The Touch of Jack Frost (Weak Hero)

Jimmy (12-19-22)

"Jimmy you're speeding again," Jack mumbled, tightening his grip around the other. The sounds of whirling wind and car engines surrounded them, from a motorcycle, the world became a blur of things. Unimportant thing. Blurred colors. Blurred shapes. Blurred sounds. Blurred. Or maybe that only happened when you were driving fifteen miles above the speed limit. He only really ever did so when he was thinking. 

Even the slightest deacceleration eased Jack's worries, "Sorry," Jimmy spat. He meant it in no malicious manner, the great Jimmy Bae just wasn't very good at giving out apologies. The feeling of Jack's arms around his waist wasn't helping. Beneath the layers of his own long sleeve and jacket, he cool feel the slight radiation of the boy's warmth, which was distracting him even further.

Jack pressed his forehead to the middle of Jimmy's back, sure the pair should've been wearing helmets but it's fine. It's not like anyone ever drove down this part of town anyway, too scared of a break in or shooting. "What are you thinking about Jimmy?" He hummed the question quietly, if the boy hadn't slowed as much as he had, the wind surely would've droned it out. 

"Donald," He admitted, relishing in the pressure, the touch. Someone was there! Jack was there! Having someone there is a lovely feeling. "Jake," How could he report to Jake now? More importantly, what would happen in the Union now? The obvious choice of replacement was Dean Kwan, then again, he'd... too. "Wolf," Wouldn't ever settle that business would he, "Mamba," Maybe it was better this way. "Forest, Naksung, the list goes on."

Friend. Enemy. It didn't matter. Jimmy was insane, he was careless, he loved the idea of killing. However, in the past couple of days, the reality of death had hit him hard. Even if it had been people he didn't hardly care about. What of the Union now? Who's next? Not Jack. Not Jack. Not Jack.

"Are you okay?" The other cooed, squeezing tighter than he had too. Jack was no stranger to motorcycles, actually, he was a better driver than Jimmy. This was just one of the rare occasions where the smaller had sat back and decided to ride passenger. His touch was always warm. Jack was the boy Jimmy had quite literally sold his soul to the devil for, and never once had he regretted his decision in doing so. 

A red light flickered through the other's view, though no cars sat stagnant at the intersection so he continued right on through, "Yeah,"

"I don't think so, slow down," His hand moved up, holding Jimmy's chest to hug him closer. "Please," Jack's head had moved to Jimmy's shoulder, kissing his neck. The ball of tension and worry that was Jimmy Bae began to slowly but surely unwind. At least Jack was here with him. Even if he'd never get that fight with Wolf or Mamba. Even if he'd never get the luxury of not having to actually report to another school. Even if he'd never get to taunt Forest at another Union meeting ever again.

At least Jack was here.

"Yeah, sorry," The word still felt wrong on his tongue. Jimmy was never wrong, his pride just wouldn't allow it. "My bad," He nearly whispered as, once more, he slowed the bike.

"Do you want me to drive?" Jack asked. Of course he wanted Jack to drive. Jack was better at it then him and he was stable and not a threat to their own lives. A small piece of him wanted to cling to the boy, smothering him in an embrace, and let go for a little bit. For a while this way, maybe, he could pretend everything was okay.

The Union isn't crumbling.

No body is dying, we're too young.

He didn't see Jake the morning before he committed suicide.

Everyone is fine.

"No," He choked out. Pretending wasn't an option anymore, Jimmy had to face the plain and simple facts of life. It was there and then it wasn't. Like a candle's light. Bright and burning, then snuffed out in a dark and smokey haze.

God, that's what his head felt like.

Maybe he was still breathing in cigarette smoke from his last break. Maybe this was all some sick hallucination. Any minute now, he'd open his eyes and wake up in a comfortable bed, in a clean house. Jack's house. Any minute now, he'd have to go to a meeting and see the fellow Union heads, alive and bickering. He'd resent that for a moment, as they were obstacles in his rise for power. The he'd accept it with a satisfied sigh. That was how things were supposed to be.

The wind drowned out Jack's pleads for Jimmy to slow down. Maybe if they had been wearing helmets then he would've been a phone call away. Bluetooth. However, the pair weren't.

Jimmy's eyes didn't even rise at the traffic light in front of him.

"Jimmy!"

BAM!

..

..

When he opened his eyes, it was like waking up from a dream. Except, this time, the reality was far worse than whetever he'd been pretending. Jimmy didn't wake up in Jack's bed. He woke up on hard asphalt, cold. He squinted and attempted to rise, though his body collapsed in pain beneath him.

A scarlet paint puddle pooled around his back, for a while Jimmy could feel it.

He could so clearly remember the screech of turning bike tires and the blare of a car horn. Faintly, red light was shining on left over puddles of rain from last night's shower. The smell of burning tire filled his nose from the friction. When he closed his eyes, he could still hear the thud of his flung body hitting the ground. Maybe even the sound of his brain rattling as it cracked against the road.

He'd also heard...

Jack!

Jimmy opened his mouth to yell for the boy, though not a word came out. Or perhaps it did and the impact had just deafened him. Blood from a gash on his forehead streamed into his eyes, burning them and blinding him temporarily. His chest felt like it was being forced beneath a tightening rope, he just couldn't catch his breath. There wasn't enough oxygen in the air.

A cry left his body as his head lolled to the side. Eyes red from irritation attempted a search for a mop of black hair, though he failed. Bloody tears streamed down from useless eyes, eventually making their way to the puddle. It seemed to grow by the second. Again the seventeen year old boy tried to scream. His lungs were being stabbed by hundred of needles, deflating like useless balloons. Breathe. Breathe. Breathe.

Escape, the air willed, leaking from every wound his battered body wore. 

The rumble of an approaching vehicle shook Jimmy's body. He couldn't hear the sirens of an approaching ambulence, nor could he see the flashing lights. However, deep down, he knew that it was help. 

For Jack. He begged wordlessly, air escaping him further.

Help Jack!

Exhale.

.....................................................................................................................

1154 words

wear your helmets kids!

love you