Chapter Text
Jack loves writing, he does. He had grown up around people who just expected him to have a natural talent for the written word, his father being an author himself. Jack had that, but even so, being an author was a job he never imagined himself pursuing. After going to college, he truly thought he’d turn out to be a teacher of some sort; what else do you do with a degree in History? Writing novels had never even been on the table, the idea coming with too many expectations to be just as good, if not better, than his father. As much as he loved it, he just couldn’t handle the pressure.
All that changed when his best friend, Shitty (don’t ask), got a job as an editor at an up and coming publishing company called ‘Samwell Publishing Haus’.
“It’s awesome, dude. My office has like, practically its own bedroom,” Shitty hopped over the back of Jack’s couch, landing with a thud and his feet in Jack’s lap.
“That’s...interesting,” Jack was not about to question the logistics of this company’s odd choice of workspace. He’d seen the building when he dropped Shitty off at his interview, and it honestly screamed ‘frat house’ more than anything else.
Shitty pushed his toes against Jack’s inner thigh, stretching his limbs out like a cat, “Apparently they’re looking to publish mostly historical fiction which, ew, but they told me there’s pretty much no one writing that shit right now, which is not surprising, honestly; They’re even branching out into poetry of all things because of it.”
“Historical fiction?” Jack went to nudge Shitty’s feet out of his lap, propping his feet up on the coffee table and resting his arms on the back of the couch.
Shitty pouted, folding his legs under himself, “Yeah, you know, fictional shit set during wars that actually went down? Like, it’s cool to read I guess, but editing it? The worst! I know fuck-all about history and I have to fact check everything for ‘accuracy’ or whatever. Really, I don’t know how you keep all that random info in your brain Jack-o. It’s like, a lot.”
Jack huffed out a laugh, “Hell if I know Shits, maybe it’s the History degree giving me some special powers.”
“It might as well! Seriously, you should have read the manuscript I had to go over yesterday; the only manuscript, might I add.” Shitty covered his face with his palm, releasing a strangled sigh, “It was the most boring shit I’ve ever laid eyes on. Honestly, you could write better shit than that, I’d bet on it.”
“Yeah?” Jack perked up slightly at the idea. If he knew anything, it was that history was something he was good at, something he’d know how to write better than even his dad could.
Shitty punched his shoulder with a laugh, then hopped off the couch towards the fridge, “Now, you got any beer or what? Cause I’m gonna need it while I tell you about the cute cover artist I made an ass of myself in front of today.”
The next day, Jack called Shitty with an idea for his first novel and a pen name already chosen.
“Jackson Laurent, huh? I dig it,” Shitty paused. “You’re really doing this, aren’t you?”
Jack shrugged, even though he knew Shitty couldn’t see, “I just think it’s time to try, at least.”
“I love you, man. You’re gonna be amazing, I can feel it.”
“Thanks, Shitty. I’ll do my best.”
And the rest was History (no pun intended).
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
If Jack is being completely honest with himself, he has terrible writing habits. After finishing his first manuscript by locking himself in his apartment for over a month and never leaving other than to get groceries, he’s gotten himself into a pretty unhealthy mindset. But hey, he finished his first novel and it took off almost instantly, so why would he think to change his methods? They obviously work.
His editor, Johnson, never feels the need to give his unwanted opinions. If the book gets written within the deadline, he doesn’t care how Jack does it, and Jack is thankful for that. There’s a reason he refused to have Shitty as his editor when he first started out. Even though he’s a great friend and always gives Jack pretty solid advice, albeit while slightly high, he’s just too hands-on for Jack’s taste. He likes the way Johnson stays in his lane, never prying too hard or butting in where he isn’t needed. He’s never even met Johnson in person the entire 3 years they’ve been working together. To be completely honest, he doesn’t even remember what the guy looks like.
They’re a match made in heaven. Jack can hide away for months on end, typing into the early hours of the morning with only his computer screen illuminating the room, and Johnson will only send the occasional email or schedule a short phone call. Jack loves the control his
current editor gives him.
His recent manuscript has been giving him an unusual amount of trouble recently, but Johnson insists he’s on the right track.
“Trust me, a sequel is the right way to go,” Johnson’s frankly emotionless voice sounds through the speaker on Jack’s phone; he continues typing as he talks, not willing to waste time.
Jack sighs, the clacking of his keyboard pausing momentarily, “I just don’t know, John. When I finished that book, there wasn’t really anything else I wanted to add. Is the current ending not enough?”
Jack could hear Johnson shuffling through papers on the other end of the line, starting to sound a tad frustrated, “Not for your audience, it is. There are people writing ‘Is This the End’ fanfiction on Tumblr, which for your genre, is unheard of. They’re not satisfied with how you ended things, and they want more.”
“But if I don’t have the motivation, it’s just gonna end up feeling lackluster...Isn't that worse than leaving it how it is? The last thing I want is to make something the reader can tell I didn’t care about,” Jack exits out of the document for the night. With only one paragraph written in the entire hour he’d been working, he knows his brain can’t come up with anything more.
“I know you have something great floating in that head of yours, you just need to catch it,” Johnson pauses for a long moment, “Maybe what you need is a change.”
Jack squints his eyes in confusion, even though he knows John can’t see him, “What kind of change?”
Johnson exhales, sounding slightly annoyed; at what, Jack can’t tell, “I’m sure I can think of something.”
Johnson takes another equally long pause, causing Jack to furrow his brow even more. He loves his editor, but he sure is an odd character.
“Good night, Jack. And good luck.”
“Ok? Good night, Johnson.” Jack hangs up, staring down at his blank computer screen.
“Should I be worried?” He says, though he’s all alone in his now darkened room.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Yawning for longer than could be considered healthy, Jack makes his way sluggishly to the kitchen counter, his eyes not yet adjusted to the harsh light of the rest of his apartment. Hopefully, a cup of coffee blacker than the bags under his eyes can help him get through just one more chapter.
After his phone call with Johnson over a week ago, Jack continues to struggle to find any motivation to write this ‘extremely needed’ sequel. He’d ended the last book with a certain finality which left little to the imagination.
[[ I can still feel your stares even after being home all these months. In all honesty, I’ll probably never stop sensing your presence, Isaac. You had grown on my back like a parasite, though you truly weren’t unwanted. You’d latched onto me right after our first meeting, the reality of our situation weighing us down like an unseeable force of gravity. I can still remember your smile as you draped an arm around my shoulder, cracking jokes as we set up camp. You were a flame that kept burning even when the fires were doused for the night, making sure not to give away our location.
“Hey, James,” you laughed into my ear.
“I told you, it’s just Henry.”
“Pardon me for keeping to formalities! Anyways, once this whole war thing is over, what are you gonna do with your life?” you leaned even more of your weight onto my side.
I turned my head slightly, away from your curious gaze, “I...haven’t really thought about what happens after, if I’m being honest.”
“Well, I have. It’s a good way to keep you from going crazy during all this shit,” removing your arm from around my shoulder, you moved to face me. “Once I’m back home, I’m going to write about everything that went down; I want people to read about what happened and feel what we feel, then maybe they’d understand how fucked up this all is! I’m gonna write about this exact moment, and it’s gonna make me famous. I’m going to make sure no one forgets who we lost. They’ll know our story, Henry, and they’ll never want to let it happen again.”
As you looked into my eyes that night, I could feel the determination in your gaze. You were going to set things right, and I would be there to watch you lead the charge. If I could’ve taken that bullet, I would’ve, no hesitation. But I wasn’t you, someone who’d lay down everything to fix what was truly wrong with the world. I was a coward, and somehow, you still trusted me.
“Hey, Henry,” you whispered to me in the darkness, the dirt under our bodies as we tried to find some semblance of calm during this ever raging storm. “If I die, don’t forget about me, ok?”
This would just have to be enough. ]]
What else could he add to that? Henry and Isaac’s story was over; he had nothing else he wanted to say. He did see how fans online were hoping a sequel would reveal their relationship to be more than just friends, and Jack could understand that need. He had originally wanted to make it a realistic accounting of World War I with the added element of a gay romance, but he decided against it at the last second, leaving out any indication that that was how the story was supposed to play out.
Jack was scared, not as much as Henry must have been, but terrified nonetheless. Scared of the unknowns, and the pressure it would put on himself as a writer to not fuck it up. He couldn’t take that much responsibility, even if reading something like that as a kid would’ve helped him immensely. It just wasn’t his cross to bear.
Waiting for his coffee to brew, Jack tries to get his mind off of his manuscript for just a few minutes. In just a couple hours, he would go over his storyboard with Johnson, and everything would work out just fine.
And that’s when Shitty walks in.
Well, not ‘walks’, more like ‘barges’ into Jack’s kitchen, phone in hand and mustache twitching. Since when did he give Shitty a key?
Shitty hoists himself up onto Jack’s kitchen island, “Wakey, wakey, Jackie-boy! Have I got news for you-” He pauses, giving Jack a once-over. “You never went to sleep last night, did you.” It isn’t so much of a question as it is stating a fact; Jack looks like he hasn’t slept (or showered) in days.
Jack doesn’t answer, just shrugs and takes a big gulp of caffeine.
“We’re defo discussing this later, but I have more important shit to tell you right now. Like, kinda not great shit? Maybe...sorta...your worst nightmare?” Shitty flips his phone in his hands, struggling to make eye contact.
Currently too tired to start panicking over what Shitty might say, Jack yawns a second time, “Just get to the point, Shits.”
Combing his hands through his hair, Shitty sighs, “So your editor, Johnson right?”
“Yes?”
“He quit.”
Jack feels very awake all of a sudden, “He...what? Why?”
“I dunno, man! Apparently he got a better offer at another publishing house? But he was being real cryptic about it; kept saying shit about ‘the plot’ and ‘his cameo being over’. Made my head hurt.”
Feeling the panic set in, Jack grips the kitchen counter, “What am I...I’m in the middle of a manuscript...that he was in charge of! I already can’t- Shitty, what am I gonna do?”
Shitty all but flies out of his seat, rushing to Jack’s side and resting a hand on his shoulder, “Don’t worry, buddy. We’re gonna find you a new editor as fast as we can!”
Knuckles turning white, Jack shakes his head violently, “I can’t just...I don’t want just any editor, I’m...I’m having trouble writing anything out as it is! This is just gonna throw me off even more...I can’t afford to...I just-”
“Jack, listen to me,” Shitty grips Jack’s shoulders, putting on the most determined and comforting look he can muster. “You’re an incredible writer. I know that, your fans know that, and your new editor will know that too. If he doesn’t, you have my authority to fire his ass!”
Jack huffs out a laugh.
Shitty gives a smile in return, patting Jack on the head, “See? You’re gonna be just fine. And if you ask me, I think having a new partner in crime will be good for you; someone less…”
“Cryptic?”
Shitty lets out a hearty laugh at that, “Exactly...Now, why don’t I order us some breakfast pizza and you show me what you’ve got so far?” Taking out his phone, Shitty makes his way to the living room.
Taking a deep breath, Jack goes to grab his laptop. For now, this will just have to be enough.