âletting go. everyone talks about it like itâs the easiest thing. unfurl your fingers one by one until your hand is open. but my hand has been clenched into a fist for⌠years now; itâs frozen shut.â
May 10, 2016. Reality.
Itâs late, and Justin hasnât made it to bed yet. The hours are draining by slowly as he sits at the desk in his room, doing nothing important except for sifting through the thoughts in his head. His same routine every night, because his brain is a mess and so is everything else. Itâs 11:00 PM. He blinks, and suddenly itâs midnight. Heâs still thinking about how everything is a mess.
But then he looks at his bed and realizes that maybe not everything is a mess. He crawls into bed, knowing he has no plan to sleep. Heâs very careful about moving too much, not wanting to stir the boy next to him. He even looks like sunlight while heâs sleeping. Sometimes, late at night, when Justin lies awake, he canât help but watch him. He will never justify getting to be the one who crawls into bed with Tyson King every night. Heâs certain that he does not deserve him, but he loves him endlessly. Admitting it was the best thing heâs ever done.
Lying his head down on his pillow, he pulls the blankets up over him. Another look at the clock and itâs already 1:00 AM. He could be sleeping or thinking about how to fix everything else in his life, but instead heâs thinking about his and Tysonâs wedding. The next one that they are planning, and how heâs not really sure how he feels about it, but he knows that it makes Tyson happy. It makes him happy.
When heâs done thinking, itâs 2:00 AM. Closer to the time that Justin finally drifts off, closer to when Tyson wakes up for his morning run. Thereâs a brief period of time where theyâre actually sleeping together, only an hour or two usually. They both see the different sides of it, but Justin will never mind. He settles into his bed, rolling over and putting an arm over Tyson. He pulls in close to the other boy, taking a moment to realize that itâs okay. Things are okay with Tyson. He smiles a soft smile as he cuddles in close. âGood night,â he finally whispers as his eyes begin to flutter. He knows that when he wakes up, Tyson will not be there in bed, but heâll be in his room in the morning, and thatâs all that matters.
May 10, 2016. AU.
No sense can be made of the words on the paper that Justin is trying to read anymore. He stares at it with tired eyes, no longer in the mood to deal with it for the night. Itâs already midnight and the hours are ticking by. He has so much to do with seemingly no time to do it. He grabs the bottle of liquor from the drawer of his desk and uncaps it, not hesitating before taking a drink. This has become his routine. He canât think of what it was before now.
Justin pulls his phone from another desk drawer and finally turns it on again after a few hours. He has seven missed calls from Carlie, two from Rose, and one from the Kings. He does not listen to the voicemail that Carlie left, he just deletes it. Unless sheâs having the baby now, he really doesnât care. Heâll talk to her in the morningâ maybe.
His mind doesnât race. In fact, it feels rather numb, like everything else on his body. Sometimes he uses the excuse that itâs probably from excessive drinking, but only because he never wants to admit to himself that something is wrong. Itâs also why he hasnât gone back to the Kings in a while. He isnât sure if itâs because he doesnât want them to know something is wrong or because he doesnât want them to hate the person that heâs become, just like everyone else. He doesnât tell them all that he does too sometimes.
From his pocket, he pulls a lighter and a pack of cigarettes. He lights one up and sticks it between his lips. Heâs never told anyone about this bad habit that he picked up after Tyson died. It calms the stress. Heâs not sure what stress it calms, but he thinks it helps. He breathes out a puff of smoke and stares at the clock on the wall. 2:00 AM. He stares at the empty bed. Takes another drink, swaps it back out for the cigarette.
Once heâs done, he snuffs the cigarette in the ashtray on his desk and caps the liquor, sliding it into its drawer. He makes his way to the bathroom, turning the water in the shower on too hot until steam fills the room. Once he steps in, he simply stands there for some time, letting the water pelt his skin until he doesnât feel it anymore. It takes him some time to finally get everything done. He steps out into a steam filled bathroom, wrapping a towel around his waist and not bothering to clear the mirror to look at himself. Instead, he pulls on his boxers and walks straight to the bed.
Justin crawls into an empty bed, the other side barely ever touched. He falls asleep without hesitation. His next morning is an early one.
