Chapter Text
Hyde has never had trouble sleeping before. In fact, sleeping is one of his favorite pastimes, what with being a lazy burnout and all. However, tonight, Hyde tosses and turns. It is too hot in the basement, to start, and in his restlessness, every sound is amplified. The hum of the water heater outside his room. The house settling. The flush of a toilet upstairs, followed by the dull clomp of footsteps returning to bed. Hyde groans, and the house groans with him.
His bed reeks of vanilla and lavender and an underlying fruity scent - a far cry from its usual olfactory bouquet of weed and hops and sweat. Strange how he can almost taste it. It is the same scent that he catches whiffs of when she walks by or tosses her hair. The same scent that has lingered on Kelso for years. He'd do laundry tomorrow.
As Hyde stretches and adjusts in his small cot, he thinks of nothing but her. Of course, he'd never admit that to anyone but himself. How could he think of anything else when only hours ago, she was the one writhing in his bed searching for comfort of the most carnal sort? Only hours ago, he was above her and below her and beside her all at once, and she had whispered things to him that made his heart pound and his mouth grow dry.
They had parted on poor terms - he had stood still with his arms folded across his chest, a picture of Zen, and watched her leave. Their conversations typically stayed surface-level, but, tonight, their discussion veered off course and into dangerous waters. The mood had soured quickly, and she had left quickly. He had immediately grabbed a six-pack of beers and pounded three. There was a large chance that she would be avoiding the basement altogether for the next few days. He couldn't blame her. He wouldn't want to be with him either.
It was agony. To be near her and not be able to touch her was utter agony. Thank god for his aviators, because otherwise, she'd certainly see his eyes glued to her, following her. She's wearing ribbons in her hair, a choice that would look childish on anyone else but looks enchanting on her. Enchanting. What the fuck?
"Think fast!" Eric squawks, hurling the basketball at Hyde with surprising force. Hyde grabs for the ball and catches it swiftly. He shoots. He scores. He resists the urge to glance at her. She is currently perched on the end of the Vista Cruiser beside Fez. Her feet dangle off the ground and she kicks her legs. She is wearing clogs with wooden soles that clank against the front bumper as she swings them. He can't see her, but he hears the tinkle of her laugh and the deeper sound of Fez's. He dribbles and shoots again, missing. The ball bounces into the hedge. Eric and Fez boo.
This summer has been filled with many driveway basketball games, as there is little else to do. These games are played half-heartedly - nothing is the same with two of their group gone to California. Besides, the heat this year is unbearable. At least Hyde has friends to commiserate with. On the other hand, she has no one without Donna and Kelso, as they were the only ones who took her seriously as a member of the group. Even after years of tagging along, she had never shed her shrillness or her brattiness, which did not endear her to the rest of the gang. Eric was too busy pining for Donna, anyways, too lost in his own problems to make room for hers, even though they shared the same plight. And Fez...well, Fez was Fez.
All he wants right now is to be in his room alone with her. He wants to take out her ribbons and run his fingers through her hair to make her forget everything: their argument, their predicament, Kelso. Everything seemed easier when they were together like that. Touching and being wanted by Jackie made him feel invincible.
He sneaks a surreptitious glance, and she is staring right back at him, her look unreadable. She shifts and crosses her legs, tilting her head slightly. Hyde breaks first, turning and taking long strides toward the hedge to retrieve the errant basketball. He feels her eyes on the back of his neck as he reaches down for the ball. He shoots. He misses again.
Hyde lights another cigarette as he sits in his El Camino, which is parked in the Forman's driveway. It is well past midnight. The moon shines bright in a cloudless sky, casting long shadows across the pavement and against the side of the house like a puppet show. He rarely smokes cigarettes, but tonight he can think of nothing he wants to do more than to fill his lungs with bitter smoke in an attempt to purge his senses of her taste and smell.
He'd gone too far the other night, bringing up Kelso. He'd drawn attention to the obvious, that Kelso would return home at some point this summer and things would fall back to normal. He wasn't stupid. He understood that he was a rebound, and he told himself that that was okay. He didn't mean to upset the equilibrium that they had spent a summer establishing. How quickly they had fallen into their little routine. She tumbled into his bed on afternoons where Eric and Fez went to the Hub, or when the house was empty. They spent entire days sprawled out together on his cot or on the couch, listening to music and gazing shyly at each other. Sometimes she made him laugh.
There was no question that they have chemistry. Even during their failed date years before, Hyde had felt that spark of attraction, against his better judgment. He had brushed her off in his mind: too young, too spoiled, too loud...
Outside, a soft rustle stirs Hyde from his thoughts. He quickly extinguishes his cigarette and tosses the box into the passenger seat, prepared to be busted by Red. A thump follows. A small figure appears by his passenger-side window. Too short to be Red, too slim to be Kitty.
"Steven?" She speaks out into the darkness, her voice small and sweet. She was here? Was he hallucinating?
He stares at her before realizing that while he can see her, she cannot see him through the dark tint. He rolls down his window incredulously, finally able to take a clear look at her. Her cheeks are scrubbed clean and her eyes are tired. Her clothes look hastily thrown on, a patchwork denim jacket thrown over an oversized sleep shirt and athletic shorts. Her hair looks almost blue in the moonlight.
"What are you doing out here?" she asks, looking around the empty driveway with a haughty sniff, nodding toward the nearby cigarette box. "That's a disgusting habit." He continues to stare at her.
She shifts her weight from one foot to the other. "Can I get in? It's chilly." This is a lie - the summer air outside is sticky and hot. Cute. Hyde fights a smirk and leans over to pop open the passenger door. She walks around the front of the car and gets in, closing the door quietly behind her.
"Did you sneak out?" Hyde finally asks, feeling somewhat proud of her delinquency. She shrugs in response. A thought occurs to him, and his eyes narrow. "Did you walk?
"Can I have one?" It takes him a minute to realize she's talking about a cigarette, and when he does, he looks at her quizzically but obliges. He avoids watching her lips wrap around the cigarette, distracting himself by rummaging in his pocket for his lighter. With a click of flint, her face is illuminated by the dancing flame. She looks ethereal, until she splutters and coughs, her eyes watering. He looks on, bemused.
They sit in companionable silence for several minutes. Suddenly, she pivots in her seat to face him, a strange look on her face. He yearns for his aviators; he feels entirely too vulnerable to sit before her bare-faced like this. With the width of the El Camino between them, it is hard to believe that he'd ever buried his face in the crook of her neck or that his limbs had ever been tangled up with hers.
"Steven, what are we doing?" She pauses. "How is this going to end?"
"Most likely with everyone hating us." Hyde replies honestly. She raises an eyebrow but says nothing. "Or with me getting my ass kicked." He adds lightly.
"Do you even like me?" she whispers, her voice barely audible. Does he even like her? What a stupid question. Of course he doesn't like her. He hates her perkiness and her shrillness and her bossiness. He hates her entitlement and her attitude and the way she looks at the world. She treats people poorly, she is selfish. He hates how she has clawed her way under his skin and into his brain like a parasite. He hates that she's the only person who has ever turned his guts into butterflies. He hates how he is unable to purge her from his thoughts. He hates how good she tastes. He hates how tenderly she looks at him and how warm it makes him feel inside. Could she not see? Could she not see him turn into a puddle at her feet every time she came near?
"I don't like you." It comes out more sharply than he intends, and her expression darkens.
"This was obviously stupid-"
"Jackie, you know-" His voice is strained, and her eyes soften. He wants to reach out to her, but his hands are stuck in his lap.
"Do I?"
"You should."
"I need you to say it." she says, without skipping a beat. "I need to hear it, one way or another." She inhales sharply as he raises his eyes to meet hers. She looks on the verge of tears. He feels ill. How would she react if he vomited right here?
"Jackie," He is surprised by the softness of his own voice. She looks surprised, too. A shadow passes across her face, and she looks beautiful. "Maybe I know exactly how this is going to end, but I don't really care." He pauses. "Is that good enough for you?"
"I think it's good enough for now." she concedes, tilting her head at him. He watches her chew the inside of her cheek as she turns to gaze out the passenger window. She whispers, "I don't want this summer to end."
"Who says this has to end?" Hyde breathes, indulgently. Jackie's head whips around and she looks at him intently before whimpering and scooting closer to him. She looks so small sitting there. She is breathing heavily now, and he enjoys watching her chest rise and fall.
"I don't care if Michael comes back." she says slowly. Hyde's stomach flips, and he shifts in his seat. "I don't care what he thinks about this. He's lost the right to be mad at me."
"I don't think Kelso's gonna see it that way." he replies. This was the most serious conversation they'd ever had, and he is treading lightly, trying to find his footing. He desperately wants to change the subject. He is sick of talking about Michael, and worrying about Michael, and wondering what Michael would think.
"No matter who I move on with, he'll hate it."
"Is that what you're doing?" Hyde asks. "Moving on with me?"
"I didn't mean it like that." she says, scooting closer still. Their arms are almost touching. If he leaned slightly to his right, they would be making contact, so he leans slightly to his right. She shifts slightly to her left. Their shoulders meet. Hyde's skin feels prickly. "You know what I mean."
"Do I?" Hyde asks, turning her own question from earlier back on her. She leans her head on his shoulder. His head is swimming.
"I know you know what I mean." she whispers, leaning further into him. Her bare thigh touches his clothed one. She intertwines her fingers with his and inspects each tangled digit.
"Why did you come here tonight?" It's his turn to whisper.
"To make up with you."
"Are we fighting?"
"Aren't we?" Her eyes glitter playfully. Hyde has never wanted to kiss someone so badly before, and so he does, softly and without thinking. She pulls away first.
"Eric is planning on going to California." she blurts. "I overheard him talking about it today with Fez. He wants to go get Donna back."
"Does that mean-"
"I think so." There is a trace of finality in her tone that turns his blood cold. If Eric brought Donna back, Kelso would be in tow. It dawns on him that their conversation was quickly becoming circular, hypotheticals suddenly becoming reality. Hyde immediately feels defensive.
"Did you mean anything you just said to me?" he asks coldly, and she winces.
"I meant everything I just said to you." she murmurs, gazing up at him. Fuck. Does she know how good she looks? Hyde feels himself soften. He wants to put his arms around her. She better mean everything she just said to him, or else his pounding heart might explode. It suddenly dawns on him that she holds the upper hand in their bizarre arrangement and that he is entirely too far gone to care. He feels completely out of his element here.
"Dammit, Jackie." His throat feels tight and scratchy. He hates the expectant way she's looking at him. In his experience, expectations are always shattered, so it's better not to have any at all. She practically hums and turns to face him completely, her hands on his chest. He closes his eyes and lets himself enjoy the feeling, momentarily forgetting himself.
"Steven," The way she looks at him when she says his name makes him want to die. "I don't want to stop doing this with you."
"Then don't," he says, reaching out to stroke her cheek with the rough pad of his thumb. Her skin feels clean and soft under his touch. She takes his hand with both of hers and kisses his knuckles before wrapping his arm around herself. She curls at his side and rests her head on his shoulder. After a few minutes in that position, Hyde rouses her. "C'mon, we aren't sleeping out here. I'll sneak you in."
"You want me to stay the night?"
"You're not walking back home, Jackie."
"Say you want me to stay the night." She crosses her arms, and he feels overwhelmed by the urge to kiss her once again. He refrains.
"I'm not saying that," he scoffs, and makes to exit the car and head back inside. He holds a hand out to her. "Are you coming or not?"