fic: Mirror/Mirror (Dohring/Rosenbaum)
Jason tells himself he deserves this. He DOES. He's been working his ass off for the past six months on the role, juggling the show in Cali and flying to Kansas on his breaks, and he's never been so devoted to a project, never lost so much sleep and agonized over character motivations like this. It's like you spend enough time playing the part and it starts becoming you, crawls into your head and lives there, until you wake up in the mornings and look in the mirror and see nothing but a monster in the reflection.
And no one gets it, no one fucking gets it, why he doesn't want to be around people, why he can't even bring himself to touch Lauren anymore, why he just wants to be fucking left alone so he can just breathe for a goddamn minute. If he's lucky, he can get a few hours where he feels normal, like him, like someone real.
But. But Mike gets it, for whatever reason. He really, really does. Of course, Mike is also crazy, so Jason doesn't know what that says about himself, but at least he gets what it's like. Jason remembers Burbank, and hearing Mike talk about it, the process, and it was like something clicked in his head and he just knew, Yes, this guy gets it, he does.
He's reminded of this when Muhney kidnaps him-- literally, with blindfolds and being dragged into a car and everything involved-- to a party at Jen's. They're all standing around, shooting the shit, and Muhney mentions the role, and Jason wants to punch him in the neck for bringing it up.
"That explains the weight loss," Jared notes, nodding like he's figured it out. "I kind of thought they were going to write you a male anorexic storyline or something."
And everyone laughs like that's really fucking hilarious, and Muhney grabs a handful of Lays from the bowl on the table to taunt him with, and Tom asks earnestly what it's like to play a real-life soulless killing machine, and Jason wants to throw up, a lot. Or maybe punch him in the middle of his annoyingly pretty face.
Before he can do either, he excuses himself, and drifts into the kitchen, out onto the back porch. It's raining but still humid, and he kind of wishes he smoked just so he would have something to do with his hands, but he doesn't, so he just stands there and counts back from one hundred in his head and tries to feel like himself for a moment.
"You're a strange one," calls Mike, coming out the swinging door, and he gestures at Jason with the half-empty vodka bottle dangling in his loose hand. He nods vigorously as he swaggers forward. "Yeah. Real strange. But don't worry. I like that about you."
"Um," Jason says, "all right?"
"The guys are awesome, they are, but sometimes I don't think they get it." Mike takes another long swig and makes a face. "Acting is-- it's serious business, you know?"
Oh, Jason knows.
He can't really pinpoint the moment where he decides, okay, he's going to do this, but then he is, and Mike's mouth is bruising and sour against his, and they're fumbling around the corner, into the shadows. Mike gets him unbuckled in about two seconds flat, and Jason is so pathetic and horny that he only lasts for about three tugs. Three and a half if he feels like being generous to himself, which he doesn't.
After, he's left leaning all his sharp angles up against a tree, gasping for air, and Mike, Mike has an excuse, he's drunk as fuck, but Jason is just sober and out of his mind.
"I gotta go," he mumbles, doing up his pants. His voice is shaky to his own ears, and kind of thick. "Uh, tell Michael I called a cab, all right?"
"Hey, man-- you okay?"
And he looks up and sees Mike staring at him, a little confused, and a little like he gives an actual shit about him and his feelings, which is weird, and must mean that Mike is not only drunk but also really stupid. He'd have to be stupid, to care the slightest damn about someone like Jason.
He doesn't answer, just shrugs and walks around the house and in the drizzling rain six blocks to the nearest Walgreen's. He calls a cab and goes home to an empty apartment, because Lauren's got an exhibit in Vancouver, and he falls asleep on the couch and doesn't dream, not of anything, and when he wakes up and drags himself to the bathroom, he glances into the mirror and doesn't recognize himself.