Klars (LarsxKirk)

13. James' story

One month earlier

It's a miserable, rainy day in James' desolate house, when his phone rings. The repetitive, shrill tone of it pierces through the cold silence and James jumps, the idea of having someone other than his guitar to talk to warming his heart. With what must've been way too much enthusiasm, he excitedly skips down the hall, before he answers the phone, grinning.

"Hello?"

"Hello," repeats Jason. "I want to talk to you."

"Same!" James exclaims, his heart racing, his breathing fast with excitement. "Can we meet up? I really want to see you. We could go for a beer at your favourite bar, or I could come to yours-"

"No," Jason interrupts. "No. I can't. I want to talk to you about Lars and Kirk."

James' heart sinks. "Oh," he says sadly. "What about them?"

"You know what I'm talking about," Jason snarls. "You know that what you said was homophobic and just generally nasty. And I bet you haven't thought about anything but just how disgusting you think they are since you said it."

James gulps, realisation sinking in. "I... I was homophobic? Jason, I didn't mean to-"

"Of course you did," Jason continues. "I spoke to Kirk this morning. He said that Lars broke up with him because of what you said. Kirk's broken, James, because of you. He's been torn away from the man he loves. Can you see how much damage you've done?"

James' words catch in his throat, and he chokes as he tries to get them out. "J-Jason..." he stutters. "Don't hate me, please... I...I... I didn't mean it..."

"Prove it," spits Jason through the phone. "Prove that you didn't mean it, because all I see is a man who has single-handedly torn two lovers apart."

"But I didn't mean to!" James objects. "I was in a bad mood."

"A bad mood? From what?"

"Because the person I love doesn't feel the same way about me!" James cries. "I was jealous, Jason. Please, you've got to believe me."

Jason falls silent. "I'm sorry to hear that," he speaks calmly. "But that doesn't make your actions right."

"I know," James whines, tears streaming down his face. "But please, Jason, don't hate me."

Jason sighs. "I can't promise that, James."

"Jason, no! Please, please..."

But there's no reply.

Jason had already hung up.

****

"James?"

It is two weeks after Jason called, and James has heard nothing since. Nothing except the voice in his head that screams that he shouldn't have opened up so much to Jason.

"James. Where are you? I need to talk to you."

This voice, however, isn't from his head. This is the voice of his wife, Francesca, as she calls out to him from downstairs.

"James, where are you hiding?" She calls out with a giggle. "This is important. I need to talk to you."

James stays silent as he hears her climb the stairs. He is perched on his bed, staring at his hopeless reflection in the mirror when she peeks her head through the doorway.

"James, baby, what are you doing?"

"Thinking," James grunts. "What do you need to talk to me about?"

"It's Jason, darling." Francesca replies, sitting herself next to James on the bed. "He's just called. I want to chat to you about what he said."

James looks up sharply, his panic palpable. "What did he tell you? It's all lies, I promise. Whatever he's said is far from the truth, I assure you."

"He said," Francesca explains, her voice surprisingly calm, "that you've expressed feelings for someone that's not me."

"Lies!" Exclaims James, his panic slowly contorting into anger. "I never... I would never..."

Francesca places a delicate, comforting hand on James' shoulder. "James," she says softly. "Please tell me the truth, baby. You haven't been yourself at all lately. This, unfortunately, is the only thing that I know. If this isn't true, I want to know what else is on your mind. Let me in, please."

James hangs his head. This is one of the few situations where he doesn't know what to say.

"Jason doesn't know what he's talking about," he mumbles. "Do me a favour and don't listen to him."

"But he's just concerned for you," Francesca speaks softly. "And so am I, which is why I'm asking you about this."

"Well, quit it." James grumbles. "Jason is lying to you. There's nothing wrong with me."

"What is your problem with Jason?"

"Nothing!" James begins to raise his voice and he stands, facing Francesca with a deathly glare. "Will you stop interrogating me about this?"

"James," she says softly, "I'm just asking because I care about you."

"Well stop," grunts James, taking a step backwards towards the door. He huffs, gazing down at his feet before he faces Francesca once again.

"I'm going on a walk," he tells her. "Don't bring this up when I get home."