The frustration that haunted those black eyes was valid. Pico wouldn’t take that away from him but he had no sympathy. It wasn’t his fault that his ex was lacking in the brain department. His fingers tightened around the fabric to keep him there, a juxtaposition to his body language that screamed to get away.
The pure tender touch on his cheeks made him flinch as if he’d been decked instead. Emotionally, it was a sock to the gut.
Stop it, stop it, stop it.
His body wasn’t used to such softness, it wanted to reject it and remain vile. Life didn’t work out, it never did. Even if he wanted to lean back into that touch and let everything spill, it’d crumble. The assassin fought against the invisible force, some called it yearning, that tugged his lapels towards Jack’s open, warm palms. He couldn’t let the stains of his sins transfer to someone like him.
White eyes met black ones in twisted yin-yang. He couldn’t look away. Desperation edged his expression. “What did y’do wrong?” Pico repeated, quiet, like he was afraid of the question. He was. It was the key to thoughts and feelings kept behind a rusted padlock.
“Nothing. You didn’t do nothin’ wrong. That’s the fuckin’ problem.” It didn’t make sense, Jack didn’t have a way to tap into his thoughts, but the words felt right. ”You’re so clueless, it pisses me off! Why can’t you see it?” ‘It’ meant a lot of things. How naïve the singer was. How terrible Pico was. How fucked up everything was.
He had to scare him away. If he saw him for who he really was, Jack would run. The barrel of his Uzi pressed against the crown of fluffy blue locks.
The safety was flicked off. “Do you get it now, you fuckin’ dolt?! Huh? Do ya see it?” Fuck. He was coming undone. A trace of tears lined his bottom lashes. The tip of his gun grounded against that idiot’s skull. He had to demonstrate how easy it would be. Put the fear of death in him. Make him leave before he left on his own. It’d hurt less. Then Pico would be validated in his fears.
“I’m just no good, babes.”
He pulled the trigger. The magazine was empty.
jack expected the recoil, but it still hurts. the way that pico looks just so wounded pains his heart dearly. he wants to help him, it hurts that he can't. why can't pico understand that?!
his hands stay outward, fingers twitch slightly in wait. maybe... he was an idiot. only an idiot would believe pico would return to his hold. that's all he WANTS. to hold him and tell him that he's here, that theres no need to be so secretive. every passing moment is another tear on jacks heartstrings.
frustration dies out from within Jack's sight. it shouldn't have. not after with what pico has done. but jack was a man with a big heart, he wasn't ice cold like pico. that desperation behind those white orbs, wanting to be understood... how could he be mad at that? jack wants to apologize a million times over but pico is quick to bark.
it's just more hurt and confusion. tears leak down his eyes, the pain would always find a way to escape no matter how much jack wants to keep it away. pico's words do nothing but make the blue haired boy suffer. a constant stream of venom that only worsens the flow of tears. jack wants to know what's going on pico's head. he's trying so hard, but he can't. pico fortified himself with a wall of steel. this wasn't as easy as rapping at it until it went away. his notes just turned sour and would disappear in the wind. pico wasn't willing to listen.
blood freezes so cold it hurts. what exactly made this situation different then week 3? jack didn't know. back then, even with a gun being waved around, he knew pico wouldn't hurt him. now?
the pressure of the uzi on his head causes black eyes to widen farther than they have before. his mind races with the adrenaline, who was gonna win and be able to save his life. he hiccups at the sound of the safety going off. that ice spreads through his body, locking him in place
he still doesn't know what it is. he doesn't know what it is and that's what's making pico mad. jack clings on for dear life to pico, blubbering pleas that can only equate a garbled mess of sounds.
pico wasn't any good for him, but jack never asked him to be. jack just wanted him here, not to let go.
picos finger pulls the trigger, it's like everything stops. jack expects nothing, eyes shut so tight, but the constant flow of tears still happens. pico is still here. the feeling of the barrel pushed into his head was still there.
everything was here and it was too much. stress is too much to bare, jack somehow managed to tighten his grip onto pico. he's so scared, he can't feel the ground this time. his breathing is uneven, way too fast to match the beats of his heart. everything was still here and it brought no comfort.
he manages a noise, a pitiful sound of blubbering. it's garbled and uneven, glitchy and broken. it feels like he's choking on his own words, if you can even call it that.
he's breaking. but with how tight he's holding onto this state, pico is the only thing keeping him from shattering to little pieces.
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