Jelliclerose's Fanfiction Archive
The Complete Fic Directory
All I Do Each Night Is Rehearse The Pray Routine
An Act Of Un-Remembrance
Better Than Today - Kylie Minogue
Breathe Out
Default Settings/Do You Love Me? [Part One]
Displacement Theory [Blue]
DJ (I Could Be Dancing) - Alphabeat
Ends (Loose And Otherwise) [Ends]
Fine Time To Lose Your Mind - Jack McManus
Flat Tyres And Palm Prints [Birth]
Friends: A Dictionary [Friends]
From Angels To The Moon/The Soup
Green Light [Green]
Hell Raisers
In My Veins
It Was The Death Of Something [Death]
Just Like Children [Children]
Kiss And Make Up
Lonely At Christmas
Middles
Months Go By [Months]
More Important Than Fear
Muddied Stars [Brown]
Of Peacocks
On The Subject Of Angels [Orange]
Playing House [Parents]
The Price Of Friendship
Secret Agent Owen
Shine - Skies Of America
So Good To See You
Stay (Oh Darlin')
Study In Motion
Summertime Feeling - S Club 7
That Night In Amsterdam/Do You Love Me? [Part Two]
Three Sets Of Three
Twenty-Nine (And A Half)
Under A Colourless Sky [Colourless]
We Found Something That Belongs To You [Outsides]
We Were Strangers Once [Strangers]
What Did You Say This Time?
What Will The Papers Say? [Purple]
White Out [White]
The Wordsmith/Breathe In
3-0 Defeats
Barlow's Music Shop Series
Fanfiction Challenges
The Postcard Prompts
OT3, OT4 & OT5
Stories By Band Member
Stories By Ship
Stories By Era
Band-Free AUs
Prompt Requests
Other Fandom Fics
Three Irrational Fears Jason Orange Cannot Shake
1: The fear that one day he'll find out his family aren't his family at all. It's stupid, he knows that. As his mother often reminds him; he is essentially a stretched out version of his dad. Except, as she puts it, 'Oh dear, you really do look like your father on stilts' and then she sighs and shakes her head affectionately. Still, he can't help but worry about it, because he's very good at worrying. And sometimes, when he can't sleep or he's got a long flight or he's the first one to arrive at a studio, his mind starts to run away with itself. It doesn't need to make sense for him to worry about it, as long as his mind can come up with a way of it being possible. He supposes it's not so much a fear of not being part of the family and more...a fear of not being treated like part of the family. He thrives on being part of a tribe, on being one of a gang. It's something to be proud of. He likes to adopt an 'us against the world' mentality, jut out his chin and sling his arm around someone and look around with defiant eyes. The chances of his family disowning him are slim. He's not exactly the rebel of the bunch. But that doesn't stop him wondering what he'd do. At least he'd still have the band...unless they all disowned him too...but that just opens up a whole new can of worms...
2: The fear that Mark Owen will suffer some sort of domestic injury. Now, this is a fear he doesn't ever voice. Because he knows it would only result in ridicule. Even Mark, who for the most part tries to be as tactful and as kind as humanly possible in all situations, would find it hard not to take the piss out of him for this one. But the thing is, he feels a certain responsibility for Mark. And, indeed, in a list of his more rational fears, harm coming to Mark Owen is pretty high up there. Mark is like a little brother to him, of course he hates the idea of him ever coming to any harm, emotional or physical. But the thing is...Jason has a history with domestic injury coming to those in his care. Or...almost coming to those in his care. It's not so much a history, more two incidents where younger siblings under his supervision for half-an-hour almost managed to get themselves knocked out by a biscuit tin and, more troublingly, an iron. Jason has just about shaken his fear of this ever happening to his younger siblings again; after all, when an iron comes that close to your head, you learn a lesson for life, don't you?! But he has no such reassurance with his bandmates. He doesn't worry so much about Gary – he has once or twice pondered the biscuit tin scenario, but has dismissed Gary as far too sensible to let harm come to him that way, and even if he isn't, Dawn is. Howard...well, he would worry about Howard and maybe he should, because Howard Donald is more of a danger zone than Mark Owen will ever be when it comes to that sort of thing. But he doesn't worry about Howard because secretly he thinks a small – very small mind – blow to the head might do him a bit of good. He means that with affection though, he really does.
3: The fear that someone is watching him...and judging. Of course, he's famous, people are quite often watching him and a few of them are probably judging. But Jason isn't exactly shy and he doesn't really care about that. No. He's afraid that there's just one person, someone he knows, someone he's close to, someone who only got to know him for the purpose of passing a verdict on him. Like some sort of test, to see if he deserves any of the lovely things he has or if they should all be taken away. He's pretty sure he's good person. He gives to charity, especially when Gary prods him. Ok, he had his limits; although all the prodding in the world would not have got him up that bloody mountain (Gary was as determined as he was insane, as far as Jason could tell), he was more than prepared to hack into his wages or do a free gig or two. But on the other hand, he did have a very nice life. He had a family who had, as yet, not declared him an imposter or disowned him. He had four best mates who he did a very well-paid, enjoyable job with. Mark Owen was in one piece, no irons had yet fallen on his head, not even so much as a biscuit tin had passed his way. So, what had he done to deserve all this? That, he supposed, was at the heart of the fear; what if the rug got pulled out from under him? His worst day; Howard slaps him in the face (that happens quite a lot actually, but what if he actually meant it this time?!), Gary kicks him out of the band, his family find out they came home from the hospital with the wrong baby (how did they Justin right but not him? Who knows...it's an irrational fear for a reason, right?!) and promptly disown him and then, just when his home gets repossessed and his guitar is destroyed in a small fire, he gets a call to let him know an iron has fallen on Mark Owen's head and he will never be able to smile again...and it's somehow all his fault. Anyone would be scared of a day like that though, wouldn't they! Although...maybe most people wouldn't have imagined it in the first place...
Three Things Jason Orange Enjoys...But Pretends Not To...
1: Getting soaked. Not many people find themselves in such a situation as many times as Jason Orange. He's not sure what it is about him that seems to place him by the pool or the pond or even the bath, just at the moment that the hilarity is at its height and pushing someone into the water seems a grand idea. Is there extra humour value in pushing Jason Orange into the water just when he's got on his Sunday best? His siblings thought so. No less than ten times over the course of his childhood he had found himself ready far too early and had made the mistake of coming into the bathroom to check on the state of everyone else. Sometimes there would be someone in the bath at the time, other times the trap would be laid specifically for him. It didn't make much difference to Jason, he always ended up stood on the landing, hair plastered to his forehead, clothes plastered to his skin, his mum pointing the hairdryer at him hopefully and his siblings in hysterics. He would complain. Oh how he would complain! He would moan until even his mother told him to shut up. But, secretly, he couldn't help but think there was a certain thrill to splashing backwards into the water. He still felt it in later life, when high-spirited mates shoved him headfirst into an available pond. Either his bandmates guessed his secret enjoyment of the soaking or his siblings passed on their tips, because his bandmates were just as bad. If there was a pool, you could guarantee Jason would be pushed into it. In the good old days Gary kept his distance, Mark and Robbie would initiate proceedings and Howard would lay in wait for the moment Jason dragged himself back out again. No, no Howard wouldn't be waiting to hand Jason a towel. He'd be waiting to push him in all over again. Jason wasn't sure why they did it, because they knew what would happen; he wouldn't shut up about it for at least a week. Admittedly they had no sympathy with his moaning, in fact, Howard mostly seemed to find it amusing. He'd call Jason a stuffy old bag and be done with it. But still, Jason would have thought that they would have learned their lesson by the time they were all in their thirties, or at the very least grown up a bit. But no. The only difference now is that Gary doesn't keep his distance because he'd far rather initiate the thing, Howard will, occasionally, offer him a towel and, every so often, they'll stand him in the hotel bathroom – his hair plastered to his face, his clothes plastered to his skin, his bandmates just plastered most likely... – and Mark would wave a hairdryer about him whilst they all had a good giggle. And Jason would complain throughout the whole process, secretly hoping they don't realise he's almost as amused as them on the inside.
2: Playing Snap. He tells people he'd rather play a more serious game. Only Howard knows the truth. His family, his friends, his bandmates and even a few of his more serious girlfriends have all partaken of Snap tournaments with him. He's not sure why he so often finds himself in situations where a game of cards is about to be played and he is certainly not clear why the game of choice is always Snap, but it happens and he's glad of it. He feels it's important for his reputation that he swears blind he's capable of bigger things, important for his competitive nature to at least give the impression of superior ability. The only reason Howard knows he's actually happiest playing Snap is because they are both of the same inclination. They let Mark or Gary suggest Snap, exchanging quietly knowing looks with one another as they make loud noises about complicated card games they've barely even heard of, never mind know how to play. One time they were almost found out when Gary leapt at the chance to play a strange variation of Crazy Eights suggested by Howard. Mark had bailed them out, nibbling on his lip and frowning; 'Can we play Happy Families instead?' he'd asked and, to his credit, he'd actually had a pack of Happy Families cards on him at the time, though they never got to the bottom of why. Howard and Jason had let out a small sigh of relief and brought the conversation back to Snap and war had ensued. A look of determination in Jason's eyes, a ready-to-pounce stance adopted by Howard. Gary and Mark played mostly for the laughs, they knew they didn't stand a chance of winning. It didn't matter how the cards were dealt or how hard they tried, Howard and Jason were ready for battle and nothing was going to stop them. Once, at midnight, on the first night of a long promotional trip abroad when none of them could cope with the time difference, Howard had produced the pack of cards (which, for all their fame and riches, was a timeshare pack they shared between the four of them) and Mark and Gary had actually tensed in fear when they saw the flash in Jason's eyes. The four of them had sat cross-legged on the floor of someone's hotel room (was it Gary's? It was too tidy to be Mark or Howard's, that was for sure...), Mark and Gary casting nervous glances between Howard and Jason. It had been a pride match. Because on the flight, Jason had lost. Ending a seven game winning streak. He'd put it down to fear of flying and grumbled when Howard gloated and made noises about Snap not being a proper game that Howard knew him too well to pay attention to. Jason couldn't remember who won the pride match...there were so many meaningless victories shared out between himself and Howard that he couldn't count, but he hoped that, no matter how many times they beat one another, they would never let slip their Snap-loving secret.
3: Blowing bubbles in winter. See, it's just about acceptable for a grown man to blow bubbles in summer. Because summer is sort of light and airy and free of rules. Plus, there are more likely to be garden parties and barbeques where you can claim you're doing it to entertain your friends' children or your younger nephews and nieces. Admittedly, Jason is fortunate enough to be in a profession where, occasionally, even in winter, an excuse may come upon him. On a photoshoot someone may press the bubble mixture into his hand or whilst filming a video some creative type has a brain wave and a bubble machine is drafted in. At a push you could maybe even get away with bubbles on tour. But no one knows about the secret stash of bubble mixture, tucked away in a cupboard in Jason's house where he hopes no one will ever think to look. The thing about winter is it's grey. It's grey and it's bleak and it's cold and, more often than not, it can be quite lonely. There's this lull where everyone decides it's impossible to leave the house – it's simply too grey and cold and rainy – and socialising is out of the question. Jason isn't sure how other people cheer themselves up. The thing is, he can cheer himself with a good book or a DVD or by listening to some music. But that is strictly small-time stuff. The misery he's dispelling is the 'couldn't sleep last night, haven't seen another soul in weeks, think I'm coming down with something, is the central heating even working?!' sort of misery. And that took a lot to push away. He has multiple strategies for dealing with it – after all, he doesn't exactly enjoy the funny looks from the shop assistant as a member of Take That breezes through her shop and leaves with nothing but a bottle of bubble mixture in his hands. The problem with his other strategies is that they largely depend on other people, the people he knows can force him to smile no matter how awful a mood he's in. People like his mum and his siblings and Mark and Gary and Howard. But people have a tendency to have plans on their own, and it's not fair to expect them to be on call to cheer him up. And so, like a ritual, at least once a month in winter, Jason will spend a day curled up on his sofa, with a book and a mug of something hot and herbal, and he will watch the clock until exactly half three. At that point he gives up on anyone phoning the house or popping by. And he will go to the cupboard and dig out the bubble mixture and he will sit alone on his kitchen counter blowing bubbles for a while, just until he's smiling again. It's a childish indulgence, he supposes. But that's part of the fun of it really. And, his thinks to himself one winter afternoon as he blows bubbles in his kitchen, his friends have yet to question why he always has bubble mixture available for their kids to play with, should they stop by on a winter day.
Three Times Howard Donald Nearly Drove Jason Orange Insane (But Still Made Him Smile)
1: The week they shared a room in Japan. Jason loves Howard, he really does. He loves him like a brother and, if pressed, he would admit that he wouldn't want to change him for anything. But he really is a messy bugger. Of course, back then, Jason himself wasn't half as neat and tidy as he is now, he was rougher round the edges in those days. But he still had certain standards. You'd think that someone who lived out of his suitcase wouldn't take up that much space in a room. But for all that Howard didn't unpack, he didn't re-pack either. Discarded clothes, discarded drinks, discarded shoes and discarded books, abandoned hairspray amidst a heap of hairbrushes, tangled jewellery and tangled gifts from fans (sometimes with fans still tangled up in them!) and, of course, Howard asleep on the floor in the middle of it all. It wasn't as if Jason wasn't used to it – he often shared a room with Howard, he knew the chaos involved in the task. But this was a solid week of it. In a foreign country. When both of them were suffering from sleep deprivation. It drove Jason insane because he couldn't relax, he had no space and every morning when he got out of bed he would almost break his neck, tripping over Howard or Howard's suitcase or Howard's latest conquest. And it wasn't just that. It was that Howard didn't care. No matter how many times Jason tidied up after him or asked him to move something or begged him to get as far as sleeping in the bed the next night, Howard would just laugh and shrug and fob him off. Their last day there they'd not been talking to one another. Howard had accused Jason of being a whiney git and Jason had accused Howard of being a selfish bastard and the tension was so great between them that Gary had decided he would pair up with Howard for the day whilst Robbie and Mark had offered to stick with Jason. Jason had liked that idea. Mark and Robbie were messy and unruly and slightly rebellious. But they had a quiet respect for Jason, with him being that little bit older than them they couldn't help but look up to him, just a little bit. It had been nice to be looked up to for a little while. And that night when he and Howard were packing, still in tense silence, each waiting for the other to speak first, Howard actually managed to make Jason smile. Because no matter what Howard did his suitcase wouldn't close; it had been quite a sight to behold. Throwing, jumping, thumping, kicking, pressing, prodding, hitting, sitting. None of it worked. Jason had stopped his own efforts to pack, sat down on the bed and watched, all ready to say 'I told you so' the moment Howard turned to face him. Howard himself had known it was coming, that was probably why it took him so long to look up. Howard's final effort before admitting defeat was a dramatic flop onto the top of his suitcase, his whole bodyweight coming down on top of the protesting suitcase with a load thump. The suitcase's instant response was to bounce Howard off of it, letting him roll down onto the floor with a painful sounding crack. Only then had Howard looked up at Jason. The 'I told you so' never came, much to both men's surprise. Instead the two looked at each other for a very long time, both trying to keep their expressions measured, before bursting out laughing in perfect unison, Jason sliding slowly down from his bed to join Howard in a heap on the floor. Yes, if pressed, Jason would admit he wouldn't change a thing about Howard, no matter how much he got on his nerves.
2: The flight delay from hell at a European airport he's long since forgotten the name of. He doesn't like flying at the best of times and delays just make him twitchy. And Howard knows this – he does! Because they all know it. Jason doesn't like flying – the phrase was always bandied around so much before they had to go anywhere that Jason would get sick of the sound of his own name. This particular unwelcome journey was made even worse by the fact that Jason knew he was coming down with something. He didn't often get ill, but when he did he could always tell it was coming. And this one had felt like a bad one. That morning Jason had woken up with an intense pounding in his head, that didn't seem to want to go away no matter what he did. It was like every hangover he had ever had was getting together for a party in his skull. With Gary asleep and Mark in the duty free, it had been up to Howard to keep Jason from either bolting or keeling over. His was the responsibility. He was the one who needed to mutter reassuring things about 'technical problems' usually meaning that a light-bulb needed changing or one of the seat-backs was refusing to stay in the upright position. He was the one who was supposed to offer to stand up for a bit so that Jason could lie down or rummage around in his hand-luggage for more painkillers. He was not supposed to just wind Jason up even further. But that's what he'd done. Looking back Jason supposed he had cracked far too easily. After all, the four of them spent their entire lives trying to drive each other round the twist – him and Howard were the worst for it but Gary and Mark could play wind up with the best of them. Mark would prod and poke and tease with light-hearted joy and one of those 'don't-hurt-me!' grins that no one with a heart could possibly resist. Gary would deadpan and arch his eyebrows and mock himself with the same breath he used to mock others, making it impossible for you to feel angry, besides he was too funny to be angry at. And Howard would joke and berate and bring up stories from the past and then laugh that cheeky laugh of his and all would be forgiven. But nothing was getting forgiven that day. Maybe it was the headache, maybe it was the nerves, Jason couldn't be sure. But he'd cracked. And he had to wonder, maybe if Gary had joined in with the mocking then perhaps he too, despite the warmth of his dry wit, would have gotten his head bitten off. Although, for some reason, Jason couldn't ever imagine properly shouting at Gary. Maybe there was a time, in the past, but not anymore. Whereas with Howard it was just a way of life. He and Howard could shout at each other for England. They'd shout at each other when Jason didn't make Howard's coffee right, or when Howard started playing his crap music (Gary's description, not Jason's...although that didn't change the fact Jason agreed with it!) in the dressing room. They'd snipe and berate and compete their way through anything; just give them the opportunity to show off and try to outdo one another and yelling would follow. It was rarely angry or serious. That's probably why the memory of that day at the airport stayed with Jason so strongly – because his abrupt reprimand had most definitely been laced with anger. 'Come on Jay, give us a smile! Do a handstand, nick one of Mark's bonbons, something! Anything to stop you having a face like a smacked backside!' Howard was sniping, rough and coarse and filled with mischief. But for some reason Jason had ignored that at the time, he'd just heard...noise. And he hadn't wanted to hear anything...and he felt sure Howard should KNOW that. 'Shut up! Shut up, shut up, shut up!' he had half-whispered, closing his eyes and rubbing his temples. But of course, Howard hadn't shut up. 'Aw, come on, you love me really!' he'd remarked with an idle stretch. That was what did it. 'No, actually Howard, I don't. I don't love anything right now. You know why? Coz I hate flying. I hate being delayed. I hate the fact my head is killing me. And do you know what I hate most of all right now Howard?! You! I hate you!!!' he had crackled violently. So violently that Gary jumped, opening his eyes groggily and looking around, a piece of his newspaper sticking to his cheek as he slowly sat up. He had glanced nervously between Jason and Howard, who were both frozen in position, staring at each other, tension and shock zinging back and forth between them. Howard had stopped mid-stretch and his bright blue eyes were filled with hurt as he stared back at Jason's stony expression. Jason swallowed and Gary shifted awkwardly, getting up and muttering softly to himself; 'Blimey, where on earth has that Owen boy gone?! I'll go and help him...he must need my help with...well...something!! You two stay with the bags...'. As Gary shuffled off, Howard seemed to break himself out of the shock and he nodded slowly at nothing at all, looking down at his hands. Jason had almost thrown up with the guilt that overcame him then – well it was either because of that or because his headache had been getting worse. Maybe it had been both. Either way Howard had silently stood up and walked away, leaving Jason sitting there, staring after him in anguish. 'Howard...' he'd managed weakly and Howard had turned around, sticking his hands in his pockets. His eyebrows disappeared behind the hem of his hat as he raised them in enquiry and Jason looked at him plaintively. Howard's eyes were quiet and kind and he half-smiled as Jason begged him 'Don't go'. Howard had folded his arms and tilted his head; 'Now why would you want me not to go when I was going to try and find you some more painkillers?!'. Jason's shoulders had sagged and, despite it all, Jason had smiled. He'd looked up at Howard from the corner of his eye and rubbed his fingertips on his temples slightly, trying to find a good way of saying sorry. But Howard, as was his way, got there first; 'S'ok. I love you too'. Jason didn't know how he did it, but Howard Donald could always pull him back from the brink of insanity.
3: The time Howard had claimed to be at death's door. Well, perhaps those weren't his exact words, but he had certainly assured Jason he was horribly out of sorts. Jason's initial reaction had been scepticism and his initial response to seeing Howard setting himself upon his sofa and more-or-less demanding to be nursed had been to drive him to the nearest doctor's, deposit him on the doorstep and then drive away without a backwards glance. But Jason had never been one to be so cold and clinical to his friends and the closest he had ever come to being icy to someone was when he had told a desperate crowd paparazzi to 'Fuck off'. But as the message had been delivered with a grin and followed up with a jokey apology as he'd finally made it to his car, it had been less 'ice' and more 'icing sugar'. And so, with his heartless streak still unwilling to develop, Jason had let Howard come in, reminding him sternly 'I am not you GP you know' and instructing him 'don't die on the sofa!' as he went off to make some herbal tea. Jason wouldn't normally object too much to Howard turning up out of the blue, he was used to it, it had been happening since the early nineties. In fact, he was more inclined to worry when Howard didn't randomly show up at his door – whose door is he at instead?! Or more often than not: what mess has he got himself into now?! However, Howard was bad at being ill. He just couldn't do it. Illness and injury meant resting and not putting any unnecessary strain on yourself. Which, to Howard, translated as 'not having any fun'. Jason had to confess, he could be almost as bad sometimes. But boredom affected Howard in a far worse way than it ever did Jason; it reduced him to something of a child. He would pout and fidget, demand food-stuffs that ill people shouldn't be eating, pester for company, feel sorry for himself, mess up the sofa cushions, tangle up the blankets he was wrapped in and – and this one actually made Jason chuckle a little bit – watch cartoons all day long. Howard could whine for England too, especially when bored and unwell. This particular occasion, Howard moan-muscles had been in fine order and as Jason had tried to go about his daily business he had followed him with wide puppy-dog eyes and a pleading pout that Jason found hard to ignore. Not as hard to ignore as the constant whines though; 'Jay' he would plead and Jason would ignore him until 'Jay' said a little more forcefully would force a warning glance out of him before he tried to look busy once more, being cut off a little more quickly this time with another 'Jay'. He would try and carry on ignoring until the sixth or seventh 'Jay' was uttered. 'What?!' he had asked in exasperation some time, already knowing what the answer to his question would be; 'I'm bored'. 'Jay...Jay...Jay...Jay...Jay...J...' – would it ever end?! 'What? What Howard? What now?' always met the moans and was always followed up with 'Don't die on my sofa!' or a slightly less weary 'Tea? Ok, tea I can do!' or a slightly more agitated 'Food?! Food?! You're supposed to be ill!' or a snapped 'Oh for God's sake try and get some sleep!' and the whole thing would go on until Jason was entirely convinced he was going to go round the bend. He'd throttle that man...when he wasn't ill anymore that is. See, his heartless button just didn't seem to want to activate, he had thought as another set of whines had erupted from somewhere beneath the mess of cushions and blankets that were lumped upon his sofa. 'You're awake again then' he remembered remarking dryly before turning on his heal to brew up another vat of tea and magic up another mountain of sandwiches (all with the crusts cut off – yes, illness really did reduce Howard to that). Jason was ready to scream with every new 'Jay' that was uttered. He was ready to pick up his coat and storm from his house. He was ready to fall to his knees and hammer at the floor like a madman screaming 'GET BETTER FOR GOD'S SAKE!' until he was blue in the face. And, Jason had realised with hindsight, Howard had probably known this. Because Howard was a pain in the neck, not an idiot. Well, maybe he was a bit of an idiot too. But he was an idiot who knew Jason like the back of his hand. He heard the rising note of agitation in Jason's responses. He noticed that his 'Thank you' mumblings were initially received with 'Your welcome' and then 'It's ok' before the 'Mm' and the 'Hmm' and the non-descript grunting...then eventually being met with nothing but silence and a small, brief, pitying look. Jason knew he had heard it because he could see it in Howard's eyes. So he'd been ready to cry when, once more, he heard it; 'Jay...Jay...Jay...Jay...Jay...Jay...J...'. As it happened he hadn't cried, he'd just about managed to swallow the emotion. Edgy and irritated he had looked up from his book with a sharp glower and snapped 'WHAT?!'. And Howard had flashed him a rueful, boyish grin; 'You're amazing, you know that?' he had asked with love-filled eyes. And it seemed that insanity was just that easy to conquer, because Jason hadn't been able to stop the warm smile from spreading across his face. With a tiny tilt of his head and a teasingly exasperated sigh, Jason had put down his book and looked Howard in the eye; 'You make it hard for me to be...but I suppose you're worth it in the end'. And, for some reason, even when, ten minutes later, Howard had started up on a new list of bored demands, the smile had remained. Looking back Jason supposed that even when Howard pushed him right to the edge, he still couldn't fail to make him grin.