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Jack lost a fight tonight.
He lost frequently. Especially when he fights Tyler.
He did not fight Tyler today.
Tyler always says there's no winning or losing in Fight Club, but it sure feels like he lost. His whole body hurts.
Jack's grown accustomed to the ache of a bruise, the sting of a cut, the throb of a broken nose. He welcomes it like an old friend.
It's satisfying in a way, he longs for the pain.
“I want you to hit me as hard as you can.”
‘What do you want me to do, you just want me to hit you?’
“C’mon, do me this one favor.”
‘Why?’
“Why, I don't know why, I don't know. Never been in a fight, you?”
‘No, but th-that’s a good thing.”
“No it is not, how much can you know about yourself if you've never been in a fight? I don't wanna die without any scars.”
Well, Jack certainly has some scars.
But sometimes, he gets way too injured.
Sometimes he can barely walk, sometimes he slurs his words like he's drunk, sometimes his eyes are unfocused, and Tyler will fuss over him, worried about a concussion.
So far he's been fine after a rest.
So far.
He knows now will be one of those times as he picks himself up off the floor with trembling arms. Everyone is cheering, or is that the blood rushing in his ears?
Doesn't matter.
He wipes at his nose and his whole hand comes away soaked in red. He can feel it trickling down the back of his throat and down his face, dripping onto his chest and onto the cold floor.
The basement smells of sweat and fresh cuts, bodies packed together in one writhing mass. Here, nobody has a name. You're nothing, no one.
Unless you're Tyler Durden.
Tyler is everything, and he could never be nameless.
He's a god amongst men, a leader not a follower.
Jack likes to think he's not a follower anymore. But he knows when it comes to Tyler, that's the furthest thing from the truth.
He would follow Tyler anywhere.
He would drag himself across broken glass and hot coals just to stand at his side.
Jack blinks sluggishly, his eyelids sticking together, tacky with blood.
He spits, mildly surprised that a tooth doesn't fall out of his mouth along with the copious amounts of blood pouring from his gums, from the inside of his cheek. He wobbles as he stands.
The second he shows signs of being unsteady on his feet, Tyler is on him, taking the brunt of his bodyweight.
He tells everyone to go home for the night, watching them file out on his command and pulling Jack's arm over his shoulders.
With his free hand he grabs Jack's face, turning it from left to right, examining his injuries to determine the severity. His thumb brushes over Jack's jawline unnecessarily.
He doesn't mind, He always welcomes Tyler's touch, whether it's a soft caress or a powerful fist.
“Well, you don't need stitches.”
Jack hums, his head lolling to the side towards Tyler, landing heavily on his shoulder.
Tyler practically pulls him up the basement stairs, dead weight, his feet dragging under him as they go. The bar is empty, closed for the night.
He breathes in Tyler's scent, too out of it to feel embarrassed. A few moments pass like this.
He squints in discomfort.
Maybe he'll just close his eyes for a second. These street lights are awfully bright.
When did they get outside?
Tyler jostles him gently.
“Hey, don't pass out on me.”
Jack grumbles, peeling his eyes open reluctantly, clinging to Tyler.
He walks with a limp, and he can feel a large nasty bruise blossoming across his whole knee.
His entire body feels like one big bruise.
There's honestly probably more mottled purple on Jack's body than undamaged skin.
The night air washes over him, cool wind blowing across his face.
The sky is clear, and if he could see properly, Jack would find that the stars are bright tonight.
Tyler drags Jack to his stolen car, easing him into the passenger seat and buckling his seatbelt for him, Jack's arms too useless to do much of anything.
With a sigh, he hops into the driver's seat, starting the car. Jack stares at him with a lost expression on his face, like he's stuck in his head.
Tyler looks at him for a moment before turning onto the road, heading in the direction of Paper street.
The breeze in Jack's hair feels nice, soothing his stinging scalp from having his hair yanked on. Cooling his burning wounds.
They drive in silence for a while, until Tyler clears his throat and speaks up.
“That was a good fight, Psycho-boy.”
Tyler pats his knee, offering him a small smile and a reassuring squeeze, leaving his hand there after.
Jack glows under the approval, a dopey smile forming on his face, exposing his bloody gums and causing more of the sticky red substance to run down his chin.
“You really think so…?” Jack slurs out, swallowing a mouthful of blood. He can feel that one of his teeth is loose, wiggling when his tongue brushes past it.
You can swallow a pint of blood before you get sick.
Tyler smiles softly, nodding.
“Yeah, ‘course.”
Tyler isn't in the greatest shape either, a black eye, a busted lip, bruises along his cheek. But he's still leagues better than Jack, who feels like his head has been hit with a hammer.
And of course he's still gorgeous.
Jack's arms feel like lead, in fact, his whole body does. It's like there's weights strapped to every inch of him, cinder blocks tied to his feet.
His eyes long to close, but Tyler said to stay awake.
He fights sleep the whole drive home.
It doesn't take long until Jack can see the blurry shape of Paper house in the distance. Everything is tinted red from the blood coating his eyes, originating from an ugly gash on his forehead.
Jack prods at a bruise on his arm in an attempt to stay awake, eliciting a hiss.
Finally, Tyler pulls into the driveway, cutting off the engine and stepping out of the car.
He rounds the car, opening Jack's door, his feet sound crunchy in the gravel. Tyler hauls him to his feet and drags him along once more.
Jack whines in pain and Tyler shushes him.
“I know, I know- you're okay…”
Tyler is always more gentle, more soft and caring when Jack gets like this. It makes his stomach flutter and his heart constrict. He hangs off Tyler's every word eagerly.
Tyler guides him slowly up the front steps, and for once Jack is grateful that the front door doesn't have a lock. The idea of Tyler letting go of him even for one second seems like the worst thing in the world right now.
Oh Tyler, please rescue me.
Please save me.
Deliver me Tyler.
Jack's hands grip Tyler's jacket tightly, like if he let go Tyler might disappear, dissolve right in front of his eyes.
But he doesn't of course, and Jack finds himself in the bathroom, sitting on the edge of the bathtub with Tyler crouched in front of him. A first aid kit sits beside him on the tub, and Tyler holds a wet rag.
Gently he begins to wipe away the blood from Jack's face, and his eyes flicker shut in relaxation. Tyler's touch is always soothing.
“What was the first thing I said to you?”
Jack hums in confusion, looking at Tyler with a puzzled expression.
“I need to test your memory to make sure you don't have a concussion.”
Jack nods before answering.
“You read the instructions for the Emergency exit procedure..”
Tyler smiles, pleased.
“Good, so probably just brain fog then.”
Tyler finishes cleaning the blood off of Jack, and reaches in the first aid kit.
He carefully disinfects each wound with a cotton pad, rubbing circles into Jack's shoulder as if to soothe the sting.
After that Tyler retrieves multiple bandages. He applies them so delicately, one on his forehead, one on his nose, a few on his cheeks.
His thumb traces along his jaw in a comforting motion, almost loving in their softness.
Tyler's hands slip into the hem of his shirt, slowly pulling it up over his head before moving to untie his shoes, pulling at the laces.
He gently slides them off, setting them to the left before popping the button on Jack's dress pants and sliding those off too.
“Stay here”
He murmurs, disappearing into the hall.
Jack looks down at his hands, knuckles raw and red, slightly swollen and cracked open.
Dried blood under his fingernails.
He thinks back on the fight, his fists connecting with solid bone, his face smashed into the floor.
I am Jack's pounding migraine.
He wonders if his blood is still painting the basement, or if it's been hosed away already.
He flexes his fingers, feeling the ache throughout them.
One good thing about pain, is it means you're really living. It's your body screaming
“I’m still here”
“I’m alive.”
Tyler comes back shortly with a T-shirt and a pair of pajama pants.
They're not Jack's.
Tyler stands in front of him, redressing Jack carefully, trying not to brush against any bruises, which proves difficult when they get to the pants.
Jack stands on shaky legs, lifting one foot that Tyler pulls a pant leg over, then the other. His hands rest on Jack's hips for a moment after he pulls them up.
Jack's head falls forward, resting on Tyler's shoulder, his neck is so sore.
Fingers card through his hair slowly, scratching at his scalp like he's a dog.
Jack sighs in contentment, relaxing into the touch. Tyler hums a tune quietly, the sound traveling into Jack's ears, the melody somehow soothing his splitting headache.
Tyler cradles his neck with one hand.
“What is that..? s’nice..”
He rubs the back of Jack's neck with his thumb, calming circles tracing over his vertebrae.
Jack melts, tucking his face further into the crook of Tyler's neck, feeling the vibrations when he talks from where he's pressed against Tyler's throat.
“I don't know actually, just something my mom used to do..”
He whispers into Jack's ear, resuming his humming after a second.
It's meditative, almost like a lullaby.
Jack listens, his mind absent of thought, Tyler completely occupying his senses.
He sounds so beautiful.
Jack feels himself start to drift off, sleep tugging at the corners of his mind insistently.
“Alright sleepyhead, c’mon…”
Tyler pulls him to stand again, Jack leaning most of his weight onto Tyler's strong frame. Everything feels like it's happening in slow motion, running at half speed. It's strangely calming.
Tyler walks him to his room, Jack is too tired to question why that is. He carefully pushes Jack to lay down on the bare mattress he calls a bed.
Jack curls into the blanket and sighs. It smells like Tyler. Cigarette smoke, a vague and subtle chemical smell, blood and sweat. It should be unpleasant, but it's really not at all.
A lot of things about Tyler seem like they should be unpleasant, and yet they never are.
He loves everything about Tyler Durden, his courage and his smarts. His nerve. Tyler is funny and charming and forceful and independent.
Tyler is rough and sometimes Tyler is gentle. He's brash, but sometimes he's considerate.
He feels a dip in the mattress and opens his eyes. Tyler is undressing, removing his shoes, sliding out of a cropped T-shirt.
In the lowlight he's bathed in shadow.
Tyler crawls into the bed behind him, wrapping an arm around Jack's middle, just holding him. Tyler's chest pressed against his back, their legs tangled together.
Jack's fingers trace patterns over Tyler's wrist, stopping to feel his pulse.
They're alive.
The soft humming returns and Jack feels the impression of lips ghost over the back of his neck. Not quite a kiss, but close.
Jack squeezes his wrist, fingers wandering up to trace Tyler's palm, drifting across the lines there.
Tyler allows it for a few minutes before lacing their fingers together.
“You're so touchy when you're like this…”
He murmurs into the quiet of the bedroom.
Jack looks up at him timidly.
“Sorry…”
Tyler chuckles, shaking his head at Jack.
“Nothing to be sorry for, Psycho-boy…”
Jack smiles lazily, staring at their joined hands with a peaceful expression. Blissful.
Suddenly his brows furrow, a thought creeping into his head, disturbing the moment.
They never do this.
Why is Tyler being so….nice?
“Tyler….what are we doing?”
He can feel Tyler shake his head where he's laying behind him, a hand pushing under the bottom of his shirt, resting there.
“You think too much..”
For some reason, he accepts this non-answer easily.
Yes Tyler.
Of course Tyler.
Whatever you say Tyler.
I am Jack's blind trust.
“Okay.”
A hand reaches out to brush the hair from Jack's eyes, pushing the strands back like a scene from some cheesy romcom.
Jack smiles at the action nonetheless.
Even after fights, Tyler has never touched him this reverently.
It's overwhelming.
It's relaxing.
Their house has become their own private sanctuary, their respite from the outside world.
His whole body feels warm, Tyler is like a space heater, it feels nice seeping through his skin and into his aching muscles, soothing the soreness.
“Thank you..”
Jack mumbles, words blurring together.
Tyler hums in acknowledgement, wrapping his arm more fully around Jack, his hand drifting to a different position under Jack's shirt.
Jack doesn't think he's ever been so calm, so comfortable.
He would almost believe he's already asleep and dreaming, but this feels so real.
It wouldn't be the first time.
He feels hot breath blow against his ear, tickling him.
“Try and get some sleep, Jack”
He whispers, his thumb running back and forth across Jack's knuckles, lulling him to unconsciousness.
Jack holds their hands close to his chest, over his heart, his eyes sliding shut. His breathing evens out, and he's asleep in a matter of minutes.
And as he drifts off, he swears he hears that humming again, his head too full of cotton to be sure.
Babies don't sleep this well.
When he wakes up in the morning, his head finally clear, Tyler will still be wrapped around him like an octopus, snoring lightly.
And Jack will lay there for hours, watching him, until Tyler's eyes blink open slowly and he whispers gruffly, voice rough with sleep:
“Go back to sleep baby…”
Baby?
He's too tired to think about that.
His eyes fall closed again, and Tyler kisses the top of his head.
They shifted positions in their sleep, Jack facing Tyler now.
Jack curls against him, resting his head against his chest, the steady thump of his heartbeat pulling him back into sleep.
He dreams of warm hands.
He dreams of a soft melody hummed.
He dreams of light kisses and strong arms instead of blood and bruises.