entry 102 - you said it'd be alright - j2
Title: You Said It'd Be Alright
Author: jamie_love13
Beta-Edited: No one. Just wrote this now. All mistakes are mine.
Pairings/Characters: J2
Word Count: 1,500 Words
Rating: PG-13?
Summary: I’m never going to leave you, his boyfriend says, and he wants it to be true, oh god, does he ever, but all of his past boyfriends have said the same, yet they never stuck around when the going got tough.
Disclaimer: Definitely don't own. And while j2 isn't real, I hope this never happens to either of the boys.
Warnings: Swearing. Graphic blood descriptions? Highlight for spoiler: character death
Notes: I just wrote this up, wanting to write some happy J2 after writing my sad HP, but I must be in a sad mood or something, cause this came out. If you want, you should listen to this song, as it's what inspired me. And it's good. And it's where the title and cut title came from ;) Also, written for promptbingo, though not posted there, cause I don't think I can anymore, lol. :P
The first time he bleeds, they’re in bed watching the television. He’s not really paying attention to what’s actually playing on it - he’s just laying there, watching his boyfriend watch it. He’s watching as his boyfriend blinks from time to time, as his long lashes cover his cheeks as he does so. As he takes in deep breaths when something unexpected happens, as he laughs at something that really shouldn’t be laughed at.
In fact, his boyfriend is so focused on the television that it takes a while for him to notice that he’s being stared at. When he finally does notice, he immediately turns over to say stop watching me and watch the damn TV, when he scrunches up his face. His eyes turn dark, a sure sign that he’s worried, and his forehead crinkles up, a sign that he’s unsure of something.
When his boyfriend gets up, he’s confused, doesn’t know why he’d leave such a comfortable place. It’s when he comes back with a wet wash cloth, wipes it along his nose, and that comes back all bloody does he realize that he’s bleeding. He doesn’t know how it began - or when - doesn’t know why it began - or why it should - doesn’t know anything. He just shrugs, pulls his boyfriend back down next to him on the bed, and finishes watch the program before making out and going to bed.
***
The second time he bleeds, its three months later, and he’s visiting his mama. He’s helping her make diner, cutting up the red and green peppers while his mom cooks the pasta, and he can’t help but smile at her in fondness.
She looks at him once the pasta is done and tilts her head to the side, biting her lip. She asks if he’s alright, if his life is good, if that boy of his is treating him good. He can only laugh at the questions, can only laugh at his mother and her insecurity over his relationships - he hasn’t had any good ones, he must admit - before telling her not to worry. He’s happy, and everything in his life is going perfectly fine, perfectly wonderful, and perfectly great.
And just like Pinocchio, as if it was a way to say, ‘hey, you might be lying, you’re worried about something,’ a stream of blood starts gushing down his nose. It takes him a minute or two to do anything about it, but he doesn’t really need to worry, because his ma’ is there, right in front of him with a bunch of Kleenex, helping him wipe the blood away.
It takes around fifteen minutes for the bleeding to truly stop, and by that time, dinner is ready and his family are all in the kitchen, waiting, though a little worried about him.
He tells them not to worry, tells them the same thing he told his mama - that everything was fine, great, wonderful - and digs into his meal. His family shoots him looks of worry, and like the good son he is, he pretends to ignore them all.
***
The third time it happens, he’s in a hospital, and lucky. In the hospital because he promised his sister he’d take his niece to the doctors and lucky because the sudden amount of blood that came out of his nose made him pass out immediately.
They say if he hadn’t been there, he could’ve died on the spot.
When he gets home that night, he’s shaken, he’s tired, and he’s upset. He doesn’t want to talk about it with his boyfriend, doesn’t want anything to bring them apart, even though they’ve been together three years, and he’s thinking of proposing.
His boyfriend though, is waiting for him, with his favourite things set on the side. He smiles, though it doesn’t reach his eyes, and knows that someone must have called his boy, must have told him something happened, because his boyfriend was suppose to be away - a business meeting in New York for work - and yet, here he is.
He’s happy his boyfriend is home, he did, after all, just want to cuddle with him, but at the same time - he doesn’t want to talk about it, doesn’t want to talk about the percentages and chances and changes that come with it.
Understanding, his boyfriend brings him to bed, and they make passionate love. They haven’t made love like this in a while, but it almost hurts him, like its goodbye, even though he knows it’s not. After the loving, they talk for a while, and he gets everything out there.
I’m never going to leave you, his boyfriend says, and he wants it to be true, oh god, does he ever, but all of his past boyfriends have said the same, yet they never stuck around when the going got tough.
He only hopes this one will.
***
The fourth time it happens, its five months, three hospital stays, one hospital visit, countless nights awake crying in the arms of his boyfriend, countless amounts of pain, six therapy sessions with two different kinds of therapists, ten family dinners and a huge fight with said boyfriend walking out of his life - possibly forever - later.
He’s sitting in the corner of their, no, his room, shattered glass scattered around it from endless photos being thrown, tears streaming down his eyes, sobs wracking his body.
Harsh things had been said, by the both of them, and though he knows he didn’t mean it, he can’t help but wonder if maybe his boy - exboyfriend did. He’s been sitting there for two hours, crying, sobbing, when the blood starts to pour out in splatters.
He chooses not to do anything about it, just wants his boy there with him, but after this fight, after countless nights of his boyfriend being there for him, he’s not, he’s alone. And it fucking sucks.
The blood keeps dripping though, and he knows that he should start cleaning it up, start taking his medication, but he wants to push it to the edge, wants to see how far he can fucking go off of one nose bleed.
It’s forty-five minutes later, with him looking pale as hell, and having sent a text to his best friend to come help him, that anything happens to stop said bleed.
***
The fifth time it happens - the fifth time, it’s the last time. It’s been a full year since that first nosebleed. His boyfriend never returned - much to the pain of his heart - though many people say his boyfriend still loves him, will always love him, be in love with him - though he truly doubts it, as he knows his boyfriend is with someone else.
He’s gotten skinnier, because his stomach will barely accept any of the nutrients that he’s suppose to get from eating and drinking. His bones are sprained, close to breaking, and he’s in a wheelchair because of it, hating every fucking moment of it. His list of medications have gotten longer, and sometimes, he wonders what would happen to him if he chose to just not take them, or hell, take them all.
He spends more time with his best friend than alone, because everyone is worried about something happening to him if he is alone. He feels like he doesn’t get an ounce of privacy, especially while staying in a private room, in a hospital, and all he wants is to go to the comforts of his home.
He can’t hold his niece, his nephew. His dogs can barely be around him because they’re afraid he’s going to be gone for good, soon. He constantly bursts into tears, constantly wants to be held, but everyone is always staying back, calling him fragile.
The day the fifth nosebleed happens, it’s sunny, warm. There’s a nice breeze, and he can hear little kids playing in the park across from the hospital. If he were to imagine it, he could see himself walking his dogs with his boyfriend, wearing the engagement ring that never made it out of the drawer of his nightstand.
They’d be happy. There’d be no doubts in anything, no risks, chance.
Everything would be normal. Perfectly so.
But he can barely imagine it, his mind, his body, his soul, too weak to do anything.
When the nosebleed comes, he’s ready for it. He’s accepting of it. His family and his best friend, his closest friends, have just left. He’s already written the letters to them all, explaining everything, explaining all of his emotions. He knows, he prays, that they’ll understand.
That he’ll understand.
With that last nosebleed, his heart stops beating, his chest stops moving. He isn’t found until his sister comes by to tell him his exboyfriend wants to talk, wants to explain. She shakes him, sobbing, telling him to come back.
His ex though, sees the letter --
Jensen,
I love you. I forgive you.
Jared.
-- And cries for not being there. And regrets it to his soul.
Author: jamie_love13
Beta-Edited: No one. Just wrote this now. All mistakes are mine.
Pairings/Characters: J2
Word Count: 1,500 Words
Rating: PG-13?
Summary: I’m never going to leave you, his boyfriend says, and he wants it to be true, oh god, does he ever, but all of his past boyfriends have said the same, yet they never stuck around when the going got tough.
Disclaimer: Definitely don't own. And while j2 isn't real, I hope this never happens to either of the boys.
Warnings: Swearing. Graphic blood descriptions? Highlight for spoiler: character death
Notes: I just wrote this up, wanting to write some happy J2 after writing my sad HP, but I must be in a sad mood or something, cause this came out. If you want, you should listen to this song, as it's what inspired me. And it's good. And it's where the title and cut title came from ;) Also, written for promptbingo, though not posted there, cause I don't think I can anymore, lol. :P
The first time he bleeds, they’re in bed watching the television. He’s not really paying attention to what’s actually playing on it - he’s just laying there, watching his boyfriend watch it. He’s watching as his boyfriend blinks from time to time, as his long lashes cover his cheeks as he does so. As he takes in deep breaths when something unexpected happens, as he laughs at something that really shouldn’t be laughed at.
In fact, his boyfriend is so focused on the television that it takes a while for him to notice that he’s being stared at. When he finally does notice, he immediately turns over to say stop watching me and watch the damn TV, when he scrunches up his face. His eyes turn dark, a sure sign that he’s worried, and his forehead crinkles up, a sign that he’s unsure of something.
When his boyfriend gets up, he’s confused, doesn’t know why he’d leave such a comfortable place. It’s when he comes back with a wet wash cloth, wipes it along his nose, and that comes back all bloody does he realize that he’s bleeding. He doesn’t know how it began - or when - doesn’t know why it began - or why it should - doesn’t know anything. He just shrugs, pulls his boyfriend back down next to him on the bed, and finishes watch the program before making out and going to bed.
***
The second time he bleeds, its three months later, and he’s visiting his mama. He’s helping her make diner, cutting up the red and green peppers while his mom cooks the pasta, and he can’t help but smile at her in fondness.
She looks at him once the pasta is done and tilts her head to the side, biting her lip. She asks if he’s alright, if his life is good, if that boy of his is treating him good. He can only laugh at the questions, can only laugh at his mother and her insecurity over his relationships - he hasn’t had any good ones, he must admit - before telling her not to worry. He’s happy, and everything in his life is going perfectly fine, perfectly wonderful, and perfectly great.
And just like Pinocchio, as if it was a way to say, ‘hey, you might be lying, you’re worried about something,’ a stream of blood starts gushing down his nose. It takes him a minute or two to do anything about it, but he doesn’t really need to worry, because his ma’ is there, right in front of him with a bunch of Kleenex, helping him wipe the blood away.
It takes around fifteen minutes for the bleeding to truly stop, and by that time, dinner is ready and his family are all in the kitchen, waiting, though a little worried about him.
He tells them not to worry, tells them the same thing he told his mama - that everything was fine, great, wonderful - and digs into his meal. His family shoots him looks of worry, and like the good son he is, he pretends to ignore them all.
***
The third time it happens, he’s in a hospital, and lucky. In the hospital because he promised his sister he’d take his niece to the doctors and lucky because the sudden amount of blood that came out of his nose made him pass out immediately.
They say if he hadn’t been there, he could’ve died on the spot.
When he gets home that night, he’s shaken, he’s tired, and he’s upset. He doesn’t want to talk about it with his boyfriend, doesn’t want anything to bring them apart, even though they’ve been together three years, and he’s thinking of proposing.
His boyfriend though, is waiting for him, with his favourite things set on the side. He smiles, though it doesn’t reach his eyes, and knows that someone must have called his boy, must have told him something happened, because his boyfriend was suppose to be away - a business meeting in New York for work - and yet, here he is.
He’s happy his boyfriend is home, he did, after all, just want to cuddle with him, but at the same time - he doesn’t want to talk about it, doesn’t want to talk about the percentages and chances and changes that come with it.
Understanding, his boyfriend brings him to bed, and they make passionate love. They haven’t made love like this in a while, but it almost hurts him, like its goodbye, even though he knows it’s not. After the loving, they talk for a while, and he gets everything out there.
I’m never going to leave you, his boyfriend says, and he wants it to be true, oh god, does he ever, but all of his past boyfriends have said the same, yet they never stuck around when the going got tough.
He only hopes this one will.
***
The fourth time it happens, its five months, three hospital stays, one hospital visit, countless nights awake crying in the arms of his boyfriend, countless amounts of pain, six therapy sessions with two different kinds of therapists, ten family dinners and a huge fight with said boyfriend walking out of his life - possibly forever - later.
He’s sitting in the corner of their, no, his room, shattered glass scattered around it from endless photos being thrown, tears streaming down his eyes, sobs wracking his body.
Harsh things had been said, by the both of them, and though he knows he didn’t mean it, he can’t help but wonder if maybe his boy - exboyfriend did. He’s been sitting there for two hours, crying, sobbing, when the blood starts to pour out in splatters.
He chooses not to do anything about it, just wants his boy there with him, but after this fight, after countless nights of his boyfriend being there for him, he’s not, he’s alone. And it fucking sucks.
The blood keeps dripping though, and he knows that he should start cleaning it up, start taking his medication, but he wants to push it to the edge, wants to see how far he can fucking go off of one nose bleed.
It’s forty-five minutes later, with him looking pale as hell, and having sent a text to his best friend to come help him, that anything happens to stop said bleed.
***
The fifth time it happens - the fifth time, it’s the last time. It’s been a full year since that first nosebleed. His boyfriend never returned - much to the pain of his heart - though many people say his boyfriend still loves him, will always love him, be in love with him - though he truly doubts it, as he knows his boyfriend is with someone else.
He’s gotten skinnier, because his stomach will barely accept any of the nutrients that he’s suppose to get from eating and drinking. His bones are sprained, close to breaking, and he’s in a wheelchair because of it, hating every fucking moment of it. His list of medications have gotten longer, and sometimes, he wonders what would happen to him if he chose to just not take them, or hell, take them all.
He spends more time with his best friend than alone, because everyone is worried about something happening to him if he is alone. He feels like he doesn’t get an ounce of privacy, especially while staying in a private room, in a hospital, and all he wants is to go to the comforts of his home.
He can’t hold his niece, his nephew. His dogs can barely be around him because they’re afraid he’s going to be gone for good, soon. He constantly bursts into tears, constantly wants to be held, but everyone is always staying back, calling him fragile.
The day the fifth nosebleed happens, it’s sunny, warm. There’s a nice breeze, and he can hear little kids playing in the park across from the hospital. If he were to imagine it, he could see himself walking his dogs with his boyfriend, wearing the engagement ring that never made it out of the drawer of his nightstand.
They’d be happy. There’d be no doubts in anything, no risks, chance.
Everything would be normal. Perfectly so.
But he can barely imagine it, his mind, his body, his soul, too weak to do anything.
When the nosebleed comes, he’s ready for it. He’s accepting of it. His family and his best friend, his closest friends, have just left. He’s already written the letters to them all, explaining everything, explaining all of his emotions. He knows, he prays, that they’ll understand.
That he’ll understand.
With that last nosebleed, his heart stops beating, his chest stops moving. He isn’t found until his sister comes by to tell him his exboyfriend wants to talk, wants to explain. She shakes him, sobbing, telling him to come back.
His ex though, sees the letter --
Jensen,
I love you. I forgive you.
Jared.
-- And cries for not being there. And regrets it to his soul.