in which it's not his fault he's like this, and someone makes an unexpected appearance. dedicated to PugaShann because she puts up with me, and -Logophilia- for listening to me ramble all the time

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stuffed animals are traded for drumsticks, soon to turn cigarettes and something more.

it's never the same person that sleeps beneath the same old blanket jack's had thrown over his bed since his teenage years.

bruises no longer stain legs from pain, but now litter collarbones - fading and purple - from passerbys that just so happened to catch an irishmans eye at the right time.

there's no more oversized sweaters, just leather jackets stained with liquor reminants and powder that one can only assume is make up.

rooms are lit by lighters and candles that overbear the heavy scent of tomorrow's hangover, and there's holes and studs in jack's skin where there really shouldn't be.

lies are less white.

the tooth fairy isn't real.

and jack's not a kid anymore.

---

he's drowning in regretful tequila and his own vomit when he wakes up.

because he drank too much and can't remember a thing.

that's why he sleeps in the bathtub.

it's convenient.

maybe not comfortable, but it's convenient.

jack's startled by a familiar voice, unable to see the boy. all he sees is white ceramic, and last nights dinner, through hazed vision.

"you're up on time."

"d-o i look like i care?"

when jack pulls his head from the toilet bowl, felix realised the damage the irishman has done.

there's remnants of make up staining his eyes, surrounded with dark circles and pained tears. jack's throats dry, stomach empty and head spinning.

he's hungover.

typical.

"you look like shit, bro."

"feel like it."

jack isn't bothered by the look of sympathy that felix gives him as he nods his head knowingly.

"get yourself into a shower, i'll go make you some coffee."

it feels like jack's back at the gym when he stands up, lifting weights that a man his size should not be lifting, and his miscalled strain and knees buckle as he straightens his back out.

felix turns to leave.

"oh, and jack?"

"yeah?"

"dress decent."

---

jack's never been so relieved by the scent of coffee.

but then again, he says that every morning spent hungover.

felix makes good coffee; it's black with very little sugar and just that added bitterness that jack seems to crave. it was given the title 'the hangover cure', but that was soon taken away from him when jack was introduced to felix's pancake making skills.

"how are you feeling?"

"after mountains of pills and a few litres of this, i reckon i'll be good to start it all over again."
it hurts when he laughs, but jack can't help it.

"you've got class in half an hour."

jack's wreckless.
everyone knows that.

but he's not lazy.

despite heaving teachers looming over you every few minutes to check that you're working and the stupidly long hours he was forced to sit and listen to old men lecture about stock markets and profits, jack actually enjoys college.

"i don't need reminded of that, felix. i'm well aware of the fact that if i don't leave soon i'll be late, and that would look bad on my record aand employers don't want tardy workers, and that you could drive me there."

felix has a goldfish moment; his mouth opens and closes a few times as he thinks of what to say.

"i could-"

"no, no, it's okay. i'll just walk."

"today's an important day. i don't want you to be late."

"i'm fine fe-wait. why is today important?"

"every day is important jack. now, scram. you're gonna be late."

---

jack's clueless as to why today is important.

what significance does today have over any other day?

what was felix hiding?

all of these are thoughts that swim circles around jack's brain as he stumbles through college doors.

he just missed the bell.

jack is late for his first class.

the hallways are empty, but they suffocate you with silence and guilt because if they're empty, that means you're late. and 'being late means being undesirable'.

at least, that's what felix says.

he's lucky his class is on ground floor, and that his locker isn't too far from the entrance because the next set of classrooms were up two or three flights and the lifts seemed to have a habit of breaking down at vital moments - no one is willing to take the risk.

there's books and notepads being pulled from jack's bag before he's even keyed in his code and he's near enough dropping everything. but there's a false hope that, maybe, if he works fast enough when he won't be late.

there's no use in it, he might as well give up, because no matter how speedily he turns his locker combination and how many books he shoves in at once, the bell has gone, and he's still late.

sometimes jack's too in his head.

and he misses things.

like the crumbled info sheets that litter the floor, and the footsteps that stop dead right behind the irishmans back.

he almost misses the voice too.

"j-ack?"

maybe if jack had known about the day's events, then he'd have taken that extra shot. if he'd have known, then maybe he'd have kept his head in the toilet bowl, or maybe he wouldn't have moved from the bathtub. maybe he'd have just skipped school altogether.

because there was a voice, and jack didn't want to know it.

but he did.

and he didn't want to miss it.

but he did.

"you're back?"

"yeah, god it's been...how long? a year?"

through gritted teeth, jack sighs.

he wants to correct him

'four hundred and ninety seven days, i've counted.'

he doesn't.

instead, he just nods.

"yeah."

"well, how have you been?"

jack's too scared to turn.

he doesn't want to.

because every time he saw that fucking face, he lost control.

just hearing his voice, jack wants to fucking scream because he's not supposed to be here and you can't just come back and act like nothing happened because it did.

but his locker is full, and he has all he need and he's late.

he has go.

so he spins on his heels, and something's changed.

upon being greeted by a wide smile, and kind chocolate eyes, something's changed and jack's launching himself at the boy.

"i hate you. i missed you and i hate you and you're a selfish bastard but god, i'm glad you're back because i missed you, mark."

and mark doesn't know what to do because jack's different, and he's near enough suffocating him with arms that seem to be covered in tattoos and a restricting leather jacket.

"i have lungs, yknow."

"i know. i'm hoping i puncture them."

"well, that would be one way to make me breathless."

"shut up fischbach, i still hate you."

---

jack skips class.

mark too.

and they're wandering hallways and jack's showing mark around like he's never been here before.

he has, but he lets him because it's just like the old days, and mark misses them.

jack does too.

"i called last night. you didn't pick up."

"i was out. i'm sorry."

"i know, felix answered instead."

'that swedish bastard' jack thinks.

so that's why today is so important.

"did he tell you where i was?"

"told me you had a date with irresponsibility, i didn't believe him at first."

jack will ask why, but he knows the answer.

he's changed.

he's not a kid anymore.

"how so?"

"because the jack i knew didn't do those things. the jack i knew double laced his shoelaces for good measure and had alarms set for when the next episode of spongebob was going to be aired. the jack i knew didn't wear leather or make up and didn't get shitfaced on school nights.

the jack i knew isn't the jack that's showing me around someplace i already know."

jack's silent.

because marks disappointed.
not with jack, but with himself.

because he figures that if he'd have stayed, maybe jack wouldn't be such a mess. maybe he could have helped.

but jack knows that if mark would have stayed, he wouldn't have needed any help. he'd have been fine.

"what happened jack?"

"you did."

it's abrupt.
it's blatant.
it's marks fault.

he's taken aback.

and he wants to speak, but jack beats him to it.

"you left me. you packed your bags and you left me and maybe you didn't know it at the time but it hurt. i thought we were something, mark, thought all of the shit we went through actually meant something. it did to me, but apparently not to you.

you were selfish.

how could you do that mark? just...kiss me goodbye and expect me not to care? you were fucking crazy. hell, you're still fucking crazy because you're back here when you shouldn't be, and you're acting like it's all okay and that nothing happened. you can't come back and expect a blank canvas, that's not how it fucking works."

marks never seen a punk boy cry until today.

jack hasn't cried since day one hundred and three.

it's the first in a long time.
for both of them.

"why did you do it, mark?
why did you go?"

marks quiet.

he doesn't know why, because he has an answer. he's told every stranger he's stumbled across, every familiar face that asked the same question.

but he's finding it hard to tell jack.

"answer me, for fucks sa-"

"i missed it, alright? i missed bob, and wade. i missed ethan, and tyler and i missed the old church. i missed walking outside and seeing families that've been around for years, knowing that they'll still be there when you come home from work.

i missed my family. i missed babysitting cousins on the weekdays and helping my mother with the shopping on weekends.

i missed watching my brother grow up, i wasn't there for his first girlfriend, or his first heartbreak. i wasn't there when he passed his drivers test, or when he crashed into the old oak tree outside of our house. i wasn't there for him when he needed me.

i had to go. i had to be there.
i missed home."

this time, jack's the silent one.
because he got it all wrong.

mark wasn't selfish.
he was homesick.

jack's guilty.

"why did you come back?"

"same reason i left."

it takes the irishman a moment to process what he's said.

"you were homesick? but i thought-"

"i caught up with the guys again, we moved into an apartment on the outskirts. felt just like the good old days where we would have sleepovers and stay up until all hours in the mornings until bobs dad would kick us out. but there was something missing.

i think maybe it was tylers fault. he said something, about ethan, that made me question whether the ground i stood on was where i wanted to be standing in ten years time."

if there's one thing that hasn't changed, it's the look that jack's giving mark right now; intrigued and mesmerised and in so deep that passerbys could only coo and smile at the blossoming young love.

"what'd he say?"

"home is where the heart is, and he's stolen mine.

it's cheesy, i know. tylers always been a sap, think that's why ethan likes him so much. but...it got me thinking that maybe cincinnati isn't home.

my hearts not there, so why was i?"

jack doesn't realise they've stopped walking until he hands his head, and sees that marks stepping closer.

he wants to ask a question.

snd he's scared he won't like the answer.

but he asks anyways.

"if your hearts not there, then where is it?"

"well, where did you leave it last?"

and they're kissing.
and their making up for all the lost moments.

and it's like nothing's ever changed.

because marks lips feel just the same as before he'd left, and jack's hands still move on instinct to the same spot on the back of marks neck. jack still smells  the same and marks wearing the same flannel shirt he left in.

but, there's new things, that they're really not bothered by.

like marks stubble, that seems to grow in rough and gives the impression that marks aging well. and the lingering taste of cinnamon flavoured alcohol - discreetly hidden behind constantly-chewed gum - that costs jack's tongue.

and the fact that the bells just gone, and they'd have pulled away by now it they don't because it's been so long.

marks home.

and jack's changed.

but maybe he's just growing up.

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i really don't know where i was going for this but yknow, i tried by best and it's 2100+ words of rambling and ideas that sprung to mind at eleven o'clock last night. thank you for reading, i hope you've had a nice day.
-a