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No one had really expected the smart, preppy, psychology-obsessed Jazz Fenton to spend any sort of time with the punk, antisocial, scary-looking Spike. But maybe that’s what made their relationship special. No one thought in a million years that Jazz would allow him on her bed, let alone have her paint his nails.
Yet here they were.
Her phone sat on her nightstand, shifting songs between indie-punk and classical on a shuffle of songs that they both picked out. Spike didn’t seem to mind her music, and she liked his a lot of the time.
His hand lay on her palm gently, as she took time to apply the black nail polish to his nails. She had already had her turn, using the other nail polish he brought to her bedroom in a skull-decorated bag. Her nails were mostly dry, painted a bright cyan "to match your bow". He was thoughtful like that.
Everyone was always scared off by his mohawk, chains, and spiked collars. They were repelled by his "devilish" music and fashion choices, leaving him sitting by himself most of the time. She saw the thoughtful, caring (and lonely) boy underneath those layers, trying to scare the world off with a snarl while hiding his kind soul.
That was her theory, anyway.
She wasn’t pitying him by hanging out with him. She was giving him the friend and the support he needed. It didn’t hurt that they actually had a lot in common. Surprisingly, he was acing his classes. He liked studying and reading almost as much as she did, and he had even written some poems and spoken them at Skulk and Lurk during poetry night. Jazz loved his creative nature, the way he wanted to share his thoughts with the people he trusted the most.
"Which one is this?" She asked, upon hearing and liking one of his songs that had started.
"It’s from an indie band." He said, rolling his shoulders to work out the kinks in his back from sitting so long. "I’ll send it to you later."
She hummed in appreciation, having worked her way carefully from nail to nail to make sure it was perfect. Hers were now dried, but since his polish was a thicker coat, it would take longer to dry once she was done with the final nail.
She was almost done at this point, so close to wrapping up that the sun had begun to set outside her open window. The lovely gust of air that came through it also happened to blow in her brother.
Her and Spike immediately reacted in shock—her reaction being to yelp and throw herself back onto her pillows, and his being to freeze completely still. After getting over her initial shock, she followed the trail of papers and pens on the floor of her room to Phantom, face down on the ground and seemingly giving up on getting up.
Sirens wailed in the distance, along with the lovely sound of Jack's voice over an intercom, angrily searching for "the pesky ghost boy" whom "we lost again, Mads."
After Phantom groaned in pain or anger (whichever was more accurate), Jazz looked over and noticed both Spike's and her hands smeared with black from when she threw herself back while holding his hand.
"Dannyyyy." She drawled, disappointment setting in now that the shock was gone. "Now I have to start over."
"So-rry." He mumbled, muffled by the floor he refused to get off of. "Next time, I’ll knock politely while trying to survive being hunted across town."
"Please do." She couldn’t help a small smirk, followed by a frown at the damage his sudden appearance caused. "Now if you could kindly stop being a rug on my floor, that would be appreciated."
He grumbled bitterly but phased down into the living room.
Now that the sirens had stopped, and there was no longer a ghost in the room causing so much tension, she could hear the music again, grateful that it was currently classical. Spike gave her his hand to wipe away the smeared polish with the remover and tissue he brought.
After a pause of silence, Spike shifted to look at her, looking confused. "...Danny?" He asked, then squinted at her. "What was your brother’s name again?"
Jazz finally knew what it felt like to be a deer in headlights as her body froze against her will. After a very long pause, she managed a small, high-pitched, awkward laugh. "I can explain."