Chapter Text
los angeles, california '08
Jack never used to despise the smell of cigarettes. But Jack never used to despise Alexander Gaskarth either.
Jack didn't hate filming, he happily stood next to the refreshments making small talk with whoever wanted such. Whoever being anyone but goddamn Alexander William Gaskarth.
Their breathing was warm on the back of Jack's neck, haunting and slightly threatening with manipulative kisses being pressed to the boy's torn skin.
"C'mon Jacky, they'll never know." They said, voice barely a whisper. It made Jack shudder. Their hands looped around his hips and he almost threw up on the spot.
He turned around with as much strength as he had, "Alex no." He stated.
Alex simply rolled their eyes and scoffed, "you know you want to." They accused.
Jack raised his voice to compete, "I don't fucking want you."
"Come on baby, it's getting hard going to bed with a woman every night."
Jack couldn't fucking stand the kid, he was fucking sick of them. Sick of their stupid lies and downright refusal of the truth, how they made their life a mess and blamed every soul on the planet.
"Well that's your fucking fault isn't it?" Jack snapped righteously and he knew he was right, if Alex couldn't admit they were gay and therefore dated a woman meaning the sex they were given was unsatisfactory then that was totally Alex's fault. Jack had stopped blaming himself fucking moons ago, this was their problem and they were the one who had to fix it. Jack looked them directly in the eyes, maroon lacing with pure fear. "Just fucking admit you're gay Alex."
Alex's teeth ground together as they seethed with frustration, "I am not fucking gay Jack."
"Alright Alex, why in the holy name of fuck are you begging me, a man, for sex right now, huh? Why have you never shown an interest in a woman in your stupid, little, meaningless life? You're fucking gay alright, you're the goddamn definition of a faggot. So what if you can't admit it? It's not like you'll live long enough to be happy anyway."
And with that, he stormed off.
Alex just stared at the concrete floor, a light grey colour with stains engulfing it. They wondered if the people who'd left those there were happier than them that isn't hard though is it? They gave a lopsided smile and sighed, turning on their heel and straying further from the bustling set.
The metal push button on the door was cold on their hands, it oddly felt like a burning sensation as they pushed it open with little force. The sun past the threshold of the studio was bright and blinding. They blinked a few times and carried on to an alleyway of sorts. It was shaded from the sun and Alex thought it was perfect.
They pulled the box of cigarettes from their pocket, sliding one out and lighting it. They had been told on several occasions to stop but hey, what were they doing that didn't need stopping? They laughed slightly as they took a drag in spite, after all the goal wasn't to stay alive. It wasn't really to preserve their vocal chords either. They didn't care.
In all honesty? Alex didn't give a shit about the band, they were bitter and broken and self destruction was their passion. It was a fun game in such an ugly way. See how far you can push it. See how close to death you can make it, drive everyone away. Because hey, who loves a tranny anyway?
The thin smoke passed their lips again, honestly the smell warmed them. Made them feel at home, safe. Which was incredibly rare.
They knew most of their actions came from a place of self sabotage and their refusal of stability. The idea of living in peace scared them, they were relatively sure it was because they had never had that, they'd never really felt comfortable let alone fucking stable. And hell, did they even deserve to feel like that?
They tapped the ash off their cigarette and lifted it back to their lips, inhaling slowly and letting it fall to their side once again. Carefully spilling the smoke from their lips in a trained manner provided a distraction, something to concentrate on as their world crumbled.
As they realised the weight dropping from their bones, as the days counted higher from when their father last spoke to them, from when waking up wasn't so goddamn painful. From when they even had the bravery to use that dumb fucking lip gloss.
The taste and feel of that girls' accessory made them feel confident, amplified the parts of themself they'd been condemned to hide. It made them feel like them and honestly, it broke their heart that they'd been told on several occasions to let it go.
You're a guy Alex, quit playing.
It almost made them crack then and there. They started smoking faster, not caring that this would mean they'd have to go inside sooner, anything to stop the tears from falling. They tapped their foot incessantly. Pretended they couldn't feel themselves begin to choke up a sob.
It hurt.
They didn't know what, but it fucking hurt.
Maybe it was their stupid gender issue, maybe it was the sexuality crisis, maybe it was the shitty fucking childhood. Likely it was the self awareness that they'd never be happy because they couldn't fucking let themselves.
They gave up on the cigarette and stomped it out, lifting a sleeve to their eyes to wipe the tears, coughing slightly and beginning to walk back to the studio.
They bit their lip in nervousness as they approached the door again, ignoring the fact they longed to feel that godforsaken lip gloss again.
Alex cringed as the door slammed behind them, they tried to bring their strong front up again but it just wouldn't fucking happen. They were broken and beaten and wanted to disappear.
Jack handed Danny his guitar and smiled, he'd finished his scenes for the day and was goddamn exhausted.
He dragged his feet from the main area, avoiding the communal green room. He just wanted peace and fucking quiet. His head was splitting.
The hallway he resided in was long, he pushed a hand through his hair and sped up his walking pace. The sound of his sneakers on the flooring was the only sound barring the soft sound of sobs from a doorway maybe seven feet away.
He despised the way his heart shattered.
Their knees were pulled up tight against their chest, bone thin arms wrapped around them. Head down, hair falling over their face as they cried.
"Lex?" Jack said softly, voice ringing louder in the echo.
Alex looked up at him and Jack felt utterly sick.
Their fringe was falling into their eyes, which were red and puffy, Jack was positive someone once told him "your eyes are the window to your soul."
And well, if that's true,
Alexander is fucking broken.
He felt guilt rush through him as he sat beside them, he was well and truly aware of how Alex was. That they could very well be the sweetest, most loving person on Earth but in an hour they'd be sour and lethal. He could practically hear his sister scolding him as he wrapped an arm around his ex-partner friend's waist.
They shifted slightly, wrapping their thin arms around him, letting their head fall to his shoulder. He smiled and kissed their head, engulfing the overwhelming smell of smoke that seemed to follow them, it was so very Alex.
Jack couldn't lie, as much as Alex had put him through utterly stifling torture, he had somewhat of an infatuation with the kid.
The way they were so confident and righteous even when the world was against them, he missed the way they made him feel as if he was on top of the world. It strangely intrigued Jack how Alex had made him feel so loved and just- incredible but had also spent years tearing him down, years telling him they didn't want him yet turning up at his apartment six hours later shit faced begging to be fucked.
They were a very overwhelming, harsh person but Jack still found so much love in them. The way their soft fingertips would trace his skin and their warm embrace felt like home, fuck. He missed them. He missed waking up to them buried in his chest, how they'd beg him to stay with their still voice laced with sleep. How they'd wrap their arms around his waist and kiss his shoulder as he made them coffee in the morning. Their hair was always a mess, nail polish chipped but they never looked anything less than gorgeous.
He stroked their chin, big brown eyes looking up at him, tears still falling.
"You okay baby?" Jack asked quietly, hyperaware that anyone could find them hidden away in this hallway.
Alex shook their head, burying themselves further into Jack's neck. He felt them squeeze him lightly and he took one of their hands in his. They were skinny but their hands still managed to be soft, he kissed their knuckles and they made a content hum, his heart swelled.
He frowned ever so slightly at Alex's plain nails, memories of nights filled with giggles and chaste kisses as he attempted to paint their nails clouded his vision. Jack knew why Alex stopped, stopped experimenting with makeup or anything that amplified their natural androgyny. He'd heard the things his parents said, heard the hushed whispers when he entered the Gaskarth home. He wanted to give Alex the happiness and love they deserved but god, did that kid make it difficult sometimes.
Jack ran another hand through their hair, eyes catching how their long eyelashes contrasted their pale complexion. They'd fallen asleep. He smiled sadly at how peaceful they looked, face content and breathing soft.
Maybe in their dreams they're happy.
He turned his head so his face was buried in their hair, kissing it lightly again and again, rubbing circles into the back of their hand. Trying his hardest not to cry because his heart was so broken for someone who'd probably end their own life within the next year. Someone who didn't care.
Jack's mind wandered to the sheer irony of his thoughts in the desolate corridor with his depressed best friend in his arms, they had escaped from the set of the Weightless video.
Manage us, we're a mess.
In the silence as Alex slept in his lap, his mind wandered. He'd been harsh on Alex earlier, thinking they deserved it for their actions towards him but now he thought about it.... why did Alex act like that? Why did he find them sobbing in the backrooms? He couldn't bare think it was on him, it broke his fucking heart. He traced his fingertip across their soft features, softly circling from their forehead to their jawline. Hand resting so his thumb could brush their cheekbone. They were so utterly gorgeous and Jack was gone for them. He brushed their hair from their forehead, leaning down and pressing a kiss to it. His lips lingered, memories of years past flooding back to him.
"I'm so sorry, baby."
He whispered, Alex stirring.
"Mhm. You don't have to be." Alex mumbled, clearly still asleep.
Jack smiled sadly, admiring them, "Oh Lexi, I do." For everyone who isn't, for the universe that is letting you slip from its' grasp. He thought, simply kissing them again, feeling a tear form. Why was he crying? They did this to themselves right?
But Jack couldn't believe it, people don't play life like it's a game in the same way Alex does. They don't push themselves to their limits because the future is worthless to them, people don't get up in the morning and draw portraits of blood on their frail bones for fun.
He imagined he couldn't feel the way their bones dug into him as they lay, that he couldn't count on one hand the hours he'd seen them without a cigarette.
If only people knew what Therapy was really about.
If only they didn't live with the goddamn anxiety of Alex's impending fucking demise. Sure, to most people, Alex was a lively ball of sunshine who adored life. Jack wasn't most people.
Jack was a part of the minority whom had to conceal images of Alex's nostrils glittered with snowflakes every night. It was ironic, the contrast of words used in reference to the person, the image they had thrust upon them by the media in comparison to who Jack found himself in adoration of.
Alex was sickeningly gorgeous, every descriptor contradictory and every statement hypocritical. A whirlwind of concern and terror with eyes that seemed to glisten and a smile that made Jack weak.
He knew he was signing up for heartbreak but as if he was repeating the actions of the person in question, he didn't care. For once, Jack Barakat acted recklessly in attempt to capture the person who had never done any differently.