March 7th 1987 / Montreal, Canada

After travelling all day, Amelia settled down into the Montreal hotel room. She always wondered how the band was able to afford such luxuries.

She situated herself at the vanity and began to wipe her face clean of the small amount of makeup she'd worn. Tomorrow, she told herself, was going to be the big day. She hadn't really seen Jon with all the travelling of the past couple days, and when she did he only gave her fleeting glances that didn't look all too pleased.

And she couldn't blame him, not one bit. She hadn't treated him well. Sure, she looked after him physically but emotionally she wasn't the most tender with him. In fact, she was totally harsh.

She settled into the cold covers with a sigh. It was late and dark, and cold considering the country she was in. The bed was far too large for one woman, nevermind someone that hardly scraped five feet and four inches. Laying in the middle of it, when Amelia spread herself like a starfish her hands and feet didn't even begin to reach the edges. The bed might've been comfortable for a broad, burly man that stood around six and a half feet, but to Amelia it felt nothing but lonely. She'd gotten used to being cosy and cramped when she shared a small single bed with Jon.

Amelia had just about shut her eyes when she heard a noise. A quiet, muffled sound almost like a voice. Melodical, yet not quite the timbre of human song. She peered over to the source of the sound; she hadn't realized until she'd switched the lights off that she was in an adjoined room, the light of the neighbouring room filtering through the small gaps in the door frame.

She hadn't thought much of it at the time. She figured she was next door to a member of the crew and that they'd soon switch their light off. Grumbling a string of tired curses, she kicked off the covers and padded over to the door.

The melody became more comprehensible the closer she got. It wasn't a human voice, it was a guitar, she could hear the very quiet thuds as the mysterious music man- or lady, plucked the strings. Suddenly far less grouchy, she pressed her ear closer to the gap in the door and listened.

The playing could only be described as lovely. The musician had an ear for musicality, and from the small excerpts she was hearing she was able to discern that they valued emotion and tunefulness far more than any sort of technical skill.

And then she wondered the identity of the player. It wasn't Richie, she knew that. Her brother rarely fumbled over notes, nor did she imagine he'd ever mute his playing in an attempt to cater to neighbors; he was far too obnoxious for that.

David played no guitar, nor did Tico. Alec knew some basics, and she knew that a number of crew members carried their own guitars with them on tour.

A small part of her hoped it might be Jon.

She waited a little longer by the door. The playing soothed her, and her suspicions were confirmed when the man began to sing. Or hum.

She could pick that voice out of ten thousand. A smile spread instantly across her face. A part of her wanted to scold him, his voice was supposed to be off limits, but the other and far larger part of her just swooned over the gentle grittiness of the melody.

Oh, that's terrible! He's sick, and yet his voice sounds hot?

She clamped her teeth over her lip to refrain from smiling, not that it prevented much.

And then she caught herself. What was she doing? A twenty five year old woman, sitting against a wall with her knees pulled to her chest crushing desperately over her ex-lover. It was teenage behaviour and it was shameful.

She stood, gathered what remained of her pride and rooted around in the empty hotel drawers for a key. She found one, a rusty old thing.

A part of her considered knocking. It was common courtesy after all, he could be naked!

Who plays the guitar naked, Amelia?

She shook herself out of it and shoved the key into the door.

Jon, previously hunched over in the depths of a melody, turned and startled a little. He released a calm breath upon realizing the identity of his intruder.

"Amelia," he ran his fingers through his hair. "What are you doing here?"

In that moment she realized she hadn't planned any conversation at all. She cursed her impulsivity, why hadn't she at least thought of something to say while she had the chance?

She grew shy, a flush of pink coloring her cheeks.

Thankfully, at least, he wasn't naked. But he was shirtless.

And to his credit, even in the past two days he looked like he'd gained some healthy weight.

"I heard you play," she answered lamely. "You sounded beautiful."

His eyebrows flew up beneath that fluffy fringe of his. Strangely, it made Amelia feel bad. Was he really that surprised to hear her compliment him?

"Amelia Sambora? Complimenting me? There must be a catch."

He'd said it jokingly enough, but that gut feeling of regret only sunk deeper. His face said it all.

"What's wrong?" He started to put his guitar away. "You okay?"

"I'm fine," she waved him off. "I've been wanting to talk to you, you know? You seemed to avoid me today."

He gave a small twitch of the lip. "Yeah, well, maybe I was a little annoyed after Thursday. Sorry, I shouldn't have been, you looked after me really good the night before. So good I almost felt like you wanted me again."

He turned away with a small sigh. "But that's not your fault. I was pretty delirious that night, maybe a little delusional too. Sorry."

Sometimes it annoyed Amelia how apologetic Jon could be. Often she wished he had more of a backbone, stood up for himself a little more. Other times she just wanted to jump into his arms and kiss him.

"That's okay," she said meekly.

"So what did you wanna talk about?"

He took a sip of his drink nonchalantly, ever-piercing eyes peering at her over the mug.

"Oh," she swung her arms around awkwardly, her voice reverting to her little high-pitched anxiety voice. "Nothing."

She'd planned to talk to him tomorrow, not now. She hadn't planned anything.

In fact, she'd burst into his room in nothing more than a thin nightgown made of silk. Somehow it felt more exposed than actual nakedness. She crossed her arms over her chest to hide how prominent it made her nipples appear, she was sure she'd seen Jon's gaze flicker down once or twice.

Jon looked at her oddly, almost teasingly. "Nice dress."

Her face must've been cherry colored. "Oh," she stuttered some more, then scowled at him for putting her in such a state. "It's not a dress, it's just some pajama thing."

Jon quirked a brow. "Very elegant."

She snapped herself out of her little stutter-fest. "Anyway, I just came to tell you that your guitar playing was very beautiful. I didn't even know it was you."

"Sure, darlin'."

"I didn't!" She gasped.

He gave her his most pointed look.

"You were gonna go in some random crew guy's room dressed in that skimpy thing? I ain't buyin' it."

"Maybe I was," she huffed all uppity, turning her nose at him. She was sure she saw a wrinkle of jealously in his expression. Then it dawned on her what he'd said. "And it is not skimpy!"

"Sure. Move your arms away." He made a parting motion with his two forefingers.

Amelia pressed her lips tightly together. He'd won.

"No," she said reluctantly.

His smirk was one of smugness. Thankfully, he didn't rub it in.

"Well. I'm glad you liked my playin'. I can quieten down if you want, sorry if I woke you."

"You didn't," she quickly said.

He beheld her oddly, as if she were in a strange mood.

"Alright then. Goodnight."

Only she didn't move. She didn't really know what she wanted to say, just that she wanted to say something.

"Can you play a little more?" She blurted.

He turned to face her, seemingly surprised and perhaps a little touched. "Sure. You wanna sit?"

He nodded toward a space on the bed. Amelia gingerly took a seat beside him, careful not to knock any of the tuning pegs on his guitar. She sat, rather uncomfortably, next to him and watched him pluck a few more strings.

"You know, if you're uncomfortable I can lend you my sweater," he smirked, muting the strings.

Amelia looked down at her folded arms and sighed. Yes, maybe she did feel a tad exposed.

"But for what it's worth, I've seen it all before."

She scowled at his charming smile, his teeth somehow seemed to be the brightest thing in the room.

"Now I'm definitely uncomfortable," she muttered only half jokingly.

He nodded toward his suitcase. "My sweater's over there sweetheart. Help yourself."

She padded over the the suitcase and picked up an old blue hoodie of his. On the front it read 'Shore Baseball'.

She turned around, suddenly feeling a little devious.

She decided to give him a small show as she slipped the sweater over her head, pushing out her breasts to make them more than a little prominent before fully covering them with the oversized clothing. She was sure Jon gulped.

"Comfy?" He asked, his voice marginally higher pitched.

"Mm. And warmer."

She returned to her spot beside him and snuggled up on his bed. She watched his fingers move gracefully across strings and frets. He'd improved massively since she'd last heard him play in such a intimate setting, he was far more fluid and confident in his movements. She wondered briefly if Richie ever gave him any lessons.

"Are you going to sing?" She half-demanded, startling him again.

"Only if you want me to."

"Please."

He seemed surprised.

"What do you want me to sing?"

Amelia thought about it. She knew the correct and safe answer was 'anything', but she was already feeling a little devious that night.

"Silent Night," she said.

Amelia had dreamed of hearing that in person, of hearing Jon's declaration of love for her. She'd sort of hoped they'd play it live sometime only they never had, she'd even tried to give Doc and other crew members some hints but they all shut her down.

They've got new songs now, sweetheart. In with the new shit, out with the old! Doc had told her.

Jon was looking at her like a deer in headlights. "Silent Night?"

She nodded eagerly.

He seemed reluctant but nevertheless cleared his throat.

He started to strum a few chords, staring distantly as he prepared his voice.

After the smoke clears
And it's down to you and I
When the sun appears
And there's nothing left but good-byes

Amelia listened intently to the song she'd held so dearly since its release. He sang with such emotion, such integrity.

She hardly made it to the first chorus before a tear slipped down her cheek.

He hardly made it to the second verse before noticing.

"You're crying-" he stopped all he was doing and started to panic. "What's wrong?"

"Nothing. Keep going.'

He shoved his guitar to the end of the bed and scooched closer to her. "No, you're crying," he repeated, "What's the matter?"

Amelia became a little choked up. "I'm probably due on my period," she replied all sniffly. "I get like this sometimes. Your playing was really beautiful."

He gazed at her with such concern. He didn't buy it for a second.

"Your period never made you cry like this before," he frowned. Of course he'd know. "What's brought this on?"

More tears slipped down her face. He was so caring, it made her want him more, also made her scared for the future. As it stood, she wanted him in it.

She started to wipe her tears on the sleeves of his sweater. "Oh god, I'm sorry," she sobbed upon realizing. "Now I'm crying all over your hoodie."

His eyebrows knitted together. "Don't worry about it. Now tell me what's up."

He tucked a finger beneath her chin and lifted her face. Her tears glistened in the dim light, her lower lip wobbled and her nose started to run. Jon wished he had a sleeve of his own to wipe it all with.

"You're scaring me 'Melia." He leaned a little closer and pushed some hair back. Amelia had hardly shown an ounce of emotion since her return, now there were full blown tears? Jon feared the worst.

"It's nothing."

Nothing? Nothing! Jon almost snapped, he felt his blood pressure reach an all time high.

"It's not nothing," he gritted. "You're sobbing! Somethin's wrong. Was it somethin' I did?"

She pressed her lips together and shook her head. No, it was no fault of the all-too-caring man sitting before her, only her own.

Jon, as he so often was these days, was thoroughly at a loss. He could only sit and watch her cry, waiting restlessly for her to simmer down. She rejected his comfort and denied his questions. He waited, patiently impatient, for her to finally speak.

"Sorry." She apologized after quieting down. "I really am due on my period and your song writing was just so heartfelt. And I was feeling lonely in that hotel room and I got in my own head a little. I'm sorry."

Jon blinked. Was she... confiding in him? Sure, it'd come out all rushed and distressed but she seemed to be being vulnerable.

"That's okay," he quickly said in his softest voice. He'd be damned if he didn't take this opportunity to comfort her, perhaps get her to open up a little. "You can stay in here for a little while if you want, I can keep you company."

Meekly, she nodded.

"Thank you."

"On one condition. You talk to me, Amelia, no bullshit. You feel lonely? I wanna know why. You're in your own head? I wanna help you out of it. Deal?"

Her eyebrows raised just a little.

"Deal." She reached to shake his hand weakly.

"Silent Night is my favorite of your songs," she told him before he could ask any questions. "The lyrics touch me."

Jon's Adam's apple bobbed forcefully, his hairs stood on end. "Well," he cleared his throat, "I'm sure you know it was written about you."

He tapped awkwardly on the side of his guitar, his eyes scanning pretty much everything except for her.

Wow, uh, nice couch. Nice floor. Nice window. Please say something.

"You know I cried for three days when I first heard it. It was the closest I've ever been to inconsolable."

That was not what he'd been hoping to hear. It might have been the furthest from.

And her statement was a checkmate, there was nothing he could say to it. Speechless was not a position Jon had ever felt comfortable in.

"Why don't you ever perform it live?" Amelia asked. Her tears had effectively been tamed, only the remains of blotchiness and wetness on her face. "It's beautiful."

Jon felt his heart pounding against his ribs. "It hurts," he answered with a betraying vocal crack. "I wrote it for you and you weren't there with me. I couldn't sing it to crowds."

He'd written it for a most special occasion, only his plans had never come to fruition. Now, Silent Night remained a relic of his past.

"Oh," was all Amelia could respond. "I never knew."

Jon looked at the girl. In that moment, he saw more of the true Amelia than he had even the night she took care of him. In that moment she was affectionate, vulnerable, kind, and yet shy. She looked so tiny in his oversized sweater, it swallowed her whole. He placed a hand on her bare ankle, felt a shiver run through him at the contact.

"How come you came in here?"

He wished his voice weren't so gravelly in that moment. The steroids had helped but he still sounded like a wheezing chain smoker.

"I know you knew it was me," he continued, "What made you come in?"

He sought out her hands if not only to stop her from picking nervously at her nails.

"I don't know?" She trembled. Her bottom lip quivered again. "I just wanted to talk to you, you know? You're my friend."

"Honesty, Amelia," he reminded in his stern voice.

She took hold of a golden hair strand. She hadn't realized how uncomfortably close they'd become until she felt one of Jon's small breaths fan her cheek. She weighed the strand of hair in her hand almost unable to believe how long it'd gotten. She remembered clearly Jon's 'awkward phase' with his hair, when he wanted desperately to grow it out but it wasn't quite long enough to drop yet. He'd complained for months on end. Now he had a handsome mane that framed his face like a painting.

And his face was certainly akin to those old renaissance paintings. She could well believe that Michaelangelo had personally carved out the sharp curvature of his cheekbones; that his piercing eyes were painted by none other than Da Vinci. But his lips? Well, she'd already established that those were crafted by Cupid himself.

Her fingertips grazed his cheek. Her mind went woozy, she knew Jon waited for her to speak and yet her lips remained sealed. She touched the skin that had remained smooth and unblemished over the years. His stubble was growing out, each small hair prickling her delicate skin. Soon her palm lay flat on his cheek, effectively cupping it. He was the warmth in that cold room, he leaned with a slight desperation into the tenderness of her touch. She didn't miss the slight whimper that escaped his parted lips, nor the way his eyes fluttered closed.

Her thumb found its way to the small cleft in his chin, then to the sharp angle that was his jaw. It was like returning home after a period away; his face was so familiar to her, she knew each curve, dent, and plane far better than the back of her hand.

While his eyes were still lightly shut, she leaned in to press a kiss to his ever inviting lips. He wanted honesty she couldn't express in words, she hoped he'd at least glean some knowledge from the gesture.

Jon stuttered a small moan at the unexpected contact. Her hand still remained on his cheek, only now she were kissing him too. Had he been dreaming?

If he were dreaming the rabid butterflies in his gut would surely have roused him.

By now her other hand had secured itself just beneath his ribcage, her fingers cold against the sensitive skin. He felt himself slip so easily into an old mindset, one where she made him feel safe at home. One where all the other problems in his life didn't matter because he had his Amelia, and that was all he'd ever needed.

But it hit him like a freight train. Amelia wasn't his. She wasn't his girlfriend and yet there she sat sucking his face off. A part of him was infuriated by the nonchalance of it. Sure, to her it might've been a little kiss to cheer her up and stop her feeling lonely, but to him it was so much more. Kissing her was no joke to him.

He shoved her hands away from his face and pulled back. "No," he spat. "No, Amelia, you can't just do this!"

He bounded off the bed into a frantic pacing. "You can't turn me down one day and string me along the next day- it ain't fair."

How could she just come along and set his entire life askew! He was just starting to get over her. Just! It'd taken him three years and now she'd decided to waltz in and break his heart all over again.

For a moment he wished she'd stayed in England. He wished she wasn't Richie Sambora's sister, he wished she'd never showed her face to him again. When two people broke up there was never usually the caveat of their brother being the other's guitarist. Even if she stopped touring with them he'd still have to see her, still have to hear of her all the time. He could never escape her now.

It was all some cruel twist of fate.

He should never have allowed Richie into the band. As soon as he heard the name Richie Sambora he should've turned him down outright.

He paused. He realized in that moment he was wishing his life away. Richie was his friend, and would the band really be where it was without him? He wasn't naive enough to think so. And he'd prayed for years for Amelia's return, there was still some hope in it.

Amelia was still recovering from the abruptness of his retreat. Her lips felt numb from where he'd touched her, and now he was yelling? Well, almost yelling. It was too much to process.

"Keep your voice down," she hushed cautiously. She saw ferocity in his eyes, when Jon grew angry his nostrils expanded and jaw became tight. He looked just about ready to blow up.

"No, it ain't fair," he repeated his words with the same conviction. "I ask you on a date n' you turn me down but you wanna kiss me? You think that's fair? You think it's fair you give me these little sprinkles of hope n' then go back to treatin' me like shit?"

Amelia winced at the harshness of it, after all it was entirely true. She had treated him like garbage these recent months and now here was her comeuppance.

But just because she deserved it didn't make it hurt any less. She felt more tears roll down her cheeks, this time Jon only scoffed at them.

"I don't mean to treat you like shit."

If Jon were a mean man he might've told her to fuck off back to her own bedroom, but he could never bring himself to speak such harsh words to a woman he cared so deeply for, and certainly not while she weeped.

"You're a cold woman, Amelia."

He scratched at his stubble and tried to ease his clenched jaw.

"I do a lot for you, y'know. I do my damn best for you. I get you a job, I make sure you get the best hotel rooms so you're comfortable, I make sure the crew looks after you n' treats you like family, I try ask Spankie if there's anythin' troublin' you since you won't speak to me. I waste a lot of time thinkin' n' worryin' about you, and I don't expect any sort of repayment for it other than a little respect. I ain't nothin' but a dog on a leash to you, you keep me entertained with a treat here or there then give me the silent time-out treatment if I do or say somethin' you don't like."

Amelia's jaw dropped a few feet. A small squeak of disbelief escaped her. "What?" God, she hated crying! It was so humiliating, this was the third time in two days. "Do you really believe that?"

She leaned toward a yes. When Jon got angry, rare as it were, he tended to recede into a heavy New Jersey accent, bordering on New Yorker.

He folded his arms tightly across his chest and looked at her though she were a petulant child. "You mess me around." His voice had lowered a few decibels having gained a slight gravel to it. "You know I still got feelin's for you and it's all just a joke to you! Sometimes I think you really still care about me but then the next day you blow me off! And now you're kissing me again because you're sad! I'm sorry you're upset, darlin', but I ain't just your toy to play with."

"Jonny, I don't mean-"

"No, no," he waved her off as though to say he wasn't finished. He started pacing again as if he were in a tennis match. Amelia stood on wobbly legs to approach him.

"You got no respect, that's what!" He declared finally. "Just because you've moved on doesn't mean I have, I fuckin' loved you, Amelia, I really lo-"

She grabbed him by the proverbial collar and kissed him again. She hit him with such force that the pair stumbled back into the closet door. She felt him mutter some objections against her lips, only for a long moment he was far too stunned to pushed her away.

"What the fuck?" He shouldered her off.

She pressed a firm finger to his lips.

"I'm not trying to lead you along," Amelia whispered, far more conscious of the neighboring rooms.

His lips mushed against her finger as he tried to talk. She only shushed him softly, stroked his cheek with the backs of her knuckles.

Amelia was never good with words, not outside of her academic classes at least. She wanted to find a way to make him do the talking.

"I'm sorry," she cooed, then pecked his lips again. He blinked, the epitome of confusion.

"What are you doing, 'Melia?" He took hold of her wrist, thumb stroking her palm.

"C'mon," she braved a small smile. "Ask me out or something, Rockstar."

His fingertips grazed his still warm lips. "What?"

"Ask me out," she repeated.

"You wanna go out with me?" He blinked in awe.

"Ask me."

"I just did-"

"Ask me out for God's sake!" She slammed her fists against his chest. "Ask me out, properly. Make me believe you still want me."

Jon wondered if he'd ever completely understand women. He fought the urge to scratch his head in confusion, Amelia seemed... serious. Deadly so, in fact so serious he was sure she might just burst into another onslaught of tears.

A few moments too late, he seemed to grasp what she was asking of him.

Oh.

Just as Amelia's grip had turned lax, he got it.

"Go out with me-"

Amelia looked back up at the demand, a smile returning almost instantly to her tear-stained face.

"Give me once chance, 'Melia," he continued. "Just one chance, one date, I promise I'll make it work. I'll make it perfect."

She nodded with all the enthusiasm he could ask for, and he swore he saw more tears in her eyes.

Instead of kissing her again, he wrapped his arms tightly around her small frame, mumbling small "oh god"s and sweet endearments against her hair.

Amelia hadn't been held properly by a man in years, she forgot how thoroughly wonderful it was. They were so strong even in their embraces, she could surrender fully to him and feel safe, she didn't even have to support her weight with him.

Jon pulled back just a little to admire her face. He smiled, halfway between a laugh and a cry. "You beautiful girl," he whispered, then pressed his lips to her forehead. Now that he had her he wasn't sure he could let her go. She'd come to him of her own free will, kissed him with no prompt, demanded that he take her out.

That was the Amelia he knew. Right there all snug in his arms.

"I've got you baby," he murmured, pushing back her hair repeatedly.

"I'm sorry I've been such an asshole," she sniffled, making sweet eye contact with him. "I don't have an excuse. You're right, I treated you poorly."

He was already kissing her by the time she'd finished her sentence. "Shh," he whispered against her lips. "Shush now." His nose grazed against hers as he shook his head. "Don't you worry about that."

Amelia had no problems accepting his embrace. "How are you so warm without a shirt on?" She ran her hand over his bare chest.

"My blood's racin' sweetheart." He gave her another small kiss.

Had his prayers finally been answered? Had Amelia come back to him?

"Do you really want me to take you out?" He pulled her just a little tighter. "You aren't just saying it because you feel bad about before? I sorta yelled."

Amelia scoffed, then proceeded to yank him down by the hair for another kiss.

"No, it's not because I feel bad for neglecting you," she smirked. His heart soared mightily. "It was Spankie that talked me into it, actually."

Jon frowned down at her. "Spankie?"

"I told her about everything the other day. I suppose I'd been bottling it all up for so long, I sort of had a breakdown. It felt good to get it all off my chest and speak it aloud. It made me realize how much I missed you and how good you were to me. Spankie told me if I didn't tell you how I felt, she would."

Jon let out a sort of whistle. "Thank you Spankie."

Amelia chuckled. "I want to go on a date with you once we get back home to Jersey. Just one date, as you say. I want to figure out if we're still compatible, I wouldn't be able to properly move on without knowing."

Jon nodded eagerly.

"It might be that we get there and discover that we're better off as just friends," Amelia continued. "And if that's the case then so be it, but I want to give it a chance."

Jon didn't stop nodding. "I'll make it perfect, darlin'. Just you wait, I'll have it all figured out."

She peeked at him with a smile. "I know." He was always good at making grand gestures, she expected the best from him.

The pair stood in each others arms for an indefinite period of time. Amelia felt more at home then in Jon's arms than the day she returned to Jersey after living in England. She saw a brief glimpse of her real self again, she felt floods of dormant emotions return to her, she felt like a person again, not a rock.

"We got a lot to talk about, don't we Millie?"

His chin rested on her head now, his hand busying itself with repeatedly caressing the same section of hair. Life seemed calm in that moment. Time stood still for them; for a moment there was no tour, no managers, only Jon and Amelia embracing properly for the first time since December 5th 1983, a date which the two of them were unable to forget.

"We do." She wiggled herself out of his arms to look at him. With her words time resumed. She moved to take a seat on his bed. "But it can wait until our date."

Jon nodded and took a seat beside her.

"And don't call me that, by the way."

He sat up straight. "Call you what?"

"Millie."

He furrowed his brows. "Why?"

Amelia felt her eyes roll to the back of her head. "Why?" She scoffed incredulously. "Because it's awful, it's so infantile. My name is Amelia, how the heck does one derive Millie from that."

Jon let out a hearty laugh and squeezed her partially bare thigh. "You're funny, Mills."

"Stop it! You sound like my brother."

That was the Amelia he'd fallen in love with. She'd always been witty, sarcastic, and maybe even a little volatile, but Amelia was at her best when she used those things to bring people close. To make them smile instead of driving them away.

"I'm much more handsome than your brother, Mills."

Amelia whacked his arm. "Ugh. I might as well start calling you Jonathan."

"Call me whatever you like, Mills."

"Shut up."

He continued laughing. His laughter was pure. She didn't hear him laugh often, he was a quiet man. She was quite certain she was one of the few people in the world that'd had the pleasure of hearing his true, authentic laugh, not the fake ones he gave to the public.

"I'm going to bed, Jonathan," she snapped, whacking his face with a pillow as she stood.

His laughter died down a little, though he did throw the pillow back at her.

"That's probably a good idea," he said once he'd calmed down. "You look tired."

She did an eye roll that trumped even her previous one. "That's just because I'm not wearing makeup."

Jon pulled her close. "I've seen you without makeup hundreds of times, Mills, n' I know you're aware I much prefer you without it. Those eye bags are due to exhaustion- and maybe a little too many tears."

She scowled at him. Ah, that scowl, so fearsome and yet so endearing.

"My God, I've missed telling you how beautiful you are." He dropped another kiss to her lips.

"Hm. I like Jonathan, he's charming. Maybe we should keep him around."

His arms secured themselves around her hips. "I'm here to stay sweetheart, so long as you'll have me."

Another small kiss.

"Doesn't seem that you'll let go of me."

He gave an awkward laugh. Something in his eyes changed, some light drained from them.

"I'm sorry. I think a part of me still thinks this is all a dream."

Amelia's change in heart had been so sudden, he wouldn't find it hard to believe that his brain had conjured such ideas in its sleep.

Amelia pinched the skin of his shoulder between her two nails. He exclaimed in shock.

"Ow! What was that for??"

Her lips quickly landed on the tender spot, soothing the bruised skin. "I pinched you," she explained lightly. "That way you know it's all real."

Jon gazed at the woman in awe. Everything she did always took him by surprise, she was never simple, never predictable.

She squished his cheeks together with one hand. "Now stop gawping at me like a fish, you must be tired too."

Sleep was the last thing on his mind right now. He was wide awake, in more places than one.

"You're going back to your room?"

Amelia laughed out loud. "Yes, Jonathan, I'm going back to my room. I'll see you in the morning, all right? I might even accompany you to your interview. Till then, I eagerly await our date next week."

"All right," he mumbled. He knew what that meant, it meant she'd probably keep her distance from him in preparation for the date. "Well, goodnight I guess."

"Goodnight."

"Keep my sweater for the night, it'll keep you warm."

"I wasn't planning on giving it back any time soon," she smirked, retreating further into the fabric.

"You'd better. That's my favorite sweater."

Amelia spun around and grinned like a minx. "That's too bad, huh. I'll see you tomorrow, sleep well Jonathan."

She slipped through the doorway and pulled it shut. He hadn't ceased his gawping, his fingers grazed just about every spot she'd kissed him. The skin on his shoulder still throbbed a little from the pinch, his lips were numb from her kisses.

And his lower regions? Well, they'd come to life pretty quickly. All this no-sex had pushed him back into puberty, Amelia pinching his shoulder was probably enough to give him a boner!

He was sure she'd felt it too. They'd hugged a lot, there was no way she wouldn't have noticed the burgeoning appendage in his light gray sweatpants.

He couldn't even rub one out considering she was right next door. He'd just have to lay there until it subsided. If it subsided, considering his thoughts were entirely consumed with Amelia.

Hope. Almost an even stronger emotion than love. Almost. And now he had it. He could hope that Amelia would come back to him fully, that things would go back to how they once were. That some day the Bongiovi and Sambora families might live in harmony.

He just had to prove to her that they were still compatible together, and after the past half hour he had no doubts at all.

---

Exciting stuff 🤌 date night next chapter 😍

I already have the majority of it written so hopefully it'll be up soon.

Hope you enjoyed this one, let me know in the comments 🥰 feedback is always appreciated 🩷