Also Includes Wax, Water and Evil
This is my entry for It's Gonna Be May
It's also a birthday story written for phaballa, who asked for Cramp. Which this is, sort of. A more serious cramp story than usual.
Happy belated birthday, I hope this is a little like you wanted.
Thank you to msktrnanny who checked it for me.
Day One
It starts in a shop, in a town, in a country that’s not even his own.
They’ve been touring forever, haven’t been home for even longer, and all Chris wants to do is go back to the hotel and sleep. Instead they’re being herded around some pathetic excuse for a mall, buying matching shiny outfits, hair bleach and zit cream for Justin’s nose. At least, their guide says it’s zit cream; Chris has his doubts as soon as he sees the packaging complete with its stylised picture of an ass.
Not that he says anything. He’s too tired for that, which sucks, because Chris lives to laugh at Justin, and the thought of him carefully applying hemroid cream to his face should be comedy gold.
Instead he lets the joke go and allows himself to be hustled forward, blinking against the rapidly approaching reality of a rack of ugly silver pants. Chris hates them on sight. When he reluctantly takes the pair that’s thrust into his arms the material snags against his fingers. He holds them against his body. Predictably they’re too long, and too wide, too everything, which is why Chris knows they’ll buy them. It’s just how things work.
“Here.” Stuffing the pants into Joey’s arms, Chris sidles away while their stylist is distracted by JC’s thoughts on colour cohesion and Justin’s protests that he’s wearing nothing that clashes with his hair.
Which leaves practically nothing, and Chris slips out of the door before he has to see their stylist cry.
Aware he can’t wander too far, he makes for the next shop. He sees the lava lamp displayed in the window, half hidden by a pile of old hat boxes, a black scarf wrapped around its glass. It’s something Chris has never thought about owning, yet he finds himself walking inside.
The bell above the door jingles and Chris flashes a smile at the man who appears from the back and then proceeds to pointedly polish the counter with unhurried measured strokes. Chris can’t blame him, he suspects he’s decades younger than the usual clientele of this shop, and the day glow tracksuit and dreadlocked hair can’t help.
Still, despite the constant surveillance, Chris reaches out for the lamp, runs his finger tips over the visible glass, feeling the residual heat that seems to nestle against his touch, like the caress of a long familiar friend.
Carefully, Chris picks up the lamp, turns and says, “how much?”
Day Two
Chris sets up the lava lamp next to his bed.
He curls on his side and listens to the sound of Joey in the shower, holds a pen laxly in his hand as he thinks of things to tell his mom.
The wax stretches, expands, bubbles, floats free.
Chris watches and thinks it’s one of the prettiest things that he’s seen. Words fading from his mind as he slips into sleep.
Day Three
“I told you it was stupid buying that.”
Joey’s standing in the doorway, glancing from his watch to Chris. They were supposed to leave almost ten minutes before, but Chris still isn’t packed. He’s on his knees, carefully rolling his lamp in layers of t-shirts and tying them with socks.
He has to because the lamp is delicate and Chris can’t bear the idea of it being broken, liquid and wax spilling out onto the floor. If he had the money he’d package it up and send it home, as it is, he doesn’t, so the t-shirt-sock combination is the best compromise. Chris finishes with a last layer of sweatshirt and places the wrapped lamp in the middle of his bag and deliberately doesn’t think about his own lie. Because it’s been two days and already he can’t imagine sleeping without the lamp’s soothing red light.
Hand over his mouth, Chris yawns. He’s lagging this morning, his energy less somehow and he staggers slightly as he stands.
“You okay?” Joey asks, and takes a step closer, his hand outstretched.
“I’m fine.” Chris says and picks up his bags. He can feel the reassuring weight of the lamp against his back and it gives him enough energy to run past Joey and yell, “last one to the lobby buys me a coffee!”
Day Six
“Hurry up,” JC says. He looks at himself in the mirror, smoothes his hand down the front of his shirt and wiggles while checking out his own ass.
“Looking good, C.” Chris looks up through his own hair and smiles when JC beams a reply. They’re going drinking, maybe a little dancing and Chris wants to be anywhere that’s not this hotel. It’s the first time he’s been out at night for weeks, and as he ties his laces he’s surprised to see the wax bubble in his lamp.
Knowing it’s unplugged, he suspects left over heat. Chris rests his hand against the glass, feeling the warmth against his palm, flowing through his skin and through his body. Immediately he yawns.
“You’re getting old, man.” JC looks over his shoulder and his smile is wicked as he gathers his wallet and keys. “Maybe you should stay in and have an early night?”
“Right,” Chris says, complete with a disgusted roll of eyes. Still, as he pushes back his hair with a bandana he has to stop to scrub at his eyes, pushing back the tiredness that’s suddenly appeared.
Gathering energy, he stands and bumps JC out of the way with a sway of hip, and definitely doesn’t think about staying in and falling asleep watching his lamp.
Day Nine
Sunlight streams through the window when Chris wakes. He shies away from it, pressing his face against the pillows as he pulls the blanket further up his body. Then freezes in place when he hears a scraping sound and feels something tighten around his wrist.
Using his free hand, he pulls down the blanket and sees somehow he’s managed to tangle himself in the lava lamp’s cord. He unravels it, and rubs his fingers over revealed red lines, winces a little when he hits tiny bruises that encircle his wrist.
“Chris!”
A door opens and Justin appears in Chris’ line of vision. He looks happy as he pulls at the covers and Chris pulls right back, wanting to kill JC who must have given Justin the key.
“There’s a basket ball hoop outside. We’ve time to play ball if you hurry.”
Justin’s a persistent bastard, and he keeps tugging, but Chris is still tired, and while normally he’d be out of bed in an instant, today he just wants to sleep.
“Go play with Lance, I’m tired.”
“Lance.”
Justin makes it sound like it’s the most ludicrous suggestion he’s ever heard, and Chris would feel guilty, except he’s just so tired and he rubs at his wrist, concentrating on the ache and not the way Justin is looking at him, all wide eyes and hopeful expression.
Chris looks at Justin along the length of the pillow, says, “I’ll play later, okay?”
“I guess.” Justin’s smile fades, and he sits on the edge of the bed, his body twisted round so he can look at Chris. “Are you feeling okay? It’s just. You’re always tired lately and…”
“I’m fine,” Chris bites out, anger flaring because all he wants to do is sleep and it’s being made into this huge thing. Justin just needs to leave him alone. “Lock up when you leave.”
“Okay,” Justin says. He stands and leaves without a backward glance.
Chris reaches out, turns on his lamp and sleeps.
Day Twelve
They’re travelling to a new city and Chris is sitting on the floor, surrounded by a mountain of bags. He’s slumped against a wall, head back and eyes closed, listening as Lynn and Diane talk and Joey videos Justin and Lance in some elaborate game of tag.
“Hey.”
Chris opens his eyes and sees JC. He’s carrying his own backpack and sets it down before sitting close to Chris.
For a long instant they say nothing, and Chris is easing toward sleep when he feels JC shift.
“If something was wrong. You’d say?”
Chris bites back the irritation, because how many times does he have to say that he’s fine before they stop asking? He wraps his hand around his arm, covering the rings of red lines and bruises that spiral up from his wrist. “I’m okay,” Chris says shortly, and pulls his bag close. The zip is already open, and he pushes his hand inside, rests his fingers around the warm glass of his lamp, gathering the comfort as he deliberately looks away from JC.
Day Seventeen
They’ve performed two shows today, and Chris is almost dropping with exhaustion. He’s claimed the single room tonight and brushes off talk of food and watching movies, the only thing that matters getting back for a shower then sleep.
Snatching up the key Chris shivers and wraps his arms around himself as he waits for the elevator. Forces himself not to flinch when Justin looks at him, his expression lost. Chris looks away, he never asked anyone to look up to him, it’s not his fault Justin is disappointed now.
They step into the elevator and the silence is strained, but Chris can’t bring himself to care. Just leans against one of the mirrored walls and immediately makes for his room when they reach the right floor.
He lets himself inside and is surprised to see the lava lamp lit up, the bubbles moving in a lazy rise and fall. It’s comforting to watch, and Chris sits on the bed and then curls on his side, knees pulled up his hand beneath his head, seeing nothing but those drifting bubbles.
He startles when the lamp suddenly jerks forward, thinks earth quake or a door slamming, something that propelled the lamp onto the bed. This close Chris can see the tiny beads of wax, the swirl of movement that surrounds each bubble, and any thoughts of putting the lamp back in place are lost when he rests his cheek close to the hot glass, his vision nothing but wax and water.
Day Eighteen
Chris wakes the next morning, and the lamp is nestled close to his belly.
The glass is cold and Chris winces when he stands. His skin feels tight and his clothes are dishevelled. When he looks there are rings of bruises around his ankles, two red marks near the crease of his groin and leg. He’s never felt so tired in his life.
Day Nineteen
The lava lamp won’t turn off now. Chris doesn’t even try.
Day Twenty-Two
“Chris, honey.” Lynn sits next to Chris and rests her hand on his arm. Her nails are long and painted pearly pink, and when she speaks her voice is pitched low. “I’m not your momma, but you know you can talk to me.” She runs her thumb across his arm and looks across at Justin who’s hovering at the other side of the room, then leans in and says, “You haven’t been yourself lately, and if it’s girl trouble, or boy trouble, you can tell me. If you need to see a doctor…”
She smiles and Chris can feel his cheeks burn with colour, because this is Justin’s mom, but at the same time. Having her so close, so obviously caring about his welfare makes him miss his own mom even more, and all he wants to do is be held and never let go. Because Chris thinks he’s going insane, he always hurts and wants to sleep and his dreams are full of bubbling wax and a lamp that whispers his name. Which is crazy and Chris is beginning to doubt his own mind.
“Oh hey, honey. It’s okay.” Lynn takes a lace edged handkerchief out of her pocket and uses it to carefully wipe under Chris’ eyes, then pulls him close. “Whatever it is, we can fix it.”
Chris wishes he could be so sure.
Day Twenty-Three
“Mom’s going out with Diane, so we have to stay here.”
Chris can only watch as Justin barges into the room, closely followed by Lance, Joey and JC. Joey’s carrying a paper bag which he drops on the bed, making candy and chips spill over the covers.
“We haven’t hung out lately, so, sleepover,” Lance says, grinning like the dork he is.
“I have the cards.” JC holds up a pack of cards and they all look so gleeful at the prospect of spending the night eating junk food and playing cards that Chris doesn’t even mention that he was about to go to bed. Especially as he watches Joey select a bag of M&Ms and begin to divide them up for betting purposes and JC kick off his shoes and take a prime spot on the floor as Justin and Lance argue over the biggest bag of chips. Chris has missed this, and he feels something ease as he steps over JC so he can sit next to Joey on the bed.
“I’m going to clean you all out, tonight,” Joey says, sounding confident as he separates five piles.
“You think?” Chris smiles, because Joey always thinks he’s going to win big, and yet somehow never does. It’s just one of those Joey things, the same way it’s a Joey thing when he suddenly leans in and pulls Chris into a hug. “I’m glad you said yes.”
Chris doesn’t point out that technically he didn’t have a chance to say no, he’s too busy enjoying the feel of Joey’s arms wrapped around him, the way he holds on tight until Chris is ready to let go.
“I think something’s wrong with your lamp.”
Lance sounds serious, and Chris pulls back, and looks at his lamp over Joey’s shoulder. It’s bubbling crazily, the wax broken into tiny bubbles that careen through the water.
Lance reaches out for the switch, and Chris tries to stop him, leaping forward and making M&Ms scatter to the floor. He’s too late, and Lance jerks his own hand back, sucking his fingers into his mouth.
“That thing’s dangerous.” Joey says. “You should throw it away.”
“I wish I could,” Chris says softy. He sits back on the bed and can’t look away from the frantic bubbling, the way so much anger is trapped within the glass. Chris wants to touch, needs to touch. He reaches out his hand.
“What are you doing?” JC demands, and knocks back Chris’ hand. “And what did you do to your wrists?”
Chris looks at the bruises and shrugs as he pulls down the sleeves of his sweater. He’s so tired and he’s cold, and the lamp looks so warm. He sits on his own hands as Justin pushes past.
“I’ll unplug it.”
“Wait…” Chris says, and the lamp bubbles even harder.
Justin doesn’t listen, just bends to pull out the plug and he’s one of the least clumsy people that Chris knows, but somehow the cord tangles around his foot and Justin stumbles forward. His head hits the edge of the bedside table, hard, and the lamp is flying through the air, heading directly for JC.
Chris doesn’t even think, just reacts. He jumps up and grabs the lamp. Immediately his hands begin to burn, the glass searing his skin as he runs to the bathroom and holds the lamp over the tub.
He can hear a voice then, small, pleading, a mournful No. I love you, and Chris can’t do this, take this final step. All he can do is hold on, letting his hands burn.
Which is when JC appears.
He plucks the lamp from Chris’ hands, then throws it full forces into the tub. It explodes in a shower of burning wax and glass, and Chris shields his face with his arms, feels sick when he opens his eyes and sees JC covered in globs of wax, his arms bleeding from multiple cuts.
Not that JC seems to care. He just turns on the cold faucet and carefully grabs Chris’ wrists, directing his hands under the water. Holding them still as he brushes a kiss against Chris’ cheek and says, “It’s okay, it’s okay.”
Surrounded by glass, metal and wax. Chris can believe that it’s true.
It's also a birthday story written for phaballa, who asked for Cramp. Which this is, sort of. A more serious cramp story than usual.
Happy belated birthday, I hope this is a little like you wanted.
Thank you to msktrnanny who checked it for me.
Day One
It starts in a shop, in a town, in a country that’s not even his own.
They’ve been touring forever, haven’t been home for even longer, and all Chris wants to do is go back to the hotel and sleep. Instead they’re being herded around some pathetic excuse for a mall, buying matching shiny outfits, hair bleach and zit cream for Justin’s nose. At least, their guide says it’s zit cream; Chris has his doubts as soon as he sees the packaging complete with its stylised picture of an ass.
Not that he says anything. He’s too tired for that, which sucks, because Chris lives to laugh at Justin, and the thought of him carefully applying hemroid cream to his face should be comedy gold.
Instead he lets the joke go and allows himself to be hustled forward, blinking against the rapidly approaching reality of a rack of ugly silver pants. Chris hates them on sight. When he reluctantly takes the pair that’s thrust into his arms the material snags against his fingers. He holds them against his body. Predictably they’re too long, and too wide, too everything, which is why Chris knows they’ll buy them. It’s just how things work.
“Here.” Stuffing the pants into Joey’s arms, Chris sidles away while their stylist is distracted by JC’s thoughts on colour cohesion and Justin’s protests that he’s wearing nothing that clashes with his hair.
Which leaves practically nothing, and Chris slips out of the door before he has to see their stylist cry.
Aware he can’t wander too far, he makes for the next shop. He sees the lava lamp displayed in the window, half hidden by a pile of old hat boxes, a black scarf wrapped around its glass. It’s something Chris has never thought about owning, yet he finds himself walking inside.
The bell above the door jingles and Chris flashes a smile at the man who appears from the back and then proceeds to pointedly polish the counter with unhurried measured strokes. Chris can’t blame him, he suspects he’s decades younger than the usual clientele of this shop, and the day glow tracksuit and dreadlocked hair can’t help.
Still, despite the constant surveillance, Chris reaches out for the lamp, runs his finger tips over the visible glass, feeling the residual heat that seems to nestle against his touch, like the caress of a long familiar friend.
Carefully, Chris picks up the lamp, turns and says, “how much?”
Day Two
Chris sets up the lava lamp next to his bed.
He curls on his side and listens to the sound of Joey in the shower, holds a pen laxly in his hand as he thinks of things to tell his mom.
The wax stretches, expands, bubbles, floats free.
Chris watches and thinks it’s one of the prettiest things that he’s seen. Words fading from his mind as he slips into sleep.
Day Three
“I told you it was stupid buying that.”
Joey’s standing in the doorway, glancing from his watch to Chris. They were supposed to leave almost ten minutes before, but Chris still isn’t packed. He’s on his knees, carefully rolling his lamp in layers of t-shirts and tying them with socks.
He has to because the lamp is delicate and Chris can’t bear the idea of it being broken, liquid and wax spilling out onto the floor. If he had the money he’d package it up and send it home, as it is, he doesn’t, so the t-shirt-sock combination is the best compromise. Chris finishes with a last layer of sweatshirt and places the wrapped lamp in the middle of his bag and deliberately doesn’t think about his own lie. Because it’s been two days and already he can’t imagine sleeping without the lamp’s soothing red light.
Hand over his mouth, Chris yawns. He’s lagging this morning, his energy less somehow and he staggers slightly as he stands.
“You okay?” Joey asks, and takes a step closer, his hand outstretched.
“I’m fine.” Chris says and picks up his bags. He can feel the reassuring weight of the lamp against his back and it gives him enough energy to run past Joey and yell, “last one to the lobby buys me a coffee!”
Day Six
“Hurry up,” JC says. He looks at himself in the mirror, smoothes his hand down the front of his shirt and wiggles while checking out his own ass.
“Looking good, C.” Chris looks up through his own hair and smiles when JC beams a reply. They’re going drinking, maybe a little dancing and Chris wants to be anywhere that’s not this hotel. It’s the first time he’s been out at night for weeks, and as he ties his laces he’s surprised to see the wax bubble in his lamp.
Knowing it’s unplugged, he suspects left over heat. Chris rests his hand against the glass, feeling the warmth against his palm, flowing through his skin and through his body. Immediately he yawns.
“You’re getting old, man.” JC looks over his shoulder and his smile is wicked as he gathers his wallet and keys. “Maybe you should stay in and have an early night?”
“Right,” Chris says, complete with a disgusted roll of eyes. Still, as he pushes back his hair with a bandana he has to stop to scrub at his eyes, pushing back the tiredness that’s suddenly appeared.
Gathering energy, he stands and bumps JC out of the way with a sway of hip, and definitely doesn’t think about staying in and falling asleep watching his lamp.
Day Nine
Sunlight streams through the window when Chris wakes. He shies away from it, pressing his face against the pillows as he pulls the blanket further up his body. Then freezes in place when he hears a scraping sound and feels something tighten around his wrist.
Using his free hand, he pulls down the blanket and sees somehow he’s managed to tangle himself in the lava lamp’s cord. He unravels it, and rubs his fingers over revealed red lines, winces a little when he hits tiny bruises that encircle his wrist.
“Chris!”
A door opens and Justin appears in Chris’ line of vision. He looks happy as he pulls at the covers and Chris pulls right back, wanting to kill JC who must have given Justin the key.
“There’s a basket ball hoop outside. We’ve time to play ball if you hurry.”
Justin’s a persistent bastard, and he keeps tugging, but Chris is still tired, and while normally he’d be out of bed in an instant, today he just wants to sleep.
“Go play with Lance, I’m tired.”
“Lance.”
Justin makes it sound like it’s the most ludicrous suggestion he’s ever heard, and Chris would feel guilty, except he’s just so tired and he rubs at his wrist, concentrating on the ache and not the way Justin is looking at him, all wide eyes and hopeful expression.
Chris looks at Justin along the length of the pillow, says, “I’ll play later, okay?”
“I guess.” Justin’s smile fades, and he sits on the edge of the bed, his body twisted round so he can look at Chris. “Are you feeling okay? It’s just. You’re always tired lately and…”
“I’m fine,” Chris bites out, anger flaring because all he wants to do is sleep and it’s being made into this huge thing. Justin just needs to leave him alone. “Lock up when you leave.”
“Okay,” Justin says. He stands and leaves without a backward glance.
Chris reaches out, turns on his lamp and sleeps.
Day Twelve
They’re travelling to a new city and Chris is sitting on the floor, surrounded by a mountain of bags. He’s slumped against a wall, head back and eyes closed, listening as Lynn and Diane talk and Joey videos Justin and Lance in some elaborate game of tag.
“Hey.”
Chris opens his eyes and sees JC. He’s carrying his own backpack and sets it down before sitting close to Chris.
For a long instant they say nothing, and Chris is easing toward sleep when he feels JC shift.
“If something was wrong. You’d say?”
Chris bites back the irritation, because how many times does he have to say that he’s fine before they stop asking? He wraps his hand around his arm, covering the rings of red lines and bruises that spiral up from his wrist. “I’m okay,” Chris says shortly, and pulls his bag close. The zip is already open, and he pushes his hand inside, rests his fingers around the warm glass of his lamp, gathering the comfort as he deliberately looks away from JC.
Day Seventeen
They’ve performed two shows today, and Chris is almost dropping with exhaustion. He’s claimed the single room tonight and brushes off talk of food and watching movies, the only thing that matters getting back for a shower then sleep.
Snatching up the key Chris shivers and wraps his arms around himself as he waits for the elevator. Forces himself not to flinch when Justin looks at him, his expression lost. Chris looks away, he never asked anyone to look up to him, it’s not his fault Justin is disappointed now.
They step into the elevator and the silence is strained, but Chris can’t bring himself to care. Just leans against one of the mirrored walls and immediately makes for his room when they reach the right floor.
He lets himself inside and is surprised to see the lava lamp lit up, the bubbles moving in a lazy rise and fall. It’s comforting to watch, and Chris sits on the bed and then curls on his side, knees pulled up his hand beneath his head, seeing nothing but those drifting bubbles.
He startles when the lamp suddenly jerks forward, thinks earth quake or a door slamming, something that propelled the lamp onto the bed. This close Chris can see the tiny beads of wax, the swirl of movement that surrounds each bubble, and any thoughts of putting the lamp back in place are lost when he rests his cheek close to the hot glass, his vision nothing but wax and water.
Day Eighteen
Chris wakes the next morning, and the lamp is nestled close to his belly.
The glass is cold and Chris winces when he stands. His skin feels tight and his clothes are dishevelled. When he looks there are rings of bruises around his ankles, two red marks near the crease of his groin and leg. He’s never felt so tired in his life.
Day Nineteen
The lava lamp won’t turn off now. Chris doesn’t even try.
Day Twenty-Two
“Chris, honey.” Lynn sits next to Chris and rests her hand on his arm. Her nails are long and painted pearly pink, and when she speaks her voice is pitched low. “I’m not your momma, but you know you can talk to me.” She runs her thumb across his arm and looks across at Justin who’s hovering at the other side of the room, then leans in and says, “You haven’t been yourself lately, and if it’s girl trouble, or boy trouble, you can tell me. If you need to see a doctor…”
She smiles and Chris can feel his cheeks burn with colour, because this is Justin’s mom, but at the same time. Having her so close, so obviously caring about his welfare makes him miss his own mom even more, and all he wants to do is be held and never let go. Because Chris thinks he’s going insane, he always hurts and wants to sleep and his dreams are full of bubbling wax and a lamp that whispers his name. Which is crazy and Chris is beginning to doubt his own mind.
“Oh hey, honey. It’s okay.” Lynn takes a lace edged handkerchief out of her pocket and uses it to carefully wipe under Chris’ eyes, then pulls him close. “Whatever it is, we can fix it.”
Chris wishes he could be so sure.
Day Twenty-Three
“Mom’s going out with Diane, so we have to stay here.”
Chris can only watch as Justin barges into the room, closely followed by Lance, Joey and JC. Joey’s carrying a paper bag which he drops on the bed, making candy and chips spill over the covers.
“We haven’t hung out lately, so, sleepover,” Lance says, grinning like the dork he is.
“I have the cards.” JC holds up a pack of cards and they all look so gleeful at the prospect of spending the night eating junk food and playing cards that Chris doesn’t even mention that he was about to go to bed. Especially as he watches Joey select a bag of M&Ms and begin to divide them up for betting purposes and JC kick off his shoes and take a prime spot on the floor as Justin and Lance argue over the biggest bag of chips. Chris has missed this, and he feels something ease as he steps over JC so he can sit next to Joey on the bed.
“I’m going to clean you all out, tonight,” Joey says, sounding confident as he separates five piles.
“You think?” Chris smiles, because Joey always thinks he’s going to win big, and yet somehow never does. It’s just one of those Joey things, the same way it’s a Joey thing when he suddenly leans in and pulls Chris into a hug. “I’m glad you said yes.”
Chris doesn’t point out that technically he didn’t have a chance to say no, he’s too busy enjoying the feel of Joey’s arms wrapped around him, the way he holds on tight until Chris is ready to let go.
“I think something’s wrong with your lamp.”
Lance sounds serious, and Chris pulls back, and looks at his lamp over Joey’s shoulder. It’s bubbling crazily, the wax broken into tiny bubbles that careen through the water.
Lance reaches out for the switch, and Chris tries to stop him, leaping forward and making M&Ms scatter to the floor. He’s too late, and Lance jerks his own hand back, sucking his fingers into his mouth.
“That thing’s dangerous.” Joey says. “You should throw it away.”
“I wish I could,” Chris says softy. He sits back on the bed and can’t look away from the frantic bubbling, the way so much anger is trapped within the glass. Chris wants to touch, needs to touch. He reaches out his hand.
“What are you doing?” JC demands, and knocks back Chris’ hand. “And what did you do to your wrists?”
Chris looks at the bruises and shrugs as he pulls down the sleeves of his sweater. He’s so tired and he’s cold, and the lamp looks so warm. He sits on his own hands as Justin pushes past.
“I’ll unplug it.”
“Wait…” Chris says, and the lamp bubbles even harder.
Justin doesn’t listen, just bends to pull out the plug and he’s one of the least clumsy people that Chris knows, but somehow the cord tangles around his foot and Justin stumbles forward. His head hits the edge of the bedside table, hard, and the lamp is flying through the air, heading directly for JC.
Chris doesn’t even think, just reacts. He jumps up and grabs the lamp. Immediately his hands begin to burn, the glass searing his skin as he runs to the bathroom and holds the lamp over the tub.
He can hear a voice then, small, pleading, a mournful No. I love you, and Chris can’t do this, take this final step. All he can do is hold on, letting his hands burn.
Which is when JC appears.
He plucks the lamp from Chris’ hands, then throws it full forces into the tub. It explodes in a shower of burning wax and glass, and Chris shields his face with his arms, feels sick when he opens his eyes and sees JC covered in globs of wax, his arms bleeding from multiple cuts.
Not that JC seems to care. He just turns on the cold faucet and carefully grabs Chris’ wrists, directing his hands under the water. Holding them still as he brushes a kiss against Chris’ cheek and says, “It’s okay, it’s okay.”
Surrounded by glass, metal and wax. Chris can believe that it’s true.