(OOC: Closing collab.)



"Ahahalright," Rock laughed rigidly as he sat up. "Bye."

*Boop.*

... Annnd, Jam just sat there.

The white monkey averted his eyes to some uninteresting corner of the room for a second. He wasn't certain of how to approach her—That much was for sure. But, always one to push his luck, he soon enough sidled his way across the couch to her again.

"... C'mon, no more phone calls, promise," he crooned quietly in her ear, snaking an arm around behind her, nudging her cheek with a kiss through her messy hair... Laying it on pretty thick, in other words, but with utmost sincerity. In a rather deft motion, he single-handedly manipulated his phone in such a way that the battery and casing fell free to the floor, followed by the rest of the device, just to prove his point.

Oh, how she tried. Having forgotten precisely who she was angry with, Jam would have nonsensically been perfectly content to be cranky the rest of the evening; she wanted to be mad at Rock.

But like clockwork, the supernatural manipulation over her psyche that she was convinced the snowy simian possessed turned her to butter at the first shot of warm breath in her ear. Almost involuntarily, she grinned a coy little smile, turning her head towards the snowy simian's face, where her lips touched his in a brief reunion before resting her forehead against his, and sighing the sigh that effectively ran up her white flag.

He'd won. And it was likely that before he even came over, he knew he would. But as the moments-ago bane of her existence fell to the floor in pieces, and, practically purring, she began to pull him along with her as she laid back into the sofa, she didn't really care any more...

If he had any thoughts about any emeralds in his mind at all, they were in a far, dark, dusty corner—the very last thing he was concerned with as he ran his hands up her sides, and

*Clunk-clack, chunk, creeeeeeaaak.*

A key jostled and turned in the tumblers, and the front door opened noisily.

"Sounds like Rock's finally done tearin' the kitchen in half."

"Yeah—Hurry up, we're letting bugs in."

Rock's parents were home.

The utterly dead, FML-format look on Rock's face could have made the wallpaper curl, and the nearest plants in the vicinity wilt. He didn't even have it in him to jump up for propriety's sake. He just flopped face down in Jam's chest with a noise caught between sighing, and dying.

There were no words... no actions... Nothing.

With her mouth agape, perpetually frozen in a never-ending soundless scream, Jam's head flopped against the backrest of the couch, directing her empty, unblinking lifeless stare up at the ceiling.

Rock's dear mother, Kara, looked once as she walked, stopped, did a double take, and glanced back at Jared perplexedly. Neither seemed quite as scandalized as they ought at the moment; Jared just sipped at his soda and looked at the two on the couch with a sort of how's-about-that vacancy about him, brows raised.

"I... think... the kids have died," Kara observed half-jestingly, with a flutter of blinks. She continued on into the kitchen with a "tch" and a quick jump of the eyebrows, but not another word. Jared meanwhile stood by, invasively staring at the spectacle for a mite longer.

"... You died the way you lived, my son."

Jared flipped a two-fingered salute, shook his head with a mock sigh, and exited to the kitchen as well.