#` thread

[ Text;makoto ]

ill be over in a sec [ Sent ]

dont tell me abt them yet wait til im there [ Sent ]

( a few minutes later idk )

im a block away just hang on [ Sent ]

                the text has been sent a while after the results had arrived within a printed and professional envelope, the sheets it contained holding the truth of how the next few weeks -- months, even -- would go. verdant hues had run over the letters, the address, nervous and jittery with anticipation. his fingers fumbled with the flap, anxiety forming within his stomach and making his heartrate quicken, seeming to rise within his throat. it takes a few minutes to gather to courage, a deep breath before the paperwork is pulled out, quickly spread over the table as each beat of his heart seems to quicken more with each second, searching for one sheet amongst the mess.

                it might have torn if he'd snatched it any harder than he had -- nimble fingers nearly sent the rest scattering as one was pried from beneath the pile, set atop the others with quivering hands. the rest no longer mattered as his gaze scanned the text, aware that he was holding his breath for far too long yet hardly caring as he found the words he wanted --

                                                                                 -- ...makoto becomes still, fixated upon the words that are far too wordy to mean anything now, the results glaring back at him. it was almost cruel to see them, to feel the hole punching through his chest. a shaky sigh slips past his lips, a hand wandering to brush through caramel locks of hair, knees growing weak. the room seems to spin as he sits at last, gaze still lingering upon the words that he'd never wanted to see again.

                                                                 it was back.

                the silence stretches for far too long, seconds lengthening to minutes that are steadily creeping towards an hour or two later. the passage of time is unnoticed, however; his mind was full of static and his thoughts tangled, words caught between the tears that left his throat thick, each swallow to keep it all down for now painful. the thought came at random, a mere inkling, an urge that tugged, drew his gaze to the mobile that he'd forgotten earlier, peeking from under stray papers. movements are slow, hesitant, yet the thought remains, growing stronger.

                                                 text rin. talk to him.                                                       don't be alone. 

                tremors no longer render him unable to type; the text is simple, requesting that rin come over, including a bit about the results that he'd mentioned in passing days before to the person who had become his best friend in the weeks passed since they'd first me. for once, there was the need to allow his trust to be placed within someone, allow someone close enough -- someone who wouldn't need words to understand, someone who wouldn't grow older in their friendship and fall away as too many others had. it hardly seems like anything more than a few seconds have passed when the cellular device vibrates within his hand, led light flashing and wake screen alerting him of  a new message, followed by a second closely after.  

               a breath he hadn't realized he'd been holding in was released, drawing out into a long sigh as the brunet allows himself to sink back into the soft cushions of his pillows, left to wait whilst trying to ignore the papers sitting before him, scrawled with the news he would soon be forced to pass to rin. the more he thought about it, the harder the simple task seemed to be -- the mere thought of speaking made his throat close up even more, eyes burning with the lingering threat of tears. harshly, slim digits attempt to wipe his eyes of the tears quickly, as though there was someone to see his weakness -- to see how fast his life went to ruin once more, hellbound for endless weeks to come.

                the vibration of the mobile comes once more, and with a deep breath to try to steel himself, he peers at the screen once more. rin isn't far now, yet despite the block between them he can't help but feel miles away, too far out to be reached or drawn back again. fingers push idly through mussed locks, no care given to what his appearance might have been; he only hoped that rin wouldn't notice the way tears brimmed within his gaze of glass, or how fragile the fake smile was upon his lips. 

               It was a question he wanted to avoid at all costs. He’d been gone for a few months— it was like a few years back when he left for Australia. But this time, he didn’t tell anyone. Just getting back to town, the schoolyard was close, but of course, he’d ran into Makoto. The look of pure disbelief on his features tore Rin into two— one side of regret and one of wishing he’d never come back in the first place. He knew what was going to happen next.

               ”What happened to you?"

               Questioning ensues.

               ”I- uh- well, y’see, I needed ta- ta… uh…" The dufflebag on his shoulder felt heavier with each second, stumbling over words, trying to think of how to explain himself, even though he didn’t even know why he’d gone. He looked exhuasted— pale complexion seeming transparent at this point, violet rings coating around his usually fire-red orbs, and even the grip he had on his bags strap seemed lax, despite his tense composure. 

               ”I tried to call you.”

               ”— I didn’t want t’be contacted." Words flew forth immediatly before he could even register what he was going to say, voice snappy from sleep deprivation and being cornered in a situation like this. He felt the need to be hostile, yet he knew Makoto meant well. He was just so tired and done and— didnt want to be seen in such a state.

               There wasn’t much conversation from his end after the snap, but the bag was soon dropped from his shoulder and he stepped toward the other, smacking his forehead against Makoto’s shoulder and just standing there. “Please— stop askin’ me questions.”

               worry had been a companion over the past few weeks, lingering over his mind with burdening thoughts and far too many questions. it followed close behind, never too far, much like a shadow -- something that would always be at your heels and chase after when you tried to run from it. days grew long, stretching into weeks that seemed to constant drag past, turning into months. the season was slow to change, passing by in the smallest of changes, yet no one seemed to notice. regardless each denial of the truth, they all were worried over one person: rin. 

               there had been no explanation, no note or letters, each desperate moment spent clinging to the phone with hopes that the tone would be cut off just to hear that familiar voice again still remaining despite how it was shot down each time. they never could receive an answer, for no one had expected the samezuka captain's disappearance. questions built, a mounting pile of what if's, why's, how, where, never answered, worry creeping along with the worst of scenarios.

               makoto had nearly given up upon the faintest flicker of hope that rin would return; earlier that day, he had waited with a heavy heart, listening to the familiar dial before the disconnect, no longer bothering to leave a message. by now, he had lost count how many attempts to reach rin had been made, the number likely to be infinite. a sigh, tossing the mobile onto his bed to be forgotten, he'd decided to go for a walk, attempt to clear his head. soon, he knew, they'd all stop calling; their blind search was fruitless, and giving up was starting to seem like their only option.

               at first, he had simply allowed himself to wander, subconscious steps taking him through familiar blocks and past stores, too familiar to need to pay mind. it wasn't until he found himself near the schoolyard when there was a certain tug, a beckoning that made his head turn and the air seem to rush from his lungs at the familiar silhouette --

                                                                            rin. 

               it seemed as though the shark had caught sight of him as well -- the fiery hues met his own, stretching wide in unison; surprise seemed to have frozen them both in place, yet only for a moment. it only took an instant before the words were leaving his lips, shaken, questioning.  "what happened to you?" emerald hues wander, noticing every detail -- too pale complexion, the shadows beneath weary eyes, the way rin seemed to almost shrink at the words, scrabbling for an excuse with stuttered, halting words in response.

               the orca finds himself wishing he hadn't abandoned his phone; how many calls had rin ignored? all the texts, the worried emails? it doesn't make sense why nothing had been said, not a word -- had it been so hard to simply say he was fine, just going to be away for a while. "i tried to call," he pressed, hating the slight shake and the question beneath, hating how torn he is. there's too much swelling within his chest to discern what he truly feels.

               rin's response is sharp, cutting -- an equivalent to a slap in the face, one that stings far more than it should have. despite sleep deprivation and irritation likely being to blame, it was hard not to be hurt, offended, even. so many words form upon his tongue, tangling together like knots within his throat and maybe speech impossible -- he hardly notice as the bag is dropped or rin is approaching until the other's forehead is pressing into his shoulder, slightly muffled words reaching his ears. at first, every muscle grows tense, stomach twisting with uncertainty, wondering whether it would be wise to press or not. it takes a moment before a slow sigh slips past his lips, a hand coming up to fist loosely within the back of rin's jacket -- for now, it can wait. he's more likely to talk later; after all, they can't be left without reason for long.

"Emma was calling to Jackson now from somewhere unseen as if he had been the one standing on the ice and he had been the one she longed to reach after innumerable hairline fractures began multiplying throughout the surface of the cracking ice." (x)

The amount of sleep long missed from the prior night accumulated on hours upon hours; and all had lingered heavy onto distant eyes that he fought desperate to remain open. The amount of sleep that he had accounted for was barely considered much of any— most of which had been spent in a fit of panic and fear and— he couldn’t. He couldn’t possibly risk losing himself again in the choking depths of his memories he long wish he could have forgotten.  

Jackson was barely worth the word ‘functional’ and the definition behind it, but the heels of his palm that ground into his pale eyes wanted to proved it otherwise. he was draining yet bursting at the seems all at the same time and yet he still remained adamant in going to the bar later that evening. He was so thirsty and desperate for company of strangers that he was willing to risk his own mental stability - or lack there of - to remain catering to their care and whim. 

Jack felt cold— colder that what he’d been used to. A dozen stars filled the sky and none to his name that could bloom his chest with warmth nor wonder anymore. They all cursed him and mocked him and gods, he was drowning in his own regrets and broken promises. Angry tendrils of shadow clung and snaked against the walls, feeding a heavy panic in his heart, weighing it down and likely to sink like a coin dropped into a well; a single wish to never be remembered or granted. 

Jackson Overland was a fool— a damned fool to think he could run from the demons that nipped and chased at his ankles and whispered venom into his ears. There remained times throughout the day when silence would instill… he could hear them. He could it it all. Images would replay and that’s when his hands would try to rub away the sleep, the ache away. Sometimes they’d prove too strong for just hands to erase. 

"Jack! Jack?! Jaaaaaaack?!"

"Jackson—!" A firm hand pressed down onto his shoulder, weighing him like a brick and for the first time, he was thankful for that anchor that which linked him back into reality; drawing a line between what was real and what was not. The face that looked back him was thankfully Mr. St. North— familiar and a consolation that brought the young man to blink slowly in short comfort. "Yeah…?"

"You are not looking well, Jackson. Something’s wrong, yeah?" 

And wasn’t that the question of the day. Was something wrong? In a way, yes. And yet— he was what was wrong altogether. The bartender was drawn taut like a wire about to snap and unravel. But that was to be done alone. Worrying the man before him was not an intention. “North— you know me. I just had a bit of trouble sleeping last night ‘s all.” And aside from the charismatic grin that didn’t fit as comfortable… North didn’t look entirely convinced. And he wasn’t.

There was a fear that Jack was only going to curl in on himself if prodded anymore, so he was left at that with little parting words and a strong hand clapped onto his back that brought him into an embrace. And then he was alone again in a room full of people. His mind filled with ice splintering and his lungs filled with a bitter taste of water as Jack pulled an empty mug to him and filled it from tap.

       The patter of rain upon the darkened windows was drowned out by the sound of drinks being poured and people conversing with alcohol on their breath. A splash of tequila upon the counter paralleled the splatter of puddle water upon the trim of a running girl’s grey dress. Jackson Overland-Frost watched as his hands retrieved a dry cloth to soak up the damage done to the now sticky counter surface. He saw as his normally still hands began shaking as white knuckles gripped the black towel unsteadily. The loss of control told Jack that this was a dream and he was not awake, but his mind still clung to that dark material and he could not awaken.

       The damp item remained in Jackson’s left hand as he grabbed a tall glass from below the counter and reached for the beer tap. Pouring a large mug of the acquired taste, Jackson handed the drink to the man he was certain ordered it only to find he was faced with no patrons sitting in his company. There appeared to be half the amount of people in the bar than there was prior to the silly spill. There was half the amount of chatter and over the buzzing voices Jackson could now hear the heavy rain pounding against the glass. 

       A drink slipped from the hand of a lady watching a game of pool, the clear cup shattering against the hardwood floor in a splash of cherry margarita. In the same moment another citizen ran down the streets outside, a cry swelling in his throat as thunder crashed for the first time that night. His foot stepped into the same puddle that had drenched the grey girl, his own grey clothes now a sickly mess in the storming weather. The running man tripped and fell onto the side-walk. He stumbled forward into a crawl until he could bring himself to his feet again. 

       Jack ignored the thunder, ignored the sound of a desperate runner tripping outside the bar. He focused on his job, on his breathing. He focused on watching his shaking ambidextrous hands still do what they were being paid to do. He could not ignore though that his cheeks had flushed to the same pale colour as his snow-toned tattoos. Someone sat down at the bar and made a joke about Jackson’s unease. He told the bartender to lighten up, that the night was still young and there was nothing to be concerned about. 

 Jack wanted to smile at the reassuring words and offer his services to the kind customer, but when he looked up he found that no one was there again. He was alone again. And not just alone where he stood. The bar was deserted now. Jackson found he was the only person standing amid the warm lights and scattered drinks. He was the only person occupying a place normally so crowded that he had to make a concious effort not to get sick of the amount of people which easily fuelled his anxiety. Now he couldn’t be sure what felt worse.

       ”Mom?!” Emma’s voice ripped through the stillness of the bar, her frantic scream echoing amidst the abandoned tables. Silvered eyes shot toward the front door of Winterland. Jack was waiting for someone to walk in, anyone to explain why he had heard such an eerie shout that sounded like a relic from his past. Jack saw nothing. He only heard more that was this time an impatient groan, “Jackson! When will I get to see you again?”

       Jack pulled in a long breath and walked out from behind his counter. He paced toward the door, the storm knocking against the bar louder with each step he took toward the words of his past, and he opened the entry. Wind pushed the rain into Jackson’s face, wetting his shirt until it became a grey colour that he did not recognize. There was no one in the streets any longer, and the source of the voice that had called to him seemed to disappear as well, “Emma?”

       ”When will they pull Mom out? When will they find her? They have to bring her home to us! When can we go home?!” It hurt to blink away the string of questions Jackson could do nothing for except to avoid. It pained him to hear his sister’s pain again. It… “Jack?! Jaaaaaaack?!”

       Emma was calling to Jackson now from somewhere unseen as if he had been the one standing on the ice and he had been the one she longed to reach after innumerable hairline fractures began multiplying throughout the surface of the cracking ice. Jack spun in circles across the sidewalk, searching wildly for his sister to make sure she was okay, to see her face again and know that she was safe. He found himself in the middle of the road, alone seemingly within the entire city. His lips were mouthing the word no, words of fear, words of absolute loss as he felt himself drop into the ocean like nothing more than a sinking quarter.

       The rain had soaked through all of Jack’s clothes. Everything he wore clung to his shivering body the same way his arms wrapped themselves around his chest for protection. A clap of thunder sounded across the heavens and Jack turned around to face where it had come from as if that meant it wouldn’t sneak up on him next time. Across the way, Jack saw his mother standing, her shoulders rigid and her fingers sprawled out into the air by her sides. Beneath her, Jack saw the crack of deceiving ice spiral from her feet. If only you had done something different last time.

       Running toward Mrs. Overland, Jack reached out for his mother much the same way Emma had and again he heard his sister screaming, screaming for both him and his mother, but he couldn’t see his sister anymore. Jack hadn’t been allowed to see his sister in a long time. His mom shook her head, mouthing the words ‘Get back, Jackson’. Jack couldn’t hear his mother speak anymore. He hadn’t been able to hear her voice since he was much younger. 

       The rock of the road shifted beneath Jack’s desperate steps and upon stepping into the very same puddle of misfortune, Jack too slipped and caught his fall with scraped hands. The ground continued to shift and Jack seemed to really slip into the ocean, a mere coin tumbling into a darkness far greater than anything he could perceive. This disfigured perception caused Jack to see nothing and everything possible in the darkness of the waters all at once. He pushed himself to turn, pulling his lips shut tight to hold his breath, and blinked into the saltwater both scared to look for what he could not see and scared to close his eyes and accept the void. 

       The pervasive environment pushed against Jack’s face, tricking him into thinking something was touching him. Was it perhaps his mother? Had she fallen in too? Maybe she didn’t. Maybe she was still up there and maybe she could stay there, stay with Emma. She had to find Emma… Someone had to make sure Emma was okay. Someone had to make sure they were both okay. He couldn’t lose them again. He could lose them and himself. Why was everything always lost?

Jack couldn’t hold his breath any longer. His lips parted to scream and the sound was suffocated by the rushing water. Jack felt his lungs fill with all of the things he wished he could have said, all of the things he wished he could have let escape himself. There was so much left to say to them. Choking on the water, on the darkness, on the drowning, Jackson felt the night seep into his swelling veins. He couldn’t tell if he was crying. Perhaps he was too scared to cry. Maybe the ocean was crying for himself. He knew his mother would be crying. He knew Emma would be crying. He could hear her crying now. He could hear their sobs. He could hear… He could hear his mother’s voice again. She was scared too. 

       Perhaps he didn’t drowned in the lake like his mother had, but he had been drowning every day since and every day since he had been drowning alone.

       He was so scared of being alone.

** Grey clothes represent isolation. Silver eyes represent protection. Sorry it’s long. There’s a reason I submitted it instead of sending it to you via ask…

Loneliness… Emptiness… the perpetual ache that made his chest feel hallow and full to the brim all at the same time. He couldn’t breathe and yet he was panting fiercely— clawing desperately for any relief to the mad world behind his fluttering eyelids. He could taste salt on his tongue and feel the heaving pressure of water filling his lungs until he could nearly burst and—

He was awake, fully aware of his surroundings. And… He’d known it was a dream. He’d felt it since the beginning - wherever the beginning was - , but it didn’t stop him from struggling. He struggled, because what he saw was not a terrible figment of his imagination but a memory he wished desperately to repress but time and time again, only proved to surface and each time after, even more fiercely. 

His cheeks felt damp and stained with shed tears, but if he’d known better, they could have very well been residue from the water that which he crashed into. His throat hurt immensely and he prayed to the stars he’d not aroused any neighbors. His limbs, chest, his everything ached from the battle he felt within himself and the struggle he caused within his mangled beddings; trembling. He was sunk like a dime in a well— not worth the ten cents he was accounted for.

Jackson Overland-Frost was a coward. A terrible coward that only ran farther away with the things that pressed upon him. Leaning forward with hands perpetually shaking, the heels of them pressed and rubbed into his worry worn eye sockets in a meek attempt at pressing away the lasting images flashing before his vision. His breath lacked control and, dear celestials no, he swore he wasn’t near the brink of tears again. 

Jack could hear them. Oh stars, he could hear the ghosts of his past yelling for him, pleading to him and asking of him for so many things he promised to fulfill… but there he was. Useless. Irresponsible. A little broken, gray mouse hiding away from any animal savagery that presented itself. With a slim back pressed as tight against the adjacent wall as he could manage, curled and closed in on himself, the young man was to simply hide away from all the broken promises he made until day break. 

He was alone. And he’d never felt it more than how he did in that moment.

Well now who in their right mind could turn down an idea like that? Certainly not Hiccup, not when it came to the attractive bartender at least. And most definitely not when the opportunity presented itself so nicely, with the quiet push of alcohol still warm in his veins.

The door was only moments closed before he decided to act. Up on the balls of his feet, Hiccup pressed his lips firmly to Jackson’s, quick as the first time he’d gathered the courage to do so, knowing it might not last very long at all. He didn’t pull away though, instead letting the contact linger and draw fire across his skin, the heat pooling in his blood. His hands reached up to cup the back of the blonde’s neck, pulling him closer. The movement made their chests press close, the added contact sending a quiet thrill racing across Hiccup’s nerves. He thought he’d begun to sober up, but the way his head spun, he wasn’t so sure anymore. Besides, he had to be drunker than he thought in order to make that move at all, regardless of the fact that he’d probably be shoved off any second.

Oh well. He’d face the music in the morning when his right mind returned to him.

He could taste the alcohol on his lips. It was heady, clinging, and he wanted more. Taken back by something so daring, for a moment, Jackson was admittedly a bit too stunned to actually reciprocate any further actions than a slight widening of eyes and shifting his weight to balance himself with the added weight of Hiccup's hands against him. Was this even okay? It felt okay. Very-- if he may be so bold as to think. Yes, there were many things he wanted to do with the brunet whom was so willing and ready for him.

Sure, he could be thinking as such now considering his complete intoxication, but come the following morrow, would he still feel the same? Sure, Jackson was oh so familiar with one night's stand. Hiccup on the other hand he wasn't so certain. He didn't want Hiccup to come to regret what they may do if he allowed it to go as far with Jack being sound of mind and Hiccup, well, not-- A few kisses... though... wouldn't be so bad, right? 

Hiccup had only begun to pull away when the bartender captured the shorter's chin between his index finger and thumb, pulling him back in while leading another kiss onto his lips, re-closing the gap that began to grow in between them. There was little hesitation when Jack pressed his lips firmer and slanted his jaw so a pierced tongue could run temptingly against a puckered bottom lip; silently asking permission to ravish that  intoxicating mouth. But as quickly as the kiss was initiated, it ended and Jack was already pulling away. 

"What are you reading?" 

"Just don't break it. Because I'm pretty sure that thing's worth more than me." But it was better to let Jax alone with whatever tickled his fancy while Jackson thumbed through page after page in the leather bound book that he'd borrowed from North; before returning home to an unannounced, wet, house guest. Although, considering who it was, he best leave it without question as well.