"Life was such a precious thing, easily broken." -Shaun Jeffery
chapter 6
Jazz knew that when he fell asleep on his living room floor, curled between the side of the couch and the table, his head-- and only his head-- resting on the cushion, he'd wake up and be slightly uncomfortable.
But he didn't think he'd wake up and be in pain.
There seemed to be an explosion of color around him, the noise loud and nauseating enough that he couldn't quite make out what it was; it was a curtain of dizzying red and whites and a yellow so vibrant it made him gag.
The feeling built up like stress inside of him, making his skin crawl and burn and for his eyes to slam shut.
No one else would know why, know that the sound felt like it was ripping through him and causing him to go blind, know that the bright white and bloody red triggered a whimper to bubble out of his throat, know that it hurt.
Because no one else around him could see sound. Could feel it.
No one else could understand.
It was so bright-- so bright.
Like looking into the sun, but worse because it surrounded him and he could feel the vibrations crush him and he could feel the waves moving back and forth before ricocheting off of him.
He doesn't know what's happening-- he woke up and he's disorientated and he can't quite remember who he was with or if he is safe and he's sacred-- and he's crying and he can't remember how to make it stop.
He can't make it stop.
Then he's standing, he's trying to get away from it but he can't see and his feet trip over each other and he falls, his knees buckling under his weight and muscles tightening and--
And, well, big people fall the hardest so it hurts but not as bad as the ringing in his ears or the sharpness eating away at his eyes.
He's scared. He doesn't want to be scared. He just wants it all to stop.
There is no green in these colors. There is no softness. It is not safe and even his body can recognize that.
He doesn't even notice that he's mumbling to himself-- he doesn't realize that he's asking, practically begging, to get away from it.
Jazz didn't realize until a shadow fell in his vision but his hands were covering his face, his eyes hidden. He could feel the way his fingers gripped onto his own skin, the way his other hand pressed into his eyes hard enough that it was painful.
But it was nothing compared to how absolutely jarring the sound was from all around him.
He couldn't hear anything else besides it, he felt like he couldn't even move.
But-- but then he was moving, someone's warm hands shaking as they pulled him to his feet. Jazz whimpered again, hands flexing around his face as his tears stung his eyes, his cheeks, his mouth.
Someone, he isn't sure who but no matter what he's thankful, stumbled, the musician knew they were walking because the pain was centered on his back but he couldn't register anything in his body too well, the burning white and red not peeking in from his fingers but still making his body tremble.
But then it just-- it just stops.
Jazz slumps against the person holding him, feeling his skin still tingle with the aftermath. They ease him to lean against something cold and smooth-- a wall?-- and he presses flat against it, not even trying to catch himself when his knees give out and he begins to slide down it.
He realized he was breathing heavy, his chest heaving up and down as he struggled to get his body under control.
Why did he have to be like this?
Why did he have to have this fucking condition?
Some people that know what he experiences-- but doesn't understand-- think it's cool. He can see sound, it's awesome and fun because it's weird and it helps with his music but what about when he gets crippled by how exhausting the distractions are, what about when the noise becomes too much, what about when it hurts?
Is it awesome then?
What about when he tastes a word and it makes him go into a stuttering fit or makes him choke on nothing from how revolting it is? What about when he scratches himself to the point of bleeding because the sound won't get off of him and it feels like a thousand bugs are crawling over his skin? What about when he's blinded by the noise and almost walks into traffic because he thought the sidewalk was that way?
Is that cool then?
Is it fun?
Why can't they just say that it's weird? That it's dangerous? That just because they can know what it is that they don't have to talk about how amazing it is to be different.
Jazz doesn't want to be different, though. He just wants to be safe.
"Jasp-" His name is broken by a growl and he jolts, hand lowering from his face to show his distressed eyes with tears brimming in them, red marks over his face from how hard his fingers had been pressing down into his skin.
The celestial is sitting in front of him, worry etched into his face and his eye winking uncontrollably, hands spasming out at his side, his head jerking to the left before focusing back on him, shoulders rolling back slightly and mumbling something under his breath as he clearly is trying to focus on the problem at hand but his tics are getting in the way.
That just makes Jazz feel even worse, knowing that he made Cas so nervous and worried that he became distressed.
"I'm so sorry," He quickly tried to push himself up, faltering when a sharp, throbbing pain came from his head. The only comfort was the soothing mint and pine coming off of Cas. Not for the first time, he's thankful that the celestial is in his life. "I didn't mean t-to, I didn't mean to worry you. I just-- the noise-- I couldn't... I couldn't even see and, and--"
Jazz cups his mouth with a shaky breath, feeling the panic within him stay at a constant line, pushing him to do something-- anything-- to alleviate it, to get safe, to just stop it all.
He'd make the world freeze, in this moment, to just be able to take a calm gulp of air without life itself crashing around him.
"Hey, it's-" The celestial cuts himself off with a squeak, then with a growl, and the familiar viridian music helps Jazz breathe a little easier. "-okay. Just, um, what happened?"
"The, the sound, it was too bright," Jazz winced again just remembering it, his shaking hands gripping onto the bottom of his shirt. "And I couldn't see or breathe, s-so I freaked out."
Cas blinked at him before saying, "Bright?"
Jazz flushes in shame, and looks away, not breathing as heavy as he once was but definitely not calm-- and based on the celestial's more frequent than usual tic, he wasn't either.
"I, um, I-I have a condition." He admits, glancing away as he notices the celestial between his legs, both of them sitting in the bathroom now. "The general term is synesthesia b-but what I have has more specific names-- I mean, it can be explained easier with the general names but they aren't needed and, and," He pauses to take a deep breath. "I can see sound. Feel it. Taste some words and specific noises. There's this-- this music that plays around people, everyone has a different song and different colors. Every noise does too and that noise was just so, so bright and it felt like it was putting pressure on me from every angle. Like I was drowning in white. I'm sorry that I freaked you out, I really am. I didn't mean to upset you."
"Synesthesia. What kind?" Cas asks-- just like that, just that simply.
No weird, skeptical looks. No disgusted 'what the hell is wrong with you' looks. No sympathetic smiles. No jeers. None of the usual responses.
He was just... accepting Jazz. His ethereal greens and pine and mint mixing together and so, so beautiful in this moment. Cas was always beautiful.
"Chromesthesia," Jazz tells him, hiding a wince from how sore his eyes feel as he brushes away the tears. "And auditory tactile, lexical gustatory and... interoception." That last one, that's the one that makes him get jiged the most.
People think it's wrong-- think that it's unfair-- for him to be able to connect and understand people the way he does because of it. They think it's an advantage but it's not.
Who would want to see everyone's emotions when there's so much hate? When so many people's songs and colors just seem to be rotting from the inside out?
"I don't know what the last three are," Cas wrinkles his nose, growling, and the space fills with the color of rose leaves. "But I know about the first one."
He knows?
He knows what synesthesia is?
Jazz doesn't have to explain it more than a simple sentence?
Relief punctured his lungs and made him release a breath he didn't know he was holding, filling the space that anxiety used to have a tight hold on.
"It means I can feel sound, taste words and see emotions." Jazz remembers how anxious he is to say new words sometimes, not wanting the taste or texture of how they sound to send him into a stuttering fit.
Nodding as if that makes complete sense-- which, from personal experience towards how the average person reacts-- when it doesn't, the celestial brings his knees to his chest, tics calming slightly as he speaks, "My twin's girlfriend has it. She says my voice is green. She doesn't like it."
What? How can anyone not like that?
His voice, it was-- it was ethereal, it was the gentlest and safest color, it was life and it was warm enough to make Jazz just smile at it most days. How could this girl not appreciate it?
"It's not see through, apparently. And-" Cas squeaks, his head tilting forward as his hand makes a grabbing gesture "-it's distracting. So she doesn't like it."
Distracting? Yeah, it was distracting because it was gorgeous, not because it shouldn't be looked at or some shit.
"That's insane," Jazz can't help but to tell him, looking into those gray eyes of his. They weren't green, but they made him feel just as safe. "Your voice is beautiful."
The celestial is instantly blushing, pauses for a second, then blurts, "Bit hot innit?" before flushing even deeper, the red making his pale skin look even whiter as it reached up to the tip of his ears. Sunflowers bursted around him, a chasm of soft greens and appreciative seafoam.
Jazz chuckles slightly, smiling softly at his now flustered roommate.
Well, he was only trying to tell the truth, but he definitely wasn't complaining about making Cas all blushy for him.
"As thankful as I am for looking as cute as you are," Jazz said. "Is this-- my synesthesia-- going to be a problem?"
The celestial takes a few moments to get his tics under control before answering, "Why would it be a problem?"
"With the... u-um, the emotions part?"
"Oh," Cas tilts his head, squeezing his knees tighter and expression in a complete 'I didn't even think about that part' way. "No?"
"Really?" Jazz can't help but to be surprised. Even Viv, his best friend, gets bothered by how easily he can read her sometimes. "But, but isn't it weird? And, w-well, some people really don't, they don't like me because of that or-- or I make them mad and I really don't want to make you mad. Are you mad? That I kept this a secret from you? I wanted to tell you, I did, but I don't like-- I don't-- I have problems explaining it but that shouldn't be an excuse and--"
"Jasper," Castor cuts him off with a squeak. "Please breathe."
"R-right." Jazz accidentally starts to hold his breath-- because, well, momentarily not breathing is better than hyperventilating in his mind.
"Jasper," The celestial pokes his cheek and he knows it's not an accident since he doesn't even try apologizing. "Breathe as in inhaling and exhaling, not holding your breath."
"I know that," Jazz takes a short gasp of air in, this time listening, hand coming up to cup his mouth as he takes a couple deep breaths in, feeling his shoulders relax slightly. "It just.. kinda h-hurts still."
He looks away, taking to rubbing his arms; still feeling the remains of what happened crawling over his skin. It was stupid-- he felt stupid-- to be hurt by something so simple as noise. To not be able to breathe because something is too loud, to feel it all over him.
"Does it-" Cas pauses, an odd mix between a growl and a squeak leaves him. "-ever hurt bad enough that you need to go to the hospital?"
"H-hospital?" Jazz blinks at him, flinching again. "No, it... it doesn't matter that much. I, um, I can't-- it doesn't hurt t-that bad, I promise! It's all... it's all in my head, anyway."
Get over it, Jingle, his peers used to sneer at him, that godawful name on their tongue. It doesn't actually hurt you.
He can see sound? What a nutcase.
Remember to stay away from him-- Jingle is a freak.
It's all in your head, just ignore it.
Just ignore it.
Can't you be like everyone else, Jingle?
You shouldn't get special treatment just because you see things that aren't there.
"It's not all in your head," Cas looks confused but not about the words he's saying-- not about the determination in his eyes, the pine of protection and the moss of anger mixing with a chartreuse of unease. But, underneath that all, was a teal curiosity and deep confusion. Like he couldn't understand why Jazz said what he said. "What you're experiencing is real and it matters, even if others don't understand that. What you're feeling is valid, okay?"
"Thank you," Jazz isn't quite sure what to say but he is grateful for Cas being there for him-- that is until he realizes something and blurts, "You sound like a therapist."
The celestial flushes again.
"It's um," He scratches the back of his head. "It's hereditary."
It's hereditary? Oh. One of his parents must've been a therapist.
Kinda like how he picked up on art and psychology from his Art Professor Papa and Neuropsychologist mother.
Which makes sense. And now he kinda wants to meet the kind of people who raised Cas. Maybe he will get to eventually.
Hopefully one day.