05-27-2025, 12:52 AM
Jay was strangely quiet for once, watching her sink to the floor like someone defusing a bomb inside her own head. That image hanging in the air, this girl with her arm around another one made his throat feel tight. Like he’d stepped into a moment he didn’t deserve to see.
And then she spoke. Not much. Just enough. Ah. Shit. What did I do? But no. No, her tone wasn’t accusing like that. Not exactly. And she didn’t look afraid of him, she looked like she wanted to rip his throat out and then maybe bawl into a pillow.
And then… he made the connection.
It felt like a lifetime ago. The concert. The red-haired serial killer dude. Nox's couch. The surprise the first time Nox kissed him, not having gotten the vibes that he would be into such a thing. It was the first time he channeled, in so far as he was aware at the time. The power. The heat. Then bottles of tequila. The hangover that followed him out the door. He barely remembered leaving. Let alone who was there on the way out.
He looked at this girl again. Not just at her face, but the way she looked at him. Not like a stranger. Not like someone who’d been there for him. But someone who’d been there for Nox. Who hated Jay for well-validated feelings and was torn up inside about them. The guilt hit like a punch to the ribs. A million times worse than anything he might have done to Nox himself.
He dragged a hand through his still-wet hair. His skin felt tight, stretched too thin. “Shit,” he muttered. “You guys were together, weren’t you?”
He didn’t expect her to answer. She didn’t have to. He peeled himself away from her eyes. They seemed to shine from inside, worse, like they could see inside him. He shifted his weight, cleared his throat, and cautiously approached. It was a comfortable distance that he slid down the wall next to her, laying his arms across his knees.
"I'm sorry," he said, and now he was the one issuing apologies that he knew wouldn't work. “I was… drunk. Like, not even regular drunk. Just… gone. I think I still had half a bottle in me when I left.”
He scratched at his jaw, still not looking at her.
“I’m not trying to say that makes it okay, just... explaining, I guess.”
He rubbed the back of his neck as he studied the hand in his line of sight. He hadn't noticed the blooming bruise until now.
And then she spoke. Not much. Just enough. Ah. Shit. What did I do? But no. No, her tone wasn’t accusing like that. Not exactly. And she didn’t look afraid of him, she looked like she wanted to rip his throat out and then maybe bawl into a pillow.
And then… he made the connection.
It felt like a lifetime ago. The concert. The red-haired serial killer dude. Nox's couch. The surprise the first time Nox kissed him, not having gotten the vibes that he would be into such a thing. It was the first time he channeled, in so far as he was aware at the time. The power. The heat. Then bottles of tequila. The hangover that followed him out the door. He barely remembered leaving. Let alone who was there on the way out.
He looked at this girl again. Not just at her face, but the way she looked at him. Not like a stranger. Not like someone who’d been there for him. But someone who’d been there for Nox. Who hated Jay for well-validated feelings and was torn up inside about them. The guilt hit like a punch to the ribs. A million times worse than anything he might have done to Nox himself.
He dragged a hand through his still-wet hair. His skin felt tight, stretched too thin. “Shit,” he muttered. “You guys were together, weren’t you?”
He didn’t expect her to answer. She didn’t have to. He peeled himself away from her eyes. They seemed to shine from inside, worse, like they could see inside him. He shifted his weight, cleared his throat, and cautiously approached. It was a comfortable distance that he slid down the wall next to her, laying his arms across his knees.
"I'm sorry," he said, and now he was the one issuing apologies that he knew wouldn't work. “I was… drunk. Like, not even regular drunk. Just… gone. I think I still had half a bottle in me when I left.”
He scratched at his jaw, still not looking at her.
“I’m not trying to say that makes it okay, just... explaining, I guess.”
He rubbed the back of his neck as he studied the hand in his line of sight. He hadn't noticed the blooming bruise until now.
Only darkness shows you the light.