#perceive this

[felonius-glitch]

Wow! A pinned so you can see my tags because tumblr mobile search sucks!

Who Even Am I?

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#felonic draws = My art tag!

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[lothews-a]

oh my god

[ichannelpkt]

Perceive This - Chapter 9: Good Day

I should have turned back; I should have known better than to walk away defeated.

          Self-loathing is one thing that is damn hard to escape from.  It starts with the smallest thing, and from then on, it turns everything you do into another reason to hate yourself.  It's that tiny voice in the back of your head telling you every single thing that's wrong with you.  It eats you from the inside out.           For Tom, his ways of avoiding this were his trusty painkillers and alcohol.  Lately, though, they weren't cutting it so much.  He found himself getting more and more pissed off at how much he'd screwed everything up, and he had nothing else to blame it on but himself.  He fucked up.  He gave up too easily.  He ran away.  He was a fucking coward.  A selfish, cowardly, lying waste of human flesh, hiding behind a stupid bottle of pills while he ran around ruining everyone's lives.  Tired of making excuses for himself and his very obvious short-comings, he sat forward with his head in his hands and sighed deeply.           He wasn't always like this.  He used to be a decent person.  People liked him.  He knew what love was; he knew how to be happy without constantly trying to destroy it.  Now, he'd made his unhappiness into a self-fulfilling prophecy that he spread around to everyone he came into contact with, and who the fuck wants to be around that?           His family avoided him most of the time.  Or was he avoiding them?  He didn't want his daughter to see him like this.  Also, he didn't want to snap at Jen for things that weren't her fault.  Maybe it was a mutual avoidance.  Tom groaned in resignation.           Then there was Mark, and he certainly didn't want to be around it, that's for sure.  It was more than clear at the end.  As much as Tom told himself he tried, did he really?  Did he really do everything he could to salvage their relationship?  No, honestly, he didn't.  He gave up.  He walked away defeated.  Coming to terms with that was not easy for him to do, and he looked for any excuse for that not to be the case.  But alas, that was the case, and now it's time to make ammends for the bullshit he put everyone through -- the bullshit he put Mark through.  Another deep sigh escaped him as he pressed his palms into his eyes.  This was not going to be easy.

I'll say it tonight, I'll say it forever, and this time I really swear I mean it.  Oh, I need you now.

          Tom reached under his couch and pulled out his little stash box, rolling up a joint before sitting back and lighting it.  No sense in being this angry this early in the day, he figured.  He inhaled deeply, letting the smoke sit in his lungs as long as possible.  A few more hits like that, and his anger was giving way to a much lighter mindset.           The first step in this whole process was admitting that he couldn't take on the world.  No matter what his ego said, no matter what the drugs said, he couldn't do it.  He was weak.  He needed Mark.  Fuck, how long had he been trying to go on without him?  And how many of these songs ended up being messages to him?

True love is something that comes easy.  Just one kiss, god, I swear I want to...

          The headlights of Mark's car illuminated the darkness around two boys at the skate park.  The taller one was out of breath, his shirt hanging loosely off him, parts of it sticking to his sweat soaked skin.  He'd just finished showing Mark his coolest new trick.           "That was pretty rad, right?  And I fucking landed it without looking like a doof!"           Mark smiled and high-fived Tom when he sat down beside him.  His eyes were on his shoelaces, and Tom knew Mark was a million miles away.           "What the fuck, man?  Where are you?"           "What?  Fuck, I'm sorry.  It was a cool trick."           "No, dude, I mean, your mind is obviously on something else.  What's up?"           A sigh came from Mark's throat.  Should he tell him?  He could leave the scary part out, but Tom knew him better than anyone, so it was inevitable that he would tell him one way or the other.           "Dude, I don't.. um.."  He was nervous.           "Spit it out, old man."           "Fuck you."           "Come on, just say it."           "I'll say it as soon as you take back the 'old man' comment, asswipe."           "Okay, fine, you're not old.  You're super young.  You're like a newborn baby, bald and slimy."           Mark smiled again.  Leave it to Tom to lighten the mood.. and then immediately kill it once more.           "So what is it?"           "I think.." Mark hesitated.  Was he really ready to admit this?  Shit.  Might aswell get it over with.  Besides, Tom would get it out of him sooner or later.  "I think I'm inlove with someone."           A million feelings welled up in Tom's chest.  Atfirst he was jealous, because he knew it wasn't him, as much as he hoped and wished it would be.  Then he was happy, because Mark deserved to be happy.  Who was he to be bitter about it?  His eyes studied Mark's face; he knew he was waiting for a response, but all Tom could do was stare at his lips and wish that they would meet his own.           He snapped out of it.  "That's awesome, man.  Are you sure?  Who is it?"           Mark looked away, almost like he was embarrassed, and said, "It doesn't matter, they don't feel the same way."           "How do you know that?  Did you ask her?"           "No, but.. I just know."           "But how do you know?"           "Just drop it.  It's impossible."           Tom knew that tone.  He knew Mark was serious.  His curiosity was killing him, but he let it go and didn't bring it back up again.

I heard a pin drop and a nervous heartbeat.  Have you ever heard me scream I love you?

          Tom laughed to himself.  He was pretty high by this point, having rolled about three more joints and sucked them down, followed by a few very generous shots of whiskey.  He missed those times.  If only he'd had the guts then to tell Mark how he felt, they could have began their true relationship so much sooner.  Maybe things play out the way they're supposed to, though.  Maybe then just wasn't the time.  The time did come, though -- oh boy, did it ever, and oh did they have fun with it.  Just like all relationships, though, they had their ups and downs.

          Mark sat silently, his eyes darting around the room and landing on Tom.  Sizing him up.  Judging him.  Tom could feel it, and he knew why.  It wasn't a secret -- Mark hated Box Car Racer.  He hated that Tom did something without him.  He hated that he didn't feel as important to Tom as Tom was to him.           Tom shifted nervously.  They were the only two in the room, and you could cut the tension with a knife.  His eyes were fixated on his hands in his lap, fidgeting silently.  What was Mark going to say?  What was this going to turn into?  They were like this all the time now -- awkward, silent, angry.           Suddenly, Mark was on his feet, making his way over to Tom.  Tom flinched; he didn't know what to expect.  The older man stood over him, glaring down at him with a mixture of pain and anger in his eyes.  He remained silent.  Tom could hear his heartbeat loud in his ears.           "Why?"  That's all he said.  One simple question.  The one question Tom didn't have an acceptable answer to.           "I just.. I wanted to try.. different.."  He was stuttering.  Mark was unbelievably intimidating right now.  He knew he owed him answers, but what answers did he have to give?           Mark sighed, giving up, because he knew nothing that would come from the younger boy's mouth would be an acceptable answer to wash away all the pain he caused.  He walked away, giving up on ever feeling worth it to Tom again.           Right before Mark made it to the door, Tom yelled, "I fucking love you!"           It wasn't enough.  It was bullshit.  Love doesn't leave someone out like that.  Mark hesitated.  He turned around for a brief second, a part of him hoping they could salvage this.  Tom's eyes lit up for a moment, thinking that maybe, just maybe, what he'd said made a difference.  Then common sense took over, and he knew it couldn't be fixed.  They both knew it.  Mark continued making his way out the door.  He left.  Tom was alone.

This room is safe and sound.  Will you lay here with me and feel it?

          One more joint was rolled up and lit.  The whiskey had been put away.  It wasn't doing him any good.  Tom laid on the floor as he smoked, letting his eyes fall over all the blink memorabilia littering his walls.  He felt safe here.  Nothing could hurt him here.  Nothing new, atleast.  Sure, seeing Mark's face on his walls stung, but he welcomed it.  He loved seeing his face, especially when it was smiling, like in all the pictures surrounding him.  He smiled.             He remembered when he used to lay in the studio floor with Mark, bouncing ideas off eachother, acoustic guitar resting across Tom’s torso.  That’s how they came up with “Fuck A Dog.”  A wider smile crept across his face at the memory.  Mark and Tom always had a thing for the floor; it’s where they felt safe.  It’s where Tom felt safe now.  He had a good feeling inside him.  He knew exactly what to do next,

I think I like today.  I think it's good.  It's something I can't get my head around.

            It was time.  Time for Tom to write a song, just for Mark, just for blink.  It was time for him to say what he needed to say, and fuck, did he have a lot to say.  Tom sat up with a smile on his face.  It was time to make his biggest effort to resolve this.

[ichannelpkt]

Perceive This - Chapter 8: It Hurts

          A day without the thing Tom had come to depend on most these days - his painkillers.  He wasn't sure what had sparked this stupid idea, but it seemed great last night while he was high.  Write a song sober, let your true feelings come out, blahblahblah.         "You're such a dumbass, Delonge," he sighed to himself, laying down on his couch with the usual paper and pen.  If he was going to go through all this trouble, he better get a damn good song out of it.         He sat in the dimly lit room for awhile, letting his mind wander to various things.  Food, painkillers, chocolate, painkillers, squirrels, painkillers, acorns, painkillers, painkillers, painkillerspainkillerspainkillersfuck.         Noises were coming from the other room; Jen was obviously doing something strenuous.  Jen.  How did he end up married to her again?  That was never the plan, Tom thought.  Originally, Tom was seeing her to keep the rumours down about what was going on with Mark.  She was awesome, she was beautiful, and Tom felt like an asshole for not marrying her for the right reasons.

Every little kiss and grin you gave was just some little bullshit I saw through.

          The real reason he married her, if he were to be honest with himself, was to get back at Mark.  He wasn't mad at Mark when he started dating Skye; after all, it kept people from suspecting there was something going on between the two men.  What he didn't expect was how far Mark took the whole charade with Skye.

          The room was busy, people walking and talking and drinking everywhere.  It was fancy.  Too fancy for Tom's taste, and nothing Mark would've enjoyed.  Tom knew Skye was the one that planned this event.  Since when did he go to dinner parties?         Oh, right.  Since women were in their lives.  He groaned internally at this thought.         He looked around for Mark, hoping for some feeling of familiarity in this uncomfortable environment.  Finally, he saw him, standing beside Skye with a practiced smile and drowning himself in a beer.  Not his first one, judging by the way he was standing.  Tom made his way over, watching those blue eyes light up as he noticed.         "Mark, what the fuck is this?  You are not going all fancy pants on me," Tom whispered when he reached Mark.         "No way, dude, Skye did this, and I.. just.. have you tried the food?  Fucking delicious."  He held up some sort of fancy muffin shaped thing and Tom blinked at it.         "..Is that a fucking muffin?"         "Looks like, huh?"  He looked up at Tom and smiled that stupid smile again, ugh, fuck him and that smile.  "I'm glad you're here, Tom."  He reached out and pulled Tom into the deepest hug he possibly could, given they were in public.         It was interrupted by the sound of metal on glass, followed by, "Excuse me, hii, can I have your attention?  Everyone?"  Skye.  Mark pulled away and motioned for Tom to go sit down, flashing him a smile before rushing over to her side.         "Glad you all could make it out!  So this dinner is umm.. well.. I have a bit of an announcement!  Mark and I, we, uh, have an announcement, actually."         Oh god, no.  Please no.  No no no.  Tom could feel his heart trying to jump out of his chest.         "We're getting married!"         All the air was stolen from Tom's lungs.

The alcohol is scented with your breath.  You're always all done up to just be used.

          Tom clenched his teeth as he remembered that night.  Why didn't Mark tell him about it first?  Why didn't he mention that he was going to propose to her?  That wasn't the fucking plan.  Finding someone else was not a part of the plan.  Marrying someone else certainly wasn't part of the plan.  They had a fucking plan.         He sighed and draped his arm over his eyes, unable to stop his mind from continuing with the thought process it had started.         From that point on, there was a crack in the foundation of their relationship.  Mark married Skye, and Tom married Jen shortly after.  It was out of revenge, they both knew it.  Tom felt like Mark had given up all hopes of them being anything more than a secret when no one was watching, and it hurt.  He watched Mark start drinking more, and he watched Mark go on autopilot around his wife.         That word was still hard for Tom to come to terms with.  His wife.  What the fuck happened?

I'm waiting for excuses that deceive.  I'll meet you in the back to see them through.

          Being married didn't stop what happened when Mark and Tom were alone together.  When they were finally able to get away from everything else and be themselves with eachother, it was the same as it'd always been.  They still fooled around, they still talked, they still slept together, they still woke up in eachother's arms - they were still inlove.  Tom lived for those times.         Being married also didn't stop them from sneaking off to have sex whenever they found possible.

          A double date, Tom sighed.  Who really thought this was a good idea?  It was much more fun when he could just get Mark alone and do whatever, having the wives along made it a totally different situation.         The wives.  He scoffed.         Besides, girls always picked stupid movies, so now he was stuck in this stupid cinema watching some stupid love film about stupid stupidness with stupid actors and stupid lines.  It was all stupid.         He looked across the two seats between them and caught Mark's eye.  Mark motioned towards the door at the back of the room, Tom nodded in response.  He could hear Mark telling Skye something about the bathroom before getting up and giving Tom a wink over his shoulder.         He looked funny when he winked, it made Tom smile.  He wasted no time in making the same excuse to Jen and hurrying towards the exit, bounding towards the bathroom once he was finally out of the theatre.         "Le knock knock, sir, le roooooom service for a Mister Ben Dover~"  Mark giggled on the other side of the door, opening it to pull Tom in and locking it behind him again.         Thank goodness for single person bathrooms.

Are you out of your mind?  You dug yourself into a liar's hole.  You made a little spark to live inside.  It's now a fucking fire out of control.

          It had to be bad karma or something to think of your wife like this, Tom thought to himself.  It wasn't her fault he didn't love her like he should.  She deserved so much more than he could give her.  She was a wonderful woman, and it wasn't fair to her that he was only giving her the least amount of himself possible.  He just loved someone else.  He was meant to be with someone else.  Not her.         He didn't mean for it to go this far.  He was only dating her so that he could keep seeing Mark and people wouldn't ask questions about why they were both single.  It was just easier keeping the secret this way.  Somehow, though, life had other plans, and it turned into this marriage.  This marriage that Tom existed in, but wasn't invested in.         Figures, he thought.  Things never seemed to work out the way he planned.   Just like this whole painkiller idea.  He did not plan for it to feel so shitty.  His muscles ached, his whole body hurt all over.  Seems only fitting to add physical pain to emotional pain, might aswell jump infront of a moving bus while we're at it.         Tom found some sort of demented humour in that thought and let out a little chuckle, instantly regretting it when the sudden movement made his muscles feel like they were on fire.

When the morning comes, you'll act surprised, and when the word gets out, it will get old, and everyday you'll try to live your life in every little scam that will unfold.

          The burning stopped soon enough, and he relaxed back into the couch.  That little series of events pulled Tom's mind away from its original thoughts and onto the bigger picture.  This is what he was mad about?  Not Mark blocking him out, not being ignored everytime he tried to ask for his help, not being pushed away to the point where drugs were all he had left to turn to, but this?  Them getting married?         He left everything he'd worked for behind.  The band he started years and years ago, the band he'd lived for - gone.  So many people hated him for it.  The fans saw all of this as his fault.  None of them saw it coming.  What if they all forgot about him?  What if they all hated him now?  He'd let so many people down by leaving, but what the fuck was he supposed to do?  Any other day, he'd have the answer right infront of him, trapped in a glorious little orange bottle with his name on it.  Those wonderful little pills gave him the ability to put on the confident, happy front he had to put on when he was in public.  It was his fault blink-182 was over, and he accepted that.  Atleast, he wanted it to seem that way.  He didn't want the blame to fall on Mark or Travis, and certainly not Jen; he would shoulder all of it so they could go on and maybe be happy.  Aslong as he had his pills, he could live out this reality for them.  For Mark.

How did I let her inside?  We're dripping of sweat and feeling alright.  Her lips are the last thing touched tonight.

          Even now, Tom did everything with Mark in mind.  He wrote this album as a way to reach Mark.  He said things in interviews to take the blame away from Mark.  He said things to try to make Mark hurt less, even if that meant he had to hate Tom.  Fuck, he even thought about Mark when he was in bed with his wife.  There wasn't a time that he could remember his mind being focused on the moment.         Instead, it was a million miles away, back in the old shitty bus blink first started out in.  Or maybe in a bathroom in the back of some restaurant.  Sometimes in the dressing room before or after a show, or a hotel room in any random town.  Tom could distinctly remember the way Mark smelled, the way he tasted, the way his skin felt against his own, the way he bit his lip and moaned his name.  He could remember perfectly how the sweat ran down their bodies, how their hips met, how their lips felt on eachother.  At the end of everynight, the very last thing Mark did was kiss Tom's forehead and whisper he loved him.

          Tom fell down ontop of Mark, breathless and worn out from the events that just took place.  He couldn't even bring himself to form words, yet; all he could do was listen to the way Mark's heart was still racing.  If he had been able to speak at that moment, all he would be able to do is ramble about how awesome that was and how much he loved him and how fucking sticky they were.         Luckily, Mark was the first to break the silence.  "Pretty sure if anyone's around within a mile or two, they know our names well at this point."         "So much for being undercover agents."         "Like we were ever under any covers, Tom."         He slid off of Mark slightly, just enough that he could rest his head on his chest and drape his arm over his still sticky stomach.  The van was miserably hot, but it was the only place they had enough privacy.  He could feel his eyes closing against his will, he was so fucking tired.  Mark could tell, and he wrapped his arms tighter around the younger boy. Tom mumbled a few more words before he drifted off, words no one else would've been able to understand.         Mark understood.  With a kiss to his forehead, he sighed, "I love you, too, shithead.  Too much."

Your bestfriend is not your girlfriend.

          He loved him.  Mark really did love him.  Why the fuck did Tom leave?  Why was he sitting here in this stupid fucking room by himself, why was Mark not here anymore?  Why did Tom ever think he could get by without Mark?  Why did he think this was even a fucking possibility?         Tom pushed himself up off the couch as quickly as he could and went in search of his pills.  A bottle of alcohol made itself seen first, so a few gulps of that went down before he resumed searching.  Fuck being sober.  Fuck dealing with any of this.  Fuck his whole stupid fucking life and his stupid fucking existence.         On the bathroom floor with a pill bottle in hand, Tom was curled up into a ball and sobbing.  He didn't mean to be, what man curls up and cries on a floor?  But he couldn't help it.  He'd lost the most important person to him.  Mark was more than just his bestfriend, he was more than a lover, more than a bandmate.  It wasn't like Tom had a falling out with a friend and had someone else to turn to.  He lost everyone he had to turn to, all at one time, all in one person.

It hurts.

          To add insult to injury, Tom ended up thinking about the last thing he heard Mark say.  Something about "manning up" or "being a man" or something along those lines.  Oh yeah, he was totally living up to that advice, curled up on the floor weeping like a little fucking girl.  Man, he'd really gone downhill recently.  What would Mark think if he saw him now?         It didn't matter.  Not even a little bit.  The pills were kicking in and Tom was done thinking about it.  He was done thinking at all.  He pulled himself off the floor, washed his face, and staggered towards his bed.         Fuck going another day without painkillers.

[ichannelpkt]

Perceive This - Chapter 7: The Gift

          Tired eyes met a digital clock a foot and a half away - 5:09am, December 13th, 2005. Tom groaned as he rolled out of bed, bare feet landing on cold stone floor and goosebumps traveling over his entire body. He grabbed his robe and wrapped it tightly around his previously exposed midsection. The thought of no longer sleeping in just boxers crossed his mind, and he began to warm up to it when he entertained the idea of sleeping in an oven instead.           The fucking thirteenth. Great. Ugh, what the fuuuuck, why did this day have to come? He didn't need a birthday. It was all just one big lame-ass reminder of how much different his life was now and how much fun his birthdays used to be. Oh, and another year to add on to that ever-climbing age number. Awesome!           Even the bathroom mirror refused to go easy on him, only reminding his tired eyes how shitty he looked. Guess it comes with being thirty, Tom groaned internally. He ran a hand through his unwashed hair and reached into the medicine cabinet for his morning dose of life.           Why was he even awake at this hour? No birds, the sun wasn't up, no loud noises... Internal clock, maybe? He scoffed. Yeah, sure, internal clock - wound up on self-loathing with a dash of pity thrown in at every tick. That was a real winner.           Hoodie on, sweatpants on, crutch safely in his pocket - happy fucking birthday, asshole.           He hid away in his studio just like every other day, sipping his coffee while waiting for his computer to come on. Okay, maybe not like every other day - maybe he felt the need to be connected to the world on this joyous day of his birth; maybe he wanted to buy some dynamite off Ebay and blow himself up - what did it matter? The sudden light from the monitor contrasted harshly with the dark room, and a part of Tom cursed himself for not expecting it. His eyes ached. He pressed his palms into his eye sockets and rubbed them roughly, trying to help them adjust. Nope, no luck. God, he already resented the entire day.

I got a gift, and it blew me away, from the far eastern sea straight to here.

          Before he even realized it, his fingers were making their way across the keyboard, typing in things without any prior thought. He squinted at the screen in another attempt to adjust to the unfamiliar lighting, and he recognized the webpage that was brought up despite the blurriness. All Tom could muster was a defeated sigh in response. He should've expected no less from his own goddamn self.           Mark's Myspace page towered infront of his face like an angry parent punishing a child. Tom kept his head down as shame rippled through his body. Fuck, even when he was alone, he still found himself revolting.           Bullshit aside, he wondered why he was sitting there trying to act like he had any pride left. Who was around to judge him at such a stupid hour in the morning, anyway? Only himself, and God knows the ache in his chest to check up on Mark would overpower any better judgement he had for those few fleeting seconds.           "Fuck it," he muttered with resignation. This was his sad, pathetic birthday present to himself, he decided. Besides, what if Mark left a birthday wish for him or something? Could he live knowing he blindly turned away from that?           The page scrolled down while his still burning eyes searched for some acknowledgement, any sort of nod towards Tom or what day it was. Even the tiniest, simplest thing would do.           "Let's see, last thing posted... Ah, here, less than an hour ago. Well well, I wonder what this could be."           A post about Mark's new band with Travis, it seemed. Great. That's just what Tom wanted to see. He continued to skim through the words Mark wrote, mouse hovering over the website at the bottom of it all. So, plusfortyfour.com, hm? +44... The UK? What, was Mark planning to move east or something?           In the middle of that thought, the masochist in Tom took over and clicked the link.

Oh God, I feel like I'm in for it now. It's like the rush has gone straight to my brain.

          Tom had about half a second and an eyeroll (which he undoubtedly took advantage of, mind you) to beat himself up for clicking it before life showed up with other plans. Strange how things unfold that way, isn't it? Here we have a man, it's his thirtieth birthday, and for those thirty years of his life, he had shaped a particular idea about himself, about the world around him. Then suddenly, in less time than it takes to actually say "life-altering event," one happens and shakes this poor man to his very core. BOOM! - that fucking fast.           The webpage loaded about halfway, and then autoplay unleashed its assault on Tom Delonge as a person, as a human, as an emotional being. It would not rest until it saw him completely destroyed, soul lying in shambles housed in the body of a broken man. Music surrounded the unsuspecting Sagittarius, followed swiftly by the deep, pain-soaked voice of the man Tom used to call his bestfriend - Mark Hoppus.           "Please understand..."           The sound pierced through Tom, and his lungs struggled to find air in all of it. There was an immediate sense of panic, but it was soon overshadowed by an all-consuming feeling of helplessness.           "This isn't just goodbye..."           Every defense, every fake smile, every wall Tom had ever built came down around him, crumbling so violently that he couldn't even grasp at a strand of the false sanity it once offered.           "This is I can't stand you..."           The words sank straight into Tom's soul, redefining everything he thought he was. Pure sadness, loneliness, despair, anguish, hate - he heard all of it wrapped into the voice he once so loved hearing. God, he could practically see the misery dripping from Mark's lyrics. The immense pain it was causing Tom was too much - adrenaline coursed through his veins like acid, leaving his mind to cave in on itself. All he could think, taste, feel - only static.           Happy fucking birthday.

But my voice is as lonely as loud as I whisper a joy of this pain.

          Tom was crushed under the weight of it all, from the inside out and back again. Words eluded him; they were a foreign concept at this point. It didn't even matter. He sat there in silence as No It Isn't played on a loop. He let the song, Mark's voice, envelope him and go through him and saturate every pore. It was his own personal torture, and he fucking deserved it. He deserved the agony, the emptiness, and every bit of the blame. This is what he'd done. This was his fault.           Yet somehow... Somehow, he felt happy. Happier than he'd felt in ages, really. It was odd - here he was, completely destroyed, totally empty, with a big stupid sincere smile on his face, and it wasn't even some twisted masochistic thing.           All Tom could focus on (after the initial heart-wrenching desperation, ofcourse) was the fact that Mark remembered. Mark remembered Tom's birthday. Not only that, but Mark gave Tom a song. He wrote it, recorded it, spent time on it, planned it all out for this particular day, this specific event. Hours must have been spent on it, which ultimately meant hours with the brown-eyed guitarist in mind. Mark thought about Tom that much.           His smile grew wider, brighter, almost to the point of making his cheeks hurt. He closed his eyes and slowly shook his head before laughing a short, quiet laugh at the irony of everything. How could a happiness like this coexist with so much agony?           The sinking pit of loneliness Tom had grown so accustomed to feeling in the pit of his stomach suddenly wasn't there anymore. It was a strange sensation. That deep emptiness had been building up inside of him for far too long; it was something he'd come to accept as a simple fact of life, something unavoidable You know, like death and taxes. Death, taxes, black hole of despair - these were Tom's truths. It stunned him that a feeling so gigantic and overpowering could be erased so quickly, but it most certainly had. Just like that. He could almost feel the sheer weightlessness of it all floating through the pieces of his broken heart. Amazing how joy and pain go together hand in hand, he thought.

And suddenly, you've done it all. You've won me over in no time at all.

          Thoughts carried on racing through Tom's mind, falling over themselves and getting lost in the static that still waited undertow. "No It Isn't" repeated over and over in the background, and it never got easier to deal with. It hurt on a deeper level than he thought possible, but that was something Mark always knew how to do. He could craft a song with a sharper edge than any blade; Mark thought out every word and carefully placed them in the most opportune fashion, forming a perfectly planned line that could cut someone straight to their core, because he knew how to make it personal yet beautiful. Having lost track of time, Tom had no idea how many times he'd heard the song now. That was okay. It was his birthday present, and it was perfect.           A new smile formed across his features, pulling the corners of his mouth upward again before his cheeks had a chance to fully recover. He could feel the all-but-forgotten butterflies fluttering around in his tummy for the first time since... Too long, he concluded. He welcomed them with open arms, relishing in the nostalgia that accompanied them as they floated through the part of him that once felt totally hollow. They made him feel alive. Most days, he would blame that or any similar feeling in his stomach on the handful of painkillers he'd swallowed already, or maybe on the alcohol he'd been chasing them with. Not this time, though - no, he knew this time was different, and it was fantastic.           After another swig of the poison infront of him, there was a small moment of hesitation. He questioned briefly what exactly he'd put into his system at this point, and how much more he could handle. Not surprisingly, he'd lost count of how many painkillers his body consumed since first hearing Mark's song. No telling how much liquor he'd drenched them in, either.           Tom was still smiling all the same. Only Mark could get this sort of teenage-girl reaction out of him, that dick. Nothing else in his life could bring him to his knees like this; nothing else could make him smile this way; nothing else made him feel alive. Just Mark - a smelly punk from southern California that loved to make dick jokes and smoke cigarettes. It was always Mark.           The computer chair spun slightly at the absence of weight in it. Tom left it behind as he moved to the couch in anticipation of all the drugs that were about to kick in. Standing up was already a task, he noticed, no doubt thanks to the alcohol, and he held onto whatever object was closest to assist in hobbling to his destination. Goddammit, it was so much work. Better safe than sorry, though, right? A dry chuckle was all he had to say to that thought, his head already resting safely on a pillow before the chuckle even finished. He threw his arm over his eyes, guarding them in the crook of his elbow. When he was finally comfortable, he let out a deep breath and sank into relaxation.           Just as expected, the drug haze hit with full force within a few minutes of Tom lying down. It blanketed his senses with a dull euphoria tinted in greens and blues, tiny flecks of orange and yellow glistening through it. Reality started getting away from him - it was a lightly hued smoke that slipped right through his fingers and disappeared before his eyes. He was more than okay with it all; his tired consciousness welcomed the escape with open arms as he let go entirely. Why fight it? Besides, it was his birthday, and he preferred to spend it in a place where he was happy.           It was incredible. His consciousness floated, swayed, shifted, slipped through space and time. A nice, contented sigh escaped his lips as he felt himself fade away from the reality around his physical body. There was somewhere else he had to be, he could feel it. It was calling out to him. His soul ached being away from it. He continued to slide through dimensions, and time shifted, warped, molded itself. A memory began to take shape as he watched silently; every single fibre of every single thing that surrounded him was altering, reconstructing into something he recognized. Matter was being formed from seemingly nothing yet everything at the same time. It was the closest thing to a miracle he had ever experienced, and his awareness weaved in and out of the fabric of creation. It was vivid and beautiful. The ache in his soul ceased as Tom grounded himself in the fully remade world, the new reality that sprung up around him. Weird, he remembered this place...           Tom turned around, only to be immediately sucked in and suffocated by intense blue oceans, clear as the sky, vibrant and full of life and staring right through him in a way he hadn't experienced in way too long. Eyes. He knew those eyes. Oh fuck.           There was Mark, standing right infront of Tom with a huge smile and alcohol on his breath. Tom choked.

If you ask, I will do what you say.  All we have is this night to get through.

          The weather was surprisingly pleasant for late October.  It was just nippy enough to have a slight chill in the air, but not cold enough to be uncomfortable.  Skateboarding in a short sleeved shirt was made for weather like this, whereas simply standing around outside would require a jacket once dusk rolled around.  It was what many people would consider perfect.  Perhaps that was just one of the perks of living in San Diego.           Two drunk boys staggered into the oldest of the pair's room in the middle of the night, the darkness suddenly filled with their prolonged glances and secret desires.  The younger one shushed his friend, demanding his attention before pulling a fifth of vodka out of one of the deep pockets in his baggy jeans.  Hushed whispers revealed that the bottle had been stolen from the Halloween party they were at earlier, and the two decided to drink to the sneaky seventeen year old's swiping skills.           "Halloween of '92, fuck yeah!  Here's to fucking your dad and becoming your new step-father," the twenty year old exclaimed still in a bit of a whisper.  A clink came from the tiny shotglasses as they connected shortly before traveling to each boy's lips, burning alcohol washing down their throats at the same time.           "Dude, why are we whispering?  It's your fucking shitty apartment," Tom said with a laugh on his breath.           Mark giggled with him.  "I have no fucking idea, man.  People live upstairs, but..."  He trailed off as he walked over to his dresser in search of an ashtray, Marlboro Light being lit in the process.  He took his hat off and threw it towards the closet, followed by his shirt, all while he kept the cigarette balanced in his lips.           Tom took another shot of vodka.  His eyes were fixed on his bestfriend, watching every move his body made.  God, he was intoxicating.  All he wanted to do was wrap his arm's around Mark's waist, hold his hand, be close to him.  It was fucking eating at him inside.  He just wanted to be close to him.           He chuckled aloud to himself, amazed at how ridiculously manly he was becoming.           "What's funny," Mark asked as he put his cigarette out.           "You have your dad's butt," Tom grinned in response.           "Aw Tommyboy, were you over there staring at my ass?!"           "For science, homo.  Genetics and shit."           "Uh huhhh, you wanna get a better look at it, don't you?"  Mark's stupid smile took over his face, it made him glow, then he turned around and started to bend over just to be a gigantic dick.           "Oh, I can't resist it," Tom squealed. "Let me pee on your butt, Mark!  You can call me Fabio while I do it, I know that's what you dream about!"  He giggled uncontrollably as Mark tried to sensually rub his ass.  What a dickhole.           "Oh, but Thomas..." Mark tried to say it seductively and ended up sounding like an old woman.  Tom was laughing so hard that his bladder was screaming.           "Really gotta pee, though, oh man, hold on," he said as he bolted out of the room in the direction of the bathroom, his notoriously small bladder getting the best of him again.  Intoxication was replacing his balance, and he giggled with every stumble.  Dammit, he was so giddy!  A night like this with Mark was always the one thing that could get him in this mood.  That's half the reason why these were his favourite nights.           The mirror caught Tom's attention in the bathroom, and he finally noticed how sweaty he was.  When did it get so fucking hot?  More importantly, what the fuck had he spilled on his shirt?  He shrugged and took it off, tossing it to the floor.  Kill two birds with one stone, fuck yeah.           He walked back into Mark's room, still giggling as he staggered around.           "Dude, Tom, I hea-"  Tom loudly cut him off when he entered.           "Mark, you asswipe, I fucking love y-"           Graceful as ever, Tom managed to trip mid-sentence over a pile of shit that his lazy ass bestfriend left right in the middle of his fucking pathway, that dickweed.  Gravity didn't waiver for teenagers with too much alcohol in their systems, and Tom's arms flailed in a panic as he went down, reaching for something, anything, to keep him from falling.  Mark happened to be the closest thing, just as graceful as his brown-eyed counterpart, so Tom ended up pulling him down with him.  A resounding thud marked their destined arrival on the floor.  Goddammit, that did not feel like falling onto a cloud.  Instead of a hard floor, though, the younger boy felt warmth there.  He opened his eyes and looked down.           Sure enough, there was Mark, right underneath him.  Tom was entirely ontop of him, pinning the boy to the floor, their eyes totally lever with one another.  Oh God, how many times had Tom thought about ending up in this exact position?  Ofcourse, he'd planned for it to go a little smoother, maybe with more kissing or something, but he would take what he could get.  Moonlight spilled through Mark's tiny window, illuminating the blue eyes staring directly into Tom's.  His breath was taken away for a moment.  The moonlight reflected in Mark's eyes, making them practically glow an icy pale blue as they pierced into Tom's deep brown ones.  How fucking beautiful could one human be, he wondered, noticing the accents and shadows the light caused on the face below him.  His breath finally returned, and through the ridiculously loud sound of his pulse in his ears, he could hear them both breathing heavily, slowly, from the fall.  He couldn't take his eyes off Mark, couldn't interrupt the current status of things, even after noticing how long they'd been on the floor staring at eachother.           "Kiss me, Tom."           Lips collided with lips, passion crashing down around both of them in suffocating waves of euphoria.  Hesitation had no part in this equation - there was no second thought.  Tom's right hand rested lightly under Mark's chin, tilting his face up to bring his lips even closer.  He was soft, he was tender - it wasn't an overpowering force, and it wasn't one of those sloppy kisses teenage couples share before ripping eachother's clothes off.  This was fucking sensual; it was intimate.  Mark's lips were so soft as they moved in unison with Tom's, their subtle movements matching and pushing the other forward.  The hands of the young guitarist made their way up into the older boy's hair, one resting on the back of his neck to pull him closer.  Calloused fingers trailed up Tom's sides, under his shoulders, finally allowing Mark's arms to wrap around his neck and pull him deeper into the kiss.  Their breathing flooded Tom's ears, mixing with the sound of his own heartbeat to make an oddly perfect combination.  Soft noises came from them, complimented perfectly by the small gasp Mark let out when Tom bit his lip gently before pulling away, his hands still in the hair of the beautiful boy beneath him.           Their faces were only a couple inches away from eachother, both boys still gasping and trying to catch their breath.  Mark stared up at Tom with such an intensity, he could see tidal waves of emotion in the gorgeous blue spheres.  Their gaze was locked, held, and said everything they'd needed to say for too long without any words.  It was evident, it was all over their faces; it was all around them and throughout them - this was so much more than just sex, more than the alcohol in their systems, more than anything they'd ever felt in their lives.           Tom put his forehead to Mark's as a smile played at his face, eye contact constantly maintained.  They both knew.  This was completely real, and it was going to change their lives forever.

With a twist of your smile your own way, you left me all up in arms and confused.

          Before Tom knew it, he found himself on his back, Mark staring down at him.  A part of him wanted to question it, while a part of him was too caught up in everything to bother.  His arms stayed resting around Mark's neck while those blue eyes studied his, searched him, tried to figure him out.  For just a moment, Mark pulled back, putting some space between their bodies, and really let his eyes take in the sight of Tom beneath him.  The moonlight bounced off his slightly tanned skin perfectly, making him look otherworldly.  His bare chest continued rising and falling in the pale glow with his still heavy breathing.  Mark bit his lip, his eyes darting back to the brown ones he was getting lost in.  They caught the light just right, reflecting flecks of dark green within the deep brown.  They were wide, but not in a fearful way; they looked up at Mark with a vulnerability that he'd never seen before, glazed over by lust.  He was fucking beautiful, and, even if it was just for the moment, he was his.           The brown eyes beneath Mark followed every move he made with utmost curiosity.  He noticed this, and that signature Hoppus smile appeared on his face.  He had an idea.           Mark's hands found Tom's, holding onto them and intertwining with his fingers tightly.  He adjusted his position to straddle Tom's waist carefully, smile still shining from his face.  Tom knew where this was going and tried for only a second to squirm away, but it was too late - Mark leaned down, holding onto Tom's hands and stretching them above his head, and placed his mouth beside the boy's ear.  His breath was sending chills down Tom's spine, goosebumps across his entire body.  Mark moved a little bit, his nose brushed past Tom's ear, as he slowly, gently brought his teeth to Tom's earlobe, biting it, gasping into his ear.  Chills were racing up the younger boy's spine, causing him to squirm and shudder, his hips pushing up against Mark.  He didn't push back, however - he simply continued to keep Tom's hands pinned while his lips traced over his collarbone.           Moans were lacing the desperate gasps coming from the boy pinned to the floor.  His hips were pushing into Mark more and more, even though he tried to control it.  That famous smile returned as his eyes fell upon the writhing body beneath him for a moment before the Pisces bit his lip and moved his lips to Tom's ear again.           "I want to feel how hard you are for me," he breathed as lust saturated his voice.  Tom whimpered, struggling to get his hands free for a moment before resigning.           "Just for me," he continued in almost a low growl, breathing heavily into Tom's ear.  "You're all mine."  The groan from beneath him sent chills down his spine.  He smiled.  All his.

Oh God, I feel like I'm in for it now, and how this kiss will be one wonderfully vain.

          Tom could feel every nerve-ending overloading.  His body was in a constant state of shivers, squirming as each chill shot up his spine.  He'd never felt anything like this.  When Mark finally released his hands, he couldn't get them around him fast enough.  His fingers tangled in the older boy's hair, grabbing him and pulling their lips together finally.  He sucked at Mark's bottom lip gently, moaning in response when it got a gasp out of him.  His hands kept tangling in the older boy's hair, trying to pull him closer and closer.  Their bodies pressed together, and he felt Mark's right hand tracing circles down his side, igniting fires under his skin wherever he touched.  His hands traveled downwards, having finally let go of the fistfuls of hair, and his nails dug deep onto Mark's back as his lips began exploring Tom's neck, teeth scraping gently across his throat before settling into the bend of his shoulder and neck, biting and sucking softly.           His breathing was sporadic, coming out more in pants and moans than anything at this point.  Another whimper escaped his throat as Mark brushed against his ear, his hips pressing up against the body ontop of him.  There was a soft groan from Mark before he moved to readjust the bottom half of their bodies, never separating them more than he had to.  He settled for being slightly inbetween Tom's legs, their hips meeting in a way that even the slightest thrust would be amazing.  Their lips returned to eachother once again, deep and passionate and raw.  Tom let his nails scrape down Mark's sides roughly, to which Mark responded by finally pushing his hips into Tom's.           He let out a deep, aching moan, Mark's name rolling off his tongue.  The Sagittarius wasn't even sure if the noise he made at that point was human, but he didn't care.  Everything about Mark felt so good.  He pushed his hips into Mark again, which made him push back at the same time, and Tom could swear he saw stars in that moment.  His eyes squeezed shut, his arched his back to get closer to the boy ontop of him, and his breath hitched in his throat.           Then Tom turned the tables on the older boy.  He gasped and sighed, lips right against Mark's ear, sending chills all throughout the blue-eyed boy's body.           "Moan my name, Mark.  Please," he halfway begged, and Mark caved.  He completely and totally caved.  Their hips met again, and Mark moaned Tom's name like a fucking swear word.

I swear I'll melt if you touch me at all, but then I'll ask you to do it again, and again.

          Mark could feel how close Tom was getting; he could feel how much this was getting to both of them.  Their bodies were squirming, aching to get closer to the other, bucking their hips and clawing their skin, gasping for air that their lungs didn't want to take in.  Tom's face was in Mark's shoulder, kissing and biting the sensitive skin under his ear.  It was enough to push Mark over the edge, but he fought it.  He refused to finish before Tom.           He leaned over, holding himself up on his left elbow, allowing his right hand enough room to trail down Tom's body and between them.  There wasn't much space put between them - even Mark wasn't strong enough to fight it that hard - just enough to sneak his hand between their hips.  Tom had his fingers tangled in Mark's hair again, pulling him into another soul-devouring kiss.  Fingertips trailed across the younger boy's chest, down his tummy, stopping just below his bellybutton to drag his nails across the delicate skin.  Moans floated through their kisses while Mark's hand continued to sneak lower, pausing at the waistband of Tom's pants as if to ask permission.  Tom's hips pushed upwards against Mark, begging him to continue.  One quick flick of the wrist and his jeans were unbuttoned, allowing Mark's hand to slip under the fabric of Tom's boxers.           He kept his eyes on the older boy's hand as it went lower, his entire body on pins and needles in anticipation.  He looked up at Mark, their eyes holding contact for awhile before he finally began to caress Tom softly.  He gasped at the touch, Mark's name pouring from his throat with every moan dancing on his breath.  His hips pushed against Mark's hand involuntarily and drew more groans from him.  Mark bit his lip in an attempt not to get carried away himself, his hand still stroking the boy beneath him.           Tom slipped his hand into Mark's free left hand and laced their fingers together tightly as he looked up into deep, suffocating, gorgeous blue eyes.  "Don't stop.  Please, Mark, don't stop," he choked out.           Mark smiled.

And now, I'll stop the storm if it rains.  I'll light a path far from here.  I'll make your fear melt away, and the world we know disappear.

          Tom's eyes stayed shut as the painkillers wore off, snapping him back from his memory, yet not fully into reality.  He squeezed his eyes tighter, hoping somehow that it would return him to where he was.  It didn't.  Fuck, what would he have to do to get back there?  Take more fucking pills?  Die?  Why couldn't he have just stayed there for a few more minutes...           His mind was racing, trying to come up with any plan to get back to that memory, anything to get back just long enough to hear Mark say, "I love you."  His heart broke all around him, aching to return and hear all those emotions that were finally shared that night.  That was the first time they admitted anything, and that's when they admitted everything.  It was Tom's favourite memory, something he held closer to him than anyone could ever understand.  It was his most guarded secret, his closest memory, the thing that defined him more than any other experience of his life.  He sighed.  Ofcourse, he would wake up at the good part.           Even if it was just a memory replaying over and over, he would be happy.  It didn't have to be anything to live through.  Staying on autopilot forever as that memory replayed on a loop would be more than fine.  He had no idea what he would do, anyway, if he had to actually relive it.  Would he go into it with a blank slate?  Or would he go into it knowing all that he knows now?  He couldn't even say what he would've done differently if he'd known then what he knows now.  Would he have done anything differently?  That night was pretty perfect the way it was.  Maybe he would've run away with Mark way back then, before they had anyone else to worry about.  Maybe he could've kept him happy, offered him a different life...  One where they would've been together.           Tom sighed.  He could feel the tears building up, even though his eyes were still clenched.  This was all fucking stupid.

Make the world we know disappear.

          There was a creaking noise in the background, which Tom knew to be the studio door.  He didn't react to it at all - he figured if he ignored it, it would go away.  He didn't even care. He just wanted to sleep, dream, die.  Anything but this.           "Your birthday dinner is in a couple hours, don't you wanna start getting ready," Jen asked, her head poked through the door.  Tom didn't open his eyes to see.           "Nah, I don't feel up for it tonight," he sighed, burying his face deeper into his arm and shutting everything else out.  Infact, he had no plans to move from that couch.           Tom heard her try several more times to get a response from him, but he couldn't be bothered to make a sound, much less form words.  Finally, he heard her leave and shut the stupid door, which meant he was free to wallow in his misery.  That's what he was best at these days.           Everything about today was stupid, he decided.  His birthday, the date, the fact that he was alive - everything.  Fuck today.  It was his fucking birthday, Mark remembered.  That was the only part that wasn't stupid.  Why couldn't he just stay locked in his memories of them together?  Maybe locked in the memories of shit they'd done together for his past birthdays...  Anything.  Anything was better than not having him at all.  He got up and wobbled over to the computer, starting "No, It Isn't" again.  Even a song like this, designed to destroy him - even it was better than nothing at all.  Why did it fucking come to this?  He sighed.           Birthdays are fucking stupid.

[ichannelpkt]

Perceive This - Chapter 3: Do It For Me Now

I’m frightened at night, and the wind has a roar.  It seeps through the hall and from under the door.

          Nightmares.  They were so often these days, he had grown to accept them.  Acceptance didn’t make them any easier to get through, though, and it wasn’t uncommon for Tom to spend the night awake so he didn’t have to deal with them.  The ones lately were so real, so terrifying.  Most nights, he would wake up in a cold sweat, sheets tangled around him, his hands grasping for someone that wasn’t there anymore.           It was one of those nights again.  Tom woke up, a scream on the tip of his tongue, the sound of destruction still ringing in his ears.  His hair was wet, stuck to his forehead with sweat.  He sat up and pushed it away, still trying to get his breathing under control.  Jen was sleeping calmly beside him.  Jen…  When had he made it to bed?  Last he remembered, he was locked in his studio, sprawled out on that couch he’d come to be so familiar with.  Shrugging it off, he got up and wandered out of his bedroom, still shaken from his dream.  There was no comfort to be found there.  That room hadn’t been comforting to him in ages..           After throwing on a hoodie and a pair of pants, he found himself out the door.  His car was started, he was driving somewhere.  This was all done in a haze, a half-asleep haze, at that.  Tom had no idea where he was going, but he knew where he ended up.  Of all the fucking places...

Like the shit that was said, I can’t take it that well.

          It was starting to rain.  One of those hot, sticky rains that made you feel like the sky was pissing on your head or something equally as gross.  Shivers made their way down Tom’s spine as he stood outside his car, staring up at a house he used to know so well.  Eyes taking in how peaceful the place was, noting how there was only one light on in the whole place.  One light.  Who was up?  Better question, what fucking time was it?  He glanced down at his phone.           3:30am.  Awesome.  Not like it’s creepy or anything, standing outside his ex-bestfriend’s house in the rain, alone, in the middle of the night..  Nope, not creepy at all.  What the fuck was he even doing here?           Tom punched the hood of his car out of frustration before getting back in the driver seat and starting the engine.  That little outburst of rage had made more noise than he was expecting, and he knew it was only a matter of time before someone came to the door to see what was going on.  He sped off.  He couldn’t handle anyone seeing him there.  What if Mark came out?  No, no fucking way was he going to let Mark see him like this.  Especially not after all the bullshit he’d said about how Tom needed to “man up” and whatever, what did he even know, fuck him.

I give and I give and I give and I give and I’m still lost and hurt and bone thin from the love that’s been starved.

          Driving probably wasn’t the best idea, given the state of things.  The rain went from zero to pouring in a matter of minutes.  The lack of quality sleep had Tom on the verge of hallucinating, and his eyes were fighting back the tears that were just waiting to spill out.  So what, he thought.  Maybe that would be a nice way to end things - a gruesome car crash, one where they wouldn’t even be able to recognize his body.  At least then he wouldn’t have to deal with this break up bullshit.           The beach had always been one of his favourite spots, one of the only places in the world he could go to get away from everything.  It offered him exactly what he needed - fresh air, the water, the familiar scent of saltwater in the air, a perfect view of the stars - without any questions.  It’s no surprise that he ended up there, alone, rain still falling all around him.  It was okay, because the rain mixed in with the tears that finally fought their way out of his eyes, and he didn’t have to admit to himself that he was crying.  God, getting manlier and manlier by the minute, aren’t you, Delonge?           He plopped down in the wet sand, pulled his hood up, slipped off his shoes, and laid back.  The sand was cold and rough against his bare feet, and he burrowed his fingers down into it.  His eyes closed, trying hard to focus only on the sensations, on anything other than the sadness that grew inside him.  Unable to focus for too long, his mind started to wander.           It helped a bit, the sand.  Every tiny little grain had a story, a life it lived out.  Some of them used to be part of something bigger, some of them used to be deep in that bottomless ocean.  The ocean.  That ocean suffocated the shit out of him sometimes.  It was hard to come and spend any time looking at it during the day, and that was more depressing to Tom than it should’ve been.  How many times had he come out to the beach just to watch the water roll in, just to listen to the waves, just to think?  That used to be such a common occurance, until everything was different and he started noticing how blue it was.           Tom squeezed his eyes shut harder and gritted his teeth.  That was a lie.  He’d always noticed how blue it was, he’d always noticed the fucking similarities between the ocean and his best friend’s eyes.  That’s why he used to come out to the beach so often, even if he never really realized that was why.  When things were getting bad between the two of them, he found himself at this exact beach more and more.  It wasn’t something he could explain then, it wasn’t something he even tried to explain, it was just something he took as fact.  The beach was comforting.  The ocean was comforting.  The water reminded him of Mark’s eyes.

The grave is set up, the hole that I dug.  I gave and I gave and I gave and I gave you my trust.

          Before he realized his legs were even moving, Tom found himself back at his car.  Sand was caked to his back, wet and sticky and gross.  Fuck if he cared.  He stood with the driver door open, leaning in just enough to keep the raindrops from falling on his phone, and he stared at the screen.  The number he wanted was deleted from his phone months ago, in case this exact situation arose.  Not like that stopped him, it was a number he knew by heart.  His fingers flew over the buttons, the number entered, not dialed.  Something wasn’t letting him hit the send button.           ”So this is how you want Mark to see you,” a tiny voice said inside his head.  This voice, it was the sound of all of Tom’s insecurities.  All his fears, all his worries, everything he didn’t want to happen, every worst case scenario he could think of - it was all embodied in this voice.           ”He’s seen me worse.”  Talking to yourself is generally frowned upon in public, but it doesn’t matter so much when you’re alone.  A memory flickered in Tom’s mind, a brief glimpse of how miserable he was when he was dealing with his parents’ divorce.  Mark stayed by him through all of that.           ”You were a child then.  He was your bestfriend then.  What’s your excuse now?”  He winced.  It was the truth,  no denying it.  They were best friends.  Used to be.  In the past.  But now?           ”I just fucking need him!”  Tom was yelling now.  Alone.  In the middle of the night.  To a voice inside his head.  No time like the present to sink to a new low.           ”Just like he needs you?  That must be why he came after you when you left.  Must be why he tried to stop all this when it was so clearly happening.”           The phone bounced off the passenger seat and landed on the floor when Tom threw it.  He put is face down on the seat, still standing outside the car, too weak with the utter sadness taking over him to hold himself up on his own.  He was swearing, cursing the tears that were coming down his face, sobbing between his desperate gasps for breath.  Fuck arguing with himself, fuck doubting everything, he was going to sit his ass right back down on that sand and wait.  For what, he didn’t know.  All he knew was that was the only place where he could make the spinning in his head stop.

Like that time that we kissed, and you gave me a lie.  To add to this scene, you pretended to cry.

          The water came up around his feet where he finally decided to make himself comfortable in the sand.  Considering the rain had lightened up since earlier, it wasn’t too uncomfortable.  He stared at the sand, drawing small shapes and pictures and dicks.  Ha, dicks. They never ceased to be funny.  He missed having someone around to make dick jokes with all the time.  There were times when he would come out to the beach with Mark, and all they would end up doing was drawing dicks.  Giant ones, in epic scenes with dragons, unicorns, giant breasted women, and occasionally even more dicks.

          ”Dude, lookit this one!  Look!  It’s a dickicorn!”  Tom couldn’t stop himself from laughing when he caught sight of the horrific thing Mark drew in the sand.  Yep, a unicorn with a dick on its head.  Should’ve known from the name.           ”Oh no, keep it away from the villagers!”  He drew a bunch of women with abnormally large breasts, and made them look like they were running away in terror.  Well, as close to running away in terror as you could get with stick figures.           ”Do not run in that direction, oh ye villagers!  More frightening sights await you on the hillside,” Mark exclaimed while running to the other side of Tom, hurrying to draw his next masterpiece.  Tom didn’t watch what his friend drew.  Instead, he got distracted drawing more stick people in compromising positions.  The particular scene he was working on was two people having sex on a cart, the man having larger balls than said cart.  Yes, the cart had balls.  Why the hell not?  When he finally looked over, his eyes were met by Mark putting the finishing touches on a dragon.  A flaming dragon.  With a dick sword.           ”..Okay, what the fuck is that?”           ”Uh, a dragon warrior of the sacred penis code?  Duh.”           ”The sacred penis code?”           ”Yeah, man.  The sacred penis code.  When in doubt, helicoptor!”  Mark swung his hips and Tom ended up on the ground, rolling with laughter.  The older boy was getting a kick out of making his best friend laugh so hard, until he noticed the other artwork in the sand.           ”Oh man, Tom.  Tom!  Tom, stop rolling around, this is a serious matter!”  He waited until Tom was composed enough to make eye contact, then Mark pointed to the ground.  “Is that a fucking donkey carriage with balls?”           ”Oh, yeah, I mean..  I figured maybe the cart needed some action, too.”  Laughter ensued again, this time from both parties.  Their cheeks hurt, their ribs hurt, they were both practically on the ground..  If a stranger had walked by and saw them at that point, they would swear something was wrong with those boys.  They were both pointing to the ground and laughing hysterically.  Tom calmed down before Mark did, and took that opportunity to push him down on the sand, right between the dick dragon and the dickicorn.           ”Look, Mark, you’re surrounded by dicks, just like you were last night.”  The younger boy smiled, his eyes showing that he was rather proud of his joke.  Before he knew it, Mark had pulled him to the ground as well, rolling over on top of him and pinning him down.           ”What was that, Delonge?  What?  I can’t hear you over your mom’s moans!”  Tom’s shirt rode up in all the commotion, and Mark took advantage of this by tickling him right above his belly button and grinning.           ”No!  Fuck you fuck you fuckyoufuckyoufuckyou STOOOOPPP, dammit!”  He whined and wiggled underneath Mark, he fucking hated being tickled.  That evil bastard, always going for the fucking weak spots!           Mark finally stopped and sat back on his heels, still straddling Tom’s hips.  This wasn’t an awkward position for either of them, though some might typically consider it odd.  Truth be told, both of them enjoyed those moments a little more than they should, without the other knowing.  Mark grabbed Tom’s hand and pulled him up into the sitting position, still straddling his hips, and pointed out to the ocean.           ”The sun’s setting.”           Tom didn’t even bother to look at it.  He mumbled some sort of acknowledgement, but never took his eyes off Mark.  Those blue fucking eyes, how could the ocean, the sunset, how could either of those compare?  How could anything compare?           So many questions came to Tom's mind.  He wanted to Ask Mark about Skye, ask if they were serious, ask if he still loved him, ask...  Well, fucking anything.  Now was his chance.           Then Mark looked over, his eyes meeting Tom’s.  Every ounce of courage he thought he had half a second ago was gone, and he could feel himself drowning in blue eyes.  Drowning, suffocating, being totally consumed and devoured and engulfed.  Fuck the sunset, there was nothing else he’d rather look at.           Before he could stop himself, Tom felt his lips on Mark’s, crashing against him with all the feelings he’d been trying so hard to suppress.  Mark’s hands were suddenly in Tom’s hair, pulling him closer, twisting and tangling in his hair gently as their lips were matching each other’s movements.  His mind shut off, he was unable to form any sort of coherent thought.  All he could hear was his heartbeat, loud in his ears, and the soft sounds of their breathing and gasping together.  He let his feelings take over and wrapped his arms around the older boy’s waist, trying to somehow pull him even closer.  This was all he’d wanted, all he’d thought about for entirely too long.  There was no way he was going to let this moment get away from him.           Mark pulled away slowly and put his forehead against Tom’s, both of them still trying to calm their breathing.  Tom was still too caught up in the moment, his mind hadn’t even had a chance to start racing, yet.  That is, until he noticed the tears forming in Mark’s eyes.           Fuck.           ”You have no idea how much I've missed you.  I know we were going to try to stop this after the marriages, but you don't understand how hard this is for me.  I see you everyday, and all I can think about is touching you, being close to you, being what we used to be.  I'm sorry, just...  It won't happen again, if you don't want it to.” Mark was babbling.  He was fucking babbling.  Just spit it out already, what?           ”Um..”  Oh, nice one, Tom, that’s all you can say?  That’ll win him over, for sure.           ”Seriously, you have to see how hard you make this for me.  You're the one I want, and the one I can't have.  I'm miserable.” Tom shut him up with another kiss.  Fuck yeah, Delonge, that’s how you get ‘em!           ”Don’t know if you caught that, dickweed, but I know.  I love you too,” he said, finally pulling away.  Mark flashed one of the brightest smiles he’d seen in a while, and he couldn’t help smiling in return.           ”Could’ve said something earlier, fuckface.”           ”Maybe I like to keep you guessing.  You’re cute when you squirm.”

Just give me a chance, and I’ll try to forgive.

          Tom smiled.  He was right on the same beach that happened.  It wasn't their first kiss, by any means, but it was the first one they'd had in a while.  He would give anything in the fucking world to go back to that moment.           ”You’re really still clinging to that like a sap?  Give it up, Delonge.”  That voice again.  It was easier to distinguish than normal.  It’d been quite a while since he’d taken any painkillers, he realized.  That was why.  That voice took over when he had a couple pills in his system, no wonder he was such a different person.  No wonder he was such an asshole.           ”He didn’t mean any of it.  If he meant it, where is he now?”           ”He’s where I fucking left him.  Where I left him - where you left him!”  You fucking tell that voice in your head, Tom.  Tell ‘em!           ”He didn’t even try.”           ”Well shit, did you give him a chance to try?  No, you fucking left, you ran like a goddamn coward when things got tough.”  It was getting scary, the way he was arguing with himself.  He felt like he had two personalities.           ”You tried.”           ”Maybe I didn’t try hard enough.  Maybe I gave up too soon.”  Tom clenched his fists around the sand.  “It doesn’t even matter, because I can’t do this.  I need him.  He’s my best friend.”           “Was.”           Tears were streaming down Tom’s face.  There was no rain to hide them in.  He tried to find a clean spot on his hoodie to wipe his face, but it was pointless.  Sand was everywhere.  He got up and began walking to the car, taking his hoodie off in the process and wiping his face on his arm.  Fuck, he was disgusting.

I’ve really had it with the rain of the tears.

          Once he made it inside the car, he let it all go.  He couldn’t explain why he felt the need to hold back his crying until he got to the car, it just made him feel safer.  Less exposed.  Less vulnerable to the world.  But god, did he let it out when he finally got the door closed.  His fists pounded the steering wheel, taking all the energy he had left.  He slumped down in his seat, hands falling to his sides, and let his body shake with the sobs that were coming.  It was no use trying to wipe the tears away, they just kept coming and coming.  It was the first time he really started to feel the realization that this was his fault. It was his fault he didn’t have Mark anymore.  It was his fault he was so miserable.  All his fucking fault.  No wonder he stayed high all the time, this shit was too much to deal with.  Something got his attention, finally.  A noise.  The fuck noise was that?  Tom looked around.  He could’ve sworn it was his phone.  Where did that thing end up?  Then he heard it again - the missed call notification.

You’re a thief and a witch, but I love you to death.  You steal my heart and curse under your breath.

          Phone in hand, Tom squinted at the number that came up on the screen.  There was no fucking way that number had called.  No way.  He knew for sure he was losing it.  How did..?  What..?  He dropped the phone on his lap and rubbed his temples.  Why was his phone telling him that Mark called?  Was this some sort of joke?  Was he crazy?  How did Mark even have his number, he’d changed it when he left.  Unless..           He was frantic, trying to get back to his dialed calls screen.  The proof was there.  The number was dialed, called, and answered.  Mark’s number.  Tom tried to stop shaking long enough to see how long the call had lasted.  Ten minutes, there was no way that call had gone to voicemail.  Fuck.  He made it back to the missed call screen, holding his breath the whole time.  Three missed calls?  Three?!           The phone ended up back on the floor, Tom couldn’t be bothered to hold on to it anymore.  He sat there, his body shaking, his breath irregular.  Nothing was making sense in his mind, thoughts weren’t able to complete themselves before another thought took over.  There was no way he’d hit the call button, he remembered.  That fucking voice, the stupid little shit inside his head, there was just no way he’d made the call.  What if his phone did it by itself?  Right, because phones are capable of that.  Maybe the government.. or aliens..?           Tom laughed at himself.  Why did he insist on making excuses?  He knew full well what had happened.  He also knew full well what it meant.           Mark had answered when his phone dialed the number left on the screen before it was thrown.  He’d answered.  That could only mean he heard Tom blubbering like the fucking man he is, what an idiot.  Why couldn’t he control himself a little better than this?  >em>Hey, we haven’t spoken in months, but let me call you in the middle of the night and cry hysterically without saying a word to you, or even realize you’re there. He sighed.  Wait, though,  Mark had called back.  Three fucking times that man had called back.  Did that mean he was worried?

“The one thing that I can most willingly prove, that when you are gone, I’ll be fine without you.”

          Tom smiled and set his phone on the dash.  This feeling was building up inside him, and he found himself wanting to cry again.  It wasn’t as sad this time.  It was strange.  What feeling was this?  He leaned forward, head resting on the steering wheel, and it hit him.  Hope.  For the first time in too long, he felt hope.  God, the last time he’d felt this was..           He chuckled to himself.  The last time he felt this was because of Mark, too.  It was always because of him.  Even now, that motherfucker, he was the only reason Tom could feel any sort of happiness.           The seat reclined a bit as Tom leaned back, content to lose himself in this feeling for just a bit longer.  It was so nice, knowing that Mark still cared.  It didn’t matter how much, just a little bit was fine.  Tom was content knowing he cared enough to answer the phone in the middle of the night, he cared enough to listen to Tom cry without saying a word to him for ten minutes, he cared enough to call back.  That thought stuck with him for a minute.  Mark was obviously worried, if he called back three times.  The calls were rather spaced out, too, about half an hour between each call.  What if he was still worried?           Tom reached for his phone and stared at the screen again.  Maybe he would give Mark a call back, just to let him know he was okay.  Was he even ready to talk?  Did he have to talk?  What if Mark really didn’t care?  He shook his head.  No, he couldn’t let those thoughts come back right now.  Not now.  His finger pressed the call back button lightly, and he waited.  One ring.  One ring was enough, right?  Would it show he’d called after one ring?  What if it didn’t?  Two rings.  Yeah, that’s definitely enough.  Tom hung up the phone, sure that Mark would know what his number showing up on his ID meant.

But now, my last wish is that you do this with me.  Kiss me here, and hold my hand.  Let me feel like I’m the only one.  I know you can.  Won’t you do it for me now?

          ”You’re such a girl, Delonge,” he said to himself, looking around his car to make sure he’d grabbed everything. Hoodie - check.  Shoes - check.  Did he have anything else?  He decided whatever else he had, if anything, must not be too important, since he couldn’t remember it.  The key turned in the ignition, the car started, and Tom began driving in the direction of his studio.  The sun was up by this point, so the windows of his car were down.  The wind felt awesome against Tom’s face, and he made a mental note to remember how much he enjoyed this moment.           The studio came before he knew it.  Tom drove right past it, deciding at the last minute that there was somewhere else he needed to be first.  His stomach was tying itself into knots, and his hands gripped the steering wheel harder than before.  Anxiety was taking over his thoughts, trying to remind him of every reason why he shouldn’t do this.  He fought it the whole way.  It didn’t matter, this was something he had to do.  He had to.           He parked across the street from his destination.  It felt like he got here way too fast, but at the same time, it felt like it took forever.  Weird how time works like that.  He shook his head and looked up at the house he stopped at.  Mark’s house.  Sure enough, that one light was still on. It was the light in the music room.  He stared at it for a minute, and a smile played across his lips.  The music he could hear coming from the house was something he knew all too well.  “Boys Don’t Cry” by The Cure.  His smile grew bigger, until he could feel his cheeks hurting.           ”You’re still a sap, Hoppus.”  And with that, Tom started his car again and drove towards the studio.

Hold on, hold on to me.

          The studio door flew open.  Tom caught it with his leg to hold it still while he pulled his key out.  That hopeful feeling was still making its home in his chest, getting lighter and lighter by the minute.  He was going to use that feeling, put it all down into words for the next song he was writing.  Maybe, possibly, he could convey that feeling to Mark, and he would feel a bit of it, too.  He flipped the switch to turn the lights on and made his way over to his usual spot on the couch.  The paper he was using last time he was here was still sitting on the table, waiting to hold all his thoughts.  With a bottle of water beside him, he put his pen to the paper and began writing.           The smile was still on his face.

[ichannelpkt]

Perceive This - Chapter 2: Distraction

There’s a field nearby with words written in stone.  “My love will not die.  Please let it be known.”

          Tom let his cigarette rest in the ashtray as he leaned back and exhaled a cloud of smoke.  Since when had he started smoking?  What a turn of events.  He was always the one gettin on Mark’s case for smoking.

          ”You know that shit is going to kill you one day, asshole,” Tom said with an elbow to Mark’s side.           ”No, Delonge, you’ll be what kills me first.”           ”The fuck is that supposed to mean?”           ”If you’ll recall, shortly after I met you, I jumped off a light pole.  For you.  To impress your lame ass.”  Mark smirked as Tom giggled at the thought.  He would never let Tom live that down, he held it over his head every chance he got.  Not out of spite, he just knew Tom got a kick out of that memory.           ”Excuuuse me, Hoppus, but I didn’t make you do that.”  Tom was always animated when he spoke, and it made Mark smile that stupid grin that gave the younger boy butterflies.           ”You always make me do the craziest shit.  I swear, when we’re old men with grey hair and wrinkles, we’ll have all these outrageous stories to tell, and they’ll always start off the same way - with you getting a wild hair up your ass to do something ridiculous.”           Tom laughed and knocked the cigarette out of Mark’s hand.  “Quit smoking these nasty fucking things so you’ll live long enough to tell those stories with me.  You’re crazy if you think I’m going to get all old and gross by myself.”           Then, just like Mark always did at the right times, that asshole, he looked Tom in the eyes and let himself be serious for a moment.  “I promise I’ll still be right here when you’re old and gross and smelly, Tom.”

          He sighed.  Mark.  Mark.  Mark.  Everything always came back to him, that fucktard.  Months of not speaking, and that fucker still pushed his way into every single one of Tom’s thoughts.  How could he let go of all those years?  All those memories, all the good times.. how was he supposed to forget that?  No one really expected him to go on and live the rest of his life happily, did they?  How can you do that when half of who you are has been ripped away?

This place is dead.  It echoes through town.  There isn’t one voice.  I haven’t heard a sound.

          It’s not like Tom didn’t try.  He had to keep reminding himself that.  He did try, as hard as he could, but Mark wasn’t having it.  He had to remember that he wasn’t alone in the destruction of everything he held dear.           This is where it got him.  Alone in a dark room, with a piece of paper, a pen, and eyes that ached from lack of sleep, or maybe crying.  Maybe or maybe not.  Both, perhaps.  Tom didn’t know anymore.           Couple more pills washed down with a shot of whiskey.  He tried to think of how many pills he just took, but gave up.  What did it matter?  There weren’t enough painkillers in the world to make this better.  That didn’t stop him from trying, though.           ”I need a fucking distraction,” he said aloud to himself, only leading to the next heartbreaking flood of memories.

When the smoke comes in, it’ll colour this town, but I’ll still have you, so I’ll say it aloud.

          It was something they always did for each other when they were stressed.  If Mark saw Tom was getting too overwhelmed in the studio or too stressed out by life in general, he would pull him aside and tell him he needed a distraction.  Somehow, Mark knew just how to get Tom’s mind off of everything else.  He loved that about him.           It wasn’t a one-sided deal, either.  If Tom ever noticed Mark getting frustrated over anything, he would offer the same idea.  “Let me distract you from all of this shit for a while,” he would say, lopsided grin plastered to his face.  Mark always obliged, and no matter the situation, they would wake up in each other’s arms the next morning.

          Things with Jen had been rocky, at best, and Tom was having the worst writer’s block ever due to all the stress he was dealing with because of her.  Mark basically kidnapped him one day - showed up at his house, demanded he got in the car, and said he already had a bag packed for him.           ”Mark, what the fuck?  It’s like nine in the morning, where are we even going?”           ”Shut up and get in.  You need a distraction, I’ll be your distraction.”           Before he knew what was going on, Tom was in the car, and they were on their way to whothefuckknowswhere.  It didn’t matter, really, because he trusted Mark.  His hand snuck its way into Tom’s and squeezed.  Tom smiled.  He knew Mark would make everything okay.           A boat.  That was Mark’s genius idea to make him feel better.  A fucking boat.  Tom chuckled to himself as he climbed the ladder onto the deck and walked into the single room that acted as kitchen/bedroom/living room.  He should’ve known, this was such a Mark thing to do.  Mark loved the water, so he was near it anytime he got the chance.  Looking around the room, Tom noticed it was stocked with all his favourite video game systems, all his favourite space movies, and Star Wars.  Fucking Star Wars.           Good planning, Hoppus.           That was their weekend.  They played video games until their eyes crossed (Tom always won, because he would cover Mark’s eyes whenever he was too close to winning), they watched more movies than they cared to remember, and they would end up watching the stars every night.  That’s when the feelings came out.           ”Mark, do you think reincarnation happens?”  Tom was one to say whatever crossed his mind in those moments.           ”I don’t know, man.  I mean, I pissed off one of my teachers really bad in high school, and a couple years after she died, I got this dog.  Remember José?  Mean little fucker.  Totally hated me.  That dog had the same pissed off look in her eyes as that teacher did when I was being hilarious.  I bet reincarnation had something to do with that.”           Tom grinned.  Leave it to Mark to make a joke.  “What if like, we died one day and came back as aliens on some total other planet?  Wouldn’t that be some crazy shit? Like a planet made of marshmallows, or one without food.”           ”Well, we’d be some skinny fucking aliens.”  They both laughed and glanced at each other, eyes locking and keeping contact.           ”You think we’d know each other then too, if we were aliens?”           Mark sighed and put his forehead to Tom’s, never breaking eye contact.  “Pretty sure you’re stuck with me, Tommy, alien or not.”

The friendship we made is a waste of our time. There’s no one left here to show a future that’s kind.

          ”If only I’d known how full of shit you were, Mark.  Fuck.”  Tom spoke to any empty room.  Wait, was this anger?  Was he angry?           Of course he was angry.  The only person in the world that really understood him was gone.  They were best friends.  Best fucking friends.  All those years of being best friends, you’d think Mark would be able to tell Tom he didn’t like what he was doing.           You’d think he would say, “Oh hey, Tom, this Box Car Racer thing you have going.. pretty fucking jealous, dude.  It’s starting to be a problem.”           Only he didn’t.  He never said a word.  He let it build up, let the resentment take over, let their relationship crumble around them.  Now Tom was alone, upset that he woke up every morning.

We cared too late. We just followed along.

          New liquor bottle.  Spiced rum this time.  This is how Tom coped with shit, this is what he started doing when things were getting tough with blink.  There at the end, he was never sober.  It started as a cry for help, something to get Mark’s attention and make him realize that things weren’t okay.  It backfired.

          Tom stumbled into Mark’s bus, tripping as he got through the door.  The cup he was holding fell with him, spilling his vodka and orange juice all over the floor.           ”Sorryyy!  I’m fucking sorry, dude, I just fell and spilled this shit, where the fuck did that step come from, um.. Mark!  I came to say hii!”  Tom tried to ignore the obvious distaste Mark had for him.  Pretend to be happy, Tom, just put that smile on and try to make him remember why he liked being around you.           A sigh came from the older boy’s lips.  “Hi. You’re drunk”           ”Yeah, uh.. sorry?  I mean, I don’t know..  About that..”  His words trailed off as he climbed up onto the couch, his hands nervously fidgeting with a piece of string.  Fuck, so much for the happy face.           ”You need to go to bed, Tom.”           ”I know, I just..  I needed to see you, Mark.  We have to talk.”  Just like that, Tom could practically hear Mark’s stupid fucking defensive wall go up, of course he would fucking do that now.           ”It’s late, can’t we talk about whatever it is tomorrow?”  That was the routine lately.  Always tomorrow, always later.  Always some other time that never came.  Tom sighed, defeated, and left without another word.           Tomorrow came.  They never talked about it.

If that field nearby was still there to be used, would you ever have known?  Those words were for you.

          He rubbed his eyes with tired, calloused hands.  No amount of pills or alcohol was helping Tom hurt less.  It was exhausting.  He was too exhausted to remain angry for more than a minute or two.  That wasn’t really why he couldn’t stay angry, but that’s what he would say.  It’s not like he needed to sound any more like a fucking sap.           He just couldn’t stay mad at Mark.  He couldn’t hate him, he couldn’t even resent him too much.  Maybe Mark felt that way, too. Maybe they could..

I’ll be your distraction.

          Tom sighed.  No, they couldn’t.  He’d made sure of it by changing his number so he wouldn't cave the second he heard Mark's voice.  Fuck.  It wasn’t fucking fair.  He was miserable.  All he wanted was for Mark to just show up and say, “You need a distraction, Tommy.”           But that wouldn’t happen.  It couldn’t happen, it was impossible.  Since Mark couldn’t offer that to him, maybe Tom could offer it to Mark instead.  Somehow.

I’ll be, I’ll be yours.

          With that thought, Tom decided this album wouldn’t just be a goodbye.  It would be a distraction.  Something to distract Mark’s attention from his life and onto Tom’s life.  Something to remind Mark of their memories together, and remind him that Tom was still here, still hurting, still holding onto shit he should’ve let go.  It was going to hurt, yeah, but goddamn, Mark had to listen sometime.           Besides, who said distractions were always painless?