Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

    Jack looked over at the figure sitting next to him on the couch, frowning for what seemed like the hundredth time that night. Felix was in a slumped position, tie loosened and nursing his third glass of wine. The liquid sloshed in its glass bowl as his hands slipped, making Jack lean forward and grab the wineglass from him, scoffing.

    “Don’t you think you’ve had a little bit too much?” Jack’s voice held contempt, and Felix looked over with his brows furrowed.

    “It’s, it’s fine. I’m, um, I’m good.”

    The other man rolled his eyes but didn’t give the wine back, instead setting it on the coffee table, away from Felix. “You need to take a break.”

    Felix grunted and leaned forward, but Jack swiped the glass out of his reach, standing and going to dump the rest of it in the sink. Felix sloppily followed him, frowning. He saw the drink get washed down in a swirl of clear and red, his face going hot. 

    “What’d ya do that for?”

    Jack whirled around, jaw set. “Go to bed. You’ve had too much. You need to learn self-control.”

    Felix swayed a bit, raising his finger in an accusatory manner. “I wouldn’t need to drink so much if you’d just listen to me.”

    Jack rolled his eyes, tired of Felix’s shit. “I do listen to you. You just whine and cry over nothing half the time, anyways. You need to go to bed. Now.”

    Felix shook his head, fingers curling into fists. “I do not!” 

    Jack didn’t say anything, just grabbed his arm harshly and led him to the living room. He sat him down and threw a blanket over him, and went to turn the lamp off. He paused when he heard sniffling. He turned around, exasperated. Felix had tears in his eyes, snot faintly running down his nose. He looked like shit. Jack curled his lip and folded his arms, just wanting to sleep it off.

    “Why are you crying?”

    Felix shrugged, body shaking. Jack huffed and switched off the lamp, brushing past him. It was quiet sobbing now, but Jack didn’t really care. When they became louder, he turned back around and faced Felix, who was hunched over on the couch, face in his hands.

    “See? This is what I’m talking about! I try to talk about it and all you do is cry!”

    “You don’t actually care!” Felix brought his head up, glasses foggy and wet. His whole face was wet, fingers too.

    “Jesus, Felix. Learn how to be an actual adult! You can’t keep blaming others for your own problems!”

    Felix groaned, dropping his head back in his hands. “You don’t love me anymore.”

    “Ugh! ¿Lo detendrás? ¡Estás haciendo el ridículo! ¡Se una puta adulta! ¡Esto no es mi culpa!” Jack was almost shouting, face red and hair frizzy. Felix just cried into his hands, knowing very few words his husband was directing at him. Tears and snot gathered into the palms of his hands, making him feel gross. His shoulders shook with the force of his drunk bawling.

    “Jesus Christ. I’m going to bed. You can sleep on the couch.” Jack stomped upstairs and left a bedraggled and sobbing Felix behind, caring very little about whether or not he wanted to sleep on the couch. He just wanted to get away from it all. He couldn’t handle the sniffling and projecting. He had a long night at the restaurant anyways, and Felix just made it worse. He always made it worse.

    Well, he didn’t until Bon’s opened. The stress of employees, the restaurant opening, and working late hours had driven Felix to late-night drinking. It started out light at first, a glass of wine at 8:00 pm, then bed. Soon, it turned into two glasses, and then 3 or 4 glasses. Sometimes, Jack would come home to a few bottles of Fireball or Jack Daniels discarded on the coffee table.

    He tried to get Felix to stop at first, but his plans soured. Felix just turned to the burning liquid anytime he was stressed, and he was an adult. If he wanted to drink, Jack really couldn’t do anything to stop him. He just wished Felix didn’t get so emotional.

    As he got into his pajamas and into bed, he thought about the past few months. All the fights they had gotten into. Felix would cry about how Jack didn’t listen to him, or how he didn’t love him. Jack tried to talk to him, but he worked late hours most nights at the restaurant, and didn’t really have enough time to do so. He was trying to make a good living for he and Felix, and the other just couldn’t see that.

    Jack couldn’t remember a night where they didn’t have some kind of spat. Felix would drink, Jack would watch tv, and one way or another they were suddenly at each other’s throats. It was exhausting. 

    Jack rolled over and brought the blanket up to his head, burrowing down into the comforter. He should probably apologize, but it’s mainly Felix’s fault.

    Yeah, Felix should be the one saying ‘sorry’. Jack wasn’t going to do shit.

***

    Jack pinched the bridge of his nose, sighing as he put his pen back in its holder on his desk. It was only 6:30, and Jack was already tired of working. Signature after signature, paper after paper. Blueprints and documents filled his cabinets and office, the dim light overhead casting a yellow glow. Felix had already gone home, probably to get drunk. 

    A knock was heard at the door, and Jack yelled a ‘Come In!’, watching as the door pushed open to reveal a man in a business suit, harboring a briefcase. Ah, the 7:00 meeting. Jack remembered he had said they were meeting a little earlier. He pushed his current papers out of the way and gestured for him to sit down, a small smile on his face. The man took the seat placidly, nodding at Jack and setting his briefcase on his knees, unclasping it and taking out a few papers.

    Jack folded his hands and began. “So, you’re with Granton Solution? Thanks so much for coming in.”

    The man leaned forward, nodding. “No problem. Thanks for meeting with me. I have some papers you can sign, officially joining hands with our company.”

    Upon saying this, the man took out a couple of white sheets of paper, setting them carefully on the desk in front of Jack. He then closed his briefcase and leaned back, watching as Jack signed his name in various places. He coughed into his hand, and began talking.

    “You’ll see, our company offers various-”

    A ring from the telephone cut him off, Jack jumping to push the ‘ignore’ button. He turned back to the man and smiled apologetically. “Sorry, continue.”

    The man just nodded and opened his mouth again, but the ringing continued, cutting him off again. Jack groaned.

    “It’s fine, I’ll step out.”

    Jack nodded a ‘thanks’ and waited for the man to step out before grabbing the phone and bringing it to his ear.

    “Hello?”

    “Jaaack.” 

    Fucking Felix. He was drunk too, telling by the way his words were slurred. He hiccuped into the phone, and then sniffled. Jesus, he was crying.

    “What, Felix? I’m in the middle of a meeting. Is it important?”

    “I, I need to talk to you. I don’t, I ain’t got anyone to talk to.”

    “I’m at work.” Jack rolled his eyes.

    Another hiccup, and a rustling sound. He mumbled something, a glass sound. He was drinking over the phone.

    “Are you seriously drinking while on the phone? I can’t believe you.”

    “Don’t preach to me, Walten. At least, least I’m not no workaholic.”

    “Felix, I’m going to hang up. I hate it when you do this.”

    “You just hate me.” 

    Jack blinked, jaw clenched and brows furrowed. He sat there for a moment, fazed slightly. He leaned back into the receiver and spoke harshly.

    “Maybe I do. Maybe I can’t handle your fucking drinking anymore. Maybe I’m tired of you accusing me of stupid shit. Maybe I’m tired of you!” He tried to keep his voice as low as he could, not wanting to let the man outside the door know that he was having a fight with his drunken husband over the phone.

    “God! What did, did I do? Why don’t you love me anymore?” Felix was crying now, but it sounded like he wasn’t drinking anymore.

    “Oh, poor Felix. Everyone look at Felix. He can’t handle a fucking conversation anymore!”

    “Fuck you! I fucking hate, hate you!”

    “If you hate me so much, why don’t you just leave?”

    Yeah, why doesn’t he just leave? Jack huffed, becoming breathless with the insults and rage he spewed out. He was furious, so fucking tired of Felix’s shit. He spoke into the phone, tone dead-set and hard.

    “Pack your stuff. I want you out by the time I come home.” Jack heard his breath hitch, and then conjoined mumbling, sorrowful and teary.

    “Jack? Please, don’t make me, make me go! I’ll stop the drinking! I, I promise. Please, Jack!”

    Jack just scoffed and slammed the receiver down, trying to calm himself down. He was exhausted. He just couldn’t deal with Felix anymore. He would worry about the rest tomorrow. He got up and invited the man back in, him being the top priority right now. He had to focus on business, not petty shit.

***

    When it hit 10:00, Jack decided it was time to go home. He was still slightly fuming from the fight, but it had lessened somewhat. He grabbed his keys, said goodbye to the closing shift, and then left. The night was warm, a breeze slightly fluffing Jack’s hair. He could see stars in the sky, and he raised his head, pursing his lips. They were bright tonight.

    He climbed into his car, turned the ignition, and gripped the steering wheel, rotating the wheels and pulling out into the road, hoping that he could get some sleep tonight.

    However, he couldn’t help but feel a pit in the bottom of his stomach. It grew as he got closer to home, and he was full of anxiety by the time he rolled up into the driveway. He slammed the car door as he got out, finding the door unlocked. 

    A metallic smell hit him as soon as he walked inside, but the most perplexing thing was the sight of a few boxes in front of the door. A suitcase joined them, Felix’s own. It was probably all of Felix’s stuff, waiting to be led away. Jack kicked at the cardboard and furrowed his eyebrows. He was hoping Felix would be gone by now. Apparently the other was taking his sweet time.

    “Felix! I told you to be gone by the time I got home!” He directed his voice upstairs, where Felix usually was if he wasn’t lying drunk on the couch. After getting no answer, he sniffed. The smell started to get sour, and it made his stomach church. He hadn’t left any food out, so maybe it was Felix’s doing. His alcohol always stank.

    He rolled his eyes and trudged upstairs, fully preparing himself for another fight with the small man. He just hoped he wouldn’t have to forcefully kick him out. He didn’t know if he would be able to do that. Felix got feisty when he was drunk.

    He wasn’t in the bedroom, but Jack noticed the bathroom door was closed, light flooding out from the crack on the bottom. Jack sighed and knocked on the door, getting frustrated. 

    “Felix? I want you out of my fucking house!”

    No answer. Jack noticed the smell was worse here, and he finally had enough. He shouted a warning, and opened the door forcefully. He stepped in, finger raised and ready to scold the drunken man, but no words came out. Instead, a gargled groan rose from the back of his throat. He retracted harshly, hands flying back as his eyes came upon the most gut-wrenching thing he’s ever seen.

    There lay Felix, body in the tub. Plastic covered the bathroom toilet and floor, spattered with blood and chunks of flesh. Felix’s arms hung limp around him, fingers lazily wrapped around a gun, the thing still steaming. His head hung to the side, blood streaming from the massive hole in the back of his head. 

    What could only be described as his  brains covered the back wall of the tub, accompanied by bits of hair and skull, making for a very gruesome scene. His glasses were cracked, but eyes open, still watching the faucet drip dirty water onto his still feet.

    Jack was convulsing, gagging from the stench and sight. A guttural wail rose from his chest, and he sank onto his knees, tears streaming down his face as he screamed and sobbed. His jaw hung open, hands clenching at his hair as he kneeled in front of his dead husband.

    “No! Fuck! No, no, no!” He lurched forward, face hitting the tile, body curling up into a ball as he hugged himself, howling and jerking. Snot and tears drooled onto the floor, but he didn’t care. Felix was dead.

    Felix was dead and it was all his fault.

    He didn’t know how long he was there, but strong hands gripped his body and helped him stand, walking him outside to the porch, where a blanket was wrapped around his shoulders. He didn’t do anything against it, just continued his sobbing and mumbling of ‘no, no, no’, not caring who saw.

    A crowd of people had gathered outside the house, hands over their hearts or mouths, watching as ambulances pulled up and a gurney rolled into the house. They watched as one of the most respected men of Brighton sobbed in a blanket, tears and snot running down his throat and chin.

    Jack blindly looked over as the gurney was brought back out, now harboring a body bag. It was full, filled with Jack’s dead husband. He hunched forward, face contorting as he sobbed harder, groans and cries leaving him. He shook, feeling a hand on his shoulder. Looking up, he saw Rosemary, one of his good friends. She was crying as well.

    She leaned down, engulfing the Chilean man into a tight hug, letting him sob into her shoulder. She didn’t say anything, just petted his hair and rocked them back and forth. Jack shook his head.

    “It’s all my fault, Rose. He killed himself because of me.”

    Rose pulled back, looking Jack in the face. “It’s not your fault, Jack.”

    Jack just swallowed and looked up, tears going down his chin and onto his throat, making little rivulets, soaking his shirt. He shivered, the wetness finally getting to him. He clenched his jaw, feeling Rose resume their hug.

    Jack closed his eyes, letting his head fall on her shoulder. He looked up when an officer approached them.

    “Mr. Walten? We found this note. It’s addressed to you.”

    Jack took it in shaky hands, sniffling as he opened the crinkled paper nervously. Rose leaned back and let him read it, looking upon him with worry.

    Jack blinked away tears and focused on what the words said, feeling that twisting feeling in his gut come back. 
 
 
    Dear Jack,

    I’m really sorry for doing this. I know you said you wanted me out of the house, but I figured this would be better. I’m out of your life, instead. I know it’s what you want, and I’m sorry for being such a crybaby. I drank because I was stressed, and I didn’t mean to take it out on you. You were right, I wasn’t being fair. I’m just a stupid alcoholic.

    Anyways, I don’t want to take up too much time. I doubt you’ll even read this. By the way, I put plastic down because I wanted it to be easier to clean up. I wouldn’t want you to worry about that too, and I’m sorry if some of it gets everywhere. 

    I hope you are happier with me not bothering you anymore.

    I love you so much.

Sincerely, Felix.

  
    Jack held the paper to his lips, body shaking as he sobbed. His heart twisted and broke, making him feel utterly empty. Felix still loved him, and all Jack did was ignore him and push him away.

    What hurt worse was that he didn’t want to be a burden, even in death.

    Jack wailed, falling into Rose and feeling her brush his hair back, patting his back and rubbing his arms.

    It’s all his fault. 

Chapter Text

The apartment was dark. Jack sat on the couch, mumbling to himself as he listened to the long-forgotten soap drama droning through the screen. He peered down into the bottle of Jack Daniels, swirling the dark liquid around and licking his lips. The lights above him had gone out a while ago, and he didn’t bother paying the bill. It wouldn’t matter soon, anyways.

His hands clenched, sweat rolling down his forehead as he caught another whiff of the alcohol. He couldn’t stop remembering what happened, couldn’t help the bombardment of images that flashed through his head. Felix crying with a wine glass in his hand, tears dripping into the cup. Felix’s muffled voice over the phone, blubbering and begging Jack to be lenient with his harsh punishment. Felix laying dead in the tub, head cocked to the side and staring off at the blood surrounding his still body.

He hunched over, trying his best to hold down his stomach. His mind berated and rebuked him, holding his guilt and waving it around the dark, musty apartment for all the shadows to see.

After the ambulance had left that night, Jack had stayed on the porch, shivering in his blanket until Rose had to leave as well. The night surrounded the dark man, hugging in on him until he couldn’t breathe. His tears had dried onto his face, but he didn’t care. He watched the flashing lights float away, heart breaking with every jump.

There was a funeral a week later. Almost everyone in Brighton had gone. Rosemary had gone with Jack to make sure he was okay. She had worn a black dress, matched with Jack’s black suit, dark to match his mood.

The blue sky and bright clouds were an insult to Jack’s character. Gross lour adorned his features, glaring at the sky with contempt. As the oak casket was led into the ground, Jack faltered. That was his husband in there. The love of his life. The man he used to hold and kiss, laughing together and feeling his heart skip a beat whenever Felix had looked at him. 

Now, he was nothing but a still corpse, getting dragged into the ground by rusty machinery and surrounded by people who were only interested in seeing his dead body. 

It was a closed casket, of course. The mortician explained that when the bullet passed through his head, half of his face had blown away. He couldn’t be on display. He would have to be shut off from the world. Jack just stayed silent the entire time. He didn’t give a speech, just stared at the long box. 

Afterwards, he didn’t go back to work. It would be too depressing. Felix had been everywhere, on the artwork, in the food, in his own office. Pens he had borrowed or stolen from Felix were still lain forgotten in his drawer, collecting dust. 

He sat and collected his own dust, crying and lamenting at his misfortunes. Felix was gone , and he couldn’t do anything about it. 

Rosemary had come by a few times to bring food and to check up on him, occasionally tidying the house and buying bulbs for the lamps. Jack would just sit on the couch and let her, staring at the screen of his old box tv, wallowing in his self-pity while a perfectly good woman busied herself around him.

Eventually she had come by and stood in front of him, hands on her hips. Her purse was slung around her shoulder, her sweater thick for the onslaught of cold winter weather Brighton was getting this season.

“You need to get out of the house. It’s been weeks, Jack.” She pulled the blanket away from Jack’s withering body and folded it up, placing it on an armchair nearby. When she looked back, he was still in the same place, white shirt wet with tears. He looked absolutely pitiful.

His face was turned away, chapped lips breaking. “I can’t, Rose. I just feel so guilty.” He hunched forward and reached for another bottle of amber liquid, but Rose swiped it away before he could get to it.

“You’re going. C’mon, get up!” She ushered him up from the couch and shooed him to his room, where he stood for a moment. Rose paused as well, staring at the bed.

When Felix had been packing his stuff, he had thrown some of his shirts on the bed, or left some hanging on the frame, old and soiled with grime from disuse. Jack never had the heart to put them away, deciding to leave the room altogether and indulge in his believed culpability on the couch.

It was quiet before Rose stepped around him and dug through his closet, moving Felix’s clothes. The clothes that he had worn, that still had his smell, that he had touched. Jack gripped her arm and forced her back, ignoring her cry off adamance. He stumbled forward and slammed the closet door shut, pushing Rose out of the room and down the stairs.

“Jack! Jack, what is wrong with you?” Rose forced an indignant noise from her throat, brows knit together as she readjusted her yellow sweater sleeves. “Why did you do that?”

Jack ran his tongue over his teeth, feeling the built up filth and plaque that he didn’t bother brushing away. “Don’t touch his stuff.”

“I was only trying to help.” Her voice had gone quiet, searching his figure for more answers.

“Well, I don’t need your help. I need to be left alone.”

A sharp laugh left the woman. “You need help, Jack. That’s what you need.” She went to come forward but Jack stepped back, hands gripping onto the hall stand, knuckles white.

“You should leave.”

“Hell no. You shouldn’t be alone right now. You need support.” Rose leaned in, rubbing his arm with her manicured nails. “He’s gone, Jack. Why can’t you accept that?”

That was the last straw for the man. He tore open the door and pushed her outside, hands shaking. “I don’t need your fucking help. I don’t need your sympathy, and by God I don’t need you to tell me that my own husband is dead!” Spit flew from his mouth as he gave his torn speech, lips quivering in anguish.

He slammed the door in her face, staggering back to the couch and dropping his head into his hands. The cold air brushed against his skin, making him shiver.

The house was quiet again.

He could hear Rosemary’s car start up and drive away, quickly at that. Jack searched but he couldn’t feel any remorse for her leaving. He couldn’t feel anything. Only his festering sin, traveling through his body and suppurating in his veins.

He stood back up and stumbled up the stairs, pushing open the door to the bedroom. The bed was still unmade, the shirts still scattered around the room. The mirror was dusty and antiquated, but Jack didn’t need to see his reflection to know it was horrible. He hadn’t shaved, brushed his teeth, or taken care of himself. He didn’t deserve it.

He opened the closet door and fell to his knees, grabbing a handful of Felix’s shirts and bringing them up to his nose. However, he couldn’t smell the old cologne Felix used, or the hairspray he would put on to keep his blond mock up.

There was only the scent of musk, of a dirty closet. Jack groaned and searched frantically through the dark wardrobe, tears rushing down his face. His shirt with white pinstripes smelt like mold, another shirt with gingham squares smelt like dust and regret. No Felix, no lingering scent and faint memories. 

Just dust.

Jack finally cried out, hunching over and sobbing, randomly grasping onto a shirt that was still held in his hands. He rubbed it against his cheek, letting the cheap fabric soak up his tears. Felix was gone, and there was nothing he could do about it. 

The shirt was dropped to the floor in a bundle, forgotten by Jack as he sat weeping on the floor. He couldn’t stand the quietness of the room, how the fan was still and made no more noise. There was no more Felix running around, kissing Jack on the cheek.

He was in the ground, deteriorating as bugs crawled around his body and ate whatever was left of the man. No, the love of his life.

He pushed his hair out of his face and stood on shaky legs, exhaling out into the dusty bedroom. His vision was hazy, fuzzy around the edges. The shirts dispersed around the room taunted him, laughing at his affliction. He exited, running to the bathroom as he felt his stomach start to heave.

He was bent over the toilet, hurling into the white porcelain, spraying the sides with old alcohol and resentment. The bathroom lights were dim and too bright, beating down on his skin as he spit out vomit, leaning his cheek against the rim. He dully stared at the yellowed wallpaper, peeling at the edges and graying in the middle. It had an old pattern that Felix had picked out, a beautiful Pilar Ochre that decorated and brought the bathroom to life.

He forced his head to turn around, glancing at the tub where his husband had taken his life, and Jack had lost his own. He leaned back and ran his hand over his face and groaned, feeling his stomach cramp up. 

He couldn’t be here anymore. 

He went out into the hallway, but he didn’t even feel very well there either. He could see Felix running past him and down the stairs, laughing as he beat his husband to the door. Jack almost reached out to hug him, but he brushed past his fingers in a rush, looking back in a smile. Jack ran and followed him, ignoring his pounding head and still queasy stomach. 

Felix was in the kitchen, and then he wasn’t. A flash of an old shirt and Jack was in the living room, tripping over discarded and dried up beer bottles, stumbling around the coffee table in swift manner, gasping for breath he couldn’t catch.

“Felix!” He cried out, running up the stairs as he followed blond. “Wait!” No matter how hard he tried, he couldn’t seem to catch up. Felix was leading him somewhere, turning around every so often to taunt him with a quick flash of his cracked glasses.

Eventually he was led back into the bedroom, where he paused to even out his breathing. Felix was by the closet, smiling as he beheld Jack’s heaving figure. The dark man tripped over scrapped shirts and reached towards Felix, but the other man stepped into the wardrobe and disappeared, still smiling though soiled sleeves and stained pants that were askew on hangers.

Jack pushed forward but stopped when he felt something rough brush against his foot, making him look down and inspect it in a delirious state. 

It was a rope. Carefully coiled up in a circle, just waiting for Jack to grasp it. He leaned down and picked it up, rubbing the pads of his fingers against the rutty material, blinking softly in the moonlight.

A whisper in his ear, ticking the shell and making him shiver. 

Come to me.

Jack nodded, a deep whimper escaping his throat as he gripped the rope to his chest in a reverent gesture, looking up only to find that Felix had disappeared. He was gone, for good. He needed to find him, to make sure that he knew Jack was sorry, that he didn’t mean for any of this to happen.

He got a chair from the kitchen and used the last of his strength to haul it up the stairs and into the bedroom. Sweat rolled down his forehead from the exertion and what was about to come. However, he didn’t feel scared, only a need to get it done as soon as possible.

The rope was messily but tightly tied to the base of the fan, Jack pulling on it to make sure it was sturdy enough to hold his weight. When he felt it was secured sufficiently, he forced his shaking legs to stand on the chair, not minding the wobble the legs gave him high up in the air towards the soot covered ceiling, courtesy of the fireplace.

Quivering fingers slipped the rope over his neck, tightening it. He stood there for a moment, staring at the messy room. The corners were dark and shadow filled, but he smiled when he saw a figure, instantly recognizing his husband. Felix stared at him, completely still and patient.

Jack felt his own perspiration drip down his nose, and he took a step forward, and then another. He smiled as he did so, excited that he was finally getting to reunite with his husband after so many weeks. 

A final step, a fall down to the bloody floor.

He gasped and clawed at the rope, gurgling out extremities and sobs. His legs kicked around with fervor, but finally died down. His arms hung limp at his sides, and his eyes were wide open to catch his husband awaiting his arrival.

The last thing he smelt was a steady steam of metallic blood.

Felix was waiting for him.