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jagged1 · 9 months

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Ignorance is Bliss, But Those Rosy Days Are Gone

Fandom: Outlast Rating: Teen Characters: Eddie Gluskin/Waylon Park, Jeremy Blaire/Waylon Park, Rick Trager Summary: In the midst of a relationship that's slowly drifting away from him, Waylon meets a bar performer who understands. Contains: Cheating, lies of omission, mental health problems, murder. Somehow Jeremy and Rick are the (relatively more) sympathetic characters here. There's also a Spotify playlist. Word Count: ~3300 AO3 link

“Breaking news: A deadly stabbing occurred last night. Local businessman, Jeremy Blaire, was found dead after being brutally attacked. Police are investigating both his death and the disappearance of his fiancé, Waylon Park.”

Stepping into the lounge is always a breathtaking experience. Jeremy has been a regular for years and once they went from 'just dating' to a couple, he promptly introduced Waylon to it. The burst of warm air when the doors open, the warm lighting that spills onto the sidewalk, and the low indistinct murmur of overlapping conversation makes for an overwhelmingly inviting welcome whenever they spend a night out there.

They have an unofficial booth, the circular plush seating perfect for intimate conversation or hosting any number of business partners as needed. It also provides them an unobstructed view of the stage and its rotation of performers.

The latest of them is a startlingly large man, compared to the piano he plays. He makes it look like a toy, but his fingers dance across the keys in smooth, beautiful motions. The first time he sang, Waylon was expecting a deep baritone, but was instead surprised by a softer pitch. It hasn't been long, but he's probably his favorite.

Jeremy chuckles at the way Waylon smiles when it's the man's night on stage. He doesn't mind indulging Waylon's whims and it makes it easier for him to slip away from their booth and into Rick's to discuss business. It's been a growing necessity to meet up during their off hours to manage the new direction of the company.

It's on one of these nights that Waylon runs into the performer at the bar. It's hard not to notice a giant of a man wedging his way through the small crowd, before coming to a stop beside him. The bartender is down at the other end and while he would usually never bother someone on their break, the opportunity to compliment the man is too perfect to pass on.

"Excuse me," Waylon says as he lightly taps the man's elbow, "I just wanted to tell you that you play beautifully." The alcohol he's already had makes his smile softer and looser than it normally would be, but it's fitting.

"Thank you. It's always nice to hear that, especially from regulars, such as yourself." The man smiles back, equally gentle and without the veneer of politeness he's learned to recognize from Jeremy's work associates. It makes Waylon smile just a bit wider in contentment.

Suddenly the man blinks and gives a small shake of his head. "Oh dear, where are my manners? My name is Eddie. May I have yours?"

"Waylon."

"It's a pleasure to meet you, Waylon."

"You as well, Eddie."

Why’d you have to be so cute? It's impossible to ignore you

Waylon starts to give Eddie a friendly nod and a wave whenever he's playing. If Waylon’s alone, Eddie stops by to check how he's doing when he has a free moment.

Waylon almost wants to ask Jeremy if it's alright he's striking up such a friendship with Eddie, but it seems like something he shouldn't speak of. It's not as if it matters, Jeremy's been sitting with Rick more and more lately. He feels a little lonely, but having Eddie around makes it better.

"So, how did you get into this line of work?" Waylon sips his drink, licking his lips clean of alcohol. "You play wonderfully. I sort of expected you to want to do something…bigger."

Eddie raises his eyebrow, his own glass of water on the table. "Bigger, darling?" He chuckles. "Is our lovely establishment not enough for you?"

Waylon coughs, a light flush on his cheeks. "You know what I mean. Instead of playing a few nights a week at a, truly, beautiful lounge, I sort of expected someone with your skill to be part of, I don't know, a larger band. Maybe an orchestra or headlining a bigger venue." He shrugs. "I don't know much about the music scene, but you're really good." He takes another sip, hiding his embarrassed expression as best he can with Eddie staring holes into his head.

Eddie looks away and hums, absently tracing his finger around the rim of his glass. "Growing up was difficult. My father was very strict and I took after my mother more than he liked. Singing was something we shared and it helped me get through some rough times. It still helps me now. I don't want to turn it into something more, not when I'm doing just fine. Sometimes my lyrics get away from me, but no one pays much attention to the background music.” At that, he curls his lip up in a sarcastic and sly smile.

"Well it's their loss."

Somehow, Eddie's smile grows even more amused.

Let's take a trip down a dark place, baby Look for me now, I'm not that crazy Let's talk about what makes you happy

It's a rare instance when Waylon gets invited over to Rick's table. They usually try to keep their private lives separate from work, but it's been getting harder and harder to spend time together. Maybe Jeremy thought this would be a good compromise, but he just feels awkward and uncomfortable.

Rick is the type of man who just has an inherently underhanded feel to him. He's done nothing to deserve any suspicion or rude behavior, but Waylon can't shake the feeling of being looked at as a commodity and not a person.

He can't wait until dinner is over and he can excuse himself back to his table.

It gets to the point where they might as well not even arrive together with how quickly Jeremy leaves to talk with Rick. He drops Waylon off in the booth, pecks him on the cheek, and rushes off, coat swirling behind him.

Eddie doesn’t ask; he just opens his arms for a hug. He sinks into it gratefully.

Is anyone else feeling lonely? It just can’t be me only Losing our cool so slowly

One night Waylon follows Eddie home after his shift. He lets himself fall into his bed and out of his head, soaking in his attentive care. Eddie's hands burn on his overheated, sweat slicked skin. His lips and tongue map what feel like every inch of him, but the sting of teeth never comes. When he finally pushes into Waylon, he buries his head in Eddie’s neck, eyes shut tight, and holds onto the brightest thing he has in his life right now.

He stays long enough to shower before heading home to a mostly dark apartment. The only light is in Jeremy’s office and Waylon can feel the heavy and expectant air of the silence through the door.

He hesitates for a moment, shifting his weight back and forth before turning towards their room.

They never speak of it.

Jeremy cuts back significantly on the amount of meetings he has. They go out on their first real date in months. Eddie and Waylon are suddenly back to being almost strangers with how closely Jeremy sticks to Waylon. It’s everything he’s wanted for weeks.

(He misses Eddie.)

The ring shines even in the soft lighting of the lounge and Waylon is terribly aware of the weight on his left hand as the phantom smell of roses lingers.

Eddies catches sight of it immediately and his face twists into something unreadable before settling on a smile.

That's what you get for falling again You can never get him out of your head

It's late and they're walking home when a huge shadow peels itself away from the wall of an alleyway. Waylon barely has a moment to be surprised before the glint of metal flashing in the lamplight strikes out, right through Jeremy's throat.

A splash of hot blood flies through the air and hits him directly in the face, causing him to flinch and shut his eyes from the sudden impact. He can hear the thud of Jeremy's body dropping to the ground, the sound of someone hitting- no, stabbing someone (Jeremy). He can't breathe and even with his eyes closed he can feel his vision go fuzzy around the edges and the next thing he knows is nothing at all.

Eddie follows Blaire to the ground, blood roaring in his ears, drowning out any conscious thought. He needs to get rid of this- this disgusting- this worthless man. He doesn't deserve Waylon, Eddie is so much better than him, so much better for him. He just needs a chance to prove it without Waylon feeling caught between them. He knows what they shared was special, he knows Waylon feels it too, they just need to be free.

The softer thump of Waylon falling manages to break through the fog of his rage. He's always acutely aware of him, has been since that first meeting at the bar. He heaves himself off the bloody, shredded corpse and turns to Waylon, out cold against the pavement.

That won't do.

He tucks the knife safely away into his coat, before kneeling to pick Waylon up in the gentlest manner possible. His face is scratched from the gravel, blood slowly welling up on his cheek and lip, mixing with that filth's.

He carefully shifts his hold on him, settling Waylon's head into the crook of his neck and shoulder. It's where he belongs, where Eddie can keep him safe from a cold world, full of cold people.

He melts back into the shadows of the alley, his precious love in his arms and nothing left in their way.

Slowly, Waylon begins to stir. His eyelids feel as if they're stuck together, but for some reason he's hesitant to reach up and rub them. There's something drifting around the edges of his memory he does and doesn't want to know.

He hears the creak of a door opening and closing softly and ignores it. Jeremy has always kept odd hours.

Then something wet touches his face and his desire to remain blissfully unaware vanishes. He flings his arm out, pushing whatever it is away and tears his eyes open, looking around wildly.

It takes a moment to sink in that he recognizes this room, is intimately familiar with it for how little time he's spent here. Eddie stands by the bed, a dark red-brown stained cloth in hand.

Memories rush forward and Waylon gasps, tucking himself into a ball, hands flying up to cover his face. The rough, tacky texture he feels has him jerking them away in horror as he stares. Someone wiped them clean, but there's traces of blood left behind in the grooves of his fingers and his nail folds.

'No…'

"No," he breathes. "No,no, no, no, NO!" Each no grows louder and louder until he screams the last. "That's not- it wasn't- he didn't-" He stops and spins to face Eddie. "How did I get here? Where's Jeremy?" He pleads, gripping the blankets tightly.

Eddie approaches him slowly, as though any sudden movement will set him off. He might not be wrong. Waylon feels like his skin is too tight for him. Whether it's from nerves or the blood, he doesn't know.

"Shh, Waylon, darling, calm down." Eddie extends his arm slowly, hand brushing Waylon's hair out of his face. "You're safe. I brought you here."

He can't help but lean into Eddie’s touch, needing the comfort it brings him. "And Jeremy?"

"Dead."

Waylon's heart stops for a moment, before speeding up and rising into his throat. A creaky "no" escapes from between his lips.

"Yes." It's said so matter-of-factly that he freezes before slumping into himself. Eddie doesn't say anything and lets him absorb it quietly, a comforting presence by his side.

I been living in a bad dream

Waylon takes Eddie’s offer of a change of clothes and the use of his shower, steadfastly ignoring his reflection as he stands under the hottest water he can stand. By the end of it, he's scrubbed himself a tender, raw pink. He still feels the phantom sensation of dried blood stretched tight across his skin, but the water's already begun to run cold and he can hear Eddie pacing just beyond the door.

It's time to face the music.

He gently pushes open the door, both to be polite and not hit Eddie with it and to delay their conversation just a little longer.

It's not nearly enough time.

Eddie is right there, waiting with his arms wide open. Waylon steps easily into his embrace, tucking himself close. He still feels so cold, but Eddie’s warmth helps. It takes long moments before he can bring himself to ask, "What happened?"

Eddie cards his fingers through Waylon's damp hair, idly twisting the ends around his fingers. "You were attacked. By the time I saw you, he was already gone. I could only think about taking you away from it all and bringing you here."

Waylon shudders and clings closer to Eddie. "What about Jeremy? Did you call anyone?"

"It never occurred to me. I just wanted to keep you safe."

"We should tell someone..."

"They'll likely find him soon. Don't think about it, darling."

Waylon jerks his head up in surprise. "Don't think about it? How can I not? My fiancé's dead, because of some- some lunatic! I don't know who they are, what they want, why this happened- I don't know anything!" His knuckles are white with how tightly he's holding onto Eddie’s shirt, eyes wide and voice cracking shrilly in his hysterics.

"Shhh, calm down. You're safe, Waylon. He didn't want to hurt you, otherwise you wouldn't be here with me." Eddie gently rocks them back and forth, petting Waylon gently.

"But why?" Waylon pleads. "Why did this happen?"

"Why does anyone do anything?"

He has nothing to say to that.

Morning comes and Waylon dreads what the news could be saying. He wants to pretend it's not real, that this is a weird dream he conjured up as a "what if he picked Eddie" scenario, but even with their issues, he's not cruel enough to wish death on Jeremy.

Ignoring it won't help though, so he reluctantly asks Eddie to turn it on.

Waylon goes limp in surprise, body slumping to the ground even as his heart jackrabbits in his chest. "Oh my god, I have to call them, I have to tell them-"

Eddie cuts him off, even as he kneels down to rest a gentle hand on his shoulder. "Tell them what? You didn't see anything."

"But they're looking for me when they need to be looking for whoever ki-" The word sticks in his throat and Waylon tries again. "Whoever attacked us." His voice is a weak, watery little thing, but he pushes on. "And I can't keep hiding here forever, Eddie."

"But I need you, too."

Waylon reaches up to hold onto Eddie’s wrist. "Eddie…" He gently rubs his thumb across the delicate skin there. "I'll come back, I promise."

"You can't promise me that. You didn't before and I need you, Waylon. I can't let you go, not again." His grip flexes on Waylon's shoulder and he's struck by how strong Eddie is.

"Eddie-"

He continues right over him, speech faster and more manic than he's ever heard before. "I love you. I love you so much and I'll do anything for you. I'll be so good to you, so please. Please don't go." His pale eyes are fever bright with unexpected desperation and Waylon has a terrible feeling.

"Eddie," he chokes, "what did you do?"

"What I needed to; he was keeping you away from me, I had to."

Waylon jerks away from his touch, the full body flinch knocking him off his knees and onto his ass. "Nonono, I didn't hear that, no, you're- you're lying, you have to be!"

Eddie surges forward, hands clamping tightly onto Waylon's upper arms, grip tight enough to bruise if he wished. "Why aren't you listening? I said I did it for you, and I meant it! Why don't you understand?!" He searches Waylon's gaze for something, desperate in his frenzy. Whatever he's looking for, he doesn't find it and that wild look in his eyes fades and morphs into something cold and furious. He loosens his grip, dropping one arm entirely, only to raise his open palm up and slap Waylon hard across the face.

He staggers from the force, slumping awkwardly into Eddie's grasp. The crack of skin on skin echoes in the deathly quiet and neither man moves, scarcely evens breathes for one. Two. Three.

The tension in the air suddenly snaps, a horrified gasp breaking the standstill. "Waylon." Eddie's voice is strained and his hand spasms once before letting go completely. "I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I- I didn't- I- it wasn't-," he stutters.

Waylon can only lie there in shock and pain, struggling to understand.

Eddie holds his head, one hand running through his hair repeatedly in an anxious gesture. The normally neat strands are a mess and Waylon can't stop staring at them, fixated on this truly insignificant detail.

Finally, Eddie manages to speak, his eyes wide and darting constantly between Waylon and the floor. "I never meant to hurt you." He chokes a humorless laugh at Waylon's uncomprehending silence. "I won't blame you for not believing me. I… I thought I was better, but, evidently, I've been fooling myself."

The frenetic energy that's been building up in him suddenly disappears and Eddie looks so defeated that Waylon jerks in surprise.

Eddie misunderstands and hisses in pain. "I know it won't ever be enough, but I'm sorry, Waylon. I'll let you go, I'll tell the police everything, I'll go away and never see you again. I'll do whatever it is you want of me."

That is what causes Waylon to finally catch up, shaking himself awake from his stupor, scrambling to sit upright and grab onto Eddie’s sleeve. "No! You can't!"

"Why not?"

Maybe Waylon should be ashamed, but all he can think is 'I can't be alone.' What he says is "I can't lose you too."

Eddie shudders, body going limp and reaching out gently for his hand.

There's a moment where Waylon struggles. He killed Jeremy. He killed Jeremy. But he also was there for him when Jeremy wasn't and the ache in his chest from losing one, then the other throbs. He doesn't think he can handle losing both at once. He knows he can't.

He slips his hand into Eddie’s and never looks back.

I wanna live better days Never look back and say It could have been me

A dreamy lounge with a rotating cast of performers continues on. Two near permanently reserved tables become open seating. One pianist resolutely avoids looking at one in particular.

Rick screams obscenities down the hall, slamming his fists against the door. "It was a setup, you witless imbeciles!" His hands are beaten bloody, streaks running down his forearms and smeared into his hair where he's shoved it out of his face. "I didn't kill Jeremy Blaire and I didn't kidnap Waylon Park!"

The guard rolls his eyes. "Tell it to the judge. Oh wait, you already did. Didn't work out so well for you, did it, buddy?"

The strangled noise he makes startles a bellowing laugh from the guard.

Just once, months after it all ends, he thinks about what could have been. It's a fleeting thought, fluttering at the edges of his mind before disappearing like smoke.

It doesn't matter. He has Eddie and they've pulled off the greatest performance of their lives. He's had enough fantasies to last a lifetime. He settles deeper into his corner of the couch, waiting for Eddie to come home.

That's all he needs.

#outlast #outlast whistleblower #waylon park #eddie gluskin #jeremy blaire #richard trager #weddie #jerway #my writing #my fic

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