoe. You have to respect the sanctity of tradition. [ He speaks with a faux authority that he hopes will make her laugh so that they can just destroy the last of whatever it was that lingered between them. ] Hey, we haven't had a drink in, what? Five minutes? I thought you wanted to party.
[ The way he brushes off what just happened distracts her, has her going down a long list of thoughts that whir past her consciousness faster than she can understand them. If she couldn't even be faithful to Light, then what was she even good for? What initially felt like a momentary reprieve from the loneliness struck her down cruelly, the pain of missing Light and feeling like nothing without him born anew.
There's a prolonged (and awkward) pause after he finishes trying to egg her on, her wide and glassy eyes staring at nothing in particular. It's almost like she was momentarily replaced with a life-sized doll, not moving or blinking while she tried to process everything in her head and keep her face forcibly neutral, a no doubt peculiar and hollow expression coming from an idol like her. Just for a second, her shock at her actions had let some of her rawer personality shine through the cracks of her artificial brightness, revealing just a glimmer of that tragic person that lived underneath the surface.
If she had things her way, she would just cry her heart out right then and there like a child, but she holds it in, blinking away her momentary trance and hoping that he wouldn't comment on her strange behavior. ]
Hm?
[ Oh. Yes. Of course, mistletoe could be the only possible reason that would explain her shocking and altogether unacceptable behavior. She remembers people on the first day she was here telling her about all the strange things plants made you do here. She doesn't laugh (or smile) like he intends, but she does return to life, fixing her fringe so that it frames her face neatly again. ]
Oh, if we're going to drink any more, let's play something else. I'm bored of that other one... [ She begins to push herself up from the ground on her own, wobbly on her heels but not wanting to lean on him for support. ] You can choose since you probably lost.
[ You know, probably? She doesn't remember, but he probably doesn't either, so she will impose. ]
But let's only play with good tasting drinks, okay?
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no subject
Above all else, she desperately wants to be loved, wants to be important to someone else in any way that she can, to somehow make her meaningless life...meaningful again. Maybe it was the alcohol and the plants, but it felt good to be looked at fondly, the way he's looking at her right now - it's comforting and fulfilling in a way she isn't too familiar with. And in this moment she wanted to feel more of this feeling, whatever it was. ]
Hmmm.... you are probably thinking that...
[ She mumbles shortly against his lips before likely surprising him in being the one to close the distance between them, tipping her head forward the slightest bit to slot their lips together. It is quick and fleeting, but the gloss on her lips makes the kiss sweet, and makes it feel like it had lasted longer than it had. She whispers again as if she hadn't just done that: ]
You are probably thinking that Misa is even prettier up close.
[ It was impulsive to kiss him, but then again, she was someone who acted impulsively when she felt things. And whatever force was compelling her to feel this way... her drunken mind didn't really put too much thought into combating it. ]
no subject
Are you magic? That's exactly what I was thinking. [ His voice hushed down to an uncharacteristic whisper, as if awed by the intimate gesture. His tongue sweeps out to take in the sweetness over his bottom lip. ] I was thinking that you are beautiful...
[ He misses the connection; the trust and understanding, and he wants it to be here again. Their not lovers by any stretch of the imagination, and so much of what they know about each other is still superficial, but this is the closest thing he has. And when he's drunk like this, he's willing to make it into whatever he wants it to be. ]
You're beautiful, strong, talented and creative. [ Normally he'd offer such compliments with a dramatic flourish, but instead he says them quietly, laying them at her feet like offerings. (Beneath the magic and the alcohol, knowing that something's not right and trying to compensate for it. ] I... [ love you, he wants to say. Except he doesn't. Even though he wants to say that to someone and have it be true, and hear it said back to him. Seven of the loneliest months of his life, and still all he can do is cling to friendships, hoping that they don't break or drift away.
But he is clinging to them, taking an mile for every inch he gets, always willing to push boundaries and test limits. Maybe that's why he's the one to move their mouths together again, devouring the warmth and softness and the way that sticky lipgloss smears across his lips with one hand threading to her hair to press firmly against her nape, the other still steady at her waist. It's probably not right when his head is still swimming of imagines of Misa and Isabella both, but he holds on and thinks about how much he doesn't want this connection to disappear all the same. ]
no subject
In contrast to how familiar contact like this must feel for JJ, she can't help but think of it as foreign - not just the compliments, but the kisses too. It shows in how she hesitates to push back, almost clumsily, her delicate hand moving to frame his face more tenderly. But she will admit that this feels nice; the absence of her steadfast and almost worship-like devotion to Light at the front of her mind gives her the chance to experience being kissed this way, and held this way. It has been so hard, so incredibly hard to go without feeling like the object of someone's affection, and she can take advantage of this moment to feel that again, like the first rain after a long drought.
His lips are softer than she thought they would be (not that she previously thought about it in that way), which makes the glide of their kiss all the more pleasant. It's easy enough to move to rest half on top of him in-between gentle and slow presses of their lips, her free hand coming to rest on his chest - and it's so warm, the flush from the alcohol and what they're doing making her blood run hot. But when she breaks away to take a breath, her lower lip clings to his, and she lets it linger there for a few moments before she retreats away just enough so that their foreheads aren't touching. She just stares at him, holding his face in place all the while, the hands on her waist and nape suddenly feeling ticklish and weird because - oh, that's right, his name is Jean-Jacques Leroy and not Light Yagami.
She can feel how fast his heart is beating. More distantly, she feels how fast her own is beating, too. ]
What are we even doing... [ Her lips are still tingling and she feels dizzy, but despite voicing concern out loud, still feels like leaning in again. Luckily (or unluckily?) her lack of a filter in her drunken haze lets her ramble on: ] You're not Light, and I'm not I...Isabelle?
[ She says it (wrong name and all) so distantly, as if reading a script for the first time, her expression seeming uncharacteristically blank. ]
no subject
Everyone has moments of weakness.
Like the way that JJ had been justifying this entire endeavour—"it's just mistletoe, a bit of holiday fun!"—seems to fall away when he actually has her mouth against his; her weight, warm and steady pressing down against him. There's a flash of heat that flushes through his body, and for a moment he just wants, as much of a hot-blooded male as anyone else, promises and responsibilities forgotten in the face of how easy it would be not to just not think about the weight of everything he doesn't have for just a moment.
But, lazy mornings and cheat days regarding his diet aside, this is at least something that JJ has never indulged. He squeezes his eyes shut when Misa draws away, wishing the way that she says Isabella's name wrong wasn't so jarring. A familiar defense of his fiancée wells up, and if he's going to commit to that, then he needs to tamp on the ugly urge of infidelity first. ]
It's Isabella. [ He corrects with a wry smile, growing not cold, but at least less pliant.
Squeezing her waist where his hand is settled as a warning for the way he shifts and sits up so that they're no longer still half-sprawled over the floor, he swings back to drunken giddiness, fighting away the urge to curl closer to her and stay there with sheer force of will. ]
This is nothing! Just mistletoe. You have to respect the sanctity of tradition. [ He speaks with a faux authority that he hopes will make her laugh so that they can just destroy the last of whatever it was that lingered between them. ] Hey, we haven't had a drink in, what? Five minutes? I thought you wanted to party.
no subject
There's a prolonged (and awkward) pause after he finishes trying to egg her on, her wide and glassy eyes staring at nothing in particular. It's almost like she was momentarily replaced with a life-sized doll, not moving or blinking while she tried to process everything in her head and keep her face forcibly neutral, a no doubt peculiar and hollow expression coming from an idol like her. Just for a second, her shock at her actions had let some of her rawer personality shine through the cracks of her artificial brightness, revealing just a glimmer of that tragic person that lived underneath the surface.
If she had things her way, she would just cry her heart out right then and there like a child, but she holds it in, blinking away her momentary trance and hoping that he wouldn't comment on her strange behavior. ]
Hm?
[ Oh. Yes. Of course, mistletoe could be the only possible reason that would explain her shocking and altogether unacceptable behavior. She remembers people on the first day she was here telling her about all the strange things plants made you do here. She doesn't laugh (or smile) like he intends, but she does return to life, fixing her fringe so that it frames her face neatly again. ]
Oh, if we're going to drink any more, let's play something else. I'm bored of that other one... [ She begins to push herself up from the ground on her own, wobbly on her heels but not wanting to lean on him for support. ] You can choose since you probably lost.
[ You know, probably? She doesn't remember, but he probably doesn't either, so she will impose. ]
But let's only play with good tasting drinks, okay?