Fandom: Inception (2010)
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Relationships: Arthur/Eames (Inception)
Characters: Arthur (Inception), Eames (Inception)
Additional Tags: Alternate Universe, RMS Titanic, Sort Of, dream NONSENSE, they are so dumb, Happy Ending
Summary:
When Eames is targeted for extraction, Arthur goes under to pull him out of it. Unfortunately, Eames has dreamed up the Titanic, and thinks he is a passenger. The sedation is too strong to shoot them out of it, so Arthur has to play along, and try to help Eames realize he's dreaming before they hit the iceberg. He does not want to drown in the North Atlantic. The fact that he's been quietly in love with Eames for years is definitely not going to be a problem. At all. Especially when Eames starts flirting.
OR
Eames is traveling to New York on the maiden voyage of the White Star Line's unsinkable Titanic. He meets a handsome American and decides that a little shipboard romance is the perfect way to pass the time until they reach America. There's something odd about Arthur, though, and Eames can't quite shake feeling that there's more to this than just a passing connection.
I may have missed @inceptiversary this year, BUT @nutterzoi and I can’t help ourselves, and we participated in @inception-bigbang again this year! We had a ball, throwing our favorites into one of our favorite AU situations: the sinking of the Titanic.
We were also lucky enough to be claimed by TWO fabulously talented artists this year!! PLEASE go check out their artwork!!
@franticold drew us the most incredible dance scene!
@cbge drew us three scenes from the fic!
Please go tell them how amazing and gorgeous their art is, and maybe give our fic a read while you’re at it. c:
Just realized I teased this like a week ago and then forgot to post it. Whoops.
Anyway, this is a flashback to when our boy JJ first started experiencing chronic pain, introducing his lifelong best friend, Marc. I hope you like it, I'm really fond of this one.
Written with @its-a-goddamn-heartbreak (obviously)
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Marc stormed down the street, glowering so severely that even the roadside vendors didn't dare speak to him. He didn't bother to pay attention to street signs as he walked; he didn't fucking care where he was headed, he just wanted to leave.
Stupid phone. Stupid photo. Stupid fucking JJ. What an idiot he'd been for thinking they were actually still friends. That he wasn't just another marketable accessory to build JJ’s insufferably expanding brand. He wondered how long it had been that way. JJ had been growing on social media since their early teens - so long now that in the depth of his timeline there were photos of them together back when Marc was still Marceline. Back when they had both been the weird artsy kids who liked to dance, whose eclectic senses of style had drawn them together… or had they?
What if it had been a part of the plan this whole time? What if JJ had never actually liked him, and just wanted someone cute with a matching aesthetic to be in pictures? Maybe that was why he had been so immediately accepting of Marc’s transition - their audience was overwhelmingly young queer folks. God, had he really let himself be a prop for almost a decade?
Marc only stopped walking when he realized where he was. Angrily, unconsciously, he had made his way back to somewhere safe and comfortable - the dance studio where he and JJ had grown up. Through the window, he could see Linh inside now, going through warm-ups with a group of young ballerinas. Panic shot through him at the idea of being seen, and Marc hastily ducked out of view, praying she hadn't noticed him. Dropping down onto the sidewalk, he hung his head in his hands. He wondered whether Linh would miss him being around. He wondered what JJ would tell her if she asked. Would she even notice at all? Had she known it was just a charade all along? Did she know that was the kind of person that her son was?
Lost in angry thoughts, Marc only realized how long he had been sulking when the door to the studio opened, children and their families trailing out in droves. Having no desire to be recognized by either the students or their teacher, he quickly stood and made a beeline for the train home.
He blocked JJ on everything that night.
Months had passed since their falling out, and aside from the occasional message from a weird fan or a mention from a mutual who wasn't aware of the rift, Marc had managed to keep his timeline clear of JJ. His mind, less so, but he was working on it. No point in letting someone who had never really cared about you waste your time, he told himself. The best you can do is just be better and be happy, even if only out of spite. So that's what he had done, throwing himself into his work, teaching and performing and making content of his own, because when he was busy he could just about pretend he wasn't heartbroken. He had been doing a great job of it as well, until the unavoidable news that JJ wasn't competing in the Europeans that year, and was uncertain for Worlds. The internet went nuts. Suddenly, Marc's messages were full of questions from fans who couldn't get answers anywhere else. Was it true that JJ was in rehab? Was he injured? Had he been sectioned following a botched suicide attempt? Did he have AIDS? Marc didn't know, and he told them so. Or rather, he thought about doing that. Considered telling them outright that he wasn't friends with JJ anymore, that they hadn't spoken in months. But even as hurt and angry as he was, he couldn't bring himself to cause more drama for JJ when there was clearly something wrong. Instead, he told the fans that JJ’s reasons were personal and that they should respect his privacy.
There was a mean little part of him that hoped JJ was having a mental breakdown. If he was completely manic, or on drugs, or some combination of the two, maybe everything he'd said was just a product of madness. Or at least, maybe he'd only half meant it. Maybe some day in the distant future they could reconcile. But Marc knew better than to expect that, really. It wasn't like he'd never seen JJ being cruel before. It was just that he'd never expected those teeth to be turned on him. Maybe this was what he deserved for daring to think he was so special.
As the messages from fans continued to pile up, Marc stood his ground, never conceding any information or lack thereof. He could've thrown JJ under the bus. Part of him thought he ought to. But part of him remembered the excitable kid who sat in on his childhood ballet lessons, gleefully demonstrating moves and offering encouragement to the students. The classmate who had sat by him in labs when other students had already picked their partners, happy to chat and doodle on their data sheets and goof their way through a failed experiment. The boy who had helped him buzz his hair in the bathroom at three in the morning and punched the classmate who called him a dyke the next day. The man who pulled him in front of a camera, insisting he was too talented to not share with the world, who had urged him to dress however he felt comfortable because fuck what society thought gender should look like.
And part of him remembered their last conversation. He couldn't recall how the argument had started, but Marc could hear the end of it in his head clear as a recording.
“...I only keep you around to make me look better. You think anybody cares about you? Please. You don't even have your own style, you're just a discount version of me. People hire you when they can't afford me, or they want the normie-friendly watered-down version. Be real. Get your own personality.”
It still hurt. It hurt because out of everybody, JJ had always seemed to be the one who believed in him, even more than his own parents. It hurt because JJ had once been the person who he had known the best, and now…now Marc didn't even know why he'd retreated from public life. He had, rather reluctantly, checked JJ's socials when no official announcement was made, and was shocked to see how sparsely he'd been posting.
He wanted to check in. He wanted to know why. He wanted to stop caring. But he couldn't. And so it lingered in the back of his mind, creeping and growing like mold in a basement that he thought he might never get rid of. He found himself finding reasons to get the metro lines he knew JJ took to training, to spend time in JJ’s favourite clubs, to peruse shops near the apartment where JJ and Linh lived.
Despite his hovering, Marc hadn't expected to truly cross paths. Catch a glimpse, surely, - hopefully, even - but he had assumed JJ would recognize him from afar and keep a hearty distance. It was nothing shy of a jump scare when JJ came round the corner from the next aisle of the store, looking pale and disheveled and a bit disoriented. He didn't seem to notice Marc at all, a strange tension holding him up like tightly gripped marionette strings, much stiffer than his usual graceful movement. Spotting the item he needed on a high shelf, JJ hesitated for a moment, then robotically extended his arm, stretching up on his tip toes to reach. His face scrunched for a fraction of a second, fingers nearly slipping from the package before he tightened his grip, easing gingerly back down onto flat feet. Marc watched from the corner of the aisle in confusion, cataloguing in his head all the ways that JJ had changed over the past few months. Could it be true that he was on drugs? He'd certainly lost weight, Marc was sure of it.
Without even the thought of a spring in his step, JJ continued down the aisle, dropping his newest acquisition into the basket slung on his arm. An uncanny hollowness came from the dark shadows beneath his eyes, matching the dull vacancy in his gaze.
“JJ?”
Marc found himself unable to swallow back the question in his voice as he called his old friend's name. JJ looked up, swaying as he fixed Marc with an unfocused stare. The longer he stood there, the more obvious it was that something was deeply wrong. All of his usual glitz and glam rock get-up was gone, with only a baggy band tee and some ripped jeans hanging off of his newly gaunt frame. The color in his hair had faded, grown-out roots not quite hidden under a beanie.
Silence hung in the air for a painfully long minute, Marc processing the sight before him while JJ’s mind moved in slow motion. Finally, a blink of realization crossed his face, followed by a look of panic, and JJ’s eyes began to dart around in search of an exit. His body was frozen for a moment before, without warning, he shoved his shopping basket into Marc's arms with a hasty “hold this,” and bolted from the aisle. Marc frowned, holding onto the basket automatically even as he watched JJ go in confusion. What was going on? Was JJ so scared to be seen by someone he knew?
Marc looked down into the basket to see whether he could glean any clues from the contents. The groceries, if they could even be called that, were sparse, almost depressingly so. A bag of rice, a tin of tea, and a stack of ramen packets. None of the usual fresh herbs and vegetables to accompany whichever meat had been haggled from the butcher. No sports drinks or protein bars. Not even JJ's favorite spicy chips. Marc frowned. He could buy the meager contents of the basket with the change in his pocket, but he wasn't sure it would sustain anyone nutritionally. He thought about JJ's sallow face, the slight movement of his throat just before he'd bolted, and something in his head clicked into place.
JJ was sick. Whether it was withdrawals or adjusting to meds somehow or, God forbid, the cancer that some of his fans had speculated about, this wasn't the diet of someone who was well. It was also uncomfortably reminiscent of the way the Nguyens had shopped before JJ had made it as a skater, before the sponsorships and the brand deals and the competition money. This was how JJ ate when he was broke and miserable.
Without even thinking, Marc set off through the shop with renewed purpose. He picked up a six pack of Powerade, a dozen eggs, some tinned tomatoes, headed to the fresh produce section to add spinach and cucumber and potatoes to the basket. He didn't think too hard as he perused the fruit aisle, grabbing bananas and melon and grapes alongside some ginger and turmeric root. He kept one eye on the entrance the whole time - JJ still hadn't come back in.
Having gathered actual proper sustenance, Marc walked quickly to the checkout. He bounced anxiously where he stood, practically throwing his money at the cashier before rushing outside with the groceries in his arms. Almost immediately, he came to a screeching halt.
Barely ten feet from the door was JJ, doubled over and shaking like a leaf. At his feet was a puddle of watery vomit, and an expression far more agonized than nausea twisted his face. He coughed, panting for breath until he spit up another trickle of liquid. In such a pitiful state, he hadn't even noticed Marc exit the shop.
“J?”
Marc approached him cautiously, trying not to startle him. JJ blinked up at him, eyes red-rimmed and watering.
“Leave me alone,” he choked out, stumbling a couple of steps away to lean against the wall. When Marc didn't move, he scrubbed his hand down his face. “Go away, Marc.”
“Go fuck yourself,” Marc replied, a little of his previous anger flaring up. “We're not doing this again.”
“Fine,” JJ bit back. “What did you come here for? To stand there and fucking gloat? Have your fill.”
“Do you know how worried I've been?” Marc snapped, taking a step closer. “Do you know what crazy shit people have been filling my DMs with, and I couldn't even ask you if you were okay? I told them all to mind their own business, by the way, so you're welcome for that.”
“You can tell them whatever you want,” JJ sneered, “I don't care. It hardly matters anyway. You don't need to fuss about me any more than they do.”
“Right.” Marc sighed. He understood what JJ was doing now, lashing out like a cornered dog. It still hurt, but the sick confusion had cleared. “Sure. I've only known you fifteen years. Come on, dude. You spent every Friday night at my house for the whole of primary school. I've seen you puke before.”
“I'm not sick,” JJ blurted, his pale face and pinched expression begging to disagree.
Marc's eyes flicked down to the puddle of vomit on the floor.
“Right.”
JJ's sour milk complexion flushed with embarrassed frustration. “It's not like that,” he cried. “I'm not, like… sick. It's… different,” he said, shoulders slumping as he realized how stupid he sounded.
“J, you're spewing up in the street at two in the afternoon,” Marc said drily. “It doesn't matter if it's a stomach bug or drugs or what, you're not well.”
“It's not like that,” JJ repeated, gritting his teeth through an involuntary grimace. He leaned more against the wall, breathing heavily as a fresh wave of pain seized his stomach and shot down through his lower body.
“Does your Ma know you're out?” Marc chirped, raising an eyebrow. “Why are you out? You know what, it doesn't matter. I'm taking you home.”
“No you're not,” JJ bristled. “I have food to pick up. Ma can't come home to an empty pantry.”
“I got your stupid food,” Marc sighed. “And I know that was for you, not Linh. Your Ma doesn't eat packet ramen. I got some other stuff too, so don't even pretend you need to go back in.”
“You shouldn't have done that,” JJ said, his voice faltering. “You really - I'll pay you back.”
“Shut the fuck up,” Marc replied evenly. Giving up on trying to coax JJ into good decisions, he stepped in close and took him by the arm. “Come on. You should be in bed.”
Though his instinct was to bristle and pull away, pain shot through him like lightning, freezing JJ in place. He swallowed a whimper, already feeling far too exposed and pathetic.
“Come on,” Marc repeated, tone gentling as he caught the pain in JJ's face. “Home time. It's been too long since I've seen your Ma anyway.”
JJ allowed Marc to lead him this time, his head hanging shamefully as he admitted, “She's asked about you.”
“Yeah, well it's hardly surprising,” Marc said blandly, swallowing down his own relief that Linh hadn't been aware of or involved in JJ’s momentary insanity.
“You'll have to stay a while if you want to see her, though.” JJ warned. “She’s picked up a few private gigs, they run pretty late.”
“She's not done that in ages,” Marc commented, more as a question than a statement.
“I know,” JJ muttered. He couldn't bring himself to explain the shame of Linh working extra to compensate for his own failures.
They lapsed into relative silence. It only made JJ's little groans of pain more obvious. Marc wondered if he was feeling sick again - he didn't think JJ was even aware of it, but his hand was pressing deep into his abdomen as they walked and he had curled protectively forwards to the point where he was walking like an old man.
When they reached JJ’s apartment building, the tone of the silence shifted. Marc had come to the grim realization that they had many, stairs to climb, and he wasn't sure he could carry JJ like that. While Marc was still staring at the first flight of stairs, trying to construct a plan, JJ simply steeled himself with a deep, shaky breath and started up. His movements were tense but practiced, leaving Marc to wonder just how many times he'd climbed the stairs in such a state. Swallowing his questions, he followed behind with the shopping bag, pausing to watch carefully each time JJ wavered.
Slow wasn't the word to describe it. All things considered, JJ was walking fairly quickly. But every second felt ten years long, the stiff, forced movements and pained, panting breath giving away everything he didn't dare show on his face. Even he didn't know how he continued to make the climb. The other day, he had overexerted himself to the point of collapsing in the stairwell, leaving him waiting in a pathetic heap until Linh could come to help him up. Just remembering it made him shudder. Despite the way his back, his belly, his legs, even his lungs screamed in protest, he fought to straighten his posture, remembering the sorrowfully pitying look on his mother's face and feeling his stomach turn at the idea of Marc mirroring the same expression.
Or maybe his stomach was just turning anyway. The nausea had been near constant today, and vomiting not far behind it. JJ could no longer tell whether he was still moving because he would be sick if he stopped, or because he knew he wouldn't be able to keep moving again. Just stopping to unlock the door was a struggle, his hands clumsy and his vision fuzzy.
“Here,” Marc muttered, panting from the stairs as he took the keys gently from JJ's hands. JJ slumped against the door, swallowing uncomfortably.
He tried to make it, he really did. Despite the pain, he walked as briskly as possible, but barely a few feet from the tiny bathroom, his body gave up. Without any further warning, JJ doubled over, what little was left in his stomach pouring onto the floor. There was a clatter from behind him as Marc dropped the groceries on the floor, cursing and hurrying over to steady him.
“You good?” He asked quietly, once JJ had caught his breath. “Shit brother, I've never seen you like this. Are you done, or…?”
JJ smacked his lips, groaning feebly. Marc frowned, squeezing the back of his neck as he waited for a response. For a second, he was reminded of raucous, reckless nights out before they'd learned their own limits. Paris had seemed so cool and esoteric to them then, despite having lived there their whole lives.
“Think ‘m empty,” JJ croaked eventually. He began to straighten up then paled, scrabbling with once hand for the small of his back. “Fuck,” he moaned. “Fuck! I need to…lie down.”
Marc didn't need to be told anything else, simply hauling JJ over to the couch and easing him down. Though he wasn't trying to be rough, he saw the fresh distortion of pain on JJ's face. “Brother,” he muttered, “what's happening?”
“There's a heating pad…” JJ's hand flopped uselessly towards the table. He lay stock still, breathing in fast, little pants through his teeth. “Can you…?”
“Yeah,” Marc nodded, leaning over to grab the heating pad. “What else can I do?” he asked, feeling utterly useless.
JJ couldn't reply, neck straining as the next wave of pain seized him. Marc sat on the edge of the fold-out bed, one hand on his friend's shoulder, his mind going a mile a minute. He would have noticed if JJ had picked up an injury, wouldn't he? But then what was this? He couldn't even begin to come up with options. JJ had seemed like his stomach was upset, but was the pain just that bad that it made him throw up? He certainly didn't seem to have a temperature.
As JJ stayed hunched, tense and silent save for the whimper in his throat, Marc took it upon himself to position the heating pad, smoothing it gently against the small of his back where he'd seen JJ clutching. “Here, is that better?”
JJ let out a trembling breath.
“Give it…a minute.”
“Okay,” Marc nodded. He had realized by now that there was no point asking questions, at least not until JJ settled, but he couldn't fathom what sort of injury would cause such pain, and he found himself wracking his brain for options. If JJ had gotten hurt in a competition, he would've seen, right? He would've heard? There was no way the information would've eluded his corner of the Internet. Maybe it was a training accident? Or even from a failed roller-skating stunt, for a video? He knew JJ was reckless, but was he that reckless? He looked down at his friend - still his friend, he thought, despite everything. JJ's eyes had slid closed but he was very still awake. “I'm going to stay until your Ma gets home, okay?”
The ghost of a smile twisted across JJ's lips.
“Okay.”
“And if you're actually ‘not sick’, I'm going to fix us something to eat.”
The smile became a grimace, JJ's hand straying back to his stomach.
“Maybe wait until I'm keeping fluids down."
Marc winced, his gaze drifting towards the mess on the floor. He ought to clean it up. He really didn't want to. “I'll get you some water,” he decided. “And a bin, to be safe.”
“Probably for the best,” JJ mumbled. His pale cheeks flushed and his barely open eyes flickered away from Marc's face. “Thank you.”
“Yeah,” Marc nodded, deliberately avoiding eye contact as well. He had too much going through his head that JJ was in no state to talk about. “Yeah, of course.”
It felt like a long time before JJ piped up again.
“I'm sorry,” he said solemnly. “I was…so mean.”
“You were a huge prick,” Marc agreed, “but you're forgiven, because I'm pretty sure you're dying.”
JJ sniggered, then groaned low in his throat, hips twisting as he reached for his back again.
“Not dying,” he assured Marc. “Just…pain.”
Marc frowned. “When did you get hurt? I never heard anything.”
JJ's face pinched. “I didn't.”
“Then…what?”
JJ’s face shifted again, tighter, frustrated.
“They don't know.”
“You've been to the doctor?” Marc asked.
“More times than I can fucking count,” JJ said bitterly.
“And they…what?”
“They don't have a clue,” JJ sighed. He slung his arm across his eyes. “Like, maybe just my nerves going nuts. Which is like…at least my spine isn't crumbling or something.”
Marc grimaced. “I… bro. That's terrible. How long have you been dealing with this?”
Embarrassment flushed JJ's cheeks. He knew he should've been honest with Marc since the beginning, but admitting just how long ago that was made him feel even stupider. “About six months,” he sighed.
“Jesus.”
Marc breathed out sharply, pinching the bridge of his nose. He breathed again, wondering why his throat suddenly felt so swollen and tight. He knew he had missed JJ, but something about realizing that his friend had pushed him away, not out of malice, but from pain and fear, made the loneliness so much worse.
“I wish you could have told me,” he said eventually.
“Yeah, I…” JJ grimaced, turning his face away. He wished he could run, leave this situation like he'd made Marc leave all those months ago. “I didn't…I didn't want it to be real. If people knew…”
“What, did you think I would go running to some gossip rag?” Marc scoffed, properly offended.
JJ shook his head. “No, not the public. Fuck the public. I mean the real people in my life. No-one will look at me the same once they find out. Raffi keeps checking in on me like I'm on my deathbed. It's awful.”
“Well you can't blame him,” Marc said. “You look…”
“I know what I look like,” JJ muttered. “I know it's perfectly reasonable. It's still awful.”
Marc sighed. “I get it. I get it,” he nodded sympathetically, craning his neck to peer at JJ’s face. “You feeling a little steadier?” He asked.
JJ groaned. “Still hurts like a bitch,” he muttered. “But I don't think I'll puke again, if that's what you're asking.”
“You want that drink now?”
“Please. There are straws in the top drawer with the cutlery.”
Marc nodded, picking up the groceries he'd dropped earlier before making his way to the kitchen. He wanted to get food started - it was painfully obvious JJ hadn't been eating well, and he wasn't sure he wanted to know how much was poverty and how much was being too unwell to keep his weight up.
“I'll make us something to eat, yeah?” He called over his shoulder as he rummaged in the drawer for a straw. He popped it into one of the bottles of Powerade and carried it back. “I got the stuff for tomato eggs. I reckon your Ma will like that as well, right?”
“You always were her favourite son,” JJ teased, smiling wanly up as he took the bottle and held the straw awkwardly to his lips.
“Well it's an easy role to win with competition like you,” Marc teased. “All I have to do is not track paint into the house and use headphones when I'm listening to things at three in the morning.”
“Yes, but I'm guessing you haven't painted in months,” Marc smirked.
“That still counts!” JJ protested.
“Barely.” Marc squeezed JJ’s shoulder and stood up from the bed. “You want to put a show on or something while I cook? It's weird, being in here when it's quiet.”
“Uh, yeah. Don't judge, though,” JJ begged. “I've been stuck lying around for ages, I've already watched everything good.”
Marc laughed as he walked into the kitchen. “I'll temper my sense of decency in expectation.”
While dinner cooked, they bantered over the top of JJ’s trashy reality shows, catching up so effortlessly it was as if they'd never been apart. If it weren't for the occasional gasp and grimace from JJ, everything would have been normal.
“So…when did it start?” Marc asked eventually, deliberately not turning round to see JJ’s face.
Silence hung heavy in the air, a tangible grief that made Marc regret asking. He was about to say nevermind when JJ finally spoke.
“I was working on my routine for Europeans. The first time, I thought I was dying. I woke up feeling kind of sore but I assumed I'd just been training hard. I went to the rink anyway, because what was I gonna do, sit around at home? Raffi and I were figuring out choreography, and I went to do a flip…”
A rattly breath escaped JJ’s lips, and he took a slow sip of Powerade, staring somberly into the bottle.
“It was like I was struck by lightning. I fell. Hard. But I barely even noticed. The pain had already hit me midair, worse than hitting the ice ever could.”
“Jesus,” Marc sighed, finally turning away from the stove to look at JJ.
“The physio told me to rest it, and a couple of days later it seemed fine,” JJ continued, “so I went back to training. And then like…just over a week later it hit again on the metro. It hurt so bad I thought I was gonna puke. I nearly called an ambulance, I didn't know how I was gonna make it home.”
“How did you get home?” Marc fussed.
“I had to call Ma,” JJ admitted shamefully. “She had to leave a class early. I went and apologized to her boss the next day, but he was horrible about it.”
“She should come teach at my studio,” Marc grumbled. “He always was a prick.”
“Ma is not going to teach at a pole dancing studio,” JJ said, sounding vaguely offended on behalf of his mother.
“It's not just pole,” Marc shrugged. “But anyway, back to you. That was months ago, wasn't it?”
“Yeah,” JJ sighed. “I tried resting. I gave it a whole week off, but even just lying around the house, it would come out of nowhere. I went back to the physio, saw the doctor, bounced around to different specialists. No-one knows a fucking thing except that it's not my spine.”
“And is it getting worse?”
“Uh…” JJ’s forehead wrinkled. “Right now it's really bad. Has been for about a fortnight. There's something going on with my stomach too, and my, uh… my bladder. They think it's all connected but it's never been all at once before.”
What are you going to do? Marc just barely caught himself before asking it aloud, swallowing his thoughts before he could ask such a stupid question. He stared vacantly for a few moments before his mind could produce a better question. “Is there anything I can do?”
“What, other than scrape me off the floor and drag me home and clean up my puke?” JJ asked, with a bitter laugh that Marc knew wasn't aimed at him.
“I mean like, if you need a ride to the doctor or to be brought home from the rink or even just for me to go pick up something from the shops. That way you don't have to worry about your Ma doing it.” Marc clarified.
Though he knew Marc meant it helpfully, JJ felt a sting at the reminder of what a burden he had become on his mother. He went quiet, staring down at the clenched fists in his lap. The hardest part of this whole thing had been what it had done to Linh. He hated watching her come home from a long day, a little stooped, moving slowly. She'd always been thin, but she was back to eating like a bird, just like she had when he was a child and they were late in rent. When she reached to stroke his hair back, he could see the delicate bones in her wrist. And she was worried. All the time. He could swear the stress of it was making her hair go white.
“I have to worry about Ma,” JJ said quietly. “She doesn't worry about herself.”
“Of course you worry about your Ma,” Marc nodded, shifting to the other side of the counter to find bowls as the rice cooker burbled tunefully. “But maybe if I worry about her too, it takes a bit of the pressure off. You shouldn't have been out trying to shop today, not when you're feeling so ill. You could get hurt.”
“I'm not going to get hurt,” JJ grumbled, a petulant scowl on his face. “The only thing I hurt was my dignity. If I can't provide income, the least I can do is take care of errands for Ma.”
“You could get hurt,” Marc repeated. “You're vulnerable. Anyone could take advantage of that. Let me take care of errands. I like having an excuse to come over anyway.”
JJ prickled, the end of Marc’s argument falling on deaf ears as his critically injured ego took another crushing blow. “I can take care of myself. I'm in pain, not brain dead.”
“Yes, but you don't have to.” Marc's voice rose with exasperation. “God, will you stop for a minute and consider that if you don't let me do this, I'm literally going to lose my mind? You're my best fucking friend, JJ, just let me help you.”
There was a long, heavy silence. Marc didn't dare look across the room, staring studiously at the pan as he waited to see if he had pushed too far. Eventually, JJ piped up again, voice tiny and tight.
Which of your fics/projects has been the most emotionally gratifying for you in recent memory?
(turnabout is fair play after all)
I would say for me (🔪🔪) it's been Sandstorms and Starfall, the romance adventure story/enemies to lovers story that brings Sir Crocodile and Princess Vivi together. It was really great to be able to walk through repairing that relationship, and bringing the two of them to a place of emotional understanding and intimacy.
I can't fail to mention however, for 🔍⚔️ the answer is absolutely A Song for Ragpickers and Urchins which is the Donquixote Family "found family" origin story that paints a lot of very rough and villainous characters with a softer POV. He re-reads it all the time because it's a very comforting place for him emotionally.
