So LJI didn’t boot me (yet) and I have to post something by 9pm tomorrow. Yay, me? Emotionally I’m still a little all over the place and processing and figuring out what I really want and all that. But, I wrote a thing. It’s in Jazz’s POV, and the topic I chose was “Playing with Fire.” If any of my lovely followers would provide me with feedback/concrit, that would be great. It’s meant to stand alone (everything I post for Idol is supposed to stand alone), so if it doesn’t work as a separate piece, lemme know, okay? 


“Thanks for inviting me out tonight, Jazz. I really needed to get away from everything”

Savin’s words slur together as he drapes an arm over my shoulders, his breath warm and pleasant against my ear. If my face wasn’t already flushed from the alcohol we’ve been drinking, it’d probably be a nice shade of red by now. I dunno what to say, so I flash him a smile. The weight of his body pressed against mine is comforting. Secure. “You’re — welcome…?” I mumble into my drink before tossing it back. 

“No, seriously,” he continues, his arm sliding off my shoulders as he sways away from me. Savin props his chin up on the back of his hand, his other arm spread out along the table. “Mari’s been up my fucking ass ever since –” He cuts himself off, frowning into his glass. He shakes his head, his bangs falling into those startling green eyes of his. “Nevermind. I’m not gonna talk about that right now.”

“That” could only refer to his dead kid. A girl, if I remember correctly. Born several months premature. Naturally, to boot. Of course the doctors weren’t going to do much to try and save her. Natural Borns like her — like me aren’t worth saving. At least, that’s how it is for some.

“You don’t have to,” I tell him, placing a hand on top of his. His fingers are long and lean. Like him, actually. My hand lingers just a moment too long, our eyes locking before I force myself to look away. “You’re here to have fun and relax, remember?” I remind him, flashing him another smile as I knock back my beer. Dunno how many of these I’ve had, but I’m feeling it less tonight than normal. 

Even so, I can tell the room doesn’t move with me the way it should — neither does Savin as he straightens himself out, his lips peeling apart slowly. There’s an odd glint in his eye as he brushes those long bangs of his aside. “You know, it’s been a while since I’ve been out with a guy like this,” he says off-handedly. 

“What do you mean?” I ask, raising an eyebrow. That glint sharpens as Savin leans in close to me, slinging an arm over my shoulders all over again. His grin turns into a slight smirk. His other hand slips out of sight, only to land on my thigh.


“I think you know exactly what I mean,” he breathes in my ear, his lips brushing against my skin. His fingers move dangerously close to my lap, and I have to stop them before they move any higher. Not that I particularly want to, but…

“You have a fiancee,” I point out, ignoring how hot my face feels. His lips are dangerously close to my neck, and it’s hard not to close my eyes and just give in.

My words seem to snap him out of it. Savin pulls away from me, his eyes wide behind his glasses, a slight greenish tint to his cheeks like he’s gonna be sick. “I’m — I’m sorry, you’re right, I shouldn’t — shit.” He buries his face in his hands, shaking his head. “I didn’t even –”

“It’s okay,” I whisper, giving his shoulder a squeeze. “I won’t tell her. I don’t even know her; I only know what you’ve told me.” 

Savin nods, pulling his hands away from his face. “Christ, I’m so fucked up,” he murmurs, picking up his glass and downing the rest of it. He won’t look at me, instead keeping his eyes focused on the table as his fingers tap against it endlessly. “I just — I haven’t had a few hours where I felt — well, like myself in so long, I….” He clears his throat and meets my eyes, a slight frown on his face. I can’t really tell in the low light of the bar, but I think there might be tears in his eyes. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have.” 

“Maybe you don’t feel like yourself most of the time because you’re not doing what you want?” I suggest, frowning myself as I wave off his apology. There’s no need for him to apologize, anyway. Not to me. “I mean, when was the last time you’ve ever really done something just because you wanted to?” 

When I look over at him again, my heart gives this weird little jump. There’s that look again, except this time he looks away from me. “I don’t know,” he answers after a while, his fingers tracing the edge of his empty glass. He really needs to keep them busy all the time, doesn’t he? All I can think of now is how tender they were when he checked my surgical incisions over a month ago. How lightly they could touch and how accurate and precise they must be. 

“Maybe when I decided on becoming a surgeon,” he continues, breaking into my thoughts. “It may have been what my father wanted for me, in the first place, but I wanted it. I started dating Mari because I wanted her, too, but…” He sighs, pushing his glass away from him as he looks up towards the ceiling. “I don’t think I want her anymore, y’know? Not because of everything that happened with our daughter, but — we’ve just grown apart, I guess.” 

“Then what do you want?” I ask. Dumb question. I saw the way he looked at me earlier; I can still feel the heat of his breath on my neck, too. 

His eyes drift over to mine, a sad, half-smile gracing his lips. If he answers me the way I think he will, then I’ll let him have it. Give him that escape he wants, even if it is only for a night. As long as he won’t regret it, I won’t either.

“You wouldn’t happen to be sober enough to drive us back to your place, would you?” he asks, his hand landing on top of mine. He doesn’t give me a chance to answer as he leans in close again, this time his lips brushing against my own. They are a lot softer than I imagined — tender and precise, just like his hands.

Wonder if that’s how he’ll be when we’re in bed together, too.