mutual suffering

Jack caught him.

Of course he did. There was no amusement at this situation, only pure worry for the health of his darling. For a brief moment, a surge of warm affection rose from the pit of his stomach, overwhelming him with the need to make this better for Val, whatever it took. It didn't take long for Jack to start registering his surroundings in his head again, taking in the invested gossip mongers' looks about the new guy with the Crowther in his arms, and all Jack could do was blush and meekly say, "...I gotta go."

God, that was weird, this was weird, this whole day was really, honest to god fucking weird. Jack had a few people in this class he wanted to befriend but making friends was so hard when you make a scene, but he only thought of this in passing, because mostly his head was filled with Valentine.

When wasn't it, to be honest? Valentine was his entire universe at this point. And after their night together, Jack had been itching all week to get some form of contact with him, and it got worse day by fucking day like an addict who's been needing his high. It didn't help that, after he sent him his package and expected nothing less than the same cold response, Valentine didn't mail it to him back and, instead, sent him a real package with his incredibly lovely drawings and it was just. Valentine was just. And now he was in his class, beautiful and cold like an untouchable iceberg, and Jack watched him and wondered if any of that even meant anything to him. He was going to ask him if he wanted to go out for lunch when this happened.

Jack picked up his backpack and bolted out of the classroom, undoing his coat buttons and wrapping whatever he could of Valentine so he wouldn't get cold out in the street. As soon as he got to the gates, he took a bus Downtown to get to his house. Should he even take him to his house? He wanted to call the hospital or Clary at the very least, but Valentine said his house and maybe he should follow that because Val should know what was best for him, right?

Aw, shit. What if he died? That would be some real shit. That — made Jack panic even more, honestly.

Jack climbed out of the bus, Valentine still in his arms, and expertly maneuvered through the lock door, living room, stairs and locked door the sequel to get to his room. Jack settled him down on the bed, took off his shoes and sunglasses and undid a few buttons of his jacket and shirt so he was sleeping comfortably. He couldn't tell if this was the deathly pale of an encroaching death... or just the way Val was, really. A little sentimentally, he brushed his hair with his fingers and pressed a kiss to his cheek, muttering a soft "get well soon" before returning to full on panic mode.

He went downstairs, stuffed a tray full of the healthiest food he can find, which was soup, a banana and orange juice, and placed them at the bedside table. After that... he didn't know. Jack paced around quietly near the door, scrolling through his contacts and honestly debating if he should get someone in here. He opened the "Send Message" program a few times, switching between Clarence and the hospital and the infirmary, before eventually flopping down on the nearby couch, utterly defeated.

Please get better. I don't think I'll live through this if you don't.

Jack fell asleep. In retrospect, he shouldn't have, and he didn't want to, but panicking in general tended to knock people out and he wasn't an exception. He fell asleep in his space on the couch with his phone dangling from his hand, with a half-written out text to Clarence that only said "Valentine passed out in my class what should I bbbbbbbbbbbbbbbbbbbbbb." Soon enough, the light of the screen died down from inactivity.

In his dreams, he could see Valentine's silhouette drawn with soft edges and, echoing in the background, a profound sense of loss.

The image disappeared as soon as. Jack was a light sleeper when he wasn't drinking, and that meant he immediately woke up because of Valentine's fit of coughing. He watched Valentine undo his clothes in the darkness — eyes briefly glancing at the bedside clock: 3:40AM — and waited until he was calm to act. He didn't want to surprise him or anything.

When he stood up, his footsteps were light but loud enough to detect. He lied down just enough on the side of the bed so he was close to the bundle of sheets hiding Valentine. Gently, he reached out to brush the strands of hair peeking out from under the sheets to catch his attention, amused at how he never touched Valentine when his hair was short like this before, huh. It was odd, how his heart was heaving out waves of heavy affection mixed with concern. What kind of spell did he put him in, he wondered.

"Far be it for me to tell you to leave..." he started, voice a low whisper, respectful of the silence. "I mean, if I had my way, I'd love for you to stay longer. You occupy my thoughts everyday. But that's why I'm asking... This... This whole thing looks really concerning. Do you need to go to the hospital? Should I talk to your family? I can take care of you for as long as you want me to, but I'd rather take you to people that can do a better job."

Jack... hadn't realized how much he compared Gabriel and Valentine. When he thought of Valentine, it was always juxtaposed next to Gabriel. It was their similar personalities, the way they talked, the way they dressed. In the back of his head, he saw them as great, powerful deities that played with mortal men for lack of better things to do. Maybe that assessment still rung true for Gabriel.

Valentine was a different story. He was so small, so thin, so... young, and he already knew all of that but he was just now processing it. Jack felt mortified that this was the grand monster of his obsessions. What was he? A teenager? Shouldn't he be worrying about who to take to prom and High School cheerleader crushes and video game blogging, or whatever the heck teenagers did these days?

What happened when he was younger? What broke him? He said he was born into this. Sick. Brittle. It couldn't be fixed. There's no better job to be done with me, Jack, he said with absolute certainty, and Jack didn't sympathize exactly. He understood to some degree. Valentine was different from other people, in a way that was both painful and alienating. He knew the feeling. They were raised in extraordinary circumstances, and they couldn't integrate into normal human society as a result. They were strangers looking in, following the movements but never really belonging in the truest sense. He couldn't help but wonder if that was part of why he was so drawn by his allure.

He didn't have anything else to offer to what Val said. Any additions would be unwelcome and disrespectful. He got the message, anyway: Valentine didn't want to go back to his house.

That was fine. Jack made himself comfortable so he was lying right next to Valentine, his arm loosely around his waist over the covers. He wanted to cuddle him better but he didn't want to suffocate him or anything, given his state. It was funny how the person that made him feel like needy, desperate, suicidal garbage a few weeks ago was inspiring feelings of protectiveness inside him now.

Whiplash indeed.

He reached out to caress Valentine's cheek. "Then we'll make do with this. As hard as that sounds. I'm here if you need me. Don't hesitate to ask me for anything."

Jack felt warm drops fall on his face. His gaze was gentle, and he reached up to wipe Valentine's tears away with his thumbs. Valentine was too pale and too sharp, silhouette intimidating in the dark, which he supposed what his outburst would've wanted, but Jack had long abandoned fearing him, at least in this state. He was still trying to rack his brain on how to categorize him, really. Val was a monster, and at the same time he was his darling.

That got him thinking, though. Why was he doing this? Valentine was right. It didn't make sense. Jack was gross and needy, and he already had that uncomfortable realization that he was taking advantage of a damn teenager to satisfy his self-hate boner earlier. He wouldn't benefit from this at all, so why?

...Oh.

He knew why. It wasn't something that could be rationalized, really. Maybe I love you was a little too premature, but the words lingered, like a gut feeling in a Math test, like words exchanged at an altar. He wrapped his arms around Val's waist and, with almost no effort at all, switched their positions so Val lying on his back again and Jack was at his side. He threw the blanket over the two of them, holding Val close to his chest, peppering his head with small, reassuring kisses.

"Calm down, sweetheart," he said, stroking Val's back affectionately, even when contact hurt and he could feel his strength spilling out and leaving him. It wasn't his pain, he realized. It was Val's. If he let go of him, he knew everything would stop hurting, but he didn't want to. They both deserved this, and Val needed someone to suffer with him right now. "I'm here. I'm still gross and needy, and you still hate me, but I'm here. I'm not going to leave you. I promise."

Jack stayed up a little longer than Valentine did. The more he touched Val's skin, the more his insides screamed bloody mercy, but he could at least handle that. He'd experienced worse pains for more inconsequential things. Besides, he wouldn't pass up the opportunity to hold the world in his arms.

The words I don't hate you tossed and turned restlessly in his head. I don't hate you. I don't hate you. It screamed, demanded for attention and meaning, but during brief, quiet interludes, it began to settle comfortably in his heart. In response, his head said darling, darling, darling.

Valentine was so small, and despite his sharp edges, he fit perfectly in his arms. At some point, he fell asleep.


Before he knew it, it was morning. There was a dull ache spreading through his body and a brief moment of what before he remembered it was his Valentine in his arms. He spent a few good moments just holding him there, touching, listening to disjointed bird songs in the window. Just a few weeks ago, he woke up in the same bed without him in it. Having him here with him was... Well, to sum it up, his heart felt like it was going to burst out of his chest.

He didn't know how much time has passed, but he decided he should get up. Valentine was here to recover, not to get... fawned on excitedly. He used his training to exit the bed as sneakily as possible so he wouldn't wake him up, tucking him in properly. Before he left the room, he held Val's face in his hands and pressed a brief kiss to his forehead.

Good morning, my darling.

He adjusted the thermostat to something more comfortable and headed downstairs. Val didn't even touch his food, so he was guessing he couldn't eat anything solid. He prepared a light broth, thinking about their exchange now that he had a few moments to himself.

He came to the conclusion that as sick and twisted as their relationship might be, he was going to protect him. Maybe that wasn't the choice of a smart man, but Jack was not a smart man. He was all heart and no brain, and what his heart said that this whole thing — the torture, the love, the raw intimacy — was the most he had felt in a while. And that was better than not feeling at all.

He poured some broth into a bowl, picked up a pitcher of water and a glass of orange juice, and went upstairs. He placed the tray on the bedside table, getting the other stuff out of the way, and moved back to the couch. It got a little boring just watching his darling sleep, so he looked through Val's sketches again. Eventually, he picked up his sketch pad and began to draw, practicing Val's face now that he was here.