23. Restless nights

Summary: Jack wakes up and adores Dave while he can.

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*Leans on comically large pile of paper*

Heeey

Got a wee bit lost between exams, secret santa, writer’s block and just general life, but I’m back again!!

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Jack’d always been an uneasy sleeper. He struggled to drift off, tossing and turning until his annoyance got the better of him and he found himself with a glass of water in the kitchen. On the rare occasion that exhaustion reached him first, he’d soon be awoken by night terrors. Graphic recollections of how he could’ve changed everything, how he was too late, how he still hadn’t fixed anything despite being given a second chance at doing so. When waking up slick with sweat and a rapidly beating heart was a given, sleep wasn’t particularly appealing anymore.

Vegas had brought a change to that. Despite the lumpy mattress and stiff, flimsy, sheets; he slept solidly again. Part of it had to do with their absurd routine; go out until early morning and sleep until late afternoon, something that wore down on the body. Though it was the arms that cradled him each night again, which allowed him to remain peacefully asleep. The close proximity of another person, holding him in an embrace, managed to ward off nightmares.

Frankly, the first time he woke up intertwined with Dave’s limbs, still reeking of sweat and alcohol; he was startled. He’d carefully pried himself free, gently removed his own hand which still rested on Dave’s back, and locked himself in the bathroom. Not even the steaming hot water could wash away the conflicting feeling of comfort that had resonated with him through the night. Dave was still asleep when he exited the bathroom, and against his better judgment: he acted on the urge to crawl back up against him.

The dreamless sleep he almost immediately fell into then was enough of a reason to condone Dave’s odd form of affection. He even found himself reciprocating after a while; wrapping his arms around Dave when they crashed into bed, wishing him a good night before burying his face in the crook of his neck. Without words, Jack found that it was easier to fulfill affectionate gestures; it was a way of showing love without having to address it. Dave seemed content with it too, never spoke of it yet pulled his body flush against Jack’s every time.

It was a comfortable compromise that benefitted the both, one that neither had obliged to during either of their stays in Vegas. Tonight would’ve been no different, if it weren’t for Jack to have mysteriously woken up. He had not a clue about the time; it looked to be about dusk with the way it wasn’t entirely dark yet. Faint neon blared through their curtains, shining a distant light onto bodies intertwined. With his slumber disturbed, Jack retreated his head from where it rested against Dave’s collarbone to check whether or not he was awake too.

Dave still slept peacefully, eyes shut and lips slightly parted to suck in breaths of which Jack knew they would sometimes seize entirely. With the way the distant light illuminated his features, Jack couldn’t help but take the opportunity to study them. For the state of decay that was slowly but certainly starting to take toll on his body; he was beautiful in the face. Not conventionally by any means, but Jack was rotten enough himself to look past that.

It was a rare occasion for him to be able to look at Dave this way. He hardly allowed himself to, too afraid of being perceived any more romantically than he already was. And if it weren’t for that, then for the vaguely suggestive questions from Dave that hit just a little too close to the emotions he tried desperately to conceal. But there was no such thing as that when he couldn’t see the way Jack’s gaze slid over his every feature, both laying on their sides; face to face. The distance between them was minimal, highlighting details Jack had failed to register before.

He tucked a strand of hair behind Dave’s ear, removing it from where it previously hung before his eyes. It was frail and thin, but incredibly long regardless. It was one of the few things he eagerly maintained after his death, Jack knew. Despite all his care, though, it wasn’t immune to the decay that tainted the rest of his body; Jack had watched it grow increasingly fragile over the years.

It was one of the features unique to Dave, Jack had always liked his hair. He’d kept it long because he knew it couldn’t grow anymore; combed or tied it back so it wouldn’t hang over the front of his shoulders, he’d proclaim it made him look like a woman. Jack held it back several times while Dave was hunched over a toilet or alleyway, dry heaving until his breath eventually caught up to him and they’d resume as normal. He ran a hand through it, careful not to awaken Dave as he admired the way it was spread out on the mattress behind him. He’d have to ask to braid it sometime, he kept telling himself.

Along his hairline, just concealed enough by purple strands to go unnoticed on a first impression, ran a scar. Jack gently traced a finger over it, studied the raised structure with his skin as he combed Dave’s hair away to gain a better view. It was undoubtedly the biggest injury that tainted his face, stretched between his temples and poorly healed. Jack often found himself wondering about the specifics of all Dave’s scars, the ones he didn’t share with him already anyway.

He always found his thoughts wandering to Henry when he did. Dave rarely let on anything about him, spoke in nothing other than a positive tone when he finally did, yet he couldn’t be convinced that Dave’s opinion was validated. The scar beneath his hairline was one of many that he’d seen through quick glances: if he shifted any further and removed the sheets from where they rested on Dave’s shoulder, he’d see the disfigurement directly over his heart which he dreaded greatly. He hated seeing what was done to him, knowing that there was nothing he could do about it. It made him feel powerless.

Jack’s finger diverted its path, dropped down to one of Dave’s eyebrows, attempting to shake the thoughts of horror that threatened to disturb this exceptionally quiet moment. He remembered when Dave pointed at his eyebrow, commenting on the slit that had never quite grown back upon his death. Results of being a rebellious teen, he’d retorted with the intent to drop the topic quicker than it’d been brought up. What he hadn’t intended was Dave putting a knife to his own brow in response.

He’d pulled him away by the wrist, knife clattering to the floor as he scolded Dave over potentially hurting himself for such a ridiculous cause. With the realization that he let on more of his care for Dave than he should’ve, he retreated and picked up the knife from the tiled floor. Dave made some offhand comment about how they could match, left it at that as Jack denied the proposal. That night he’d sat with Dave in his bed, in between his legs as he ordered him to sit still while he cut a slit into his eyebrow with a proper razor. Dave had smiled throughout all of it.

It still made Jack flush a tad when he thought about it: for all the care he put into his hair, he let Jack put a razor to it without question. He knew it wouldn’t grow back, it sure hadn’t as Jack traced his thumb over the slitted brow, and yet Dave loved him enough to propose the idea himself. His hands had shook when he went to retrieve the razor, fearful he would mess up like he felt he had his whole life. It turned out better than his own. Dave had somehow smiled even brighter when he looked in the mirror, hugged Jack around the waist so tightly that he had to reconsider everything he thought he knew about Dave’s strength.

His finger followed a natural progression towards the bridge of his nose, briefly stopping in its track to allow him to admire Dave. He looked so undisturbed, the way he seemed equally as content as Jack was when he slept. His arm was still draped along Jack’s side, wrist limp and hand hanging against his back. As he traced the profile of his nose, he wished he could always be like this; that there would come a day where Dave truly got to exist peacefully. He always thought Dave deserved it more than he did, if that previous scar was anything to go by.

His fingertip followed the lump that rested under the bridge of Dave’s nose, briefly lingering on it. It was a result of the absurd amount of times he’d broken it, Jack knew his nose wasn’t naturally hooked from the way it’d gotten more prominent overtime. He recalled seeing Dave roughly shove it back in place after a bar fight once, he’d still had thick tar dripping from his nostrils when Jack dragged him away from the scene. Back then he insisted they wouldn’t go to a hospital, that he was fine and could go for another drink, but Jack saw the way he winced just a little more than usual whenever he did a line.

He reached the tip of his nose, carefully pressed it in a playful manner. Dave would’ve had a beautiful profile if it wasn’t for how reckless he was, and how quickly he disregarded the consequences of it. Jack couldn’t help but smile a little at the sight, retreating his hand as he took another second to let his eyes rest on Dave’s face. He was tainted with scars, they painted his beautiful face in a repulsive story, they made him all the more attractive to Jack.

Some of those scars were caused by him, he recalled. The most recent was located on his cheek where Jack had struck him while wearing a ring, the same ring Dave had fished from an arcade machine and given to him. It was too big for him, he told Jack, who could see that it probably wouldn’t have been as he put it around his own ring finger. He still wore it, but resorted to putting it on a chain around his neck after the incident which had left a nasty cut on Dave’s cheekbone. An argument over a woman who’d grabbed Jack’s attention, he vaguely recalled; he’d been too drunk to register much of it. The only thing that mattered was that they stumbled out of that club together, bloodied and bruised by wounds they’d inflicted on the other.

With the care that only a lover could have, he cupped Dave’s jaw and traced the pad of his thumb along the wound. It was recent, no less than a week ago, still in the process of healing. Sometimes there was a twinge of guilt that ate at him whenever he hurt Dave, whenever his tone became just a little too mean, but he repressed it under the reminder that it was mutual. That still didn’t help with the fact Dave’s body healed poorly, and he’d have to see him carefully dab the cut so as not to reopen it every morning.

Those thoughts, however, were short lasting. He felt Dave’s breath grow heavier, now sensing the puffs of hot air against his own cheek in contrast to before. He stirred a little in place, yet his head remained perfectly still against the pillow it lay on. Jack halted his movements, only to continue when his breathing slowed again, although the smile that danced across Dave’s lips didn’t escape his observant eye.

“Stop smiling, I can tell you’re awake-”

He whispered quietly, barely loud enough to be audible so as not to disturb what was building between them. Even through the poorly lit room, he could see Dave’s expression change back to one of relaxation. He’d keep his eyes closed and his mouth shut if it meant he could feel Jack’s warm palm against his face any longer. In turn, Jack would allow him to experience affection from his side just this once. He couldn’t keep pretending forever, Dave would find out or he’d break his facade, and he’d rather do it while convincing himself Dave was still asleep and wouldn’t know of this by morning.

His hand didn’t budge from where it held his jaw, mesmerized by the way his sunken cheekbone stood prominently against his palm. Dave was thin, abysmally so; he looked underfed at first glance, but it became evident that there was something terribly wrong with him once stripped to his underwear. It seemed like he hardly digested any nutrients, no matter how much he ate and how little he did. The majority of his bones were pronounced against his skin, and Jack often found himself wondering about his anatomy.

Those thoughts also tended to end up with Henry involved. So, instead, he looked towards the faintly glowing pupils that now stared at him. Dave was smiling again, seemingly unable to repress it, which made his eyes crease in the way that Jack absolutely adored. He sighed in response to his gaze meeting Dave’s, but didn’t retreat his hand; instead continued to drag his thumb along Dave’s cheek.

“Told you to stop smiling…”

Jack huffed a breathless laugh with his words, felt Dave’s smile grow wider against his hand as he did. The distance between them felt much smaller than it did before, Jack could see every direction Dave’s pupils traveled in; to his arm where it reached forward to hold his face, to his lips and then back to his eyes.

“Can’t help it old sport.”

He mumbled in response, in that tired voice that made his accent all the more prevalent, in that voice which Jack loved hearing. Even through the darkened room, he knew Dave could see the equally adoring look that painted his face.

“M’ sorry for waking you-”

He muttered an apology, averting his eyes from Dave’s piercing glare. If it weren’t for him, he would’ve still slept peacefully, undisturbed by the twisted affection of another. Jack often found that it was his own selfishness which ruined things for others. Just as he considered retreating his hand, Dave stirred and brushed the sheets off his arm. He raised his hand and gently laid his palm overtop of Jack’s where it still rested on his jaw. With his eyes closed again, he nuzzled his face further into Jack’s hand.

“S’ alright sports…”

Dave mumbled in a drowsy voice, still with a smile on his face as his thumb traced circled across the back of Jack’s hand. They stayed like that for a while, simply embracing the fact that they could recognise the other’s affection for once. It was such an exceptional moment, which made it all the more precious. Jack didn’t know how long he stared at the content look on Dave’s face, but he eventually watched it sink back into a relaxed expression. Dave’s fallen back asleep, Jack’s hand still trapped between his cheek and palm.

Dave’s hand, much like the rest of his proportions, was absurdly large. It easily cupped Jack’s own as they lay there, and if they pressed their palms together Dave’s fingers would stretch far beyond his own. Even his pinkie, which was missing above the top knuckle, was longer than Jack’s. He remembered the first time he noticed that; their initial Vegas trip, drunk beyond reason and holding hands with Dave. They kept losing each other in the crowd that polluted their bar of choice, intertwined fingers at some point; Dave’s suggestion. He’d reacted with enthusiasm that surprised both himself and Dave.

Dave had been talking to a woman, slurred words he couldn’t quite comprehend as he redirected his attention to the squeeze Dave gave his hand. His eyes could hardly focus, only seemed to register the size difference between them as he raised their hands and studied them. It took him longer than it should’ve to notice that Dave’s pinkie was significantly shorter than the rest, sent into a frenzy once he finally did. He cried to Dave, fussed over the insignificant injury as if he’d just received it. No matter how much Dave assured him that it was okay, that it’d healed long ago, he kept insisting that he hadn’t deserved such a horrible thing.

He didn’t know half of it back then, he was sure he would’ve freaked out even more if it weren’t for that. There was more to Dave than he’d ever know, no matter how much he tried to unveil it all. Drunken nights, trying to pull anything out of Dave when his guard was down, often ended with his memory faltering anyway. Ever since that night, he just kept finding new stories told through Dave’s body. As much as Jack would love to keep reading, he felt his eyes grow heavy and fall shut sooner than later; tomorrow is another day.

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[2907 words]

This one’s a little shorter but also. I wrote it in two days suck my di-

Hope you enjoyed my fellas, fellos and fellis !!