Lj Idol Season 9, Week 09: Keep Calm and (End this Meme)
“It’s quite simple, Bates,” Mitchel said, buffing his nails on his form-fitting suit. His lips curled upwards in a self-satisfied smile as his eyes stared clear through Savin. “Jasper will pick me, in the end. I am better than you, after all. In every way imaginable.” He glanced down the thin hallway of the Palace, gesturing to moving men as they continued to remove pieces of Savin’s existence from the Emperor’s private living quarters. “You’re the one leaving him, aren’t you?”
Savin clenched his jaw, feeling his fingers ball up at his sides. “We’re just having problems,” he answered, keeping his voice as steady as humanly possible. “I have an apartment in the city, one I stay at when I’m on-call at the hospital. Jazz asked for space. I’m giving it to him. End of story.”
Mitchel clicked his tongue, shaking his head. “I suppose that’s just like you, isn’t it? Why not fight to stay here, Bates? Why not fight for him?” he asked, that infuriating smile never once leaving his face. “Clearly, you’ve made up your mind. Why else would you be removing your personal possessions from his home?”
Savin relaxed his fingers, letting his hands dangle at his sides. He took in a deep breath, then another. “Believe whatever you want,” he said, a biting edge to his voice. He cleared his throat, meeting Mitchel’s eyes as he carefully considered his next words. “Jazz would never pick you,” he settled on, turning on his heel and following the moving men down the hallway.
His voice had shaken with every word.
***
I am better than you, after all. In every way imaginable.
Savin grit his teeth, his jaw clenching and fingers curling around his medical text, nails biting into the cover. Mitchel’s voice -- Mitchel’s words, still playing over and over again in his mind like an unsung chorus, nearly a week later.
Savin forced a harsh breath through his nose, closing his eyes as he consciously relaxed his fingers. He rolled his head on his shoulders and unclenched his jaw. He needed to relax. To think about something else before going in to work. It was just a taunt, Savin reminded himself. Just Mitchel doing what Mitchel does best.
Sighing, Savin bookmarked his page and stood up from his armchair, stretching his thin frame and listening to his bones crack and creak with the movement. He then headed back towards the bathroom. As he began to run the water, he glanced at his phone, noticing the single text lighting up the screen:
I need to talk to you. Please stop by before your shift?
Savin’s heart skipped a beat, and his fingers tightened around his phone. The text was from Jazz As he moved to unlock the screen, he thought back to how he hadn’t talked to Jazz in days. Hadn’t seen him in longer than that. I’ll be there as soon as I can, he typed. He hit send before he could change his mind, turned off the shower, and headed towards his bedroom, instead.
Mechanically, he tugged off his street clothes and replaced them with his surgical scrubs, Mitchel’s words still replaying themselves in his mind. If Mitchel was truly better, why was Jazz asking Savin to stop by, instead?
Unless it was Mitchel Jazz wanted to talk about.
Savin shook his head, brushing that thought aside as he slipped on his sneakers and headed out the door to his apartment. He felt the immediate presence of eyes on him -- a feeling he had grown used to, years ago, when he had started dating the man who would eventually become Emperor.
Today, though, they unnerved him. Instead of concentrating on the never ending feeling of being followed, he focused his mind on what he would say to Jazz; tried not to panic over what it is Jazz might want to talk to him about. Last time they had spoken, Savin had threatened to call the marriage off -- what if Jazz wanted to call his bluff?
As he neared the Palace, Savin did his best to keep his arms at his sides and his hands out of his pockets. He approached the private entrance towards the back, the Imperial Guard checking him for ID. Once clear of the gate, Savin began to long walk to Jazz’s quarters, his feet guiding him out of muscle memory.
His chest felt tight, the closer to his old home he became. It was still his home, he reminded himself. He was still welcome here, once he and Jazz had figured out their issues. Was still wanted here, as far as he could tell. Right?
With each passing step, his stomach twisted itself into even tighter knots. He pulled his phone out of his pocket and glanced at the time again. He blinked when he noticed yet another message from Jazz. In the Council room. Something’s come up. Meet me there?
Savin let out a quiet laugh and shook his head. At least the Council room was a shorter walk? With another untimely twist of his stomach, he turned down a different hallway and readjusted his glasses, as they had become cumbersome and uncomfortable on the bridge of his nose.
The Council room doors were two wide, wooden doors. Heavy, made specifically to block out as much sound as possible, and unmistakable. Savin approached them with faltering footsteps and even almost turned on his heel as a ball of lead formed at the pit of his stomach. He didn’t need to be here. He didn’t have to talk to Jazz. At least, they didn’t have to talk in person, did they? They could always talk over the phone -- that’d be preferable, wouldn’t it?
Savin gave himself a shake and squared his shoulders. No, he told himself. He wouldn’t run away from this. He couldn’t keep running away. He knocked, first -- while Jazz hadn’t said he was in a meeting, Savin knew it was only polite.
No answer. Savin licked his lips and held back a sigh. He ran his fingers through his hair as he waited a moment longer. He could text Jazz, but -- Jazz was expecting him, wasn’t he? If there was an important discussion going on, the doors would be locked, and Savin would have to wait to be let in, anyway. If the doors weren’t locked...
Except when Savin turned the handle and pushed his weight against the door, the door moved silently, unquestioningly. He stumbled, grasping the door for support, his glasses sliding down his nose once again. When he righted himself and straightened out his scrubs, he could see two people at the opposite end of the room sitting side by side, their faces uncomfortably close. The one with blond hair was undeniably Jazz, the other --
Savin’s breath caught in his throat. Mitchel. The other man had to be Mitchel, what with his salt and pepper hair being the only thing visible from Savin’s vantage point.
“Were you two just --” Savin choked on the words, tears stinging at his eyes and his nails biting into his palms.
Jazz whipped his head around, the sound of his chair scraping against the marble floor harshly. “S-Savin, I wasn’t -- I wasn’t expecting you just yet --”
Mitchel cleared his throat, standing up from his seat slowly. “I’ll go ahead and leave you two alone, Jasper. I know the two of you need to talk,” he murmured, just loud enough for Savin to hear. He then placed his hand on Jazz’s shoulder and leaned down, his lips all but caressing Jazz’s ear as he said something Savin couldn’t hear. Something Savin wasn’t meant to hear, he realized as Mitchel straightened himself out slowly and Jazz’s face reddened.
“He’s all yours, Bates,” Mitchel said, smoothing down his tie. He flashed Savin a small, insufferable smirk before moving towards the taller man, leaning in close to him, as well. “Or is he?” Mitchel breathed, his words ringing loudly in Savin’s ears.
Savin clenched his jaw, his teeth grinding together as he focused his attention on Jazz, whose blue eyes couldn’t quite meet Savin’s green ones, his face still tinged red with guilt.
I am better than you, after all.
“S-Savin, I can explain --”
In every way...
“We weren’t -- I don’t know what you saw, but we weren’t --”
...imaginable.
Savin clenched his jaw, feeling his fingers ball up at his sides. “We’re just having problems,” he answered, keeping his voice as steady as humanly possible. “I have an apartment in the city, one I stay at when I’m on-call at the hospital. Jazz asked for space. I’m giving it to him. End of story.”
Mitchel clicked his tongue, shaking his head. “I suppose that’s just like you, isn’t it? Why not fight to stay here, Bates? Why not fight for him?” he asked, that infuriating smile never once leaving his face. “Clearly, you’ve made up your mind. Why else would you be removing your personal possessions from his home?”
Savin relaxed his fingers, letting his hands dangle at his sides. He took in a deep breath, then another. “Believe whatever you want,” he said, a biting edge to his voice. He cleared his throat, meeting Mitchel’s eyes as he carefully considered his next words. “Jazz would never pick you,” he settled on, turning on his heel and following the moving men down the hallway.
His voice had shaken with every word.
***
I am better than you, after all. In every way imaginable.
Savin grit his teeth, his jaw clenching and fingers curling around his medical text, nails biting into the cover. Mitchel’s voice -- Mitchel’s words, still playing over and over again in his mind like an unsung chorus, nearly a week later.
Savin forced a harsh breath through his nose, closing his eyes as he consciously relaxed his fingers. He rolled his head on his shoulders and unclenched his jaw. He needed to relax. To think about something else before going in to work. It was just a taunt, Savin reminded himself. Just Mitchel doing what Mitchel does best.
Sighing, Savin bookmarked his page and stood up from his armchair, stretching his thin frame and listening to his bones crack and creak with the movement. He then headed back towards the bathroom. As he began to run the water, he glanced at his phone, noticing the single text lighting up the screen:
I need to talk to you. Please stop by before your shift?
Savin’s heart skipped a beat, and his fingers tightened around his phone. The text was from Jazz As he moved to unlock the screen, he thought back to how he hadn’t talked to Jazz in days. Hadn’t seen him in longer than that. I’ll be there as soon as I can, he typed. He hit send before he could change his mind, turned off the shower, and headed towards his bedroom, instead.
Mechanically, he tugged off his street clothes and replaced them with his surgical scrubs, Mitchel’s words still replaying themselves in his mind. If Mitchel was truly better, why was Jazz asking Savin to stop by, instead?
Unless it was Mitchel Jazz wanted to talk about.
Savin shook his head, brushing that thought aside as he slipped on his sneakers and headed out the door to his apartment. He felt the immediate presence of eyes on him -- a feeling he had grown used to, years ago, when he had started dating the man who would eventually become Emperor.
Today, though, they unnerved him. Instead of concentrating on the never ending feeling of being followed, he focused his mind on what he would say to Jazz; tried not to panic over what it is Jazz might want to talk to him about. Last time they had spoken, Savin had threatened to call the marriage off -- what if Jazz wanted to call his bluff?
As he neared the Palace, Savin did his best to keep his arms at his sides and his hands out of his pockets. He approached the private entrance towards the back, the Imperial Guard checking him for ID. Once clear of the gate, Savin began to long walk to Jazz’s quarters, his feet guiding him out of muscle memory.
His chest felt tight, the closer to his old home he became. It was still his home, he reminded himself. He was still welcome here, once he and Jazz had figured out their issues. Was still wanted here, as far as he could tell. Right?
With each passing step, his stomach twisted itself into even tighter knots. He pulled his phone out of his pocket and glanced at the time again. He blinked when he noticed yet another message from Jazz. In the Council room. Something’s come up. Meet me there?
Savin let out a quiet laugh and shook his head. At least the Council room was a shorter walk? With another untimely twist of his stomach, he turned down a different hallway and readjusted his glasses, as they had become cumbersome and uncomfortable on the bridge of his nose.
The Council room doors were two wide, wooden doors. Heavy, made specifically to block out as much sound as possible, and unmistakable. Savin approached them with faltering footsteps and even almost turned on his heel as a ball of lead formed at the pit of his stomach. He didn’t need to be here. He didn’t have to talk to Jazz. At least, they didn’t have to talk in person, did they? They could always talk over the phone -- that’d be preferable, wouldn’t it?
Savin gave himself a shake and squared his shoulders. No, he told himself. He wouldn’t run away from this. He couldn’t keep running away. He knocked, first -- while Jazz hadn’t said he was in a meeting, Savin knew it was only polite.
No answer. Savin licked his lips and held back a sigh. He ran his fingers through his hair as he waited a moment longer. He could text Jazz, but -- Jazz was expecting him, wasn’t he? If there was an important discussion going on, the doors would be locked, and Savin would have to wait to be let in, anyway. If the doors weren’t locked...
Except when Savin turned the handle and pushed his weight against the door, the door moved silently, unquestioningly. He stumbled, grasping the door for support, his glasses sliding down his nose once again. When he righted himself and straightened out his scrubs, he could see two people at the opposite end of the room sitting side by side, their faces uncomfortably close. The one with blond hair was undeniably Jazz, the other --
Savin’s breath caught in his throat. Mitchel. The other man had to be Mitchel, what with his salt and pepper hair being the only thing visible from Savin’s vantage point.
“Were you two just --” Savin choked on the words, tears stinging at his eyes and his nails biting into his palms.
Jazz whipped his head around, the sound of his chair scraping against the marble floor harshly. “S-Savin, I wasn’t -- I wasn’t expecting you just yet --”
Mitchel cleared his throat, standing up from his seat slowly. “I’ll go ahead and leave you two alone, Jasper. I know the two of you need to talk,” he murmured, just loud enough for Savin to hear. He then placed his hand on Jazz’s shoulder and leaned down, his lips all but caressing Jazz’s ear as he said something Savin couldn’t hear. Something Savin wasn’t meant to hear, he realized as Mitchel straightened himself out slowly and Jazz’s face reddened.
“He’s all yours, Bates,” Mitchel said, smoothing down his tie. He flashed Savin a small, insufferable smirk before moving towards the taller man, leaning in close to him, as well. “Or is he?” Mitchel breathed, his words ringing loudly in Savin’s ears.
Savin clenched his jaw, his teeth grinding together as he focused his attention on Jazz, whose blue eyes couldn’t quite meet Savin’s green ones, his face still tinged red with guilt.
I am better than you, after all.
“S-Savin, I can explain --”
In every way...
“We weren’t -- I don’t know what you saw, but we weren’t --”
...imaginable.