Lovely Sad

Jack’s tired of waking up alone in his king sized bed that Alex once occupied.

There’s a dent where Alex used to lay, where he’d throw himself down on the bed and laugh and wiggle until his slim body was pressed up against Jack’s. That side, the left side, Jack never slept on. It still smelled a little like Alex, so he hoped to preserve that for as long as he could. The sun would stream in through the line-blinds and soft curtains, and it’d just make things worse. Most days, Jack never even left his bed any more.

What if he’d not gone drinking that night?
He should’ve stayed home.

What if he apologized instead of trying to convince Alex drinking was a good way to cope?
He should’ve listened to the elder.

Most of the time, these thoughts completely consumed Barakat. It was that, or he was asleep or drunk. One of the three. Jack invested in blackout curtains to keep the sun from rising into his room, because the sun reminded him of his sun, his Alex.

Flowers reminded him the most of Alex. They were so pretty, and Alex always insisted they’d stop so he could pick some. The elder had gotten in trouble for it a few times, but it never stopped him. Alex loved all pretty things, which made Jack wonder why he loved him. Gaskarth constantly reassured the younger that he was indeed beautiful; sometimes he’d cover him in flowers, and tell him that he belonged with them, because of how pretty he was.

Jack’s stopped trying to get people to be his friends, and stopped trying to have someone to be with. Dating websites aren’t for him and he doesn’t want to meet anyone. He doesn’t want anyone that’s name isn’t Jack Daniels and comes in bottle form, and he doesn’t want anyone unless their name is Alex Gaskarth and are a perfectly petite twenty two year old, just months older than himself.

He avoids mirrors because he hates to see the waste he’s let himself become.

Most the time he’s numb. Drunk or sleeping, dreaming about nothing, or sometimes Alex. Sometimes he texts Alex. His last text was a drunken one, spilled all his thoughts into a four-hundred word long text message that hadn’t even gotten delivered.

He’s so, so fucking sad. Jack’s sad, but it’s a lovely sadness, in a way that he’s in love with the boy he met when he was thirteen who shattered his heart when he was twenty one, but would never stop loving.

It’s been sixty two days, maybe more and maybe less, than he’s last seen or heard from Alex. He misses him, oh, so very much. Jack always saw Alex glancing at diamonds when they went to any type of mall that had a jewelry store; Jack wanted to marry Alex. Barakat was confident that he’d always have Alex, and never lose him. Look where they’d ended up, though. Not speaking, and Jack is pretty sure he feels his heart getting less and less excited to beat every day.

It was the seventy fifth day of not speaking or seeing that Alex had finally stopped by.

He stood on the steps to Jack’s door, hair soaked to his face by the rain. He looks up to Jack and says,

“You’re an asshole, Jack. You shouldn’t have gone drinking and you should’ve stayed him with me. You should’ve relied on me for help with your problems instead of swallowing them and chasing them all down with a shot or two of who knows what. But God damn it, I love you. I have been thinking about you every single day for the past seventy five days, and I never once stopped.”

So he’s been counting the days, too, Jack realizes. Alex continues,

“I hate what you did but I hate not being with you even more. Can I come back?”

Of course, it’s a yes. It’s always a yes for Alex.

They’re so, so fucking sad. They’re sad together, over each other, and it’s never a terrible, heart clenching sadness. They’ve got each other, and they’re lovely sad.