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the bedroom door swings open in a sweetly nauseating blur of colours and motion. jon smiles, flexing his fingers.
it's only been twenty minutes, and the paper taste is still lingering on his tongue. but as jeremy moves into the room, seemingly floating between being miles away and taking up jon's whole field of vision, he leaves a strange, ghosting trail in his wake, the chestnut of his hair stark against the off-white of the bedroom walls.
"hey," he says softly, carefulness woven through his voice like he’s speaking to a wounded animal. "how are you feeling?"
jon just looks at him, and his smile grows a little bigger. there's a buzz just on the outside of his body, like something trying to permeate his skin but not quite managing.
"alright," he murmurs, and it seems to take a lot more effort than usual. it's like being in a crowd, overwhelmed by the heat and noise and smells, and the way his brain shuts down and won't let him get a word out, except it's pleasant. there's no weight on his chest or tightness squeezing his throat closed, just a block between the words in his brain and his mouth. it feels like he dwells on this thought for a long time, about how this seems to be the exact mirror of that experience, but it could only be for a moment. his smile hasn't dropped. jez is still looking at him. "something's happening."
"why acid?" jez had asked him, what felt like aeons ago now.
"i just want to think about things differently. like, totally differently. i think it'll... help, maybe?"
"what do i do?"
"make sure i don't walk into traffic, i suppose."
a laugh; not mocking, endeared. "is that all?"
jon had paused, squinting at his laptop. "this website says it’ll be magical if you give me an orange."
he's still in the very early stages of the trip. he knows this — everything online says it lasts hours, a whole day even. they're prepared: the calendar is cleared, both their phones are on silent, and jez is prepared to answer any knocks on the door, though they're not expecting any. there's not even any post due, no parcels coming, nothing to get in the way of whatever is going to happen over the next few hours.
it's just them. he's here, he's swallowed the tab, and jez is here, sober and calm and familiar and safe. here to keep jon's feet on the ground, to hold him if things get rough; and yes, to feed him oranges.
he's sat on the end of the bed with one of the cheap, off-white bowls from the kitchen, a glass of water. jonathan slowly sits up, dragging himself into a more upright position, peering into jez's lap at the bowl he's holding. jez had bought two big, ridiculous oranges in the supermarket yesterday, so huge they even looked big in his large hands, and here’s one of them, cut into neat eighths. it looks almost perfect, splayed out in the bowl. jon grins again.
"oranges," he notes, unhelpfully, and the obviousness makes him laugh. jez smiles too, bordering on a giggle himself. “brilliant.”
"yeah. do you want some?"
he doesn't, really. it's not really happening yet, he only feels a little different, and things are just quirking a little as they move. he takes one piece anyway, just to wet his mouth and take away the taste of paper. it's juicy and a little runs down his chin. jez gently thumbs it away.
"i can do that," jon tells him, mock-sternly. jez licks his thumb clean. it makes jon’s skin prickle ever so slightly, but he feels far too strange to actually make anything of it.
"i know. just thought i'd help. i'm looking after you, aren't i?"
satisfied with his single orange slice, jon rolls his eyes fondly, lays back against the pillows, and starts to chew the flesh away from the peel.
"i'm not a toddler, i’m just…" he says, peering at the pattern of the orange skin. the pattern draws him in so much that he forgets the second half of his sentence. even so soon, it’s starting to morph a little before him, the dimpled skin ever so slightly twisting and waving. “just… you know.”
"i know," jez says gently, a mile away now that jon is staring so intently at the orange. this feels strange, but he can't stop. "i just felt like it. move over, let me sit here."
he does as he's told, shuffling across the bed a little to give jez enough space and then leaning on him heavily. jez settles an arm around him and pulls up the laptop, busying himself with putting on a show. jon isn't really paying attention; jez's heartbeat is thudding steadily in his chest, right up against jon's ear, and he's still examining the orange.
he hears the computer starting to trill, and when he glances up, the simpsons is playing on the screen. jez isn't watching it; he's watching jon. something about this feels incredibly profound. immediately, jon forgets about the orange peel.
jez has been here with him for a month. when the tour with foals got cut short, jon was panicking — both for jez and himself. everything was uncertain and terrifying then — maybe it still is — and he was freshly alone, smarting from his new singleness, living in a tiny flat with no partner and no cats and lots of damp and mould, and the threat of certain annihilation and solitude looming over him. he knew jez would be upset, fucking ruined by it; he'd been having such a good time.
they'd talked on the phone a lot; more accurately, sat on the phone across their vast time differences and been silent together, sometimes just sleeping with the ambient sounds of the other on the other line. jon did, anyway. he didn't know if jez ever did the same. he'd felt too pathetic at the time to care. jez was great through the breakup, and jon had felt like he needed to do something in return when everything came crashing down, so he drove all the way from manchester to heathrow in a frenzy in the middle of the night, and stood there in arrivals for an hour and a half, unannounced, unsure if he was even at the right terminal, just hoping that jez would walk through the gate, and furthermore, that he’d be happy to see him.
he was. they held each other for two whole minutes, people flowing around them as they stood there in the middle of the airport. jez cried. they had sex in the car right there in the pick-up car park — because what else could they have done after months apart, and with everything falling to pieces around them?
they've been together since, in jon's mildewed for-now-flat. it's so small that it'd be incredibly depressing if not for jez. he's a beacon. it's incredible having him so near, it's like always being on a sleepover, like being in their early twenties again, the on-and-off years of being friends-with-benefits notwithstanding.
jon looks up at him now, their faces close, and his vision feels crisp and perfect, only the vague ghosts of hallucinations in the background, whereas jeremy is in full, perfect focus. he smiles minutely. he wants to say thank you, or to tell jez he's glad he's here; not just here with him in the flat, but specifically here taking care of him on this journey. he feels safe with him. he goes to open his mouth and say something, but his stomach twists a little, maybe with nausea, from the acid, maybe with nerves, so he stops.
the sweet, tart orange taste helps to take away the nausea as he chews at the flesh again. jez gently thumbs over his bicep and pulls him in a little closer.
it's getting stronger now, he notices as he's chewing the orange. when he's focusing on the laptop screen, the dresser and door in the distance seem to pulse, almost breathing. the cartoon colours on the screen jump at him; nothing like a trippy poster from the 60s, more like he's just turned up the saturation. it's different, and he's still aware enough to realise, but it's nothing earth-shattering. there’s an incredibly faint ghost when things move. he barely restrains himself from wiggling his fingers in front of his eyes to see what it’s like.
time moves like a thick jelly, and he lets himself become transfixed with the computer for a while. jez is quiet, comfortably calm and steady against jon's side. the visuals are starting to tick up slowly. even the computer screen, just inches away from his face, is starting to distort a little. only when he's not focusing on it properly, the edges of the screen curve and bend in his periphery, the screen itself starting to morph into individual twists and spirals. it’s almost like a painting, maybe it reminds him of starry night? he can’t hold this thought long enough to actually consider it.
"it's been an hour," jez says quietly, a hand moving up to rub between jon's shoulder blades. his touch feels like nothing else, warm and deep and almost leaving an imprint behind on jon's back when his hand moves. he distantly recalls asking jez to check in on the hour mark, and he smiles at the memory.
"mhm," he hums gently. "kay."
"how do you feel?"
jon hums again, stretching out like a cat and closing his eyes. the warm buzzing has pushed in through his skin now and the borders between his own body and jeremy's — and indeed his body and the rest of the world — seem weaker, less real.
"different. it's... good."
talking takes much more effort than it did even twenty minutes ago. distantly, his own voice echoes in his brain like speaking through an empty concert hall. it’s not exactly pleasant. he wrinkles his nose at it, though he supposes it doesn't really matter; jez has known him long enough to know what he's thinking most of the time anyway.
"do you need some water?"
jon doesn’t answer. jez leans down the bed and brings up the bowl containing the remaining seven pieces of orange, setting it between them. jon drops the piece of peel he’d been holding into it and it falls ungracefully among the others. he picks up a fresh piece, trying not to get juice on his fingers, but the flesh jumps at him, bright and oversaturated, and squirming and moving as if it were alive, or full of bugs. he shudders, putting it back in the bowl and trying not to look at it anymore. there’s a slight phantom itch all over his body. maybe this was a bad idea.
jez rubs his shoulder and pulls his body closer, and it kills the itch. jon sighs deeply and nuzzles into him, breathing in his smell, the scent of his skin, his deodorant, hia clothes. they fall silent again. jon can hear his own breathing a little more than he’d like. all the sounds are on the same plane; he can hear his eyelashes brushing jeremy’s shirt when he blinks just as clearly as he can hear the computer noises. the visual distortion isn’t dying back, either. his vision is dancing in front of him, and it starts to feel nauseating to look at the computer with it's bright glare and constant movement. he finds himself staring at the room beyond it, but he fucking hates this place, and it makes him feel almost disgusted.
half his possessions are still in boxes on the other side of the room. he's lived here long enough to unpack them, but every time he tries, it makes his chest so tight that it's almost like he can't breathe. jez has offered a few times, but if he unpacks everything, it makes living here seem permanent, real. it was only meant to be for now; he’d only signed a three-month lease. that was before the world came falling down around them, of course. the boxes are making him sad.
he’s running out of things to look at. the computer is too much, the boxes are threatening to make him cry — he supposes there’s not much more choice but to gaze up at jez.
his vision is twisting and whirling now, the way you’d see on tv, and the colours of everything around him are starting to blur and melt into each other, so much brighter than he’s used to. he sighs, settling in a new position and fawning up at jeremy. he’s beautiful, so stunningly gorgeous that jon is struck by it. he lets out a breath he didn’t realise he was holding, blinking slowly as the sight of jez twists and turns before him, patterns rippling around his face and in his hair. it’s much less disturbing to watch him transform and twist, even as the colours of him melt into each other and create strange shapes. it’s okay, it’s almost nice, because it’s jez.
he’s so profoundly grateful that jez is here. he wants to explain this to him, to tell him what a huge help he’s been even in the short time he’s been here, how much he’s loved living with him again like they were still young and had the whole world ahead of them and they were living off beer and hope and cheap sandwiches. he loved that time, and all the more for having jez there with him for it. even the bad parts. looking back ten years later, maybe the bad parts were the most important parts of all. they were when it comes to how grateful he was — is, has been — for jez.
all the words stick in his throat. maybe he manages to say, “jeremy,” but it fizzles into nothing and he can’t make a complete sentence. he finds he doesn’t mind. just looking up at him makes contentment wash over jon’s whole body; he looks so beautiful, so absurdly gorgeous that it almost doesn’t make sense. it’s not even a good angle, and jez is hardly done up in any way, and yet, jon is simply awed by him. it’s like he’s never seen something so wonderful before in his life.
jez looks down at him then, and jon feels his face break into a grin. jez smiles back at him, bright and gorgeous and breathtaking.
“what?” he asks, and jon just shakes his head. he can’t possibly articulate this. “how are you?— alright?”
jon hums a yes, closing his eyes for a moment and feeling strangely surprised when colours dance behind them, the ghost of jez’s shape still imprinted behind his eyes, slowly morphing with the visuals even though he’s got his eyes closed.
“think you can write some songs about this?”
“shut up,” he manages to say, smacking jez’s arm playfully. he doesn’t even want to think about that right now. jez laughs, and jon swears he’s never heard anything so perfect in all his life.
“listen, i’m starving. do you fancy coming to the kitchen with me?”
jon doesn’t want to eat — he knew this would happen, they’ve got plenty of easy foods for after the trip — but he wants to follow jez. he’d probably follow him anywhere. he’d walk into traffic for him if he wanted. maybe getting him to be his sitter was a bad idea; they both know that jez doesn’t always have the best ideas. right now jon thinks he might be the wisest person in the world.
jez takes his hand and walks him carefully to the kitchen. it’s only a short crossing through the hallway, but he’s grateful for the support, because standing up makes everything feel much stranger, and he’s worried that he’d fall over otherwise. jez seats him at the table and starts making himself dinner. jon stares at the tabletop, watching the wood grain breathe and dance. every noise jez makes, with the tap or the pans or the pepper grinder, melts and mixes in his brain. it’d make interesting music, if he had any idea how to translate it into actual, workable sound. at some point he stops watching the table and starts watching jez, even though his movement paired with all the undulating visuals is a little nauseating. he sometimes comes into clean, crisp focus, and it makes jon grin. he feels not unlike a baby, playing peekaboo with the defined version of jez in the kitchen, smiling every time he re-emerges from the swirly, swimming hallucinations.
he’s just staring as jez eats, too, and jez is watching him right back over the table, doing that cheeky grin he does when he really wants to burst out laughing. jon supposes he looks a state, pupils blown and face flushed, the whole nine yards. he can’t bring himself to care that much, he’s utterly lost in the experience of watching jeremy.
“what do you want to do now?” jez asks, halfway through his pasta. “it’s going to get dark soon.”
they’d talked about leaving the house before he took the tab. everything online said nature would be beautiful, and in jon’s head at the time it had felt like the perfect place to ride out the peak and the comedown. he’d even timed it so the sun would be rising as he was starting to come down, and jez had agreed to weather the night with him and keep him safe. he tries to look at the clock on the oven, but he can’t read the numbers through the distortion, and looking away from jez and back at this depressing little flat makes his heart seize in a way he hadn’t anticipated.
the sun’s not quite setting yet, but they’re losing light. it isn’t going to be a proper sunset, just the brighter grey of the day melting into the darker grey of the evening, sallow and wan. as he’s peering out of their broken kitchen blinds, he finds himself feeling heavy, unpleasantly shaken by the sudden, crushing realisation of just how much he hates this flat. there are birds trilling outside, singing to welcome in the dark, but it sounds like a knell. suddenly, he’s very cold, and his heartbeat and quickening breath are echoing in his ears.
he tries to watch jez washing his pasta bowl in the hopes that it will relieve him of some of the abrupt despair of their surroundings, but it does very little to assuage the way he’s feeling. this is bad. through the haze, he tries to remember what he’d read in all the weeks of research he’d done leading up to this, but the patterns keep rippling in the shape of the kitchen even when he closes his eyes, and it confuses him too much.
his chest is tight. his ears are ringing. he’s suddenly very hot all over. this feels bad. he can’t make out what is his real heartbeat and what is the echo of it, rattling in his brain, and the sounds of water and ceramic tapping from the sink are only making it worse. the shapes behind his eyelids flash at him brightly. he feels nauseous.
“jez,” he murmurs urgently, keeping his eyes closed and gripping the edge of the table.
“hm?”
he can feel jez’s eyes on him, actually viscerally feel it like they were touching his skin. the back of his neck is burning like he’s just been sick, and for a moment he wonders if he has and just hasn’t realised — maybe he’s dying, maybe this isn’t the acid but is in fact his body rejecting it and his brain slowly shutting off. that’s irrational, and jez would tell him so if he had the wherewithal to explain it. he’s shivering, but he’s burning, and the colours twisting behind his eyelids are obscene and sickening, making strange shapes of looming creatures and a plethora of teeth and eyeballs. he’s awash with dread he’s never even come close to before. this is bad. this is fucking bad, and it’s going to get worse unless he does something about it, so the last part of his mind that isn’t already wrecked takes over, and he manages to say,
“get me out of here.”
jez springs to action like a mother hen, discarding his bowl in the sink and turning off the water. he crosses to jon; jon can feel his warmth nearing, the calming aura of him getting closer. he tries to breathe steadily despite the mounting panic inside him, which feels closer to consuming him than he thinks it ever has before. he’s trembling as he lets go of the table and reaches out for jez, gripping his arm tightly. where the fuck has this come from? he knew going into this that the acid would make him feel things differently, but he’d never have thought he’d react this way to just looking around his flat. he does loathe it here. the state of things means he can’t exactly just up and leave, even though he’d kill to, and anyway; he’s not ready for this conversation, but wants to do it with jez.
living with him again after almost ten years is incredible. he tries to focus on this thought, the memories. it’s strangely domestic, and they just work around each other so well. they’re sharing his double bed, which is a bit of a squeeze, but they’ve dealt with worse. they were already sleeping together, when it suited — it didn’t mean anything, not really, they were both just something the other could fall back on. stress relief, essentially. one step better than just rubbing one out on tour. this hasn’t stopped. jez is a much better housemate than he was when he was in his twenties, better at washing up and not leaving his dirty clothes everywhere, never bringing girls back at obscene times of the night. aside from this, he’s still not changed that much. despite both of them pushing forty, he makes jon feel young.
he makes him happy, the happiest he’s been in this horrible flat. thinking of that now shoots down a little of the panic. it’s almost like having a boyfriend, except he knows jez would never want to be anything even remotely close to that with him. they fuck, sure, they share a bed, sometimes squeeze under the shower together; they share the cleaning and they cook each other dinner, and they spend every waking moment together since there’s nothing they can really do outside, but they’re not boyfriends. that would be too much to even dream of. jon would never be so lucky; jez could do so much better.
suddenly, jon’s eyes are stinging.
“jon?” jez says steadily, laying a warm hand on his thigh. the ripples against the kitchen seem sickening now, too, shadows pulling and twisting and moving in unnatural ways, and he’s scared and he’s upset and he wants to be out of this fucking place now.
“please,” he says, pathetically. “please, i want to get out of here.”
jez nods sagely, standing up and taking a deliberate, slow breath. “okay. come with me, i’ll get your coat and shoes. we can go on a drive. is that alright?”
jon just nods. anywhere would be better than here.
jez takes him to get his coat and puts it on for him like a child, helps him tie his shoelaces. he feels helpless and small. the dread is still gripping him.
jez grips his hand instead.
he fills a bottle of water from the sink and takes jon to the car, very slow and careful, helps him with his seatbelt. jon leans his forehead on the window and sighs, curling into himself as best he can. he still feels sick. it’s getting darker now, so there’s no one around, not that there’s many people out during the day anymore either. jez drives very carefully, as if he’s transporting precious cargo. he turns on the radio and it makes jon start to calm down a bit; he recognises some of the music, but it sounds entirely different to his addled mind. this, at least, is a distraction. it’s interesting. he smiles softly, the fear starting to ebb a bit. he finds himself looking at jez again. yep, still gorgeous.
they could be driving for hours or it might only be ten minutes. jon isn’t sure. judging by the way the visuals stay constant and don’t tick up, he guesses it’s probably not that long. he’s still not reached the peak. the panic has almost vanished in the time they’ve been in the car, and he’s grateful that he seems to have avoided the trip turning sour. he’s sure it’s all jez’s doing, and he’s immensely thankful, but he can’t find the words inside himself to say so.
he knows they’re by the forest, but it doesn’t hit him properly until jez opens the door and gets him out of the car. the air is cold against his face and he smiles, feeling the wind in his eyelashes and around his ears. he finds himself wishing he’d had the foresight to bring a beanie, and then like magic, jez produces his little black hat from his coat pocket.
“thought you’d get cold,” he says, letting jon put it on himself, though not with much ease. jon gives him a big, ridiculous grin that crinkles his nose.
he could probably walk by himself, but he puts his hand out for jez’s and is thrilled when he takes it. jez locks the car and leads him into the trees, and immediately, jon understands why everything online had said to go out into nature.
the trees sway and move incredibly against the grey of the april evening. every leaf seems to move independently, melting and merging into each other, every branch ripples and twists before him, and it’s incredible. he finds himself slowing to a halt to stare up at the trees around them and gawp. he must look ridiculous. it almost makes him giggle. the fear has disappeared now, melting off him the further he gets from the flat.
jez gives his hand a squeeze and prompts him to keep on walking. happiness seems to radiate up from his hands, through his arms and shoulders, into his chest. he comes, squeezing jez’s hand tight, staring at the trees around them as they go, watching the light starting to disappear. this is better. it’s cool and quiet and still, and it feels like the whole world is at his fingertips. jez keeps hold of his hand as they pass through the trees, until they reach a little clearing with grass and the last of the light dappling through the sycamores. jon finds himself drawn into it, letting jez’s hand fall momentarily to stray off the path and into the glade. he peers up into the branches, watching the leaves dance in the light breeze. he smiles. the colours are ramping up again, twirling and flashing like you’d see in a film. they weren’t lying, he thinks. the smile hasn’t left his face.
jez comes up beside him and places a hand on the small of his back. jon hums and leans into his touch.
“here,” he says, with a considerable amount of effort. “ ‘s… nice.”
jez laughs, and jon can’t help grinning back at him, leaning even closer into his body. he carefully guides them to the floor, and then they’re sitting on the ground and it feels like the whole planet is underneath him, the boundaries between himself and everything else dispersing into dust. jez is steady behind him, and jon leans his whole weight against his chest, humming as one of jez’s strong, warm arms settles around him.
above them, the stars are peeking out. jon smiles. it’s not dark yet, not fully, but a few pinpoints of light are dancing against the indigo sky. he holds onto jez’s arm and stares into the sky, and something weird comes over him. he thinks about space, how the stars he’s seeing are actually bright, searing balls of fire millions and millions of miles away. this somehow feels incredibly profound. he thinks about how lucky they’ve been, for everything to align the way it has; to have happened to end up in the same band for one uni project almost twenty years ago, and how his whole life unfolded from that. maybe the stars had aligned for them.
it’s like the sky opens up it’s mouth and swallows him whole. he melts against jeremy and lets the stars twirl above him. time seems to stretch out and fold over itself so many times. it’s dark, properly dark, and cold, before he knows it, but he doesn’t even mind the chill. the dark curls around them like a heavy, thick blanket, and he feels his whole body merge into it. it’s as if he’s a part of the universe, like the night and the forest and the trees are all slowly melting into him and becoming a part of him too.
he’s pulled out of this thought by jez’s voice rumbling against his back, but he can’t make out the words he’s saying through the haze. he looks up to see jez pointing at a large bird, perched in the tree opposite them and looking down at them inquisitively.
“do you see it?” jez asks him softly. jon takes his eyes off the bird, and stares at jez’s hand.
jon reaches for it as he lowers it, and jeremy laces their fingers. when jon looks up at him, he’s still beautiful. even surrounded by twisting, undulating colours and the patterns now starting to twist and ripple again. he’s the most perfect thing jon has ever seen. he wants to tell him so, but he doesn’t think he can even move his mouth. he almost doesn’t care. he’s so happy, so content just melting into the forest floor and into jez and being swallowed up by the dark. he’s happier here, right now in this cold, dark moment, than he ever has been in the flat — in his home . he needs to get out of that place. he needs to have jez with him. he realises this now, as if it’s the most natural thing in the world, as if he’s seeing that the sky were blue or the leaves were green. he wants out and he wants jez with him. he can’t cope with just one, he needs both.
he wants to tell him now, to explain the huge, sprawling ideas he has about them packing everything up and getting a house, the way it used to be, except with more hope and more money, more experience under their belts, and nobody else. just them. nothing to break it, nothing to taint the place, to leave a sour taste like before. he wants to explain how peaceful, how right jez makes him feel, how, if he could spend the rest of his life feeling this way, he would.
he loves him, he realises, as he’s looking up at him through the distortions, the clear picture of him fading in and out like focusing a camera. he would do anything for this man. he loves living with him, loves working, making, creating with him, he loves the way he does the washing up, the way he folds laundry. he thinks he’s known this for twenty years, but he’s never allowed the thought to manifest so clearly in his head. if he could fathom speaking in any way, he’d say so. i love you. suddenly, i love you. unsurprisingly, i love you. i’m so sorry, but, i love you. he can’t even find it in him to dwell on his usual mantra about how jez is far too good for him and how he’ll only have this until something better comes along. the thoughts linger in his mind, but this isn’t about that. it’s not really about anything. he just knows he loves jez. the worry passes through him like a stream, rushing so fast that he can’t even catch it, can’t grab onto it the way he usually would and let it thrash in his hands.
it’s still so dark, and so cold, and it’s like he’s suspended in space. the dark, he supposes, is the natural state of things. it’s just luck that sometimes they end up facing the nearest star, but out there in the vastness it’s always cold and dark. he likes this thought. he clutches jeremy’s hand — the last thing he’d want is to float off in space untethered to him — but he lets himself feel the floatiness, the rush of the river. he loves jez. occasionally he’ll look at him instead of the sky, and it always makes his heart boom with the realisation — he loves him. he does. and he’d feel anxious about this at any other time — he’s probably been fighting the anxiety of it for almost two decades — but right now, when he’s being held so comfortably in the cold, empty mouth of the universe, and all the stars are dancing for him and all of the gravity and the orbit of the planets seems to be whispering their names in tandem; how could it possibly be anything but right? how could he deny himself the chance to put more love into this moment where it feels like everything around him is telling him it loves him too?
“jon,” jeremy says carefully, pulling the ground back up to meet him for a moment. “do you want to know the time?”
jon doesn’t really care, but he nods anyway because it means he’ll get to feel jez’s voice rumbling against his back again, and he likes that. he watches him check his watch.
“it’s just gone two. sun’ll be up in… four hours.”
jon just nods, giving him a little smile. it’s later than he thought; did he really spend all that time just staring at jez, daydreaming like this? he watches the stars above them, blinking and grinning as they twist before his eyes. the patterns have gotten a lot stronger now, and he’s astounded by the way they wave and ripple. they’re still there if he closes his eyes, turning and flashing behind his eyelids. he has no idea if he’ll be able to translate this into words, let alone music, but he’s fucking glad he did it anyway. he doesn’t know how he’d have ever realised what he’s realised tonight otherwise. he looks up at jez again, seeing the stars dance behind his head, and he knows he has to tell him. he has to explain everything to him right now or he simply thinks he might burst from it.
“jez,” he manages, with great effort. jez glances down at him, gently brings his free hand up to fix his beanie.
“yeah? you okay?”
he starts, but trails off, brows knitted in concentration. it’s becoming very hard to get words out, and he has to really think about how to form the sentence, but he has to say it and he has to do it now. he can’t wait till he’s sober, even though that would probably be a far better idea, he has to get this out because he doesn’t know if he’ll ever get the bottle again.
“i really love you,” he manages, slowly, and when he opens his eyes again afterwards, jez is unreadable.
this strikes cold fear into him immediately, but jez seems to see this and is quick to respond. his mouth quirks up in a smile; not a forced smile, a real one. jon knows him well enough to know that. he feels the sky shifting again, the planets falling back into alignment. please, please, he begs the universe, the breathing, quivering world around him. please make this okay.
after what feels like a long moment, jez shakes his head, and to jon’s surprise, he starts laughing. he’s laughing so much that he has to bury his head in jon’s shoulder, and it makes jon laugh too, and so there they are, on the ground together in the middle of the night, and jon is in an entire other world, and they’re laughing.
“oh, fuck,” jez giggles as his fit of hysterics begins to calm. “fucking hell, jon. that’s just… you’re brilliant.”
this sounds like he’s poking fun, but he says it in this really sincere way that kills any anxiety jon had inside him about it. he smiles and nuzzles into jez’s neck, earning himself a kiss on the forehead.
the night hours blur together very quickly. the dark is pleasantly cool against jon’s overheating skin and the stars and black sky make the visuals flashy and impressive. jez stays against the back of him, solid and quiet and comforting, sometimes holding his hand, sometimes with an arm across his chest, always touching him somehow, always perfect, always beautiful. they don’t speak again after that, and the anxiety begins to creep even as he nears the peak of his trip. there was no ‘i love you too’, no confirmation that his words had even been taken in the right way at all. he wonders if jeremy is just gratifying him because of the drugs, if, when this is all over, he’ll sit him down and have a talk with him that culminates in the confirmation of his belief that jez could do so, so much better than him.
jon sees the peak before he feels it. the colours start to flash and twist even brighter and deeper than before, and he’s clinging to a strange line between euphoria and terror as he watches them interact with the trees and the night sky. he holds fast to jez’s arm, his hand when offered, holds him like he’s the only thing keeping him on the ground. sometimes it feels like that without the acid, too. he doesn’t think he can bear the thought of losing him to something so stupid. the whole universe feels out of line again. his t-shirt is touching his skin in far too many places.
when the first bit of light starts to leak into the sky, nothing but a dull glow in the distance, jez speaks to him again. “we should go up the hill a bit. you’ll be able to see the sunrise better.”
jon follows him; he’d follow him blind, he’d follow him right into the main road or over a cliff. he’d do anything for him. he’s starting to come down a little now, and it’s making the thoughts even clearer in his brain. he fucking loves jez. he hates their flat and he loves jez and that’s something he can write songs about. he’s just praying it doesn’t have to be heartbreak songs. as the acid eases, his anxiety worsens. he hopes jez doesn’t notice the way he’s trembling.
he holds his hand again as they start up the path, towards the slowly bleeding light. as they crest the hill, the rest of the forest splays out below them, and jon can see the thin sliver of red on the horizon, like someone has sliced the earth in two and it’s bleeding all over the trees. he could do something with that, maybe. the coherence has started to come back a little bit now; he’s thinking clearer, anyway, but he doubts he could say a sentence without stammering. he wishes he could, he feels a million questions bubbling up under his skin but he knows he’s got no hope of asking them all in a way that makes sense. besides, if jeremy really is just telling him what he wants to hear so the trip doesn’t go sour, it’ll be no use anyway.
jez finds them somewhere to sit again and lets jon lean up on his side. he watches as the red creeps up the sky, swallowing the mist and the clouds, until the sky before them bursts with colours, swirls of yellow and orange and red, even pink and purple starting to drip from the clouds — although some of that might be the acid. he’s not seeing so many colours anymore, but everything does seem much brighter and there’s still a faint swirling before his eyes. the reality of having stayed up all night is hitting him now, and he’s weary, and yet, he doesn’t feel that bad, because jez is here. he nuzzles a little against his shoulder and gropes for his hand. he hopes. he hopes harder than he’s ever hoped in his life.
“how are you feeling?” jez murmurs, and at that exact moment, somewhere distant, a bird starts to trill. jon is awed. he turns towards the sound and his eyes almost start welling again. there’s a bird singing, and the sun is rising, and he’s here with jez and he fucking loves him. he squeezes jez’s hand hard and closes his eyes, listening to the gentle trilling and whistling of the little bird. it’s morning. even with the tumult inside him, this feels so peaceful. the not knowing is almost comforting; it’s like schrodinger’s cat — if he never knows, he can never be hurt. he never wants to go home. he wants to dissolve into vapour right here and float off and join the atmosphere, content in the knowledge that jeremy might love him, or he might not.
“woah, are you alright?” jez checks, concerned but very gentle, thumbing his knuckles. jon only realises then that he’s been sniffling. his cheeks are wet.
it takes him a long time to muster a response, but when he finally manages, what comes out is simply, “i love you,” again, small and quiet and whispered against the shoulder of jez’s coat.
“jon…” jez murmurs, his voice tiny. jon’s chest squeezes. he’s compelled to continue, but it’s such a struggle. he swipes at his eyes and sits up a bit, looking at him square, despite the sight of him still being a little wobbly. he has to really focus, but he needs to get some words out. the sunrise is casting orange light all over jez’s face and he looks like something out of an oil painting.
“i mean it,” he says seriously, with much effort, still holding his hand. “it’s… it’s proper love. you’re so… fucking hell.”
he trails off, swiping at his eyes again and having to break eye contact. jez is too perfect, watching him too intently with those huge, brown eyes. jon feels like he’s being swallowed whole again, but not in a good way this time.
“take your time,” jez encourages him gently. “you’re still on the comedown. it’s gonna be tricky to talk for a while. you know, we could wait till we’re home to—”
“no!” jon responds a little more harshly than he’d like. his fucking eyes are stinging again . “i can’t bear it. if you— if you want me to stop… just tell me no. it’s all i need— really. i think i just need you to tell me no.”
“jon,” jez says, very slowly. “you’re not making sense.”
the tears fall then, hot and full of shame. he wants to bolt away into the forest and never come back. he wishes he’d never said anything, wishes he’d never done any of this at all. jez is looking at him so kindly and it’s making jon want to scream. all this would be so much easier if he’d just follow the script and be disgusted.
“i love you,” he manages, a third time, searing and desperate, like begging. “i’m sorry. please just tell me— tell me you’re not— tell me the truth. that you don’t… don’t feel it. the way i do. i need you to just tell me that you don’t love me.”
the words seem to tumble out of him like vomit, uncontrollable and vile, despite how much of a difficulty it is to form a coherent thought. jez is looking at him, and jon can’t bear to more than glance at him, but then, to his utter dumbfoundment, jez’s mouth quirks up in a smile. not a mocking smile, not cruel or callous, not waiting to hurt him. a real, warm, happy smile.
“jon,” he says again, a hand coming up to cup jon’s face and turn him forward, thumbing away a tear. he leans in as if he’s going to kiss him, but falters halfway and leans their foreheads together instead. jon is desperate for him to dash his heart to pieces already and get it over with. he loves him so much and he hates him and he wants to crawl into his lap.
“i’m not going to lie to you,” jez says, very quietly and centimetres away from his mouth, after a long silence. jon’s whole body is trembling. “why do you think i don’t love you?”
“because,” jon murmurs. “i don’t love you in the right way. not in the way i should, as your… your friend.”
jez makes a disappointed little noise that jon can’t understand. it must be coming, the no. he feels it, thrumming on his skin like a thick heat, surrounding them like smoke in the air.
“course you do,” he whispers quietly, then closes the gap between their mouths. it’s short, but tender, and as soon as it’s happening, it’s already over, leaving jon dumbfounded. a kiss. a kiss that didn’t lead to sex, or follow sex, which up to now is the only times they’ve ever kissed properly. never for the love of it, never out of passion; only for lust. jon’s head is swimming. what? why?
“i— i don’t—” he begins, but jez cuts him off by pulling away.
“look,” jez says, careful and very measured. “i understand what you’re saying. of course i’m not going to tell you no. that would be really thick of me, because i feel it too. i love you, too. but jon, mate, you’re still high.”
jon flinches. “doesn’t mean i don’t mean it.”
“i know.” jeremy takes his hand sympathetically. “i’ve been up all night, though, and so have you. we’re not really in a great state to have such a big talk, are we?”
jon recoils again at the thought of going home for a rest. “i hate that flat, jez.”
“well then we’ll get out of it,” jez says, in that promising tone he takes sometimes when he genuinely means something, when he’s hopeful about a future that seems reachable, but terrifying. it’s a tone usually reserved for music ventures, but he’s using it here. “me and you. we’ll find a nice place, on the edge of town, for the two of us. and a cat, maybe. or… something. but all that — and everything that comes before that — is a big talk. and neither of us are cut out for that right now. i’m not. are you?”
a very long, weighty silence. jon eventually shakes his head. jez is right. this is reassuring, though. a little house on the cusp of the city. how perfect that sounds. he offers jez a little smile, and is given a full, toothy grin in return, and after a moment of hesitation, a small kiss on the corner of the mouth. jez takes his hand again with a gentle, “c’mon,” and they go back to the car. jon leans on the window again and watches the fading patterns dance in the sky. what a beautiful thing it is, to think that he’s loved by jeremy.
the flat is an ominous presence, and the weird dread returns the closer to it they get, but it seems much less horrifying now. he dreams of watching jez unlock the door to their house one day. a house they share together, not out of necessity but out of love.
the smell of damp and dust hits jon before he sees the inside of the flat. he has to close his eyes, to steady himself on the architrave, before he dares go inside. he hears jeremy going in, shedding his coat, his shoes. when he opens his eyes again, he’s disappointed to see that it’s not a cosy entryway with a coat stand and a shoe rack, like it would be in their future home, but his same old, peeling wallpaper, uncovered light fitting, for-now hallway. jez offers a hand. jon takes it gratefully, and steps over the threshold. he sighs as he shuts the door.
“i hate it here,” he murmurs, getting close to jez. he’s pulled into a warm, enveloping hug.
“i know.”
“you need to sleep. i’m sorry.”
“you… you have nothing to apologise for. you don’t need to be sorry.”
jez kisses his forehead and leads him through to the bedroom, still exactly as it was the night before. jon stares at the bed; there’s the laptop, still open. there’s his untouched glass of water on the nightstand. on the very end of the bed, there’s the dish; there are the seven untouched pieces of orange, now dried out from the warm night air, and the one piece of peel, which now looks almost unassuming to him. jon pauses, staring at it. jeremy is already sighing heavily as he changes out of his clothes.
he picks up the bowl with a wary hand. the orange stares back at him, perfectly sliced and perfectly neglected. the best laid plans of mice and men, and all that, he supposes. he’s still looking down at it by the time jez has sat down on the edge of the mattress.
“are you coming to bed?”
jon shakes his head. he couldn’t possibly. his mind is still rushing, entirely unrelenting, flopping wildly between nervous thoughts and hope for the future, and now both of those things are battling for dominance over the strange guilt he’s feeling about this orange.
“it’s not… fully worn off yet. you sleep. i’ll come through later.”
“okay,” jez says simply, a little resigned and tired. he offers jon a weak smile. jon so desperately wants to sit down with him and kiss him, but he doesn’t dare. he turns quickly and leaves before jez can see his eyes starting to mist again.
he is tired, he’s feeling the weight of it like a brick tied to each of his limbs. there’s a little gnawing starting to take up in his stomach, too, but he even thinking about what’s in the fridge makes him lose his appetite. slowly, carefully, as if carrying some delicate china, he takes the orange through to the kitchen and sets it down on the counter, gripping the laminate edge and staring into the bowl. jeremy bought this orange because he knew they were doing this, and he’d heard jon explain that it was meant to be some new, wonderful experience. it was him who went and got the tab, and he’d come home with it in his pocket, and this fucking orange just held in his hand, clutched like it was something truly precious. the other is sat on the counter, simply staring back at him, untouched and unbroken. jon had almost forgotten about what it said on the website before he’d seen jez come home with them. but jeremy remembered; he’d been enthusiastic about the idea from the day jon pitched it to him. he remembered their talk about the oranges, he remembered every single piece of information jon had relayed to him from the internet. he remembered to check in on the hour mark and to tall jon the time, all things they’d spoken about previously, and trivial kinds of information jon wouldn’t usually have expected him to hold onto in the wake of something so large.
he’s still looking down at the seven orange slices, untouched in the dish. despite himself, he dips his finger into the puddle of juice that has accumulated at the bottom of the bowl and licks it clean. it’s still just a little bit better than normal orange juice.
because of the acid? he wonders, or because of jeremy?
the orange feels like a symbol. something much more profound than it actually is. jeremy does love him. he’s shown it from the day they reunited at the airport. and he showed it with the phone calls, with every check-in and well-wish. and every day before that, too. jeremy loves him. jon is still a little too hazy to remember, but he wouldn’t feel wrong in asserting that he’s shown it every day since they first met.
fucking hell. he has to turn away from the counter. he looks up at the damp spot on the ceiling instead. they are going to leave this place. he sees it now with a previously unrealised clarity. they are going to get out of here, out of this sorry, pathetic section of their lives. he can almost still see the stars, dancing at him and flashing behind his eyelids, lining up just right for all this to happen.
he opens the cupboard under the sink, flips open the lid of the bin, and gently tips the contents of the bowl into it. goodbye, he thinks, forgotten orange. he rinses the bowl, and the warm water brings life he didn’t realise he was missing back into his chilly fingers. he is cold, now he thinks of it. he’s still wearing his coat and shoes, and the hat jez had remembered for him. he sheds them all by the door. maybe he should go to bed. there’s no throws or blankets on the back of the sofa, nothing warm or comforting about the living room in any capacity, but in the bedroom, there is jeremy. he slips in quietly and shucks off his jeans. when he slips into bed beside jez’s already-sleeping form, he presses as much of himself up against him as he can. he’s warm and steady. still steady, even after all this. jon doesn’t know how he does it.
jez turns over, half-asleep, and pulls him in. jon curls up under his chin on instinct, weaving their legs together. jez is so alive, so perfectly blood-warm under his t-shirt, and jon can’t resist pushing his hands underneath it to warm them on his skin. jez makes a perturbed noise, but jon can only giggle at it, especially when he sees him smile, and jez leans in to press a kiss to his forehead. he nuzzles into his shoulder and closes his eyes, letting the last of the visuals twist and fade behind his eyelids. he loves him. he does. every beat of his heart echoes it through his body, and he’s never felt more content, even in the for-now flat.
when he next opens his eyes, it’s dark outside and seething with rain. he can hear it, pelting off the windows. his head is in jez’s lap, now; jez is awake, typing something on his phone. the light is disorienting, and jon groans, pressing his face further into jez’s stomach. instinctively, jeremy rubs his shoulders and shushes him, soft and comforting, and the act alone is enough to make jon want to burst into fresh tears.
“jez,” he murmurs, his voice thick with sleep. jez looks down at him, breaks into a smile.
“you’re awake,” he says, thumbing jon’s cheek. “you picked the right night for it. it’s been storming.”
jon can’t help but grin back at him. the universe knew. he rubs his eyes and pulls himself up into a sitting position, pulling his knees up under his chin and looking at jez.
“it’s dark,” he observes. jez gives him a sage nod.
“it’s nine o’clock,” he says dramatically, and jon can’t help it — he bursts out laughing.
he’s starving, his stomach growling and begging for attention, and his head is all hazy from a long, strange sleep, but he’s laughing. they slept until nine pm, and it’s just so ridiculous that he’s laughing — and then jez is laughing too, because how couldn’t he? isn’t this the most ridiculous thing? they’re just like teenagers again, just like all those nights that they avoided house parties and stayed in together with a film and a pizza and a beer, laughing over absolutely nothing, sitting together in one bed — in love.
“that’s terrible,” he manages to say as he starts to calm down. “fucking hell, jez, sorry. misjudged that, didn’t i?”
“it’s okay,” jez assures him brightly. “i’m the same. we can stay up all night together.”
“again,” jon adds, unhelpfully. jez gives him a very fond eye-roll and a big smile.
“how are you feeling? you must be starving.”
“i am. it’s passed.”
“i’d hope so. c’mere, we’ll get a takeaway. what do you fancy?”
jez opens his arms and offers his phone, and jon takes it as he settles against his side. he listens to the steady thud of his heart as he scrolls through the options. it’s quiet, but domestically quiet. they eat in the quiet, too. not uncomfortable quiet, despite the looming big talk they need to have — it’s easy quiet, calm, loving, accepting quiet. maybe they’ll come out the other side of this night with some big, heavy, meaningful word between them, something to describe what they are beyond just a-bit-more-than-friends. maybe they won’t. jon finds he doesn’t care, as he watches jez eat his pizza. they love each other, and that’s enough. they have easy silences, and they’ll get out of this flat, one day. and they’ll do it because they love each other. he hasn’t forgotten about the dream of the house.
jon takes their rubbish through to the kitchen. jez deserves the rest, even though the job is only small. jon doesn’t think he could ever thank him enough for being so good over these last couple of days. he’s standing there trying to wedge their pizza box into the bin, when he catches sight of the second orange again, on the counter. it would be a shame to leave it, he thinks, and now that he’s sober he really wants to see if there’s a difference in taste. that’s all, he tells himself. nothing to do with the love he has for jez. nothing to do with these oranges as some strange metaphor for their love for each other. it’s just an orange. he slices it on a chopping board and places the eight, neat segments into a bowl. it’s just a palate cleanser. it’s just for research.
he brings the dish through to the living room. jeremy holds out an arm for him to settle under. he rests it between their touching thighs.
“oranges,” jez observes. jon looks up at him, and he’s smiling brightly, and even without the acid, he’s still beautiful. jon grins back at him, and then, for the first time since all this started, he leans up and presses their mouths together.
it’s a longer kiss than the one they shared in the forest, and jon would normally be concerned with putting all of his love and his passion into this one kiss, but he isn’t today. he knows, somehow, almost cosmically, that he’s going to have more than enough time to do that in the future.
they part, but jez pulls him back again with a hand on his cheek, kissing him somehow even more tenderly. jon melts against his side, and when they do actually part this time, he gazes up at jez with adoration. fuck, he loves this man.
“oranges,” he echoes, resting his cheek on jez’s shoulder, just a bit too soon after their kiss not to elicit a laugh. jez shakes his head fondly, pulling him in closer, his grip on jon’s arm tightening lovingly.
“oranges,” jez says again, his voice dripping with fondness and care. jon knows he sees the love in the orange, too. he gets it, because they always get each other like this; because they love each other. “brilliant.”