rockabillyboy | (no subject)

"Don't do that," says Jack, shaking his head a little. He doesn't miss the fact that Poison doesn't relax in his arms. "Don't...give me a pass, okay? Don't excuse the fact that I did something so stupid." He frowns. "I didn't mean to hurt you."

"We were both stupid," he points out. Poison sighs, turning his face toward Jack's chest. "And you didn't do it to hurt me. So. I don't know how to not give you a pass without veering totally into the opposite direction." Poison doesn't want to be angry. He could be - he totally could be - but he doesn't want to be.

"Yeah."

He lets out a shuddering breath and pushes his fingers into Poison's hair, cradling the back of his head. "I never ever meant to hurt you."

"I know." Poison closes his eyes for a moment, letting Jack hold him. Eventually he pulls away, gently freeing himself from Jack's hold. "Are you uhm. Hungry or anything?"

Poison hasn't slept all night, and he's pretty sure he's not going to sleep now.

"I could eat," says Jack. His fingers flex at his side and he shoves his hands into his pockets just for something to do with them. "You want me to fix something for both of us?"

"Yeah. Want tea?" He has a stash of tea for Jack, part of it he put together just from paying attention to what Jack likes; the other part is from Jack bringing over his own stuff and leaving it. So much of his apartment has touches of Jack all over it; Poison hadn't noticed how intertwined their lives had become until being jarred.

He heads into the kitchen. He wants coffee, either way.

"Tea would be really good," says Jack, following Poison out into the kitchen. He's tender in ways that just make him feel guilty at the moment, and he ignores it, making a beeline for the fridge. "I can do...hm. Something with eggs?"

Poison shrugs a bit and sits on the counter while he waits for his coffee to brew. He fluffs his hair.

"Whatever you feel like."

He's not really that hungry, but he supposes it'll give them something to do, something else to focus on.

What Jack feels like, right then, is shit, but he's got enough sense not to say that, because nobody made this bed but him. He nods, fetching the fixings for frittata out of the fridge. It'll take longer than scrambled eggs or omelettes, but he'd like something to do with his hands right then.

"Okay."

Poison rubs his hair, watching Jack move around. The light of the kitchen reveals he's on a pair of plan blue pajama bottoms and the long-sleeved t-shirt is black. Not his usual stupid pjs that Girl makes fun of. He hadn't been feeling any of them when he tried to go to bed.

"You don't have to stay," he says quietly. "I'm-- I'm probably gonna be a bummer to be around for a little while."

Jack freezes. For a moment, he can't speak because he's sure that if he opens his mouth, he's actually going to throw up in the sink. He shakes his head.

"I don't...I don't have anywhere to go." Which isn't strictly the case - he still has an apartment of his own, but he only thinks of it as home when Poison is there with him. "Jesus, Poison. Please."

Poison shrugs helplessly. "You just-- this feels awkward," he murmurs. "Wanted you to have a way out, if you wanted it." He's not telling Jack to go. He looks down at the floor, then slides off the counter so he can pour his coffee and put the kettle on for Jack.

More than anything, Jack doesn't want to leave. He doesn't want to go anywhere. Mechanically, he starts chopping ingredients for breakfast. His eyes sting and he squeezes his eyes shut furiously. He's not going to cry. He's got no intention of it. He doesn't have the right to be upset here.

"I'm sorry."

When the water's ready, Poison picks out a tea he knows Jack likes and puts the bag in the mug, then pours the water. He sets it on the counter next to Jack before moving away again.

"What do you need me to say?"

"This isn't about me, is it?" says Jack, still focused on what he's doing with his hands. He can't look at Poison right then. "This isn't about what I need." Because he'd already worried more about what he wanted than what Poison wanted and that was what had gotten them here.

Poison shrugs helplessly. "I'm apparently trying to fill the silence, then. But I still give a shit about what you need." So yeah, he's asking.

"I..." Jack gropes around for what he actually wants. "I need this to be okay. I need to have not...fucked up the most important thing in my life. I...shit." He misjudges, slips, the knife biting into his finger. For a moment, he just stands there and watches it bleed.

"Fuck." Poison jumps into action because Jack is just standing there. He grabs Jack's wrist tightly to help slow the pulse of blood into his hand, then pulls him over to the sink. He runs the water over the wound, cold, to help numb it, then looks for his band-aids and what not. Finger wounds bleed like a bitch, even if they aren't deep.

He finds sterile alcohol and hits Jack's finger with it after pulling it out from under the water. It'll sting, but better than infection. Poison's a little paranoid about shit like that.

"It's nothing," says Jack, numbly, as he watches Poison deal with the cut. His breath hisses out when Poison presses the alcohol soaked cotton wool against his finger. "Fuck. Sorry."

"Fuck you," he answers. "You're hurt - it's something to me." When he's done cleaning he puts a piece of clean gauze against the cut and uses a band-aid to hold it in place. He doesn't think a band-aid will be enough, so gauze it is.

"You didn't fuck everything up, Jack. You did fuck up, though, and I told you I'd forgive you and that we'd be okay, but maybe you also need to let me feel how I'm feeling right now."

That helps, actually. Poison telling him that, no way to hide from it. Jack nods, letting him bandage his finger.

"Do you want me to go?"

"No," he says. "But I also don't want you to like... feel sorry for yourself right now. It sucks, and we both fucked up, and yes, I'm hurting. But you getting hurt because you're wracked with guilt? Also not helpful. Talk to me."

Jack nods.

"What..." He frowns. "It feels weird to tell you about last night. Like, I don't want it to be a secret, and we can talk about it, but it does feel weird?"

"It feels weird because I'm having a really hard time being supportive about it, when I set you up to think you were gonna be supported. And that's my fault." They both could have done better. "If you wanna talk, though, just... start. And if it's too much, I'll tell you."

"We hang out a lot. You know that." Which had the sound of explanation and Jack's not sure that's what either of them want. Sure his finger isn't going to bleed everywhere, Jack goes back to chopping. "We ended up going to a hotel because...I didn't want to do it at my place."