Endlessly

1 week later.

Alex hasn't called Jack once. Hasn't sent a text or email, hasn't tried to see him. To be quite honest, the stress and worry has made him sick, but the fear of Jack's next words to him is bigger. He confines himself to his room, only sleeping and eating just enough to get by. He's not lovesick, he promises himself; he's just sick and confused.

His brain hurts from thinking so much. The same argument plays over and over in his head, even in the short time he sleeps. He's going to go crazy if he has to deal with this much longer, but dealing with it means contacting Jack.

...maybe that can wait a little longer.

Alex's parents are as lenient as they possibly can be, but even the patience of an angel can run out eventually. Really, they're about ready to handcuff the two together in a locked room until they kiss and make up. Jack's parents feel exactly the same. Their mansion of a house has become a never-ending party, courtesy of their only child, and while they do enjoy a good party, if one more drunk person vomits somewhere that isn't the bathroom, they might lose half of their staff. Even the wrath of a demon isn't enough to hold their workers in a real-life version of Project X.

All in all, Jack isn't very surprised when his parents walk in on him with a guy after a week of the constant party. The demon simply rolls his eyes and covers himself with blankets as his catch of the night scrambles to his clothes, leaving the room not a minute later without so much as a word or look Jack's way. "Can I help you?" Jack asks, almost seeming to be looking through his parents instead of at them.

"Party's over. Get out, and don't come back until you and Alex make up." Joyce snaps. "We don't want to deal with any of the backlash Satan will surely send your way if you two don't work this out soon."

Jack's overly-dilated eyes grow even larger. It's the first time he notices the lack of thumping bass and chatter of party-goers. "Are you fucking kidding me? You don't even know what happened! What if it's not even my fault?" Under the influence of the cocktail of drugs he can't quite remember, Jack has a hard time not reacting like a 5 year old. He resists stomping his feet, but his arms fall across his chest dramatically.

"Did I say I cared who's fault it was?" She doesn't even let Jack interject before answering for herself. "I didn't think so. All that matters is that you work it out. Kiss and make up, or whatever it is you two do.

A long-suffering sigh glides between Jack's lips as he pulls out a look that hasn't graced his face in years - a pitiful one that screams 'feel sorry for me!' "Alex hates me, mom. He really, really hates me. I can't be around him right now. He just makes me feel bad about everything I am."

This gives both Joyce and Bassam pause. The reputation demons have of being cold, heartless creatures may be true in their interactions with the outside world, but the feelings demons experience are much more complex than most would believe, especially when it comes to their family, friends, and partners. In this way, angels are more detached than them emotionally. Angels have a certain tranquility about them, one that allows them to step away from almost every decision they make and evaluate how to proceed with the grace of their Lord, and how to escape a situation without hurting feelings. Demons are more brash than that; they speak without thinking and people nearly always are caught in the crossfire. Their love isn't easy to come by, but when occurring often comes without restraint - no matter how hard they try to stop it. Demons are surprisingly susceptible to depression, contrary to the belief of everyone that is not one.

"Which is exactly why you should talk to him." Joyce's voice is now much more gentle. Her son has turned away from her, choosing the wall as a better view, but this doesn't make her retreat. Sitting on the edge of his bed, she rubs his shoulders and upper back, where the skin is just slightly softer and darker than the that of the rest of his body. Wings are truly a wonder. Even after having her own pair for thirty-some years, they never cease to amaze her - how the gigantic things somehow fold perfectly into the back of the owner, adjusting their color almost perfectly to the wearer's skin tone. To an unsuspecting eye, it simply looks like a birthmark. "Explain to him how this makes you feel. You have to talk about these things for this relationship to work, Jack."

"He doesn't care!" Jack exclaims, frustrated. "I've done more than enough to make him feel this way. I deserve this, and it's not like he ever really was comfortable with me. Maybe God was wrong this time. All I know is that Alex and I will never work out. I'm too bad and he's too moral. Even if I changed, he won't. He'll always hold me to my past transgressions. There's no use in trying to change."

Joyce deflates at the pure defeat in her sons voice, but she doesn't stay docile for long. Anger starts to bubble in her chest, anger directed at the goody-two shoes boy that broke her son's heart and made him feel worthless. One look at her husband tells her he's filled with the same rage as her. They don't need words to know they're on the same page. "This isn't right. You shouldn't feel this way, and I'm sure Alex's parents will agree." Joyce huffs, standing up and storming out of the room, phone already pressed to her ear.

Jack's cheeks flame, and he shoots straight up in bed. He doesn't need his parents to call Alex's parents like fucking preschoolers because they can't get along! "Don't, mom! This isn't your business."

"You're sure as hell it's our business!" Bassam finally enters the conversation, still leaning in the doorway. He's stayed quiet for far too long, but not one part of him is on Jack's side in this argument. Parents, no matter the species or age, are meant to protect their children. There's never been much need for protection of one another in this family, but if there's any time for that, it's now.

"He's just going to feel like I manipulated him into this, and he'll hate me even more! Trust me, if there's any chance he'll ever forgive me, he has to be the one to initiate contact." The fear, stress, exhaustion in Jack's eyes makes his father want to wrap him in a hug and never let him go. If a hug could hold his son together, there would be no stopping him from pulling Jack to his chest until he was healed perfectly. The quiet yet angry whispers of his wife down the hallway barely make it into the bedroom, and if he had blinked, he would have missed the tear Jack angrily wiped away. "Can I just go to sleep tonight, please? I'm really fucking high and I can't deal with all of this Alex drama right now. I swear first thing tomorrow I'll leave if that's what you want."

The begging voice is so broken and done that even Joyce pauses, face falling as Bassam's eyes greet hers when Jack's door closes behind him.