The reaction is immediate: John’s eyes snap open, wide and unseeing in a split second of blind, unthinking panic at the very idea. The hand of Jack’s he still has hold of is pulled against John’s chest, his grip one of white knuckled desperation.
A chill breeze stirs the air, leaving goosebumps in its wake and distant sounds from deeper in John’s memory.
The clang of metal on stone in a prison labor camp with the unintelligible voices of guards barking orders.
“I’m…expendable.” John’s voice, quiet and frank.
“What mean ‘expendable?’” A curious female voice with a Vietnamese accent.
The clang of metal on stone.
“At least in here, I know where I stand.”
The last handful of words in John’s voice, soft and gently resigned, echo as the breeze dies again, and John’s eyes focus, his mind returning to the present and lets him see Jack in front of him, feel the heat of the fingers wrapped in his, tucked securely against John’s chest.
“…no.”
His gaze flicks over Jack’s face—briefly lower, over the tight t-shirt and vest before meeting those dazzling blue eyes again. Yeah, it’s a great view, he can let himself admit that…but it feels a little like a costume to John. One he put on for John…he doesn’t know what it means or where it came from, but he pulled it out for a reason. To try and help.
Hesitantly, John closes that tiny distance until their foreheads are pressed together. He stares into Jack’s eyes for a long moment as that new point of contact keeps the memories at bay—the relentless reminders that he deserves, that he’s destined, to be alone—then shuts his eyes with a sigh as the panic and tension drains away from his face at last.
no subject
A chill breeze stirs the air, leaving goosebumps in its wake and distant sounds from deeper in John’s memory.
The clang of metal on stone in a prison labor camp with the unintelligible voices of guards barking orders.
“I’m…expendable.” John’s voice, quiet and frank.
“What mean ‘expendable?’” A curious female voice with a Vietnamese accent.
The clang of metal on stone.
“At least in here, I know where I stand.”
The last handful of words in John’s voice, soft and gently resigned, echo as the breeze dies again, and John’s eyes focus, his mind returning to the present and lets him see Jack in front of him, feel the heat of the fingers wrapped in his, tucked securely against John’s chest.
“…no.”
His gaze flicks over Jack’s face—briefly lower, over the tight t-shirt and vest before meeting those dazzling blue eyes again. Yeah, it’s a great view, he can let himself admit that…but it feels a little like a costume to John. One he put on for John…he doesn’t know what it means or where it came from, but he pulled it out for a reason. To try and help.
Hesitantly, John closes that tiny distance until their foreheads are pressed together. He stares into Jack’s eyes for a long moment as that new point of contact keeps the memories at bay—the relentless reminders that he deserves, that he’s destined, to be alone—then shuts his eyes with a sigh as the panic and tension drains away from his face at last.
“Please.”