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His house is small and a little bare, but I suppose that makes sense since he's only been here a little while. The one part that's packed, though? That'd be the bookcases—yes, plural—that take up two entire living room walls.
When he excused himself to go to the bathroom, I took a closer look, pulling a few of the books out. They all seem to be romance novels. Seems like PJ here is a bit of a romantic.
"Have you seen any cool birds since you got here?" I ask him.
"All birds are cool," he points out with a twinkle in his eye before rattling off a list of the ones he's spotted.
"That's impressive."
"I'm really hoping to see a mountain bluebird, but they're pretty rare."
"Well, you're welcome to trespass on my land anytime you like. I have some good vantage points I could take you to."
"Really?"
I nod.
He ponders it for a few moments, and I wonder what—orwho—in his life has made him so cautious. Finally, his face lights up. "That'd be awesome."
"My pleasure."
We're sitting next to each other on the couch, but he's too far away for me to do the oldyawn and reach my arm around himmove.
But I want to touch him. I want to touch him so freaking much.
PJ is captivating. He's interesting. He's so fucking cute.
He's unlike anyone I've ever met.
And he knows about my inability to read and that I didn't finish high school, and he didn't balk. His reaction was actually pretty damn sweet.
"Since you've told me something about yourself," he begins demurely. "There's something you should probably know about me."
"What is it?"
He dips his head as he begins talking. "I have OCD." He's speaking softly, so I lean in to make sure I hear him properly. "It stands for obsessive compulsive disorder. It means I sometimes…do…things that might seem a little strange."
He glances up at me, and I register what he's referring to. That time in the library when he asked me to grab his other arm while he patted down the front of his shirt.
"Go on. I'd like to know more."
"I got the official diagnosis when I was fourteen. Most of the time, it's manageable, but then other times, like at the library the other day, I become overwhelmed and need to do this…this rebalancing thing."
"Rebalancing?"
"Yeah. It's like I get thrown off-kilter in my head, and I need to touch or tap or do certain things in a certain way, a certain number of times, evenly, to restore the balance. When I do it, it calms me down and resets me. But if for some reason I can't or don't, I'm unable to function until I do."
"I see. I'm sure I don't understand everything, but thank you for explaining it in a way that helps me understand you a bit better."
PJ hesitates, then asks, "You don't think I'm a freak?"
"I just ate over twenty pancakes. If anyone here is a freak, it's me."
That makes him giggle, and the sound pummels straight into my chest. I like making him happy.
We spend the next few hours talking and getting to know each other better. I tell him about some of the more interesting places I lived growing up, while he tells me what PJ stands for. It's Paul Jean. Apparently, his mom was set on the name Jean Paul but his father hated it, so they compromised and settled on Paul Jean, which PJ hated, and that's why he prefers to go by his initials.
At some point, he scoots down the sofa until our legs are touching. I drape my arm around his shoulder, and he doesn't seem to mind.
