sound of silence, 15+.
Jared needs talk, needs words and knowing. Where he is, there’s sound, and waves and chorus. There’s life. It’s loud and brazen and sharp, echoes. It’s quiet, it trembles, there’s calm. Jared needs everything; he needs the world now, like a man behind the wheel but not holding on. The speed of sound.
Jensen says, “I’m in love with her,” and everything sort of stops and floats. He’s silent.
Jensen says, “You can’t, pull this shit, Jared,” and Jared already knows and doesn’t talk. Jared pushes him gently against the bedroom wall, pushes, his hands and mouth and stomach and air, suffocating. “You can’t expect me to be happy when you get engaged and then get upset when I do.”
Jared knows. Jared should, would say, is this how you felt, how fucking awful you felt, did you want to tear at my skin, want to tear me down until there was nothing left to have, anyway? He’d say it but that would be knowing out loud and he doesn’t want it. He wants Jensen, he wants to undo this and this and pull those off and loop Jensen’s leg around his waist.
“Here, here, here,” is all he says, the only thing, and he pulls Jensen down and moves his body up and stops and floats.
“I love her so much,” Jensen says, heaving out a breath and hurting; trying to make it fit, but it never has, it’s never worked, and that’s why Jared makes so much noise. To drown it out.
He wants the world because he can’t have Jensen.
Jensen says, “I’m in love with her,” and everything sort of stops and floats. He’s silent.
Jensen says, “You can’t, pull this shit, Jared,” and Jared already knows and doesn’t talk. Jared pushes him gently against the bedroom wall, pushes, his hands and mouth and stomach and air, suffocating. “You can’t expect me to be happy when you get engaged and then get upset when I do.”
Jared knows. Jared should, would say, is this how you felt, how fucking awful you felt, did you want to tear at my skin, want to tear me down until there was nothing left to have, anyway? He’d say it but that would be knowing out loud and he doesn’t want it. He wants Jensen, he wants to undo this and this and pull those off and loop Jensen’s leg around his waist.
“Here, here, here,” is all he says, the only thing, and he pulls Jensen down and moves his body up and stops and floats.
“I love her so much,” Jensen says, heaving out a breath and hurting; trying to make it fit, but it never has, it’s never worked, and that’s why Jared makes so much noise. To drown it out.
He wants the world because he can’t have Jensen.