[Fic] Drugs + schizophrenia = no. [JasonxZack]
Title: Nepenthe
Characters: Jason and Zack (sort of), possibly Thanatos
Story: May be general Ohio Crew, may be Hawthorne. Actually, leaning more toward Hawthorne
Theme: # 27. overflow at 30_kisses
Rating: PG13
Word Count: ~400
Sometimes Jason thinks he does this stuff to make himself forget.
But he doesn’t forget, he never forgets, he’s like a fucking elephant like that, at all the wrong times, always the wrong times. No, he remembers it more than ever on nights like this, when he lies alone stretched out on the floor and he reaches up to the sky, writhing, aching. He feels his skin crawling, like there’s something living in it, like there’s still a million little traces from every single time Zack ever touched him. He feels every little caress, every brush of lips against skin, months, years, all of it rushing over him like a waterfall, all the weight of all that time pressing down on him, crushing him, drowning him. He wants to cry. His lips burn, feeling every kiss multiplied a hundred times, feeling all that goodness and pureness and beauty that’s gone now and now it’s just an empty void, like a vacuum, and he feels like he’s being pulled in. The words echo in his ears, a thousand whispers and laughs and teases, a thousand voices all together, like the sound of some great monstrous infinite field of grain, like the sound of the tides coming in to wash over him, to sweep him away. The voices in his head, too, all of them, the guilty ones and the innocent ones that cry and plead, the angry accusations, the hate and spite and bitterness, so much bitterness, all of it echoing inside him, ricocheting around in there, knocking over everything it can find. Tearing him down, tearing him apart. Zack. He needs him so badly, needs his chest to cry against, needs to take him by the sides of the face and look straight into his eyes and apologize, needs to pull him down beside him and feel every inch of him, needs to banish his ghosts.
He feels something on his face now, but he’s not sure if it’s his own hot tears or just another searing trace of a wraith. Distantly, he hears sobs, is vaguely aware of the view of the underside of a fine coffee table.
His crumpled form is eventually dragged unceremoniously into a corner, where he is left to whimper alone, cool eyes glancing over him every so often. When he wakes, he remembers nothing but the echo of the sensation of Zack’s lips on his own.
Characters: Jason and Zack (sort of), possibly Thanatos
Story: May be general Ohio Crew, may be Hawthorne. Actually, leaning more toward Hawthorne
Theme: # 27. overflow at 30_kisses
Rating: PG13
Word Count: ~400
Sometimes Jason thinks he does this stuff to make himself forget.
But he doesn’t forget, he never forgets, he’s like a fucking elephant like that, at all the wrong times, always the wrong times. No, he remembers it more than ever on nights like this, when he lies alone stretched out on the floor and he reaches up to the sky, writhing, aching. He feels his skin crawling, like there’s something living in it, like there’s still a million little traces from every single time Zack ever touched him. He feels every little caress, every brush of lips against skin, months, years, all of it rushing over him like a waterfall, all the weight of all that time pressing down on him, crushing him, drowning him. He wants to cry. His lips burn, feeling every kiss multiplied a hundred times, feeling all that goodness and pureness and beauty that’s gone now and now it’s just an empty void, like a vacuum, and he feels like he’s being pulled in. The words echo in his ears, a thousand whispers and laughs and teases, a thousand voices all together, like the sound of some great monstrous infinite field of grain, like the sound of the tides coming in to wash over him, to sweep him away. The voices in his head, too, all of them, the guilty ones and the innocent ones that cry and plead, the angry accusations, the hate and spite and bitterness, so much bitterness, all of it echoing inside him, ricocheting around in there, knocking over everything it can find. Tearing him down, tearing him apart. Zack. He needs him so badly, needs his chest to cry against, needs to take him by the sides of the face and look straight into his eyes and apologize, needs to pull him down beside him and feel every inch of him, needs to banish his ghosts.
He feels something on his face now, but he’s not sure if it’s his own hot tears or just another searing trace of a wraith. Distantly, he hears sobs, is vaguely aware of the view of the underside of a fine coffee table.
His crumpled form is eventually dragged unceremoniously into a corner, where he is left to whimper alone, cool eyes glancing over him every so often. When he wakes, he remembers nothing but the echo of the sensation of Zack’s lips on his own.