jeremy knox gets grumpy when he's sick.
the first time jean sees it he is kind of amused. instead of getting up early as he usually does, jeremy doesn't get out of bed until cat and laila storm the bedroom he shares with jean saying breakfast has been done for over an hour.
jean stands by the door, an eyebrow raising as he sees jeremy put the covers over his head to avoid dealing with his friends. something jean has never seen him do before, something that is so not like jeremy.
"come on, jeremy. it's saturday. we already didn't do anything last night, you're not going to waste today."
cat insists while trying to pull the covers off jeremy who with a weak sigh ends up giving up and just letting her do it. the moment both laila and cat see his face they realize what's happening.
"what the hell, jeremy! what have i told you about hiding in the room while dying sick instead of literally asking for help?"
"don't be dramatic. i'm just tired." jeremy unconvincingly tries to calm his friend who already had her hand on his forehead.
"bullshit. you literally have a fever right now. sit up, laila is gonna bring something for you to eat before taking some medicine."
"not hungry. just want to sleep." jeremy whined once again trying to put the covers over his head.
"don't make me get jean to get you out of this bed."
"leave me out of this." jean warned still standing by the door and the moment jeremy heard his voice he felt himself more alert.
the last person jeremy wanted to see him weak, pale and sick was jean. he closed his eyes, defeated. and started sitting up knowing cat wouldn't leave that room until he did exactly as he was told. he awkwardly ran his fingers through his messy hair knowing it'd be useless.
"satisfied?" jeremy crossed his arm grumpily like a child and jean strongly held back the sudden urge he had to laugh- something he seemed to be wanting to do more ever since moving out with cat and laila- at the scene.
laila then re-entered the room carrying a plate of toast with eggs and a cup of the orange juice they had in the fridge especially for occasions like these.
"lighten up, princess. i know you love being babied by us."
laila handed him the plate and put the juice on the bedside table. jeremy who still had his arms crossed against his chest pouted a little.
"not like this! i hate being sick!"
and he did. jeremy didn't get sick as often but when he did, oh boy. it was hell. it'd usually take him at least three days to fully recover everytime and he hated how useless he felt between that time which resulted in a very grumpy, very whiny captain sunshine.
"poor thing. i know it sucks, but you'll feel a little better once you eat and take the meds." laila caressed his hair getting a content little sigh from him this time.
"thank you, guys." he then remembered jean standing by the door and immediately felt his cheeks burn from embarrassment.
"good morning, jean!" jeremy offered him a little smile.
"eat your eggs."
"he learns fast." cat joked and jeremy groaned.
"great. just what i need, three nurses wannabe"
"we can just let jean do the work if that's what you want."
laila winked at him and jeremy almost choked on the eggs he had just put in his mouth.
"alright, alright. we'll let you eat your food and then check on you again later. don't forget to take the meds for the fever after eating."
the girls left the room, but jean stayed where he was.
"jean? are you really gonna stand there and watch me eat?" jeremy joked a bit embarrassed still.
"i do not think you should be alone while sick."
"i'm okay, jean. really."
jean seemed to ponder for a few seconds before leaving. jeremy barely had time to finish chewing a piece of toast before jean was back already.
"to make you company."
jeremy thought his cheeks were gonna crack with the way his smile was so big on his face. in front of him there was nothing less than a six foot french man holding a cardboard dog cutout to put by his bedside.
"jean! you're amazing. thank you!" jeremy said cheerfully, his smile still bright and big on his face. "you... you can stay too if you'd like. i mean-" jeremy's face heated as he struggled with his own words.
"after im done preparing lunch with cat and laila."
jeremy smiled again.
"i will be here. we will." jeremy brought barkbark closer to him and jean rolled his eyes, but the small smile wanting to appear on his face before he left the room didn't go unnoticed by jeremy.
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FADING AS THE SONG GOES.
CW: Angst, unresolved angst?, breaking up, crying, drugs and shit, hanging around the wrong crowd, !!!!DO NOT DO DRUGS!!!! very bad drugs
SUMMARY: Of course chris noticed when you werent okay, he was your boyfriend afterall.
A/N: I have no idea how drugs work, so bear w me here
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“Its okay, to not be okay, my love.”
The secret was out before it was even whispered to your own mind. It was no secret why you came home with bloodshot eyes, rasped voice, drug smelling breath, the scent too strong, even when you chewed mint gum eight times before coming home, it was still there. Everyone knew what you were doing.
You never received the adrenaline pumping through your blood from keeping such a ‘thrilling’ secret. And, as much as you told yourself, the adrenaline that was once hoped for, wasn’t why you started. It was never even a thought to begin with, that was just what you told people when they curiously asked, and not for the fake bullshit, the real reason why. But why would you tell them the truth? You didnt owe them that.
On the other hand, you owed your boyfriend the truth. You owed him the spilling of your guts, the reeling truth of why you’d begun. But, the guilt swimming down your lungs, stealing your choice of freed breathing, choking you, was why you chose not to. The silent cries, pleas and begs from the little voices inside your head did little to convince you to stop, but they didnt do nothing either. Thats why you’d shoved them into the crevices of your mind, mangled within the rest of your innocence. You knew Chris’ begging voice would do everything to tell you to stop, another reason you never told him. You didnt want to stop.
The radioactive chemicals that filled your body was too addicting to quit, the pure high you felt was strong enough to hold you in its grasp, shove you around and control you. You, too delirious with how good it felt to have the drug pumping through you, to even try and claw your way out. To even try and think about stopping, because when even the slight thought of quitting sent not shivers down your spine, but the crackling of each bone in the drugs grasp went down your spine.
Not even the warmth seeping from Chris’ body when he held you was as good as the high you experienced. Chris would never amount to the drugs, (he controls the guilt). As much as you loved the boy, you loved the intoxicating taste of drugs more. The more you came home late, the more your body ached with the need to feed it more, to give it that beautiful, delicious, ‘at peace’ moments. The more your eyes sunk in, the more your laughter escaped your body, hanging with your ‘friends’. Little did you know, you would’ve actually despised these people if you werent high off your ass everytime you hung out with them. Your little buddies were never people you’d even think about hanging out with, they’d bring that sick feeling of nausea in your stomach when sober. But you weren’t sober. The more you lost yourself, the more Chris was left sat on the bed, watching as the door shut, the peek of little light falling from his lane of vision as it closed comepletely. Why were you leaving him in the dark, there to slouch his shoulders, rest his head in his hands as his thoughts became too heavy?
Gosh, why couldn’t you just fucking stop. What was wrong with you? What was so fucking messed up in your already fucked up head that you chose drugs over your own boyfriend?
In the otherwise silent room, the brush of a foot pushed against the creaky floorboards, you didnt look up. Too ashamed to meet the eye of what you’d hoped, Chris’ hopeful gaze.
“Y/n?” Chris’ voice interrupted the sudden crowding of your own mind, the thoughts all swarming like a crowd of people at a concert, no other reason except to move.
Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. Answer him you asshole!
Your voice tangled within the confines of your closing throat, making it harder for you to speak. Your eyes moved quickly to Chris’, despite the slow bobbing of your head falling backwards.
With a strained effort to speak, you answered. “Yes?” Your eyes looked up to meet his, the almost pitch black room normally lit up with only his pure presense, but it didnt. It only saddened the tension mingling in the air.
His face was sympathetic. Fuck. All the guilt rushed up to the surface, filling your body and taking it whole, that your eyes begged to release the guilt. It began to become harder to hold the tears back, even with only two words uttered, shoved into the atmosphere.
His adams apple bopped downwards as he swallowed, his hands coming to his lower abdomen as they connected, fidgeting nervously like a child in trouble. The eye contact he held began faltering, his lips twitching to speak.
“A- Are you okay?” His hands dropped, his chest rising with a sudden quick inhale, maybe the air was thick with confidence, for him, at least. You felt as if the air was so thick with awkward tension you couldn’t breathe.
The swarming crowds in your mind disappeared, vanishing into the dusty air of your mind. Leaving you to sit, rocking back and forth, holding your head in your hands, too occupied with thinking of a reply to his question to actually answer his question, either the truth, or a lie. He knows the truth either way, you knew that. But you didn’t feel comfortable enough to admit that you werent okay, it itched your throat with nausea.
Chris’ eyebrows creased in remorse. His lips slipping to a frown as the air around them began swishing, sloshing with each movement made. He swallowed his previous longing for an answer to everything, instead, he moved his feet, the thick air begrudgingly moving along with him as he sat down, side by side with you.
His arm slid to your shoulder, pulling you close to him as he breathed in and out, slouched and sitting there, holding you against him as he prepared himself for the conversation he was intending to have with you.
“Its okay, to not be okay, my love.” He whispered, his head staring ahead, eyes glued to the monotone green and red carpet coating the floor. His hand rubbed your arm, maybe subconciously, who knows.
“I’m your boyfriend, you dont need to keep secrets from me, you dont need to hide in fear of shame. Thats not what i’m here for.” His voice remained the same, a tired lacing, with a rasp beginning to rip the seams.
“I’m here to be by your side, hold you as mine, let your tears soak my shoulder, share laughter with you, to share arguments together, even. But I cant do that, if you choose-“ his voice faltered, a sharp inhale interrupting his trail of words, as a seemingly brace for himself. “If you choose drugs over me, my love. You need to choose me. And I know, I know its going to be hard, but I want you to want to give them up, I want you to need the freedom.”
You stayed silent, your head resting onto his shoulder, listening to his words as he spoke. If only, if only, you could seep them in. Let them change you, but the drugs felt stronger, grabbing your wrist and tugging, like a helpless child.
Your voice cracked with emotion as you began, “I can’t, Chris,” a near sob escaped your throat. “I want to, I really do, but I just— I cant.” You gave up, your voice trailing off. Your eyes closed, tears beginning to flow down your cheeks, the painful lump in your throat serving as a warning for the sobs begging to rack through your body.
He nods, closing his eyes. A small, seemingly shattered exhale leaves his lips. His hand doesnt stop its comforting and assuring rubs onto your shoulder, only now, his thumb sweeps over your skin every few seconds.
He rests his head ontop of yours. The previous awkward silence seeps to the ground through the cracks of the wood floor. Acceptance is what takes its place. Acceptance that you couldnt let go, acceptance that Chris couldnt do anything to help, unless you let go. Acceptance, that it just wasnt going to work out, no matter how desperate of a longing ache filled inside Chris’ body. It wasnt his choice.
You were just, fading as the song goes.
1,329 words
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