Chapter Text
What an unusual sensation it is when a stranger feels so familiar. It was unsettling, but not so much that he wanted to back away from him, no, it was an uncanny urge to pull himself closer. Clover eyes meeting hyacinth eyes was the best and worst thing that could have happened to Jack Vessalius. He was never prepared for this; the ebb and flow of emotions he could not name, the tide ushering him deeper into water without knowing how to swim. Jack Vessalius is someone who follows a path of perseverance in the face of the most unfortunate of circumstances, but this one very well may have been the one that drowned him.
The moment Jack and Oswald met each other's gaze, the room became suffocatingly silent. It was only a moment, yet it felt so much longer. The air between them could only be described as charged—electricity waiting for a conductor. Despite being surrounded by people, Jack felt as if the room was vacant save for himself and the cloaked man standing on the other side of the table. When Oswald glared at him, Jack flinched, a reaction that had been beaten out of him in childhood. He sat and stared wide eyed during Oswald’s description of him. “Disgusting” was not an uncommon thing to be called, despite not hearing it directly in some time. However, that was only the first of many things Oswald said that made dread ball up in Jack’s stomach and drop to the soles of his feet. It wasn’t just his dour demeanor that rattled Jack to the core, but the unerring detailed description of himself from the mouth of someone he had only just learned the name of.
It was the glass of water Jack soaked the morose man with that was the conductor for the inevitable spark between them. With a swift abduction of his arm, their fate was sealed. A rose tinted fire burned Jack’s visage before being dragged away by the very person he went to the Baskerville’s manor to meet in the first place. Oswald had distracted him from his original goal entirely, but now that he succeeded in seeing Lacie after eight long years, he was able to bring himself back to earth, but perhaps not reality.
Before long, he parted ways with Lacie once again, this time with a near satisfaction for his longing. Much to his surprise and delight, he was given both permission and directions to come back every so often by the head of the household. He took the paper with a poorly drawn map on it and tucked it into his pocket with a smile. He would get to see Lacie not only once, but twice, maybe even more. He was elated at the news, but knowing he would run into Oswald sat with him each time he thought about returning to the Baskervilles. It made the corners of his mouth tug down into a frown he always masked. Every time he would become lost in his reverie about Lacie, the memory of throwing water all over her brother snapped him out of it. There was something about that coal-haired man that brought him a sense of unease, yet there was something else in that sharp glare that made Jack want to indulge in Oswald as much as he wanted to avoid him.
Nevertheless, Jack would brush off any threat he felt around Oswald just to see Lacie as much as possible. Surely he couldn’t always be around, he thought. It was primitive, but it eased his concern enough to move his feet down the pathway towards the manor. The hope Jack had shattered when Oswald stood, arms crossed, watching him as he broke through the viburnum-covered bushes.
“You again.” Oswald remarked, not angrily nor kindly. It was as if Oswald had been expecting him to show up at his home again only within a matter of days of last being there. It made Jack wonder if Oswald had been making rounds daily just to see if Jack would show up again soon. If that was the case, then he was afraid Oswald knew him far better than what he was comfortable with, as if he hadn’t pushed far enough already. He knew facts, and stated an opinion, that was all. But, if he wasn’t making rounds, he called Jack’s time of arrival down to the minute. That sent a shiver through Jack’s body.
Jack forced a polite smile at him and regarded him with only his name. “Oswald.” But that did not feel like enough to say, nor did it make Oswald waver from his place, the heels of his boots dug into the soft earth. He was as still as a statue, continuing to stare at him. Oswald was only slightly taller than him, by a few inches at most, but it was enough to make Jack feel like he was under a microscope, no less unsettling for him than the first time they met. At least this time Oswald wasn’t rattling off his personal matters in front of a room of people. “How are you today?” Jack finally added, tilting his head slightly with the question.
Oswald didn’t answer at first, but his eyes drifted to the side in contemplation. “I am well,” he hummed, his voice rumbling from deep within his chest. It reminded Jack of thunder rolling through darkening clouds just before a storm; if it had been from anyone else, Jack would have thought it to be beautiful. Oswald didn’t repeat the question back to him, instead following with another flat statement. “You are here to see Lacie.”
Jack chuckled softly. “Is she around?” He kept that smile plastered on his face with a practiced effort, but Oswald made it tricky not to let a scowl sour his amiable facade.
In response, Oswald turned away from him and began walking in the direction of a tower with a single window. Jack didn’t know if that meant to follow him, but he decided to take a few quick paces forward to catch up, still keeping himself behind the other.
Oswald led him to a wooden door at the base of the tower just around a bend. He rapped on it a few times before opening it slowly with a drawn-out creak. He took slow steps up the winding stairs—too slow for Jack. His patience was being stretched thin with Oswald, but knowing Lacie was just up ahead made him swallow any contempt he felt for her brother.
At the landing was a decent sized room with a bed and some other furniture scattered around. Most importantly though was the essence of beauty herself who sat perched on a pale pink fainting couch, the color of pointe shoes. Her long black hair fell over her shoulders and curled onto her lap. She donned a purple and black gown that accented her fair skin perfectly, more perfect than anything Jack had ever seen. He did his best not to run up to her again, to embrace her as he knew her eight years prior. It took everything inside of him not to act like a lost puppy who found his owner, but that was not far from the truth of what he felt for her. She was everything to him, his femme fatale, and it didn’t faze him at all that the way she cast her eyes over to him was only with mild interest.
A cordial smile pulled at her lips as she spoke “Jack, you’ve come to see me again. How long has it been?”
“Three days.” Oswald stated, his tone void of any emotion, yet Jack could swear there was a hidden eye roll between the lines.
Lacie giggled softly, and it made Jack’s heart flutter. “Not too long, then…” Her crimson eyes creased with a wider smile, though it seemed strained. Jack didn’t question it; he never questioned anything Lacie said or did, delight overriding any intrusive thought dragging its nails down the inside of his skull. They were quiet around her; she made everything better. It could be the dead of winter again, him covered in grime and the acrid stench of the streets, yet she could bathe him in golden light and make him forget even the worst of times.
“I couldn’t wait to see you again,” Jack admitted, his cheeks dusting a pink hue. He smiled back at her, trying to contain a genuine grin, instead aiming for a smile to match her own. “How have you been the last few days?” He secretly hoped she would pat the seat next to her, tell him to come sit by her side, tell him to do anything. Had she given him a command, he would obey it without hesitation. The way she looked at him made him sure that she knew he would too. Those eyes that drew him in since they first locked on his. Green to red, two colors that would only lead to a shade of decay, of rot and illness if intertwined.
She didn’t stop to think of an answer. “I am well.” It was a preloaded response, but Jack found it almost amusing that her response was identical to her brothers. He thought to himself that being short with people was a family trait. She wasn’t nearly as dry as Oswald though, and he was thankful for that.
“I’m glad to hear that!” Jack said gleefully. “May I ask if you would like to go on a walk with me?” He tested her interest in him with a simple question, and hoped for an affirmative answer.
Lacie hummed and looked out of her window. “Yes, I suppose. The weather seems ideal.” She stood from her place, her black heels clicking melodically as she padded her way over to the pair, not waiting for them as she continued right by them and down the stairs. Jack felt her dress brush against his leg as she passed him and his heart leaped from his chest to his throat. Oswald only glanced at him before turning and waiting for Jack to follow him down the stairs.
Out of the three of them, Lacie was the one to take the lead. She was always ahead of Jack, never turning to look at him nor address him directly when he spoke to her. Her answers to him were simple and short, but polite nonetheless. Jack wouldn’t notice if she was rude to him anyway, only seeing her as a gift given by the divine to this cruel world. Lacie made the sun shine brighter when it was hidden by passing clouds; she made the flowers bloom, she was the very light they needed to thrive. The budding roses along the walls of the manor were identical to her eyes. He could get lost in them, suffocate on the pollen, it didn’t matter if she were to drag him through the thorns. He accepted her and all that came with her, all that he didn’t know, and all that he would never ask her.
Jack hardly even noticed how Oswald lagged behind her, looking at Jack every so often from the corner of his eye. Jack assumed it was to make sure he wasn’t going to do anything to harm Lacie, as if that was even a possibility. He found it laughable.
“Lacie, what is your favorite flower?” Jack inquired cheerfully.
Lacie didn’t turn around, just kept walking as she answered plainly “roses.”
He was elated to hear this, how the very flower he compared her to was her favorite. He followed with another question, “what color?”
Lacie’s reply this time was different, “black.” She sounded irritated now, it felt like a jab to Jack’s chest, so he dropped the conversation without replying, settling on remaining silent unless spoken to. It would be better that way; if he annoyed her too much, or at all, she would cast him out. He would lose her all over again, this time at the cause of his own mouth. His gaze was downcast, but he didn’t fail to see the expression Oswald had when he stared at Jack. It was faint, but it could only be read as one of pity. It made Jack equally irritated.
Jack’s visit to Lacie was over just as quick as it started. She said she was tired and returned to her room without saying anything else. Jack smiled and waved goodbye to her, and she gave a small one back before shutting both him and Oswald out. Once she was gone, Jack felt disappointed that he didn’t get to spend more than an hour at most with her, but one was enough. As long as he got to see her, it would be enough.
Oswald turned to face Jack with those cold eyes, the ones that set Jack on edge. Jack spoke first, knowing Oswald would just tell him to leave if he didn’t. “I suppose that is my cue to go, so I will take my leave now. Thank you for your hospitality, and thank Lacie for me later if you get the chance.” He smiled as he finished his practiced lines, ending their meeting by walking off in the direction of the pathway away from the Baskervilles. Oswald opened his mouth to say something, but shut it in favor of watching Jack leave. Jack didn’t feel Oswald’s eyes leave his back until he was well hidden within the trees. There was a pep in his step that hadn’t been there before, not ever.
He had a glow to him, and he would nearly every time he saw his dear Lacie. But, after just four short months, her reactions to Jack’s presence became more blasé with each visit, and Jack felt it eating away at him. An emotion closer to necrosis than to sadness. He felt it each time her smile faded more and more until she no longer smiled at him entirely. That golden light was being snuffed out, and it was suffocating. He began leaving sooner, repeating to himself the entire way back to his own home that he was just a bother to her, nothing more than a pest. A knot in her hair. A loose string in her dress. It unraveled him. It made his chest ache as if his sternum would snap in half and his ribs would cave in on themselves to puncture his heart and lungs. He put a hand on his chest to feel the bone, to make sure it was still holding up. It felt like death. He entertained the idea that if he stayed on the street for his entire life, if he didn’t steal, kill, sell himself, he would be happier than having the life pulled out of him now, after fighting tooth and nail to survive and succeed just to see Lacie again.
“Lacie…” he murmured to himself. The name he once sung like a hymn died on his lips as it fell out. His pace back down the path slowed to a stop, and he resigned himself to leaning against a tree to keep himself from sliding to his knees, grieving the loss of what he never truly had. He took shallow shaky breaths, trying to keep the floodgates behind his eyes shut and locked tight. If it broke now, he knew that the unshed tears would spill out all at once and never stop. He bit his lip to cause a sharp pain, a poor attempt at keeping himself stable.
Between short and barely steady breaths, he heard the faint sound of snoring. He brought himself back to standing straight and looked around. It was hard to pinpoint the sound exactly between the echoing off the tree bark, but it was close. He turned his head slowly to the very tree he was about to break down on and leaned around it, just behind where he was standing. What he saw surprised him, but not for the reason he thought it would.
Oswald sat on the soft grass, his back against the tree. Much like when he was awake, his arms were crossed over his chest as it rose and fell, but now his shoulders were slack, and his head lolled to the side. He knew that Oswald had a napping spot under a tree somewhere; Lacie let it slip during one of their earlier meetings, but the way she smirked when she said it made Jack think in retrospect that it was not a slip at all.
Jack quietly stepped out from behind the tree to gaze down at the man he always knew as glum and reserved. The way the dappled light fell across his form coupled with the light breeze brushing his smooth inky black hair across his pale cheeks made him look so gentle. Approachable, even. Oswald was always so taciturn; he was no different now, but seeing him like this made the silence that followed him everywhere feel welcomed. Jack let out a breath he didn’t know he was holding. Oswald was never a comforting presence, but over the course of time, Jack became used to him. He went from someone who set his nerves on fire, to someone he simply knew as “bad with words.” Jack slowly took a seat near Oswald, hoping not to jolt him out of his peaceful slumber.
In the comfortable quiet of their bubble, Jack let himself relax against the tree too. He turned his head to look at Oswald, and thought about how things have changed between them over these months. The way he would always meet Jack at the entrance to the Baskerville manor without fail became something of a routine. He remembered the time he tripped right into a bush in front of Oswald, and how flustered he had gotten. Jack didn’t think much of it at first, but now that the memory came back to him, his mind drifted off to the scene again. He remembered how Oswald only let out a tender sigh and extended his gloved hand to Jack, and how easily he lifted Jack to his feet. When Oswald helped him up, he didn’t seem to put much effort in at all. It made Jack wonder just how strong Oswald really was. His hand was much bigger than his own, his grip more sturdy than Jack expected from him. Oswald was always under so many thick layers of clothing that it was hard to tell what was underneath. The memory made Jack feel a sense of security in Oswald’s presence. Even now, he felt much safer with Oswald than he did by his lonesome. Jack sighed to himself, more content than he could have been before taking a place next to him.
Jack didn’t realize he was still looking at Oswald while he was deep in his thoughts, but when he was coming back into himself, he was met with those violet eyes studying him. His own eyes went wide, and his breath caught in his throat. Oswald’s expression was indiscernible as it always was, but it didn’t make much of a difference to Jack when all of his thoughts of what he could say piled up and clogged up any options. All he was sure of was that his face was flushed.
Oswald was the one to break the silence between them. “How long have you been here?” He asked groggily, his words hushed under the weight of only just waking up. He didn’t ask rudely, his voice was mellow with curiosity laced through it. It snapped Jack back to logic, and he cleared his throat.
“N-Not long…” Jack chuckled nervously and let it trail off. Truthfully, he didn’t know how long he had been sitting there, letting his eyes linger on the curve of Oswald’s high cheekbones, the red liner accenting the corners of his thick eyelashes, his perfectly angled nose… he looked as if he were the work of a sculptor, chipping away any imperfections and smoothing out every rough edge that would take away how truly serene he looked from the very beginning. Jack had never seen Oswald without his own judgment clouding his vision.
Oswald kept his head resting on the bark, thin strands tangled around it. “Very well, feel free to stay here,” he mumbled and let himself sink back into place.
Jack’s eyebrows raised at the unexpected answer. “You’ll let me stay?” He questioned, leaning forward to look at Oswald to see if he was serious.
He looked at Jack’s eyes, his mouth falling down into a small frown. “Yes… You look upset.”
Jack froze, his lips parted in both shock and misery. Shock for being seen through, and misery for remembering what led him to staying beside Oswald in the first place. Jack leaned back, casting his eyes downward, forcing a strained smile as he kept distance between them again. “Why do you say that?” He mused, not really wanting to know the answer.
Oswald followed Jack’s gaze to the forest floor. “It’s about Lacie, isn’t it?”
Jack twitched at the sound of her name, an infinitesimal movement that he knew wouldn’t go unnoticed by Oswald of all people. The way Oswald picked up on everything yet said nothing made Jack nervous, but right now, he just felt defeated all over again. “So what if it is?” He snarled, more rudely than intended, but he did not apologize.
“She’s…” He trailed off, contemplating his next words carefully, but Jack cut him off before he could finish.
“Oswald… Does Lacie… Did she ever want to see me?” He spoke quietly, almost too quietly, but his words felt deafening in his own ears. He hated the way he sounded. He felt pathetic.
“It is hard to tell what she is thinking… She has never been an expressive person.” He replied sullenly, as if he could understand what Jack was feeling, but he couldn’t have. Nobody felt the way Jack Vessalius felt about Lacie. His beloved Lacie drifting further and further. Not being whisked away within a minute of being found by the Baskervilles all those years ago, but leaving him again slowly, painfully, so cruelly rejecting him gradually one visit at a time. She lost interest in him, or never really had any at all. It made him feel sick to his stomach.
Jack pulled his knees to his chest, trying with all of his might to hold himself together lest he fall into pieces right in front of her brother of all people. “That doesn’t answer my question.”
Oswald chewed on his words, Jack could see the gears turning in Oswald’s brain from the corner of his eye. “I don’t know.”
That was confirmation enough for Jack to come to the conclusion that he had been right. Lacie never gave a damn about him, and those eight years of yearning for her meant nothing at all to anyone but Jack himself. When he was in her presence, he felt so full of life, but now all he could feel was cold and empty even in the hot summer air. Jack let out a pained laugh, more of a wheeze under his crushed heart. “Alright,” was all he answered with.
The silence between them stretched once again, but Oswald spoke up in a feeble attempt at helping what couldn’t be helped by a single conversation. “Can you talk to me about it?”
Jack hugged his knees tighter, his lips sealed in a firm line.
“You don’t have—”
“Why should I talk to you about it? You are Lacie’s brother. If I talk to you… She’ll know. It’s not worth it. It’s never been worth it.” His voice broke, his breath hitching as he tried to catch himself before he said something humiliating.
“She… doesn’t have to know.” Oswald said quietly but firmly—if Jack heard him right. It paused Jack’s rush of self deprecating thoughts.
“You’ll keep a secret from your own sister?” Jack sneered.
“Do you tell your family everything?” Oswald countered. He got Jack there. In fact, Jack never told his family anything. He felt contempt for everyone in his family, not having attachments to a single living person who shared the name Vessalius.
Jack huffed to himself and closed his eyes as he leaned his forehead on his knees. “I suppose not…”
Oswald slid himself a few inches closer to Jack and spoke in a low voice to say that this would stay between them and only them. “Speak quietly; nobody will hear you,” he advised. Jack knew what he meant by that. The Baskerville’s had ears everywhere. Oswald is not a liar though, so Jack mulled over the idea that if he opened his mouth, the only ears that would hear his words would be Oswald’s. A twinge of something inside of him for being harsh with Oswald when he was only trying to reassure him made Jack’s stomach turn.
“Do you promise?” Jack felt childish for asking such a question, but it was the only thing that would make him consider trusting Oswald this one time. Just this once. Jack forced himself to look up at him, his cheek resting on his knees.
Oswald’s expression softened, “I promise.”
Jack let out a sigh from his nose and looked forward, a flat look on his face that hadn’t been seen by another person in years. He felt awful as his cheerful mask cracked and split in front of the most unlikely of people. “It… is about Lacie,” he paused, his eyes falling to the grass. A ladybug crawled over the blades; it stopped and perched on top of one in front of Jack. He thought that it may be looking at him with the same dull expression he had. “When is it not about her?” He let his question catch in the breeze, leaving it to be unanswered.
Oswald said nothing, only sitting there, legs crossed, listening carefully as he did to everything around him. He was incredibly observant, something that made Jack feel uncomfortable for the longest time. But right now, he felt almost thankful for Oswald being exactly how he always is.
“I don’t know how to say any of this,” he admitted, “I don’t even think I have words to explain it all.”
“Just tell me how you feel.” Oswald said, as if it was that easy. Jack remembered what Glen had said to him when he asked Oswald to describe how he felt about Jack at their first meeting. It was the same, but it worked, so Jack thought that it might be worth trying to word his current state instead of explaining a lengthy story in its entirety.
Jack blinked slowly, letting all of it sink in before speaking again. “Heartbroken.” It was such a simple word, such a plain thing to say, but it felt right. “My chest aches, and I… feel like it is going to collapse in on itself and hollow me out. My body feels weak, like I can barely stand.” His eyes clouded over. It would humiliate him more than he could handle if he were to be any more honest. “Lacie…” he choked on her name; it only made his heart squeeze tighter. “She is everything to me. She…” his lip quivered “was my only reason for surviving this long. I did everything to see her again. But now I think… it may not have been worth staying here at all.” He finished quietly, stopping himself from going on with anything further lest he burst into tears right here.
When he glanced up at Oswald, he felt a hard pang in his chest. Oswald wore an expression Jack had never thought was possible for him to make. He looked… so very sad. His eyebrows were upturned with a clenched jaw to match the lips he kept firmly shut. If it were in any other situation, Jack would have found it more surprising than purely miserable. His hand was balled into a fist, and Jack thought for a moment that perhaps Oswald would hit him for speaking like this. He wouldn’t blame him for doing so at all, he would even welcome it.
“I’m sorry,” Jack murmured, looking away from him. The feeling he had for being rude to him prior to this was nothing compared to the crippling intensity it had now.
“Why?” Oswald asked, his voice wavering in his whispered question.
Jack shut his eyes, not wanting to see Oswald in his peripheral vision. “I said too much.”
“You haven’t said enough,” he sounded irritated, or something close to being so. Jack didn’t know what else he could say. “Why do you let her make you feel so horrible?”
Jack’s eyes snapped open; the question caught him off guard. He fumbled for an answer, but nothing could make Oswald—even Jack himself understand why he felt like this. Why this one person made him feel like living on the streets would be a better alternative to living in high society, to even just sitting in the shade under this old oak tree. His face crumpled as confusion for his own feelings overtook him. Rather than trying to answer the question, he just gave a small shrug. He was acting like a child, he thought, but he could do nothing else if not push all of this back down to the pit of his stomach and let it rot with the rest of his emotions. But, it was far too late for that. He opened this can of worms and he would do anything to close it. He didn’t know what Oswald would think of him now, if he would dislike him more, or reject him too. He wouldn’t be surprised if either were to happen. If they did, then he would have two reasons not to keep showing up at their home. He would have to go back to living in solitude. It was a bitter thought, but it was something far too realistic to push out of his mind. He began coming to terms with it even before it would be confirmed.
“Jack…” Oswald coaxed, “please, do not question if living is worth it,” he sounded like he was pleading, almost. Jack wouldn’t admit that it made him even more confused. He was sure that he was going to be hit only a few minutes ago, but now he was being asked like this to think otherwise? It made him want to pick at his fingernails until they chipped.
Jack swallowed hard. “She has gotten so cold, slowly, each time I come to see her. She no longer smiles at me. She doesn’t want me here. I don’t think she ever wanted me here. So, this is the last time I’m coming back. I am only bothering her, I know that well now. I should have known it sooner. I just thought…” he bit his lip.
Oswald inhaled sharply. “I—” he gritted his teeth before speaking more quietly this time. “Keep visiting,” he blurted out.
“Why? Do you think she wants to see me?” Jack retorted sardonically.
“I want to see you.”
Jack thought he didn’t hear him right. He looked at Oswald with furrowed brows. “I’m sorry?”
“I want to see you,” he repeated bluntly.
“You?”
“Yes.”
Jack blinked, not quite understanding what Oswald was saying— why he was saying this. Oswald was not someone who used pretty words in order to make Jack feel better. He wasn’t the kind of person to even tell a white lie to save someone embarrassment or guilt. That was just a fact about Oswald that everyone knew. So, he must mean it. But surely not, because he found Jack Vessalius empty and disgusting. That too was factual. He heard it himself. Knowing that Oswald was bad with words did nothing to sway Jack from that opinion even now.
“Please…” He added, a light blush tinting his pale skin.
Jack’s mouth hung open, he had to force it shut to not make himself look foolish for being stunned. His brain worked to untie the knotted mutual disfavor he so firmly believed existed.
Jack thought back to every time Oswald met him at the entrance, how he never told him to leave, or mislead him, or put up a fight when he wanted to see Lacie. How he allowed Jack to stay when he wasn’t with her, Oswald would stay glued to his side until he left. How—even though it was atrocious—he made Jack tea. And when he fell that day… Oswald not only lifted him up, but did so gently. It all came back in a rush of realization that Oswald wouldn’t treat someone he hated as a friend.
Jack studied Oswald’s eyes, searching for any hint that he had been untruthful, that it wasn’t pity. “You’re… serious,” Jack mumbled to himself, processing what should’ve been obvious.
Oswald nodded stiffly.
Jack chuckled and shook his head. “I did not think you, of all people, would want me around. I thought you held me in abhorrence all this time,” he confessed. “You called me disgusting the first time we met, so tell me, what changed your mind?” Jack’s smile was back despite not feeling better at all. Oswald did bring him a strange sort of comfort though. Oswald would serve as a good distraction from her.
Oswald looked to the side and frowned slightly. “I’ve never found you disgusting…” He clasped his gloved hands together and thumbed his palm. “It was not the right word to use. I’m sorry.” He looked despondent, his posture no longer straight and dignified the way it should be. His arms lay limp at his sides and his shoulders drooped. Jack thought he looked like a puppy who had just been scolded. It suited him.
“There is no need to apologize,” Jack reassured him, resting a comforting hand on Oswald's knee. It was insincere, a small gesture to lead the conversation far away from his own emotions and onto Oswald’s. He saw the perfect opportunity to turn the subject around and took it with a subtle viciousness he knew Oswald wouldn’t notice now that he was the one fumbling for words.
Oswald looked at Jack’s hand and held his breath, the tension held in his expression fading away as he let it go. “I felt I had to, for quite some time, but there never seemed to be a time where I could,” he conceded, shifting in place uncomfortably. Jack knew there was not much else Oswald would be willing to say, since he has never spoken this much with Jack in the months they’ve been around each other. Oswald continued, “but, I do wish to call you my friend.”
A short gust of wind blew between them, rattling the leaves on the trees and causing a few to fall around them. A single green leaf tipped from a branch and landed in Oswald’s hair. Jack leaned forward and plucked it off of him with a warm smile. The dwindling distance between them made Oswald stiffen under Jack.
Jack let the closed gap between them linger for a moment before pulling back and showing Oswald the leaf.
He twirled the stem between his fingers as he kept his eyes trained on Oswald’s face, watching that blush creep back up. He almost looked cute like this. Jack wanted to see more of what Oswald was like when his defenses were down, and now he knew exactly how to do it. “Friends it is, then,” he chimed and brought himself to his feet. “I am expected to be back in time for a party this evening,” he said. It was not a lie, there was one he was supposed to attend tonight though he never felt like going. He extended his hand to Oswald. “Thank you for talking to me, Oswald, you are very kind. I am glad I can call you my friend.” He took Jack’s hand and stood.
“You’re leaving?” He sounded dismayed, but Jack offered a smile that concealed his new-found depravity.
“I will come back, don’t worry. You want to see me, after all. So, you can expect my arrival as you always do.” He took Oswald’s hand and turned his palm upward, placing the leaf he pulled out of his hair into it and curled his fingers closed. “I promise.”
Oswald stayed silent, only nodding as Jack let his hand go. Jack said his goodbyes to Oswald once more before turning and strolling back down the path he took home each time.
He looked down at the green stain on his glove from the grass with a vacuous smile. He was intertwined with Lacie, that had not changed, and Jack was sure it never would. She was his everything after all. It didn’t matter anymore that she didn’t want to see him. It stung, it ran him over and crushed him. But now, instead of having to burn everything he had known, he could do something else. Something far better.
He closed his fingers around the stain. It was time to head home and prepare for an environment he was more familiar with rather than being an open book with his new friend. Jack wouldn’t make that mistake again. He could not be vulnerable like that—never again. Not in front of him, not after finding out that he was the one who could ruffle Oswald so much. He would use it as a reason to stay by Lacie’s side, even from just below her window. He pushed out every thought of the siblings from his mind and left the Baskerville manor far behind him.
It had been nearly two weeks since his conversation with Oswald. Jack felt he had kept him waiting long enough, so he returned to the Baskervilles. As always, Oswald stood by the entrance to the hidden trail, patiently waiting for Jack. He did not wear his usual heavy black frock coat; he stripped those layers off in favor of a simple white shirt with a vest over it. Jack hated to admit that the answer to his pondering about how fit Oswald was under all of those heavy clothes was coming up now. He was impressed to say the least.
Jack noticed something different in Oswald’s stance. It was slight, but noticeable this time. Oswald shifted on his feet when Jack came closer, a small sway from side to side, his hands gripped just a little tighter around his arms, scrunching up the fabric of his sleeves.
Jack’s smile grew to a sealed-lipped grin at his friend as he waved to him. “Good morning, Oswald!” He called, and took a few quick paces up to him, glancing up at Lacie’s window to see if she was peering down at him, but of course she wasn’t. She wouldn’t.
“Good morning, Jack,” he replied with a rare small smile. “How are you?”
The blond let out a short tired laugh as he pushed the memory of her growing dismissiveness down to the pit of his stomach and locked it there indefinitely. “I’m good, but it is hot out today, more so than I thought when I put on my coat before leaving. What about you?”
“I’m well,” he said before motioning for Jack to follow him. “Come with me, I’ll hang it up for you in my room. You can take it before you leave.”
“I get to see your room? I wonder what kind of decor Oswald has,” he teased.
Oswald sighed. “It is… unimpressive.”
Jack followed at Oswald’s side down long hallways, attempting to memorize the route they took. The manor itself looked intimidating from the outside, but the architecture was pretty with its subtle details within the walls. Jack’s eyes drifted around as he marveled at it. The Baskervilles lived in a home much different from his own, looking closer to gothic than to one meant to host society events like the Rainsworth’s or the Vessalius’ themselves. He enjoyed seeing the differences in styles, the tone of the atmosphere matching Oswald’s own somber personality. He embodied their home.
Oswald stopped abruptly, causing Jack to nearly bump into his back while he was distracted. “Here.” He pushed open the door to a room that was smaller than Jack thought it would be. He expected something bigger for the future head of the household, but he realized that with Oswald’s existing servant status, it would make more sense for his room to be less grand than expected.
Jack trailed behind Oswald as they entered, peering around the room. There was a desk pushed to the wall next to a large bow window that allowed light to shine across the desk and floor around it. An unlit fireplace surrounded by brick was in the far wall, and a perfectly made bed parallel to it on the other side of the room. But, the one thing that caught Jack’s attention the most was the grand piano pushed unceremoniously into the corner. He thought it would do better in front of the window, but he kept it to himself.
He had forgotten why he was there in the first place until Oswald extended his hand to Jack. He slid his coat off of his shoulders and passed it to Oswald. “Thank you,” he said with a polite smile. Oswald nodded to him and walked over to a peg on the wall, draping the coat over it at the collar next to his own. Jack noted that the contrasting colors of their coats together looked rather pretty. He always thought he and Oswald looked out of place when they were together, one of them in the colors of spring, the other more fit for a funeral. He didn’t realize his face had softened as he thought about how they appeared when they were side by side.
Oswald followed Jack’s line of sight to the coats, then back to Jack. “What are you looking at?” He interrupted Jack’s musing, causing his eyes to shoot to Oswald’s questioning face.
“Nothing, just our coats,” he answered without elaborating.
“Is there something wrong with them?”
“No no, I’m just admiring the colors next to each other,” he admitted, keeping his tone airy.
Oswald turned his attention back to the coats and crossed his arms. Jack could see his broad shoulders through his thin shirt move as he sighed lightly. “They are nice together,” he agreed.
There were a few moments of silence between them. “I like your room,” Jack blurted out before it became too tense.
Oswald looked around with discomfiture, “there is not much to like.”
“It resembles you,” shook his head. “It is dark, but rather cozy.”
Oswald pivoted away from Jack’s line of sight and mumbled a question. “You think I’m cozy?”
Jack didn’t mean to let the word slip as a description of Oswald. He felt his face become warm as he attempted to procure an answer that would satisfy both of them. “You can be...” He settled on saying. Oswald still stood with his back to Jack, but it didn’t hide that the tips of his ears were dusted a shade of red. The corner of Jack’s mouth twitched into a smirk before he wiped it off his face. He enjoyed pushing Oswald to see his reactions. It added a sort of excitement to his time here that he no longer had from the person he was entangled with. Just as he thought, Oswald was a good distraction from her. In fact, he had not thought about her since Oswald took him inside. It was freeing in a way that Jack didn’t care to acknowledge.
“I see,” Oswald answered in a hushed tone, just loud enough for Jack to hear.
Jack switched the topic as soon as the opportunity arose. “I didn’t know you played piano.”
Oswald took a few steps over to it and placed his fingertips on the keys, not pressing hard enough to make a sound. “I do. I compose sometimes, too.”
“Wow, that is incredible… I hope to hear you play someday.”
Oswald was silent for a moment. “I don’t mind playing for you now.” He peeked at Jack from over his shoulder.
“If you would like to, then I would be happy to listen,” he bubbled, excited to hear how Oswald sounded.
He slipped onto the bench in front of the piano but kept his hands in his lap. “This piece is new… I hope it is to your liking.” His voice wobbled as he spoke; it piqued Jack’s curiosity. He was sure it would be fine, but he did not know what to expect from Oswald now that he made that final comment. Jack said nothing in response, only taking a seat on the edge of Oswald’s bed to watch him play.
Oswald let out a long deep breath and placed his finger tips on the keys, waiting a moment with his eyes closed to collect himself. He looked nervous, unsure of himself. Jack chalked it up to him not being used to playing in front of people.
The song began with a single dark, low note and a pause, flowing into adagio chords of the same fashion. They repeated between hollow echoes, keeping to the left of the piano, never daring to raise in pitch. After a minute of keeping to a woeful tune, Oswald lifted his fingers off the keys, and Jack thought he was finished, but Oswald placed them down again affectionately. This time, the notes danced in a higher octave, a complete contrast to a moment before. It was slow at first, curious, followed by the trill of a fluttering heartbeat. Jack’s eyes widened as it continued. The notes, once measured and sedated, grew to allegretto. Yet he never played so roughly that the melody would crash into the walls that reverberated it. He caressed each key, as adoring as a lover. Though, they always sounded sad. Every chord was one of dolefulness, dejection. The emotions of someone who had been left hanging by the thread of their own heart without any hope of solace. It made Jack’s chest tighten painfully. The song concluded as Oswald pulled his fingers down the keys on opposite sides, ending on a single high note that rang out like a question.
He dropped his hands to his lap again, head hung low as he stared at them sorrowfully. Jack didn’t know what to say; there were no words for what he felt, for what Oswald felt playing it. Jack slid to his feet and made his way over to Oswald. He did not know what he would do or say—he did not know if there was anything he could say to Oswald. But, he sat down next to him on the bench. Without a word, he placed a hand on top of Oswald’s limp ones. The air was still between them, the room noiseless save for their own breathing.
“I’m sorry,” Oswald whispered. His voice was meek compared to the music that still hung in the room. Jack gave one of his hands a squeeze, pressing his thumb against Oswald’s open palm. He didn’t stop Jack, he didn’t move at all until his shallow breaths began to hitch in his throat, his shoulders quavering. Jack was never good at comforting people, always saying whatever they wanted to hear that would make them stop whining. This was not the same. Jack felt each of Oswald’s shaky inhales in his own chest as he breathed them in.
“It’s okay.” It was a weak reply, but it was all he knew how to say with this foreign feeling swirling around inside of him. It wasn’t painful like it was before, it didn’t feel like despair nor joy, but he was far from content. He followed an urge that spiked up from his subconscious and placed his head on the shoulder of the man next to him, leaning against him with little weight. He thought that if he had put any more of his weight on Oswald, he would crumble to dust underneath Jack.
Oswald closed his fingers around the thumb that Jack placed in his palm, as if testing that he was really there. There wasn’t anything Jack could do that would make this situation better for Oswald, and he didn’t understand why he felt the need to anyway. Oswald was just his distraction, just a way for him to stay close to Lacie. He was just here to make Jack feel better. But he couldn’t stop himself from feeling that pang again, the feeling he shoved down the moment he walked away from him the last time they were side by side like this. He couldn’t bring himself to be as selfish as that when Oswald was sitting next to him on the verge of tears if not crying already.
Jack closed his eyes in an attempt to ease his own emotions, to pay attention to Oswald’s, something he didn’t consider doing before he laid his heart bare across the keys in front of him.
Oswald squeaked, trying to get something out of his throat to his lips. He tried again a few seconds later, barely managing to. “Did… you like it?”
Jack gave a hum of affirmation.
“Are you sure?” It was a timid question, and Jack could hear him begging for reassurance. He was never talented at speaking from the heart, he never had a reason to try before. With Lacie, he spoke to please her, never confessing anything more than his yearning to see her. He had no reason to please Oswald, he thought he shouldn’t want to at all. What did it matter to Jack? Why should he care in the first place? That was the worst question he could ask himself— why do I care?
Jack opened his eyes when he felt Oswald’s hands begin to tremble with the rest of him. “Yes, I am sure.”
Oswald gave a weak “okay…” in response, and let the silence settle in the air again. It wasn’t an uncomfortable quietness, it was a needed one. Instead of fishing for something to say, Jack left himself to wonder about how long Oswald had felt this way. Jack learned how to identify every lie, every kind of expression someone could make, every subtle tone in words left unsaid, but he didn’t even notice Oswald. Or rather, he assumed the worst when the opposite was the case. Of course he did when his first impression of Oswald was him dragging Jack through the dirt. It didn’t seem to matter now, so he thought of Oswald from the very beginning of his memory, this time trying to clean the filthy lens he saw him through.
He ran through each meeting one by one. The first, the second, the third… and it clicked. How had he not seen it sooner? Oswald started by following him around, to staying with him even after parting ways with Lacie—waiting patiently outside for him each time he was in the tower, to making him his own tea, then allowing Jack to sit with him in his own personal sleeping spot… now they’re arm to arm, head to shoulder, hand in hand. Oswald was there the whole time, he was kind from the beginning, growing warmer as Lacie grew colder. Jack had completely dismissed it in favor of loathing Oswald for being Lacie’s guard dog when he was really much closer to Jack’s than to hers.
Jack lifted his head from Oswald’s shoulder and stared at him, his hand gripping Oswald’s tighter. Oswald raised his eyes slowly to meet Jack’s. His eyes were not menacing, they were not holding that icy glare Jack always saw.
“O-Oswald…” Jack’s words were being strangled by his own throat, but it didn’t phase Oswald in a way that he could see. Apparently, he couldn’t read Oswald at all. Not in the slightest. “How long?”
Oswald looked confused, repeating the question back to him. “How long?”
Jack gripped Oswald’s hand tighter. “How long have you felt like this?”
Oswald swallowed hard, his sight drifting away from him. It irked Jack more than it should have.
Jack turned his full body towards him and took Oswald’s face in his other hand roughly, turning it back to look at him. “Look at me,” he commanded. “How long?”
It took Oswald a second to bring his eyes back to him; he was shrinking under Jack’s sudden change in demeanor, going from being comforting to demanding out of nowhere. Oswald’s eyes flickered between Jack’s, and Jack could see the embarrassment scribbled all over his face. “I… I don’t know,” he croaked, “a while.” That answer meant shit to Jack, but he knew Oswald wouldn’t cough up a date and time, as if that would make it better. Jack inhaled sharply to ask another pointed question, but Oswald continued. “I told you when we were sitting in the grass together… I never disliked you.” His voice was still flat, and it made the temper Jack tucked away under layers of lies flare. Each word Oswald said was striking a match that was close to bursting to life.
“What do you feel?” Jack asked it like it was an accusation and didn’t bother to correct himself, he wouldn’t, because he didn’t understand Oswald at all. He knew less than he thought and it made him irate. Oswald’s eyebrows were upturned and pulled together, his lower eyelids tense and drawn up. Jack could see that he was making Oswald scared, that was the clearest thing he’s seen yet. Jack felt that subdued feeling tear and claw its way back into his body. It made him feel sick. Still, he pushed.
Oswald opened his mouth to speak but nothing came out. Jack pulled Oswald’s face closer to his and searched for the missing words. That face he spent so long feeling apathetic towards. He hated the way it was making him feel. He hated everything about this. He hated himself for not knowing what to do or what to say. He cursed himself for everything he didn’t know until months after he should’ve seen it.
Jack drawing him in closer caused that flush of red to paint Oswald’s face again as it did each time Jack lessened the already diminishing space between them. Jack bit the inside of his mouth, and thought for no more than a second about what to do to get a clear answer. He shook off Oswald’s hand from his and cradled his face in both of his palms, forcefully pulling Oswald down to him.
His lips felt like satin, warm as they embraced Jack’s. He thought that they would be dry, cracked, rough around the edges as Oswald was. Oswald didn’t try to pull away, not a single attempt was made to separate them. Jack meant for it to be a test, a jab to get Oswald to tip over and spill out what he had been keeping from Jack for so long, but Oswald placed a craven hand on the back of Jack’s head, his calloused fingers feeling the loosened golden strands from his braid. He didn’t pull Jack deeper, only reciprocating the touch. Jack could have stopped it, he could have shoved him off the bench for it. He wanted to. Instead, he held his face firmly and brushed his lips against Oswald’s again. Routine, practiced movements that made him nauseous with every person who ever paid him. Every kiss he’s ever had made bile rise in his throat to swallow back down for the sake of…
Jack pulled away from Oswald. He watched Oswald’s eyelashes flutter open, his dilated pupils leaving only a sliver of color, his lips still parted. Jack was mortified knowing that this was the first and only kiss that didn’t make him ill. He was devoted to one person, one person he never thought of touching outside of a single hug when he threw himself at her before this person cracked him in the head with the end of a knife.
They sat there, eyes locked on each other’s, chests heaving with held breaths. Jack’s heart pounded in his ears. He didn’t know what to do, he didn’t do anything, not even pull his hands from Oswald’s face. His skin was silky and flawless. Still rosy from the moment Jack started this. He had to end it. Now.
But what would become of him if he did? There was no good outcome to ending it all here that would balance out the agony of abandonment, even if he was the one who started it. No, Oswald started it. Oswald started it when he offered to play that song. He knew what he was doing. He must have. So why did Jack have this feeling like he was bleeding out from a freshly opened wound? Why did it make him feel so sick? Why did he feel so guilty?
Jack was on the verge of either crying or throwing up or both. He felt the pain in his chest all the way down to his legs. He couldn’t get up and bolt even if he wanted to. He wouldn’t because running away now will mean running away from Lacie. That’s the reason he was doing this after all… right? He was still doing it all for her. Anything to see her, anything to keep her close, she couldn’t abandon him again. She couldn’t… she…
Jack dropped his hands from Oswald’s face and hung his head low, not wanting to look at the mistake he just made, not wanting to see anything. He screwed his eyes shut again and said nothing, biting the inside of his cheek as his head swam with the worst of thoughts, the most muddled feelings pulling him further and further down. He was drowning and he couldn’t be bothered to try and stop it.
As jagged teeth pressed deeper into his mouth, he felt strong arms wrap around him slowly with so much care, as if Jack would shatter if he was held too tightly. He was pulled closer, and it made him want to cry, yell, thrash, something . He just sat there limply and tolerated it. He tolerated his head resting on Oswald’s chest, his ear pressed to his hastily beating heart. Jack had the passing thought that if it were to beat any faster, it would stop all together. Perhaps, that wouldn’t be such a bad thing. He hated it and he shoved it out of his mind with urgency, like Oswald would hear it if the thought was too loud.
He refused to admit to himself that being held like this was comforting. Maybe if it were someone else… No, there was no one else. Nobody would ever consider treating someone like him with such adoration. Nobody ever has, so Oswald shouldn’t either. Maybe he didn’t know everything about him like Jack thought he did. Maybe he didn’t know Jack was used up and wrung out like an old rag over and over and over. How his body was riddled with scars, how he was torn apart, how he was completely and utterly ruined. It made Jack wheeze out a jaded chuckle.
Oswald’s arms loosened around him hesitantly. The waning warmth left Jack with a bitter cold biting at his bones. He felt that this is what he deserved. The icy chill of solitude. Yes, surely that was it. That was exactly it. He was undeserving.
“Do not be kind to me, Oswald,” he advised, as if it were for the sake of not sullying someone so pure. He could see that now. Oswald wasn't a threat sent from the abyss solely to intimidate him and keep him in line. No, he was sent here to make him miserable. Putting something so good in front of Jack, something he could reach up pepper kisses on—it was a brutal punishment. Jack resented it, not Oswald. He hated himself. He hated that he was putting Oswald through who knows what because Jack is cruel. Jack Vessalius is heartless. A manipulative, impudent, shameless coward. Everything was all for himself. He had no right to be touching Oswald. Not him. Not like this. Not at all.
“Why?” Oswald held Jack’s arms, his grip barely a grip at all. He felt as light as feathers and just as delicate.
Jack refused to look at him, his lips pressed shut as he stared at the floor below them. He clenched his teeth together. “I don’t deserve it,” he spat. The words tasted like venom on his tongue.
“I don’t understand,” Oswald whispered every word he said to Jack, like Jack wouldn’t be able to handle anything louder than that. It made him sink into his spot on the bench—it made him sink into himself. Oswald saying he didn’t understand made Jack want to shut down. He hated having to spell it out for him. He detested knowing that in order to get it through to him that Jack was a depraved bastard, he’d have to cough up the truth. Could he even manage that? Was disemboweling himself—letting everything fall out in front of him —in front of Oswald—something he was even able to do? He thought back to the woods, how Oswald made sure that only his ears were for Jack’s words. He was doing the same now in this sealed off little room, their bubble once again. Their space and only theirs.
Jack felt his throat tighten around every word he contemplated saying. He has gone through so much, he has done nothing but struggle from day one, but this… This was impossible. “I…” He let his words sit in his mouth. “You wouldn’t understand.”
Oswald let out a short disheartened sigh. “I can try,” he mumbled. The lack of confidence in his voice made it sound closer to a question. Jack snorted derisively. Oswald could never, because Jack himself didn’t even fully understand. He just knew that he was right, and that he didn’t deserve any kindness. Oswald lifted a hand from his arm and brushed Jack’s bangs away from his face. Jack swept the hand away before he could see the terrible expression he must’ve worn. “Jack…”
“Why do you care so much?” Jack murmured. He didn’t know what to do with himself, so he pushed Oswald to keep talking, even if he didn’t want to hear the words he hoped weren’t coming.
Oswald paused, letting his hand fall down into his lap. Jack could see the struggle of trying to find the right words on Oswald’s firm but determined expression. Oswald bit his lip, and Jack could see him debating.
“Is it so hard to—”
“I love you.”
He wished he didn’t hear Oswald right, he wished that Oswald was someone to just say that and not mean it. He felt sick to his stomach. He felt disgusting in every way. He was going to crack.
He clenched his fist around the fabric of his trousers and hunched over with another pang in his chest.
“Don’t say that…” Jack coughed, tears stinging his eyes, “don’t put yourself through that.” He hated how his voice cracked, he hated every hitch in his breath. “Love someone else. Just not me. You… You can’t…” he trailed off, trying to hold in more than the single tear that dropped onto Oswald’s leg. He felt terrible for it, and it was going to push him further over the edge he was clinging to for dear life.
Oswald let out a small gasp, lightly touching Jack’s arm, his shoulder, his thigh, his knee, clumsily searching for a comforting spot he could hold that wouldn’t crush Jack completely.
Jack was going to fall over if he didn’t hold on to something, he couldn’t even hold himself up straight. He couldn’t think, but he needed something stable. He firmly leaned on Oswald, burying his face into his chest to hide the hideous anguish he felt. His warmth was sickeningly sweet, Jack cursed himself for how much he wanted it; he loathed how he couldn’t do without it now that he already had a taste of what it felt like to be treated like a person. He couldn’t take it. He just couldn’t hold back the pain he endured, all of the abuse, all of the sadistic treatment he was put through for something that was never going to happen. He was utterly hopeless.
He broke into small hics at first, trying desperately to hush them and failing as they trickled out. He clasped a hand over his mouth, his fingers trembling. Oswald wrapped an arm around Jack, placing the other on the back of his head. He petted it gently, so gently. Jack felt his grip on self control slip and he fell into messy sobs. He felt so disgusting for how he sounded as he wailed, he felt so sick—so sick of himself. He wanted to tear himself out of his skin.
“O-Oswald…” he pleaded, grabbing at his shirt and tugging on it. He was an incoherent mess, only being able to whimper Oswald’s name a few times between forced inhales to catch his breath. He was distraught, plump tears rolling down his cheeks that stained Oswald’s shirt and vest. He thought that he may never be able to calm down.
Oswald held him tighter. “I’m here, Jack,” he cooed. It was dreadful that it was Oswald’s voice that began to settle his breathing, his bawling turning back into choked out gasps between sniffles. Humiliation was beginning to creep back into Jack’s mind, but he cast it away as best he could because he knew he wouldn’t be able to handle another emotion while he was already in shambles.
He was lightheaded and dizzy by the time he managed to pull it together enough to silence himself. Though, it was Oswald who held him in one piece. “I’m sorry…” Jack coughed out.
“It’s okay,” Oswald reassured, rubbing Jack’s back up and down. Jack was too tired to shake him away, to tell him to knock it off, to do anything to help himself or somehow make it worse.
Jack put a hand on his own forehead, feeling how feverish he was after melting down for the first time since he was a teenager. He thought he was well past the age where crying like that was something excusable. “I’m dizzy,” he muttered sourly.
“Can you stand?” Oswald asked, his petting motions stopped. Jack missed it the second it went away.
“Probably… I don’t feel like it.” He grimaced at his patheticness, but he didn’t have the energy to punish himself anymore than he already has. He would deal with himself accordingly later, he promised.
Oswald stood up, still keeping a hand on Jack to make sure he didn’t tip over. Jack trailed Oswald’s movement with his eyes curiously, wondering if he was going to leave him. On the contrary, he felt an arm slip under his knees before being hoisted up without an ounce of effort. He let out a small squeak of surprise and blinked in confusion, whipping his head to look at Oswald cradling him without even trying. A million thoughts ran through his mind at once as Oswald looked back down at him like this was something they did everyday.
“What are you doing…?” Jack asked, an edge in his voice reserved for nervousness he never showed, but what did he have to lose? He already soaked Oswald's vest in tears.
“Bringing you to my bed?” Oswald said confusedly, like Jack was supposed to read his mind. Jack interpreted Oswald’s words as what they always meant to him. I did something for you, so you are going to do something for me.
Jack felt an icy chill run down his spine, but resigned himself to the thought that this was indeed how it is supposed to go. How it has always gone. “I can walk,” he affirmed, trying to wiggle out of Oswald’s arms.
“It is best not to if you are dizzy. You should lay down and rest,” Oswald said matter-of-factly and placed Jack down slowly on the bed. Jack could tell it was Oswald’s side the way it curved against his spine. When he turned to face Oswald, he was met with the sweet and savoury scent of Oswald’s pillow, the spiced honey and tobacco that clung to his hair. Oswald took Jack’s boots off, placing them side by side on the floor. “I am going to get you water, stay there. I’ll be right back,” he asserted before turning to leave the room.
When the door shut behind him, Jack nuzzled into his pillow further. If he didn’t know any better, it would make him drool. Oswald smelled so warm, and the blankets under him were softer than his own. He curled up on his side, allowing this moment of thoughtless peace wash over him before he would once again be ripped out of it by the reality that Oswald expected payment in some form for getting tears all over him, for forcing him to hold Jack while he cried. Yes, that was exactly it.
Oswald opened the door tentatively, carrying water with him now. He placed it on the wooden nightstand next to his bed and looked down at how Jack was curled up in his spot.
Jack peered up at him, giving him a practiced smile for every one of those nightmarish times he subjected himself to being thrown about this way and that. “Thank you, Oswald,” he purred. He took a sip of the water he was given before laying himself on his back, lazily playing with the end of his braid.
Oswald peered down at him, concern etched into every line of his face. “Are you feeling better?”
Jack hummed, “much better, thank you.” His tone was playful as he knew it should be. He moved to his side again, layering his legs, and letting his braid fall over the curve of his waist.
“That’s good, I’m glad.” Oswald returned a small smile; it was genuine and kind, contrasting the tantalizing one Jack wore across his lips. Oswald didn’t seem the least bit fazed, and it made Jack second guess if he was the one misunderstanding. After all, nothing about Oswald gave him the impression he was like that.
“Oswald,” he began, vague suspicion in his tone. “Why did you give me your side of the bed?”
Oswald looked away bashfully. “I didn’t really think about it… Is it uncomfortable?”
Jack wanted to laugh, but he bit down on it and shook his head. “No, your imprint is very cozy. ”
The description made Oswald blush a pretty hue again. “A… Alright.” He simply stated. “Do you want me to, uh, leave you alone?” He asked sincerely.
Jack was floored as his schema was shattered. “No!—I mean—it’s alright. This is your room.” Jack corrected his plea. “Do as you please.”
Oswald thought for a moment before sitting on the edge of the bed, his hands clasped in his lap as before, occasionally glancing at Jack from the corner of his eye before dropping his gaze back down to his hands awkwardly.
Jack remembered what he had said during his breakdown, how Oswald can’t love him. He frowned and sat up. “Oswald…”
He glanced up again, this time turning to Jack, his eyes holding that sparkle Jack didn’t even care to note before. “Jack…” he replied in the same tone.
“Why me?” He questioned, this time his own tone sounding sad. He felt it would be an impossible question for Oswald, and that he was selfish for asking. Or worse, fishing for a compliment.
Oswald’s eyes flickered between Jack’s, his face softening with a worried fondness. “There is… more than I know how to say,” he confessed. “What isn’t there to… love,” he asked, but Jack knew he wasn’t looking for an answer, so he stayed silent.
He shuffled closer to Oswald and folded his legs under him. “I am not worthy of that. I have never had someone say such a thing, let alone mean it.” Jack thumbed his palm, fiddling with it as he spoke.
“Never?” Oswald sounded surprised. Jack thought he must have assumed that he was genuinely well liked. He couldn’t blame Oswald for such an assumption when all Jack did was sell himself to people to gain their favor.
Jack shook his head, keeping his eyes far from Oswald’s. He held his breath. “Are you sure of this?”
Oswald nodded firmly. “Yes.”
Jack let out a breathy laugh. “I wish I could believe you.”
“Then I will prove it,” he proclaimed, so sure of himself. Too sure for his own good.
“How would you manage such a thing?” Jack pressed his thumb harder into his palm, rubbing it repetitively until it was raw.
“I will do anything,” he avowed and put his hand over Jack’s. “Tell me how.” He leaned closer. Jack looked up at the firmness of his lips and the fixed glimmer in his eyes.
Jack thought for a moment and sighed, settling on the thing he knew best. “Kiss me, then.” It was a simple request, he thought, everyone does it. He had done it until it lost any meaning. If Oswald had learned to lie, this would be easy for him.
Oswald’s cheeks bloomed into the rosey color they were meant to be. He placed a hesitant hand on Jack’s cheek, his eyes falling from Jack’s to his rouge lips. Jack could feel his own blush bubbling up inside of him. Oswald’s lips were so inviting. He waited patiently for Oswald as he spoke in a whisper. “I have only been kissed once… I am sorry if it isn’t to your liking.”
Jack opened his mouth to say something, but he was hushed by the delicate touch of Oswald’s lip on his again. He fell into silence, the weight in his chest easing its unbearable pressure. He could feel Oswald about to pull back from him, but he prevented him from leaving. He will never leave. Jack draped his arms around Oswald’s neck, holding him close. He wouldn’t let it happen. Oswald melted into Jack, the tension in his shoulders dropping. No matter what it took. Jack tugged him down, pulling Oswald on top of him as his back hit the bed. Oswald wasn’t allowed to go anywhere.