HS -- Doormat
Title: Doormat
Fandom: Honeydew Syndrome
Pairing: Charles/Jay
Rating: PG
Word Count: 267
Warnings: aaaaaaaaangst
Summary: What the hell does that even mean?
Author's Note: It's okay, Jay. I still love you.
DOORMAT
Doormat.
What the hell does that even mean?
It’s not like Jay lets people push him around-one look at his frigging hair would cure anybody of that delusion. It’s not like someone’s telling him what to do, how to act-he’s the one intent on quitting the cancer sticks, and he’s the one who had four holes put through his ears on either side.
Honestly. He does what he wants to. He does what he likes.
Admittedly… admittedly, he wanted to shove Charles up against that bank of lockers and drag his hands through all that cornsilk hair. Admittedly, he would have liked to snatch that book right out of the smarmy bastard’s hand, let it fall where it would, and demonstrate that posers and smokers and losers and doormats had feelings, too. Strong ones. Vaguely homicidal ones, at times.
So maybe he did take Metis’s suggestion. So maybe he did follow the kid’s orders without questioning them first. That’s not because he doesn’t have ideas of his own; it’s because Metis is the only one who has access to Charles, to the side of Charles that doesn’t take joy in the ruthless obliteration of everything around him, simply because it’s there. And Jay thought maybe Metis could act as an intermediary that way, give him an in, get his foot in the door.
Turns out that door’s made of lead, and his foot’s made of clay.
It’s just-Charles gets that… look… of… I own you. And Jay can’t fight it, because it’s true.
…if that’s what being a “doormat” means, well… guilty as charged.
Fandom: Honeydew Syndrome
Pairing: Charles/Jay
Rating: PG
Word Count: 267
Warnings: aaaaaaaaangst
Summary: What the hell does that even mean?
Author's Note: It's okay, Jay. I still love you.
DOORMAT
Doormat.
What the hell does that even mean?
It’s not like Jay lets people push him around-one look at his frigging hair would cure anybody of that delusion. It’s not like someone’s telling him what to do, how to act-he’s the one intent on quitting the cancer sticks, and he’s the one who had four holes put through his ears on either side.
Honestly. He does what he wants to. He does what he likes.
Admittedly… admittedly, he wanted to shove Charles up against that bank of lockers and drag his hands through all that cornsilk hair. Admittedly, he would have liked to snatch that book right out of the smarmy bastard’s hand, let it fall where it would, and demonstrate that posers and smokers and losers and doormats had feelings, too. Strong ones. Vaguely homicidal ones, at times.
So maybe he did take Metis’s suggestion. So maybe he did follow the kid’s orders without questioning them first. That’s not because he doesn’t have ideas of his own; it’s because Metis is the only one who has access to Charles, to the side of Charles that doesn’t take joy in the ruthless obliteration of everything around him, simply because it’s there. And Jay thought maybe Metis could act as an intermediary that way, give him an in, get his foot in the door.
Turns out that door’s made of lead, and his foot’s made of clay.
It’s just-Charles gets that… look… of… I own you. And Jay can’t fight it, because it’s true.
…if that’s what being a “doormat” means, well… guilty as charged.