Jack sank down onto the floor, closing his eyes tightly. There was something wrong with him. He knew that. So wrong. He shouldn't feel this way for other boys, shouldn't crave the touch of their hands or their arms around him or their mouths against his own. He shouldn't want them in his bed or in his heart. He shouldn't want them at all. But he did, and he knew that it was wrong and disgusting and god, maybe he did deserve the beatings from his father.
Francis couldn’t hear Jack anymore, and that concerned him possibly more than the noise. He decisively stood up and walked to his door. He placed his hand on the doorknob and turned it, pushing open his door. He wouldn’t ask why he was upset, he reasoned, he would just check to make sure he wasn’t going to get hurt. This was a matter of safety, right? He walked down the hall to the next door over and lightly knocked. “Montague.”
"What?" Jack asked, still seated and leaning by the wall. What does he want? He wondered, swallowing and debating whether he should just chug the damned flask now, consequences be damned. He needed to forget and just…float. The alcohol let him do that. Let him forget everything and just…be. Be a whore that invited just about anyone into his bed, be a disgrace and a sodomite, but it let him forget. It made him forget and God, he wanted that more than anything.
He swallowed again. Shit he didn’t think about what he was going to say. “I just, um…I’m just wondering how you’re doing. I heard you a little bit ago and…I just wanted to make sure you’re…fine.” He took a step back, planning to leave, expecting Jack to tell him that what he heard had nothing to do with emotional distress. He didn’t want to make it seem like he cared about him too much—because he didn’t. He would just want everyone to be alright. He scratched his upper lip unsurely.
"I'll live." Jack replied slowly. "But why are you even asking? You've made it quite clear that you don't give a damn." Please, please give a damn. Part of his mind begged, and he closed his eyes, raking a hand through his golden hair. He didn't know what to say. He had no fucking clue what to say to Francis. Hold me? Kiss me hug me want me need me Love me please? No. No, he couldn't say that. No matter how much he wanted those things.
Francis sighed and looked down at his shoes. “I’m sorry,” he frowned heavily, “I think we started off on the wrong foot… Are you really alright?” He asked more sincerely this time. I’ll live wasn’t a very convincing answer. He pressed his lips together. The pain of his brother’s death still stung, but it was buried in his concern for Jack, who didn’t seem so unbearable anymore. At least for the moment. In other words, Francis did give a damn.
"Not right now but I will be by suppertime." Jack replied, swallowing hard. He didn't want those things from Francis. Not from anyone. But God, he wanted them from someone. He didn't know who, but he wanted to be loved again, loved like he had been with Jasper. But to want that was wrong and disgusting and he was disgusting and perverted and no wonder everyone hated him. No wonder.
“Oh, may I come in?” Francis bit his lip right after he said it. What was he thinking? What was he doing? What did he think he was going to do to help? This would be the only time, he told himself. This was an exception, and he would go right back to disliking Jack right after he told him to leave. He expected nothing else. He pressed his forehead against the door. If Francis was being honest with himself, maybe he wanted to be near someone too. He didn’t know why he went to Jack’s door, but perhaps Jack was the best person who could understand his struggle, because he was a freak too.
"Why would you want to?" Jack asked in a low voice. "Why would anyone want to?" His eyes stung a little bit, and he scrubbed at them with the heel of his hands. No. No, he wouldn't cry over this. Not over something so stupid as wanting to be held again. With fumbling fingers, he uncapped the flask and took a sip, hoping it would shore up his nerves and stop these stupid wants and impulses and needs and insecurities. He didn't want them.
He was quiet for several moments before he gave up on trying to think of a completely honest reason. He couldn’t give the truthful answer Because I don’t want to be alone,, so he settled with the next alternative. “I…I don’t know. I just don’t like people being alone when they don’t want to be,” he answered softly. “You can say no and I’ll leave. You don’t even have to tell me what’s wrong.” He peeled his forehead off of the door, but still kept his palm flat against the wood.
Jack took a deep breath, closing his eyes. "I don't care." He finally replied. Please come in and hug me and hold me and tell me it's going to be okay, that I'm loved and needed and wanted and that somebody cares that somebody loves me that I'm not alone. Part of his mind begged. He swallowed.
Francis hesitates, considering the pros and cons of each decision. If he went in, Jack might not have wanted him to go in, and he made him uncomfortable. But if Jack did want him to go in, and he didn’t, then Jack might get hurt. He ground his teeth. This was all so conflicting. At last, he turned the doorknob and pushed open Jack’s door. He peered inside, scanning the room to see where he was. “Montague?”
Jack glanced up. "Over here." He said after a moment. His knees were tucked up to his chest, and his chin rested on his knees. His blonde hair was messy and sticking up on his head, a few strands hanging down into his face. He took a deep breath. Stop it. Stop it. He doesn't like you anyways, why the hell would he want to hug you? Nobody does. So just get through supper and then you can go out and forget everything and wake up snuggled in someone's bed tomorrow.
Francis closed the door behind him after he stepped inside. He wasn’t wearing his coat, only his baggy undershirt and pants. His russet hair was let down from his earlier ponytail. It was a bit messy and I combed now, and barely reached past his shoulders. His lips were pulled into a concerned frown, and his eyes were still a bit swollen from his earlier wave of grief. He sank down in front of Jack at an appropriate distance, crossing his legs, and placing his elbows less than formally on his knees. He didn’t say anything else, just looked at Jack’s face for a few moments before lowering his gaze to the ground. He let out a breath.
Jack glanced up at him for a moment – hold me hug me love me need me please – he took a deep breath and looked at the floorboards again. He closed his eyes for a moment, then opened then again. He didn't know…didn't know what to do or say or…or anything. God he looks good like that. He almost laughed, but he felt like if he laughed at that he might start crying, and if he started crying he would never, ever stop.
Francis kept staring at the floorboards. He absentmindedly fidgeting with his fingers, wrinkling his nose at the smell of the alcohol again. It brought up a new wave of nausea, but he managed to keep it down. It felt awkward just sitting there in silence. He needed to say something to fill it, just anything. “So…” he began. He considered asking him what he was upset about, but he decided against it. He might ask him later, when it didn’t look like he was about to cry. “What are your plans for the rest of the night? Besides supper.”
Jack took a deep breath. "I'm going to leave this house, get drunk, and sleep with somebody." he replied evenly. "Probably another boy." he didn't look at Francis. Waited for the other boy to recoil in disgust, maybe spit on him or hit him, then walk away. He ran a hand through his hair.
Francis nodded solemnly, and his lip twitched. The thought of getting drunk made his nose wrinkle again, but he didn’t have an adverse reaction. He didn’t know what else he expected Jack to say. He just wished he could be as honest as him. He yearned to be open about these things. He didn’t agree with it, and he wouldn’t go out and sleep with just anybody like Jack could, but if he could just have to chance to find someone to really love. “Do you get a lot of hate for it…?”
Jack snorted. "What do you think, Francis?" he replied emotionlessly. "Have you ever been hit, beat, or spit on for the way you love? Have you ever flirted with someone and had them push you to the ground and kick you in the ribs until you can't breathe anymore?" he blew out a breath, shaking his head a little bit.
Francis looked up as Jack talked. He winced, and his expression faltered. “No…No…” he swallowed, glancing down again. “I don’t flirt with people,” he added quieter. “I’m sorry that happens to you. I can’t imagine…” He finished his thought in his mind, I can’t imagine putting myself out there like that knowing I would get hurt.
Jack shrugged with one shoulder. "That's how it is." he replied, without a hint of emotion. "Either you're normal, or you're a disgusting pervert. And I'm sure you already know which one I am." he kept his eyes closed, not wanting to see Francis' expression.
Francis blinked his glance from the floor, back to Jack’s face again. He swallowed the emotion that was welling up in his throat. Francis related to Jack’s words more than he realized. He felt like he desperately needed this affirmation too. “If those are the only two options… then you’re normal.” He looked down quickly to his hands, picking at his chipped thumbnail.
Jack snorted. "No, I'm not." he replied. "Normal is settling down with a wife, responsible and not drinking myself into oblivion every night." he leaned his forehead on his knees. "Besides, disgusting pervert is what gets spat in my face when I flirt with the wrong guy anyways."
“That doesn’t mean it’s true,” he contested, furrowing his eyebrows. His brother crossed his mind again, and he made a face. He didn’t want to talk about it, but maybe it would be easier if he spoke about someone else. “I… I once knew a person like you. He wasn’t a disgusting pervert. He was anything but one.”
Jack opened his eyes, gaze flicking up to Francis for a moment. Who? Himself? He hardly dared hope for that, and nearly laughed at himself. At the fragile, broken hopes that still popped up every now and again. That someone would do more than sleep with him. That someone would love him and want him and need him.
Francis kept his chin down, but Jack’s interest gave him encouragement to keep going. “Well, two people actually. They were brothers. One…one drank himself into oblivion every night, and the other found other males attractive. He never told tell anyone, not even his brother. Except me of course. That’s how I know.” It was weird talking about himself in the third person.
Jack swallowed softly, and shrugged a little bit. "And…?" he trailed off. "What happened?" he asked softly, running a hand through his hair. His blonde hair stuck up still, and his eyes looked almost dead. Lifeless. Like there was nothing left inside of him, he was just an empty shell.
He cleared his throat, and his lip trembled. “Um, the older brother died,” he struggled, lifting a hand to his mouth. He rubbed his cheek. “The other brother is alive, but we’re not as close anymore.” It was true. He felt like he hadn’t been true to himself for a long time, not since his brother’s death.
"Oh." Jack replied faintly. He shrugged a little bit, eyebrows drawing together. "And…your point with the story was…?" he studied Francis for a long moment, swallowing softly.
Francis softly shook his head, reaching up his hand to lightly hold a strand of his brown hair. He didn’t even know the point, himself. Maybe he just needed to talk about it from another point of view. It was a selfish reason. He was supposed to be helping Jack. “My point is…neither of them are— were disgusting perverts. Between the two of them they drank copiously, and fancied other males, but they weren’t disgusting. So why would you be?”