Work Text:
“I can't do this anymore. We’re not- This isn’t working. Goodbye, Jordan.” That was the last Jordan had heard from Maxwell, the bassist he'd once called a lover- Two weeks ago. He hadn't done anything but lay in his bed since. He only ever got up if he had to go to the bathroom, and that was rarely, because he scarcely ate or drank anything at this point- He'd consumed every last drop of alcohol in his apartment on the third day of rotting in his bed, which sucked. He'd asked Miles to go grab him some beer, but apparently Maxwell had told all of their friends not to buy him any drinks because he “knew this would happen,” whatever that meant.
To be fair, he hadn’t done shit in… Fifteen days. Hadn’t brushed his teeth once, nor had he bathed whatsoever. His hair was an absolute fucking mess, and he’d only changed a handful of times. He wasn’t wearing anything but four-day-old sweats as he lay on his side, clutching a hoodie he’d stolen from Maxwell to his bare chest. It hadn’t been worn by the bassist in maybe a year, but it was all he had left, and if he tried hard enough, he could still just barely smell him. He could also smell himself on it, but he couldn’t bring himself to wash it- Mostly because he didn’t want to get out of bed. He was fine to rot here until he either died or someone came to drag his ass out of this complex.
His phone started vibrating on his bedside table, which was probably Miles or Amin. Since Maxwell had broken up with him, they’d both taken turns checking on him every day- Which was, by the way, bullshit. He could take care of himself, for fuck’s sake! He groaned loudly to no one in particular as he rolled over to answer it, tapping the green button on the screen and putting the call on speaker. He was far too gone to give a shit about actually holding his phone, and there was no reason to, anyways. “Morning, Jordan. Have you eaten yet?” Amin’s voice came through immediately. Why did it matter? He’d eaten yesterday, and he could go without eating for a month, just like nearly every other human.
He could just lie, say he had. Act like he’d already had breakfast, pretend he was full. He wasn’t hungry, so that last part wouldn’t necessarily be a lie. However, Amin would see right through him like crystal clear glass, and he knew it- Not once had he actually eaten anything before getting his daily check-in call, and the one time he’d tried lying to them, he’d gotten called out on his shit immediately. “..No.” Jordan answered simply, rubbing his hand over his face. “Go eat something, and change.” The guitarist instructed sternly, quickly followed by Miles’ demand. “And we want proof! We want you to show us that you’ve changed, and-” He couldn’t bear to sit through this rant for the twelfth time, so he didn’t.
“I know, I know.” Jordan grumbled, begrudgingly pushing himself off of his mattress and swinging his legs over the edge. “You didn’t let me finish. You’re showering, too. We don’t give a shit if you just rinse off for two fucking seconds, but we’re not letting you waste away in your own filth.” Miles finished quickly. The vocalist barely suppressed a scoff, because what bullshit was that? He didn’t need to be told to shower. “Fuck off. I’ll shower when I damn want to.” He bitched, finally grabbing his phone off of the table and standing up. “C’mon, man. Don’t make us come over there and drag your ass out of bed.” Amin pleaded, the tire clear in his voice.
“Fine, whatever.” He mumbled, heading for his dresser and pulling a drawer open, removing a new pair of grey sweats from it that he’s pretty sure are at least somewhat clean. Not like it matters, anyways. So long as his bandmates think it’s clean, he’s fine. “Thank you.” Amin sighed. Jordan knew he was just dragging his two friends down with him, but he couldn’t bring himself to help himself so that they wouldn’t have to deal with his shit. He could hear them slowly giving up on him, and really, he hoped they would soon. He just wanted to be left alone, for once in his goddamn life. He wanted them to stop trying to “fix” him, so that they could live their own fucking lives.
“Mhm.” Jordan hummed half-heartedly, kicking off his old pants before tugging the “new” ones up to rest on his hips. He wasn’t really going to shower, he was just gonna show them he’d changed later, after he’d eaten and supposedly showered. He really, really didn’t want to go to his kitchenette right now. There was nothing he could easily make in there, and again, he wasn’t hungry. With a loud sigh as he sat back down on his bed, he spoke once more; “I’m not hungry. I’ll call you guys when I eat, or whatever.” He grumbled, not waiting for a response before hanging up and tossing his phone to his bedside table. He moved to curl up beneath his blanket once more, on the right side of the bed- Which should have been Maxwell’s, would’ve, if this apartment was the house they once shared.
Why did Miles and Amin get to be happy? Why did they have to be together when Amin called? Miles could have at least shut the fuck up and made him think that they were seperate, but no, they just had to rub it in his face that they were enjoying themselves together and he wasn’t. They treated him like some helpless fucking baby that they just had to take care of. He hated how they acted like they knew what was best for him, and they made that known every fucking time they called him. He just wanted to curl up and let himself waste away, but no, they had to keep that from happening. And apparently, because Maxwell told them to. That bitch just had to break up with him, tell Jordan that he never really meant that much to him, that they never meant that much to him, kick him out, and pretend that he still gave a shit about whether or not he lived or died.
—
Maxwell was standing in their- his kitchen, making himself coffee after showering. His morning had been off to a great start, that is, up until he’d grabbed two mugs out of habit, which only reminded him that he had broken up with the man he had loved. While he leaned back against the island and waited for the water to boil, he grabbed his phone off of the wooden countertop, probably to scroll, until he saw a notification from Amin. The message itself didn’t show, which always worried him, because he had no way of knowing if it was urgent or not until he opened it. He quickly put his password in, tapping on the notification once his phone was unlocked and reading it swiftly before typing a response.
itsaminmortada:
Yo
Dude
You up?
imaxwell:
Yeah
What’s up?
itsaminmortada:
Jordan’s not doing good
He just told us to fuck off when we tried to get him to shower
He’s eating less than he was last week
We don’t know what to do anymore.
Maxwell didn’t know how to respond to that. He knew it was his fault, and the guilt was slowly eating away at his soul. His heart physically hurt, knowing that he’d taken every hope and every dream Jordan had for the future they were supposed to share and crushed it between his fingers like it was nothing. That’s probably what Jordan thought, anyways- But really, it killed him to do it. Those hopes, those dreams, Jordan, they’d meant everything to him, and he’d made sure they would never happen. He probably hated Max now, probably wanted nothing to do with him. That had been the plan, so why did he regret it so badly? He’d wanted it to go like this, wanted the other man to despise him so that it would hurt less, and that’s exactly what happened. So why did he hate himself for it going right?
Deep down, he knew he still loved Jordan. Deep, deep down, he knew that he wanted nothing more than to go find the other man, pull him into his arms, and beg him for forgiveness. Now, knowing just how bad he was getting, all Maxwell wanted to do was hug Jordan, to kiss every inch of his beautiful face, to make him something hearty for them to share, to help him shower just as he had so many times in the past, to spend every waking moment telling the vocalist just how much he fucking loved him, but he couldn’t anymore. Unless… He could try. He could plead with Jordan to at least let him help, and go from there. Even if he didn’t let him help, he probably would, anyway. He couldn’t just sit there and watch his friends let Jordan waste away in his own apartment when he knew he could help.
imaxwell:
Do you have his spare key?
I’m gonna try to fix this
itsaminmortada:
That might not be a good idea, man
But yeah, I have one
If you’re deadset on doing this, we’re both home, so can you come pick the key up whenever
Just let one of us know when you’re on the way
imaxwell:
Ofc
Wouldn’t want to walk in on you 2 making out
itsaminmortada:
I hope you get in a crash on your way here
imaxwell:
Yeah I love you too man
I’ll be there in 15
—
Maxwell impatiently tapped his foot as he waited for the elevator to reach the fifth floor of the apartment complex. His heart was pounding, he was considering leaving and going back home, but he knew he couldn’t. He was already here, and he had to at least try to help Jordan. He hoped there was at least something edible in his ex’s fridge, seeing as he hadn’t left his apartment in two weeks. If not, there was probably something boxed, or he could try taking the other man out if he could get him to wash up properly. He’d already gotten the spare key from Amin- And no, he didn’t walk in on them making out, because apparently Miles was showering- and now held it, turning the metal over in his clammy palm nervously. Fuck, this better work. He didn’t know what he’d do if it didn’t.
He took a large drag of the complex’s musty air into his lungs as the elevator door hissed open. He stepped out, releasing the breath after a moment before heading down the hallway, counting apartment numbers as he went. A dozen doors passed until he found himself in front of the closed wooden door at the end of the first hallway- Jordan’s. Maxwell stood there for a long, grueling minute before fumbling the key he’d been given into the handle. Twisting it, he pushed the door open, immediately getting hit with the sight of an absolute disaster. He returned the key to his pocket and shut the door, looking around slowly. There were clothes strewn about, mostly sweatpants and hoodies draped over furniture, along with various drained alcohol cans and bottles, with some empty food containers here and there.
It wasn’t the worst it could be, but it was still bad, and his ex-boyfriend was nowhere to be seen. “Jordan?” He called out, gingerly stepping over misplaced items to get to the door he assumed was the bedroom, because the bathroom’s was wide open and there was no other door in the apartment. “Fuck off.” He heard, the mumble it already was just muffled more by what he saw was a blanket and his sweater when he opened the door. The first thing he noticed was that Jordan looked like shit. His hair was a rat’s nest of greasy brown curls, the stubble that had already been there was far longer than Jordan would’ve wanted it before this, and the bags under his eyes were dark, shaded depressions in his pale skin.
“Can’t do that. I fucked up hard, and I regret it.” Maxwell sighed, sitting down on the edge of the mattress. He could faintly smell the other man, and it was incredibly unpleasant, but he did his best to ignore it. “Leave me alone.” Jordan grumbled, pushing the hoodie beneath the blanket, probably in an attempt to hide it from the bassist he had once called his own. “Not happening.” He shook his head, reaching out to gently brush one of the oily curls away from his ex lover's forehead. “Don't touch me.” The vocalist barked, sidling away, back to the left side of the bed. Max pulled his hand back, his heart clenching in dismay for the man he had once called a lover, and no longer could because of his own idiocy. “Alright. But I'm not leaving.” He paused, letting his eyes rest on Jordan's face.
He found nothing but disdain, at first. However, if he looked deep, deep into the swirling depths of those beautiful jade green eyes that had once gazed upon him with nothing but love and admiration, he found a spark of hope, a spark that he would fuel until it was a raging blaze that kept them both warm. “Fuck off.” Jordan said, his voice cracking hard. If it weren't for the half-hearted tone, Maxwell might have started giving up on this, but there wasn't one sliver of real protest in the other man's words. “C'mon. I'll run a bath, you don't gotta do a damn thing. I'll do everything, ‘kay? I'll even carry you, if you want.” Max spoke softly, trying to keep the pity out of his expression and tone, because it would just make Jordan less likely to agree if he thought he was getting babied.
A long moment passed, far too long for comfort. Fear wormed its way into Maxwell's heart as he did his best to keep their eyes locked while he waited for a response. It was dreadful, waiting for words he had a real strong feeling would be negative. Finally, finally, Jordan spoke up. “...Fine. But I want you out of my fucking apartment after.” He mumbled, pushing the comforter off of his exposed shoulders. “And you don't have to fucking carry me. I'm not helpless.” He snapped, sitting up and hesitating for a few seconds before standing up. While the resentment hurt Max, if it got Jordan out of bed, he'd be alright with it. So long as that anger pushed him to get better, even if just a bit, he would be alright with never seeing his beloved again. “Got it.” Maxwell nodded once, rising to follow after his ex lover.
They both walked to the bathroom, which was really only a few steps in the small apartment. He knew damn well that Jordan wouldn’t give a shit about being seen naked, because it’s not like it’s anything he’s never seen before. As Maxwell strolled behind the other man, it took everything in him not to pull him into his arms by the waist and never let go. He wanted so, so badly to hold the beautiful man tight, breathe in the intoxicating scent of him, and tell him just how fucking loved he was. But he couldn’t, not anymore, because he’d fucked up. He’d told Jordan that he didn’t care much for their relationship, that he wished they’d never gotten together in the first place. Oh, how badly Max regretted his harsh words, how badly he regretted ever thinking that Jordan would be better off hating him.
Once they were in the bathroom, the vocalist shut the door behind them and leaned against it. “You wanted this. I ain’t doin’ shit.” He spat, crossing his arms over his bare chest. Maxwell simply nodded. “What’d you prefer? Shower, bath?” He asked, going to stand in front of the tub. “Shower. It’ll keep me as far away from you as I can get for this, and I’ll get to waste less time on this shit.” Jordan said, his tone the closest to a sneer he’d ever heard it. It hurt, it hurt real fucking bad to hear those words from a man who, once, would have punched anyone that said that about the man he now targeted with them. He probably would’ve punched Maxwell, too, to be honest, because why the fuck was he showering with someone else? Now, though… Now, Jordan wouldn't give a single shit if he went of and fucked some other dude. At least, he wouldn't show it, and that sent a stabbing pain deep into the bassist's soul.
As Max moved to run the shower, he couldn't help but think of the familiarity of this whole thing. A few years back, about seven months into their relationship, he himself had been going through this exact situation. Well, different reason, but he'd completely stopped looking after himself, and it was only the care and support from his lover that not only dragged him out of it, however slowly, but it also stopped him from taking his own life. He'd thought he was worthless, and it was the worship in those pale green eyes that made him realize just how much he was cherished, needed. Now, those depths gazed upon Maxwell's body with nothing but pure, unfiltered disdain, and he'd just have to live with that. Unless, of course… There was that tiny, almost insignificant chance that he could truly fix things today, that this wouldn't be his last time ever speaking to his belov- Jordan.
While he waited for the water to heat up, Maxwell pulled his shirt over his head, tossing it onto the floor before unbuckling his belt and sending an expectant look at the other man. “You don't gotta, but it'd be easier if you did.” He pointed out, letting his baggy jeans fall to the floor and kicking them to the side with his shirt. “Fine, fine, whatever.” Jordan grumbled, pushing himself off of the door and stepping out of his sweats. Normally, one of them would've made some dick joke in a situation like this, but this wasn't normally, now was it? So, Max just gave a curt nod, discarding his boxers and stepping into the shower. “I know you told me not to touch you, but I'm gonna have to for this. If you want, I can use a cloth, or only wash your hair so I'm not really touching you?” He offered with a light smile as the other man followed him into the shower, tugging the curtain shut behind him.
“...Just keep it short. I don't care what you do.” He answered sharply, turning to face away from Maxwell, who placed a reverent palm on his hip to gently guide him beneath the shower’s spray. “Will do.” He murmured in response, lifting his hands to comb through Jordan's disastrous curls. Neither of them spoke again, both just kind of… letting this happen. One of them wanted this over with, even as he struggled not to lean into the careful touch, and the other was hoping he would give in so that they could go back to how they were, maybe even come out stronger, more intertwined than they had been before. But instead of peppering the other man with all the love he could physically give, Max was forced to keep his touches as distant as possible, so as to not set off the fury that he was certain was boiling beneath the surface.
Maxwell removed his hands from the damp locks that he oh-so-loved to touch, reaching to the bottle of 3-in-1 body wash on the shelf that looked completely unused. He flipped the cap open, squeezing a generous amount into his palm before replacing it on the shelf and beginning to work the liquid into the other man’s hair. As he moved his fingertips in firm, circular motions on Jordan’s scalp, Max could feel him struggling not to press into his hands. “We… Need to talk, don’t we?” He spoke quietly, coiling the thick strands of soapy hair around his fingers in an attempt to revive the short curls. He took care to tend to each grouping of soft brown, little by little. “Not when we’ve got our dicks out, dipshit. I can’t seriously look you in the eye if you’re bare-ass naked.” The vocalist grumbled, huffing loudly.
“If you want to talk to fucking badly, at least wait ‘til I have pants on.” He finished, crossing his arms over his chest once more. He did that a lot, and Maxwell had always found it charming, regardless of if it were paired with a smile or a frown. Normally, if it were a negative expression, he’d turn it into the widest grin known to man with a few words and a kiss. Now, if he tried to do something like that, he’d without a doubt end up with a black eye and maybe a broken nose. “Fair enough.” Max murmured, tilting Jordan’s head back and waiting for him to close those gorgeous green eyes before pushing his hair beneath the water. He could barely suppress a sigh, because this action was so familiar to him, but it wasn’t the way it was supposed to be. He didn’t have to think about what he was doing, it was just muscle memory at this point.
Once the shampoo was thoroughly rinsed from Jordan’s hair, he looked around quickly to see if there was a cloth he could use- Which, there wasn’t. He drummed his fingers on his own thigh, thinking for a moment before dolloping more of the body wash onto his palm and hesitantly beginning to rub it over the other man’s skin. Maxwell tried to limit the touch, he really did attempt to keep it to just his hands, but that was really fucking hard to do in a cramped shower with a stubborn dick who refused to move. He ran the soap over his ex lover's arms first, moving quickly and efficiently. Max took care to get every inch of flesh on the other's limbs, knowing this would probably be the last shower for a while. Once he was done there, which didn’t take long, he started on Jordan's back, one that he's grown oh-so familiar with over their time as one.
He'd never felt the other man's muscles so tense. Would it be a good idea to try giving Jordan a short back massage? Just a simple tug in the shoulders, a push in the lower back, something to ease the taught muscles. The chances were 50/50- He could either get his ass whooped and get screamed at until his ears bleed, or he’d just get a few sharp words and a glare. No, the chances were more 50/49/1, because of that small, miniscule, almost insignificant possibility that Jordan would let it happen without any protest. It was severely unlikely, but he might as well try, right? He really didn’t enjoy how likely it was that he’d start an argument, but maybe that was what they needed to push them in the right direction. Fuck, that was such a stupid thought, but this may as well be the last time he ever gets to speak with his beloved.
So, Maxwell ran his thumbs alongside the other man’s spine, pushing gently as they approached his neck. He didn’t immediately hear any argument, so he kept going, hoping this could at least help a little bit. He rested his palms on Jordan’s shoulders, slowly beginning to tug at the muscle and knead it between his hands. “You trying to draw this out?” The vocalist grumbled. “If you missed me so badly, you should’ve thought about that before throwing everything we built to the fucking wolves.” He sneered, but still, he didn’t pull away. Max wanted so, so fucking badly to spin Jordan around, gather him into his arms, explain everything, beg for forgiveness- And he would have by now, if not for the fact that they’d agreed to talk, properly, later.
“Just don’t want to leave you here in pain. You’re real tense.” Maxwell murmured, moving his hands to massage the other man’s neck. “Plus, I thought you loved my massages.” He smiled softly, gently digging his thumbs into the tight skin. “Yeah, well, that was back when kissing me was a part of the routine.” Jordan grumbled. Clearly, it seemed, he wanted to start shit earlier than planned, even though he was the one that said he didn’t want to talk about… them until later. “We-” He cut himself off quickly, because finishing that sentence would spell death for him. Well, if you want me to so badly, then I will. You just had to say something. It seemed like he wasn’t heard, thankfully, and if he was, nothing was said about it. Thank fuck. “If you want me to stop, let me know.” Max said quietly.
“Just get on with it.” Jordan mumbled, dropping his hands to his sides. It was so unbelievably obvious that he was enjoying the touch, even just barely leaning into it, and the fact that his words were very clearly open to interpretation told Maxwell everything he needed to know, but he did as told and ran his palms over the rest of the other man's back. He didn’t want to push his luck further than he already had, so he just finished rinsing off the other man’s skin and turned off the shower. The vocalist wasted no time getting out from beneath the showerhead, snatching a towel off the hook on the wall and quickly drying off his thick curls. That was good, maybe whatever form of hatred for Max had wormed its way into his ex lover’s heart would fuel him to keep going.
Maxwell grabbed a towel of his own, rubbing it over his hair before swiftly soaking up the water still clinging to his own skin. “So, how much longer ‘til you leave?” The singer inquired, leaning back against the countertop after wrapping his towel round his waist. He had to force himself not to clench his jaw, to ignore the sharp pain that burned his chest at the sound of the harsh words on the same tongue that once spoke such intricate praises to him. “After we talk, properly.” He paused, nodding for Jordan to follow him back to the bedroom and grabbing their clothes off the floor. “And after I make you something to eat.” The bassist added, dropping his ex lover’s well-worn pants into his laundry basket, which clearly hadn’t been emptied in weeks, and putting his own clothes back on. He pulled one of the drawers to the other man’s dresser open, tossing a clean pair of boxers at him.
“Fuck you, Maxwell.” Jordan spat, catching the fabric and slipping them over his legs. Hearing that hurt more than anything else he’d said, and not because of the unnecessary cursing. It was because it had been years since he’d heard the man call him by his full first name to his face. Normally, it was Max unless he was talking to someone else, and that shit hurt. “So, you want to talk now?” He asked, swallowing thickly as he made proper eye contact with his past love. The man he still loved, no matter how hard he tried not to. “Tell me about it. Why’d you come crawling back after ripping my heart out of my chest and laughing at how hard it beat for you?” The vocalist sneered, crossing his arms over his chest and giving the other man a glare that may as well have killed him.
“Haven’t I told you? I regret what I did. I hurt you, I fucked up, and I want to fix what I did.” Maxwell explained, taking one step closer to the man that his own heart still beat so strongly for and resisting the urge to reach out, to touch, to hold on, never let go. “You’re a piece of shit, is what it is. You don’t regret hurting me, you regret the impact that this,” Jordan gestured between them quickly. “Has made on your social life. You just want that voice in the back of your head to stop making you feel like what you are, don’t you?” He accused, barely allowing the bassist to get a word out in his defense. Max couldn’t believe how absolutely wrong that was- Though, he completely understood why he would think that, because that’s what he was hoping would happen in the first place.
“No… No, not at all. I-” Maxwell took a short pause to breathe, to collect his thoughts. “I didn’t mean a single word I said, when I… When I broke us up.” He gazed upon his ex lover reverently, twisting the ring in his lip with his tongue nervously. Jordan narrowed his eyes at him, the hostility boiling in his eyes cooling ever so slightly. “What the fuck is that supposed to mean?” He huffed, teeth clenching hard. There was only one thing that could happen now, and what came after that was what scared the bassist. He’d either reclaim the love he’d burned, end this day off with the man he adored back in his arms, or he’d never talk to that same man ever again. Now, he could go quietly, or he could go out with a bang, if this didn’t work, and one of those options was much more likely to succeed than the other.
So, he swiftly approached the other man, cupping his stubbled face in his large hands and speaking before he could protest. “It means you’re so, so much better than I could ever even dream of being. It means you deserve better than me. It means I still fucking love you, Jordan.” Maxwell said, the words coming from deep in his heart before he got the chance to think about what he was saying. He wanted to take it back the moment it was out, but it was too late now, and there was no way he could make this worse than it already was. Jordan seemed to be stunned into silence, his body dead still as he searched his ex lover’s weary gaze with his own. Max worried that maybe he’d fucked up, but there was that certain softness that now filled the vocalist’s expression, which hadn’t been there before, that told him otherwise.
“I…” Jordan trailed off, clearly lost for words. “You broke up with me because you… You thought you weren’t enough?” He asked, hesitantly lifting his hands to take Max’s off his face and hold them between their bodies. “And you thought that leaving was the right choice?” The vocalist asked, obviously expecting no response. “No. Oh, my god, Max. No, absolutely not. First of all, you’re more than enough. If you weren’t, you wouldn’t be here right now, would you?” He lifted the bassist’s soft hands to his mouth, gently pressing his lips to the knuckles. “Second, if anyone or anything ever makes you feel like you’re not enough, you talk to me. You tell me about it, so I can show you just how fucking much you mean to me.”
Maxwell didn’t know how to respond to that, didn’t know how to thank him, how to tell him just how much he loved him, so he didn’t. He surged forwards to kiss Jordan, trapping their clasped hands between their bare chests as they pressed close to each other. “Or, in short, I love you too, Max,” The vocalist whispered before releasing his lover’s palms and tangling his fingers in the short, silky black hair that he oh-so-loved to touch. The bassist couldn’t help but smile at the words, moving to hold the lean waist of the man he cherished. The embrace never went beyond a gentle press of lips, but it didn’t need to. The contact conveyed all the words either of them ever needed to say, and that was it.