flick of a wrist (and you're dead baby)

ii. dream a little dream of me

James rouse from his drunken slumber around six-thirty in the morning. He found himself in utter darkness; the sun had yet to rise and it left him with no hint of daylight flooding through the windows. The only indication that there weren't thick, heavy blankets thrown over the glass were the dim, tangerine orange streetlights that illuminated through the two windows. The only other source of light was the TV that mutedly played and light up the somber room in sudden splotches of vibrant colors.

He groaned at the feeling of nails being hammered in his brain and the room spinning around him like it did when he was a child and got off his fifth go at a carousel. Nudging himself up from the hole of a couch, it was an unforeseen and abrupt discovery that he had company. Warm, nearly burning skin swept against his side, modestly sifting beside him and stirring him awake.

A misty memory flashed in front of his eyes. It lasted for a brief instant. Merely the outlines of the sight he saw last night. Hazy and uncertain, already fading but James was sure it was stuck in his brain for the rest of times. He saw the mop of curly auburn hair, felt the strands against his shoulder, and that was all the confirmation he ever needed.

He reached out to the tiny stand beside the couch to turn on the table lamp. Blindly feeling up the lamp's body, he found the switch and stretched out his fingers to flick it on. Yellowish, mellow gleam spilled inside the hotel room and it made James squint his sore eyes. He rustled with the sheets and raised his gaze to see Jason sitting beside him, scratching at the dried semen on his stomach.

James pursed his lips when he perceived Jason's tear-stained cheeks. With his knees pulled up to his chest and chin resting in between, Jason had piled the duvet over his bare legs and was nervously toying with his ring, twisting and turning it around his thumb. His face was pale as a sheet, lips dry, hair knotted and worn-out and the inside of his mouth smeared with a tint of metallic taste since chewing his bottom lip open.

James raised on his elbow, fingers softly brushing against Jason's forearm as he asked, "what is it?"

Jason muttered something unintelligible under his breath and shrank into a tinier ball. James's brows knitted together as he rubbed his blurry eyes into focus and sat up on the couch. He wrenched the blanket tighter against himself, tamely moving his icy toes underneath it and avoiding brushing them against Jason. He probably wouldn't appreciate it if James began poking him with his frigid feet this early in the morning.

"What's wrong?" His voice was husky, definitely raspy and it seemed to catch Jason's attention for a mere minute before he coldly turned away.

"Nothing," he murmured but there was nothing convincing about his tone. Flat and quiet, eyes distant and muscles tense. His body was boiling hot but touch incredibly, immensely cold—James tried understanding the sudden change of mood.

"Nothing?" echoed James. "How is it 'nothing'? If it's 'nothing', why are you so upset, then?"

Jason deeply exhaled, bringing his hand to his face to pick at his lips. He turned his face towards James, barely so, but it was enough for their eyes to meet. "This—oh, my God," he started and vaguely pointed his finger between them. "Why did this have to happen? I don't understand."

"Oh, of course." James lied back with a much heavier heart. "That's what's wrong."

"Jesus fucking Christ," Jason called out while stretching out his legs. "How? How did this even happen? And why? Now everything's different, everything's changed. It's all so fucked and stupid and I don't even remember it."