frozen (when your heart's not open), 1/2
When his cell starts dancing towards his feet across the coffee table surface, Jensen sighs and picks up without even looking at the screen. He knows who's calling anyway, and more importantly, he knows who's not.
'Yeah?' he says, nestling himself on the couch again.
'Whoa. I was expecting voice mail,' Tom says, surprise evident in his voice. 'Thought you'd forgotten how cell phones work.'
'Funny,' Jensen says and rolls his eyes. He's been getting that remark every time he's talked to his friends in the past few months. Which, admittedly, is a grand total of five, but whatever. If he doesn't want to pick up, then he shouldn't have to. And if he wants to keep his phone on vibrate because it'll minimize the times he'll hear it ring and feel pressured to pick up, then that's his business. It's never going to be the person he wants to call him and he's done hoping in spite of that. It's draining.
'I am, sometimes,' Tom says as if he hasn't realized he's annoying Jensen. (He has, Jensen's sure of it.) 'No one ever notices, because Mike's always around, but I like to think I'm equally witty when given the chance.'
'I'm sure you are.' Jensen picks up the remote control and starts changing channels, getting ready to zone out. Sometimes, all Tom wants is to talk about his day at work, or this new Indie band he discovered or his wife's favorite cat that he secretly hates. He's forgotten how effortless it is to have a conversation with Tom. He might get through this call without even having to pay attention.
'You can experience it for yourself when we go for a drink tonight,' Tom continues. 'Mike's buying.'
He's also forgotten how effortlessly Tom can change the subject. Two can play at that game. 'Why Mike? He got something to celebrate?'
'He's buying because he's not around to say he isn't,' Tom replies easily. 'Although getting you out of the house is enough reason for celebration. We haven't seen you in forever.'
'Yeah, been busy, you know? I've had a lot on my mind,' Jensen half-lies. 'Work is ridiculously busy and I haven't been feeling too well lately. I think I'm coming down with something, so tonight's probably not -'
'If you seriously think I believe any of that, you have completely lost your grip on reality,' Tom interrupts. 'Jamie says you haven't done a single shoot in the last three weeks, says she's only been working with Steve.'
He'd forgotten about Jamie. Jesus. Do Tom and his wife have nothing better to talk about than their pathetic depressed friend?
After a few seconds of pause, Tom adds, 'Steve told Jamie to say "hi".'
That's when Jensen has to swallow. He knows he's not being fair to Steve, leaving him to deal with entire workload, even though both their names are on the business card. He knows it's not Steve that ruined his life, that Steve isn't even as close to Chris as he used to be - certainly not anymore now. But it was Steve who introduced them and as unfair as Jensen knows he's being, he just needs someone to blame right now.
However, he doesn't want to talk about it, and he definitely doesn't want to hear the lecture, so it's time for plan B: ignore.
'Shockingly, Jamie's not the only model we work with. I've been doing other shoots,' he bites out. 'I've been working with kids, for some ridiculously expensive designer label. I think one of them had the chicken pox, that's probably what I've got. So I really can't-'
'It's a disease you can only get once, Jensen, and you had it seven years ago,' Tom says monotonously, cutting him off. 'When you first started out. You caught it off my cousin when my aunt asked you to take pictures at his second birthday party, remember? If you're gonna lie, at least put in an effort.'
'Whatever, Tom,' he says, running a hand over his face. 'I'm still not coming.'
'Come on, Jen,' he tries again. He can hear the hesitation in Tom's voice, though. 'It's time to live your life again. Did you start unpacking yet?'
'Goodbye, Tom,' Jensen growls and slaps his cell shut. He looks around at the cardboard boxes that are still stacked against the living room wall, labeled "kitchen" and "bedroom" and "useless stuff" in handwriting that's not his, before shrugging and turning back to the television. That 70s Show is on, anyway.
*
'Let me guess,' Jensen says when he answers the phone against his better judgment, a few hours later. He's still in the exact same place on the couch, even though he's been needing to use the bathroom for about twenty minutes. 'You're going out tonight and Tom is buying.'
'Uncanny. It's like you're psychic,' Mike says. 'You could make good money with that, you know.'
'Thanks, Mike, but I'll stick to photography.'
'Because you've been doing so much of that, lately,' he says, sarcasm dripping from his voice. 'I bet if you ever did photograph a bunch of kids with the chicken pox, you'd light it beautifully. You know, so it compliments their little checkered shirts with popped collars.'
'Jesus, what is it with you and Tom? You gossip even more than my little sister does,' Jensen spits, feeling cornered. 'Did you paint each other's nails too?'
'Yep. Raspberry red,' Mike answers, unperturbed. 'I wanted hot pink, but Tom insisted the raspberry brought out my eyes.'
Jensen should have known. Talking to Michael Rosenbaum is like playing tennis with a brick wall: anything you hurl at it, it bounces off and comes right back. He will never win this game, so he just sighs, exasperated, and says, 'Mike.'
'Jensen,' Mike replies, in the exact same tone of voice.
They're quiet for a moment, as if they're both waiting for the other to speak. But then Mike breaks the silence. 'Jensen,' he says again.
It sounds different this time, like maybe Mike's sick of playing games, as well. Or maybe as if he's really feeling for Jensen - feeling pity. Jensen doesn't want pity. What he wants is to be left alone, he's done dealing with people. For a while, at least.
'Come on, man,' Mike tries again. 'Look, I understand - we understand - that you're going through a shitty time right now. What Chris did, there's no excuse. But you can't let yourself go like this. It's never gonna get better if you keep this up.'
Jensen snorts. He can see this get a lot of things (worse, pathetic, out of hand), but "better" is not one of them.
'Don't,' Mike snaps suddenly, as if he's read Jensen's mind. 'Tom might be afraid to call you on it, but I'm not. It's been three months and you're still moping about the house like a twelve-year-old girl. We've given you time, left you alone like you asked. And when that didn't help, we harassed you any way we could - we brought you frigging Ben and Jerry's and you just let it melt and stain your couch. We've been very understanding, but three months of never getting anything back is stretching it and I'm done. Call me when you're fun again.'
It takes Jensen a few minutes to put down his cell after Mike's hung up on him, because he's still staring at the Chubby Hubby stain on the cushion next to him.
*
'Hi. You've reached Jensen Ackles -'
'And possibly Christian Kane. I hang out here all the time.'
'Shut up. I can't come to the phone right now, but leave me a message and I'll call you right back.'
'I only call back if you're sexy.'
'Ass.'
'He is. An ass. And you're boring. Jensen Ackles, you are boring and we're out having fun! We're having a great time and getting plastered and you're back home and you're being miserable and feeling sorry for yourself and watching the home-shopping channel and you're missing Tom dancing to nineties pop-songs and he'll never do it again. Mark my words. Never. And you're missing it. And that's bad. And what you're doing, Jensen, that's bad. What happened is bad, not all bad. I mean, you could've caught Chris after you moved in to -'
'Message deleted.'
*
'Hi. This is Jensen's cell, he can't come to the phone right now. I probably can, but I'm too lazy. Leave a message.'
'Hey. It's Tom. I can't reach you on your home number, so I'm trying this one again. I'm sorry about Mike. You know how he gets when he's drunk. I tried keeping an eye on him, but he's cunning like a fox. Ha. Right. So I'm sorry. And so is he, you know that. I know that we've been bothering you and pushing you, probably, but we just wanna help, Jensen. So if you wanna talk. Just... And Jensen, don't you think it's time to change those voice mail -'
'Message deleted.'
*
Jensen stays on the couch most of the time. It's only for the bare necessities that he bothers to get up, like toilet breaks, beer and getting another box of cornflakes. On a good day, he'll even get up to go to bed. On bad days, he wakes up with a crick in his neck from sleeping on the armrest. He's watched his entire DVD-collection, twice. And the DVDs Chris left behind, even though they're shitty and Jensen used to mock him mercilessly for buying them - which is probably why he left them, in the first place.
It's not like he's been a complete vegetable. He's been out of the house, when he was out of food and drink. He showered when he was starting to get headaches from his own body odor. He even got out of his sweats a couple of times, when Mack came up to stay with him.
And it's not like this has been going on for three months straight, no matter what Mike says. When he first found out, fuck, Jensen was a complete trooper about it. He just marched on and kept on leading his life. But the moment Chris disappeared from it completely after Jensen had managed to convince his landlord to let him stay even though he'd already promised the apartment to a young couple, after they'd called the moving company and canceled the appointment, after everyone had found out what had happened - there just was a big gaping hole that Jensen didn't know how to fill with anything other than TV and food. And somehow, that escalated into what it is now: TV and food only.
It's not gonna stay like this forever, Jensen knows that, and he doesn't want it to. One of these days, he's going to get his shit together, he really is. But just not now. He has to be ready for it first, before he can manage the knowing looks and the pity smiles and the I'm so sorrys. Because he has to mean it when he answers with, 'Don't be. It's better this way.' He just doesn't know how he ever will be able to mean it.
He doesn't want to give up and he's not going to. But it's been two weeks since Tom's last phone call, and Jensen is starting to think that the only two people who give a shit nowadays, have given up on him. So why should he even bother?
*
Steve calls him once, Jensen doesn't answer. He leaves something on the answering machine, but doesn't get out more before hanging up than, 'Jensen, shit. I'm - I just.'
Jensen doesn't really care and deletes the message.
Jensen watches TV. Jensen eats if he thinks of it.
Jensen takes a bath. He lets the water run, hot water tap only, until the bath nearly overflows. He can't breathe, feels the water burn as it draws angry hot patterns on his skin, sees the stark white of his toes resting on the side of the bath. He waits until he's all shriveled up to pull the plug and watches the water disappear. He stays in the bathtub 'till he's dry and cold.
He can still feel. It's a good day.
*
The doorbell rings at seven pm and Jensen curses, because he'd just gotten to the bit where Oprah reunites the Siamese twins that got separated from each other at six years of age and then mistakenly put up for adoption into different homes. He's been waiting for this part; last time he watched, he fell asleep and missed it, so he ignores the visitor. By now, he's found out that if he waits long enough, they'll go away. It's probably the lady from 6B again anyway, to ask about her dog.
The bell rings again: two short buzzes, followed by a short rap on the door.
Jensen rolls his eyes. He doesn't care. 'I'm not home!' he yells, digging himself deeper into the couch on principle. 'Go away!'
Which apparently is enough reason for the visitor to start banging on the door incessantly, with one finger on the doorbell.
That's it. He's going to tell that woman where she can stuff her hairless little ankle-biting Chihuahua. He doesn't care if the thing ran off again. In fact, if he were living with her and her weird cabbage smell, he'd run off too.
He jogs up to the door, nearly tripping over one sock that he's only half wearing, and opens it with such force that the handle slams into the wall. 'Listen, lady-'
'Lady?' Mike says, trying to keep from laughing, as he walks in uninvited. 'I know Tom's the pretty sort, but he's been trying very hard to man up. You shouldn't hurt his feelings like that.'
'Shut up, Mike,' Tom says, but he's blushing anyway. 'Can we come in?'
He's just staring at Mike, who's taking in his hallway as if he's from Health Inspection, until he finally realizes that Tom asked him a question. 'It's not like I can stop you, apparently,' he answers in the end and motions for him to follow Mike in.
They're quiet for a moment, Mike still examining every nook and cranny in the room, and Jensen just stares at his feet, shuffling them around uncomfortably. It's been three weeks, almost, since he's heard from them and he honestly didn't expect to see them ever again. It's quite moving, he has to admit, to have them show up on his doorstep all of a sudden, like nothing's ever happened. And then he realizes the state his house is in, the state he is in and he doesn't think he's ever felt so small.
With the exception of - you know.
'What are you guys doing here?' he asks his socks.
'That's an intriguing outfit,' Mike says, ignoring the question completely. 'Very risqué. But a bit too fashion forward for the ice sculpture festival, I'm afraid.'
He looks down at his oversized t-shirt with tomato sauce and cornflake crumbs stuck to it, his mouse-gray sweats and his once-white socks. 'Well, I'm-' he starts, trying to save face somehow. 'Wait. Ice sculpture festival?'
'Yeah,' Tom says enthusiastically. 'The city has blocked off a couple of streets a few blocks down by the park and there's all kinds of sculptors doing their thing with gigantic blocks of ice. They've got lights up, they're selling mulled wine. It looks really nice. We thought it'd be worth checking out.'
Tom's using his businessman-voice, the one he uses when he's really trying to sell something, and he's giving him a hopeful look. Jensen wants to groan. What would he want to go to an ice festival for? Outside, it's freezing. His apartment is warm and comfortable. No competition.
'It's only a five-minute walk,' Tom says encouragingly. 'It'll be fun.'
'That's real nice of you, really,' he starts, never looking them in the eye for more than a second, 'but I'm not really up for it. I'm not even dressed and-'
'No problem,' Mike says and shrugs. 'We've got time, we can wait. The real party only starts at ten anyway. I'll slaughter Tom in Halo again while you're in the shower.'
'Ten? Guys, even if I were to come with,' he says, exasperated, 'I'm not gonna stay out late. I'm tired - I was gonna go to bed early.'
'Because you gotta get up early for work, tomorrow, right?' Tom asks gently, face turning red and eyes flickering down to the floor immediately, as if he's scared of what Jensen might do to him for saying that. It makes Jensen flinch.
'That's -' He sighs. He knows he's being a jerk, really, he does, but he can't help it. He just really can't see the point in going out and having to pretend he's having fun just for the sake of entertaining his friends. And he just really, really doesn't have the energy to put in such an effort. So he decides to go with telling them the truth, maybe that'll work. 'Listen, I'm not gonna be good company and I'll just ruin your night, you know?'
'Jensen,' Mike says, turning to him and fixing him with a glare. 'We're gonna sit on your couch until you're ready and then we're going to the festival.'
He states it calmly and evenly, but it's bordering on passive-aggressive and Jensen doesn't even dare to argue with him when he's like this. So he just nods at Mike and points himself towards the bathroom.
Game, set, and match, Michael Rosenbaum.
*
They've been walking around for an hour in the freezing cold and Jensen's still wondering what on earth possessed him to say yes to Mike and Tom. At first, he didn't even try to hide his scowl, rolled his eyes at every swan and snowman and wedding centerpiece he could see. But right now, all Jensen wants is for this to be over and done with. He just wants to go home, get warmed up and sleep for four days straight. And the best way for this to pass as quickly as possible is to keep quiet and follow his friends around until they get sick of the sculptures themselves.
He doesn't get what the fuss is all about, anyway. It's just ice. It'll melt. It'll go away.
Of course, Tom has noticed that he's not impressed and doesn't seem prepared to let him suffer through this night in peace. 'Come on, Jensen,' he says as he comes back from getting them some mulled wine. 'At least try to get out of your own head for a little while, enjoy it out here in the land of the living.'
Jensen doesn't really have it in him to explain that it's not that easy. He's tired, so he just stares at Tom's hands, holding the cups of wine, and lets his gaze travel up. He makes it all the way to Tom's mouth before he has to look away.
'Come on, Jen,' Tom tries again. He almost sounds desperate. 'Here. I kinda like this one. What do you think?'
'It's another swan,' he says and shrugs.
'That's not a swan, that's a stork, you idiot,' Tom tells him with a nervous giggle as he hands him one of the plastic cups. Jensen doesn't want to take it at first; it means he'll have to move, that his hands will have to come from their warm hiding place, but Tom just keeps it pressed up against his stomach. The heat from the cup seeps through his jacket and t-shirt. That's when he realizes that holding the cup might actually be warmer and he reluctantly frees his right hand. 'We're on the street with the fairy tales. That's the fox and the stork. And that's the frog that'll turn into a prince. And there's Cinderella's pumpkin carriage.'
'Does it matter?' Jensen asks softly. He gestures at the entire festival, sloshing the wine around in the cup and over his fingers. It burns.
'Alright, Mister Sourpuss.' Mike sounds like he's indulging him, like he is agreeing with a five-year-old. 'There's plenty more for us to see. They're doing cars, right there. Maybe that'll hold your interest.'
'Fine.' Jensen sighs.
'God, stop doing that!' Mike yells.
'Doing what?' Jensen asks, suddenly on the defensive. He doesn't know what more they want from him. He came out with them, he showered, he did everything they asked for. How is it still not enough?
'Agreeing with everything we say!' Mike tells him. 'We're looking at Cinderella's frigging pumpkin carriage made out of ice! You would've flayed us alive if we'd dragged you here half a year ago. Get angry, for God's sake, and stop being such a pushover!'
'Wait, so instead of being pissed at me for not doing what you said, you're pissed at me because I did do what you said?' Jensen throws his hands up in the air, feeling the anger bubble up in his stomach. 'I can never win with you!'
'That's it!' Mike says and snaps his fingers at him.
Jensen looks at him for a minute and frowns, and just like that the wave of frustration has passed and he's left feeling a million times more exhausted than before. 'Fine. You know what, guys, I'm gonna head home. I did my part. I came out with you, I had some wine, I got pissed off and this still ain't working. So I'm done.'
'Jensen,' Tom says in a whiny voice as he pulls the festival leaflet from his pocket. 'There's a lot more to see here than fairies and birds, I swear. There's entire cities made out of ice and -'
'I just wanna go home.'
'Not until you've seen this one,' Mike says enthusiastically, his face lighting up as he peers over Tom's shoulder. 'I've just found the perfect section for us to visit. To end the night in style, if you must put an end to this otherwise marvelous evening.'
'You're talking about this one, aren't you?' Tom says and points at something Jensen can't see.
'You know me so well.'
'Sadly, I do,' Tom replies. 'I'm not sure if that's -'
'Whatever, we'll go see it and then I'm off,' Jensen says. He actually doesn't give a damn what it is, as long as he can go to bed afterward. He just wants to get this over with. 'I think I can handle a few more minutes of boredom.'
'No, I'm sure it won't be boring,' Tom answers evasively. 'It's just-'
At that point, Mike snatches the leaflet from Tom's hands and starts reading in a loud voice. 'Sculptor CM² says he is not bothered by his reputation as an ice pornographer, but prefers the term "sexually liberated artist". "I strive to free the everyday monkeysuit human from his repressed thoughts and feelings, just like I free the figures from the ice."' He pauses and throws Jensen a meaningful look. 'Now why wouldn't you want to see this?'
'I could give you lots of reasons,' Tom tells him and shrugs. 'One of them is the fact that this guy is known as an ice pornographer.'
'I know!' Mike says happily, while slapping them both on the shoulder and leading them away. 'Ice porn! Isn't that the best thing you've ever heard?'
*
What. The. Hell.
That's all Jensen can think of when seeing those sculptures. That's all he can say, too.
'Exactly,' Tom agrees as he walks up to a piece with one woman who's sitting in a way that's physically impossible as she's pleasured by three fiercely bulky men. With their mouths.
'Hell, look at that. That's enough to turn any man straight, right?' Mike says enthusiastically.
Jensen opens his mouth to strongly disagree, when his attention is captured, against his will, by another sculpture. A man and a woman - she's up against an invisible wall, sitting on a block of rough ice, with a man in between her legs, who is kissing her neck, one hand up in her hair, the other on her breast. It's too familiar.
'Oh God,' Jensen breathes, feeling his stomach turn, and looks away quickly.
'That's what they all say,' a guy tells him. He's got short blond hair, tiny beady eyes and a bit of blond stubble all over his face. Underneath his brown leather, fur-lined jacket, he's wearing a wife beater, like it isn't fucking freezing, and baggy jeans and black gloves. Jensen assumes this is the illustrious CM². 'Yeah, she was hot. And quite a star, sitting like that for hours in a cold room. I warmed her up when I was done, if you know what I mean.'
Jensen frowns, not just at the visual, but really, overshare much? 'I thought you, I don't know, freed figures from the ice.'
'Man, you know that's a load of crap,' the guys says, laughing. 'Of course it's all about getting lucky as much as I can. Listen, I walk up to a girl in a bar and ask her to take her clothes off, I'm getting slapped nine chances out of ten. But when I spin her some floaty artist story, she'll be asking me if she can get naked. Don't tell me you wouldn't do it too, dude.'
'I'm not so sure about that, dude,' Jensen says. This guy is getting on his nerves. 'I don't swing that way.'
'Okay, cool,' CM² says and puts a hand around Jensen's shoulder. For a moment, he thinks the guy's going to make a move and he freezes completely, he stops breathing and everything, but then it turns out he's just guiding him to a couple of sculptures a bit further down the street. 'I think this'll be more your thing, then.'
And while Jensen is happy to put some distance between himself and the girly bits, he's not so sure the guy-on-guy popsicles are that much better. Jensen's not a prude -maybe he was a couple of years ago, but after being with Chris, he's done his share of kinky shit. However, it doesn't even come close to what this guy's carved out of the ice.
'You worked with real life models for these?' Jensen's asked the question before he even realizes. He doesn't mean to, he was just going to take a quick look and then get the hell out of there, but some of these sculptures... He just can't wrap his head around them.
'No, I got a lot of my inspiration on the internet for this collection,' CM² answers shamelessly. 'I didn't actually mean to do so many, but one of my friends accused me of being a homophobe a couple years back because I only did straight pieces and I was like, "It's cool, man. I'll show you some manlovin'." I don't think he expected me to follow through on that one.'
'I wonder why,' Jensen mutters under his breath.
They keep moseying past CM²'s work as he talks and perhaps it's through overexposure or perhaps they're ranked from most shocking to pretty tolerable, but there are a few pieces that actually make Jensen think, 'perhaps I can try this one with Chris'. It takes him a split second to remember each time, and all he wants to do afterwards is take the first thing he can find - anything - and smash these ridiculous ice sculptures for having what he can't have and mocking him for it.
He can't find anything, though, so he settles for looking away and letting his eyes travel beyond the gay porn to look for Mike and Tom so he can go home. However, there's one piece that stops him, draws him in as if it's been looking at him from the moment he walked into the artist's area. Jensen can't understand how he's missed it.
He wanders away from CM², who's still explaining something about position authenticity that Jensen thinks will scar him for life, to get a closer look. It's preposterous, but he actually gets nervous as he walks up to it. It feels like it's looking straight through him - even if its eyes aren't defined at all, like in Greek sculptures - and sees everything he's been trying to hide for months.
It's a sculpture of a guy, just a guy with clothes on. He's not wearing a lot, but a lot more than the other pieces: jeans and boots. Jensen thinks he's wearing too much. Because this guy, he's -
'A masterpiece.' It appears CM² has followed him, but Jensen has to agree. He is a masterpiece. Even his non-existent eyes are more beautiful than anything he has ever seen in real life - Jensen is kind of struck dumb by what he does see. His hair is long and floppy, falling into the eyes that aren't there and curling just slightly at the ends. It's dark hair, Jensen's sure of it. His lips are thin and slightly pursed. And the guy is tall - Jensen is tall, to start with - but if he wanted to kiss him, he'd have to stand on tiptoes to do it.
He freezes suddenly and realizes he's already leaning forward, as if he was actually going to - He looks back up and notices the frown on the sculpture's face, as if he's wondering why Jensen didn't follow through. It takes him five seconds to come up with a good reason why.
But once they hit him, they hit him all at once: I just got dumped. I'm still heartbroken. I'm in public. You're made of ice.
'Yep, I'm real proud of this one.' Thankfully, CM² doesn't pay much attention to anything or anyone but himself, so he's completely oblivious to Jensen's inner turmoil. 'Remember that friend I was telling you about? The one that inspired me to do this collection? That's him, right there. I just wish he could see this one. I'm sure he'd've been proud, as well.'
Jensen feels something inside him break - he didn't even have a chance to get his hopes up to meet the guy, they were squashed so quickly. He's a fucking masochist, but he has to ask, 'So he's - he's gone?'
CM² nods sadly. 'Yeah. It's been about a year now. I miss him.'
'I'm sorry,' Jensen says, but the one person he feels most sorry for is himself. He wants to go home and sleep forever.
*
masterpost * part two