Toxic Valentine / Fransykes

My Confession

Josh woke up feeling rather disorientated, for next to him, sat cross-legged and eye level with himself, was Jack Barakat. His curious dark eyes blinked once, twice and then a grin spread across his face. He reminded the cerulean eyed boy rather distantly of a guard dog that was actually just a puppy. There's a long silence that echoes across the walls until the Baltimore born boy's name is shouted and he sits up in recognition before taking off after Alex, who stood with arms folded and stern expression on his face. "You're such a dick," He hears the other scolding, but Jack only laughs in return, as if he is used to such phrases being used to describe him.

Then in his view comes ruffled brown hair and gentle eyes that have crease lines around them from laughing so much. He wishes he had that, he wishes he smiled more (he wishes he had more things to smile about, more people to smile with). "Hey," Alex says softly, his hand resting atop the bed covers as if he were far too afraid to make immediate contact with the other "How are you feeling?" Josh doesn't know what to say, emotionally he feels drained and exhausted and as though he was so tired of feeling that his emotions had slowly drained down the floor and been absorbed by the Earth.

"Safe," He settles on, because he feels more secure here with people who know the situation, who are aware of the agonising pain and crushed hope that he can't seem to release. Something had switched off in him now, as if the lights were on and nobody was home; just a shell on the beach which the waves echoed inside.

Alex sighs gently, "Move up," With confusion in his azure eyes, Josh does as instructed, blinking as the other man slid his long legs into the bedcovers and wraps his arm around the younger, knowing it was exactly how he received comfort. It's not romantic or sexual, and Josh is well aware who the love of Alex's life (And it isn't the girl he's married to) and enjoys the fact that this is his friend, his friend willing to give him the only comfort he knows how to.

The door opens and Jack is stood there (Or so Josh assumes by the lack of pyjama pants and instead just a baggy pair of well-worn boxers), who kneels beside the bed and blinks a few times. "Alright let me in," Alex goes to protest but he climbs over the two of them and squashes himself against the wall, his arm around Josh also. Unable to help himself, the Weybridge born boy bursts into laugher, although by now completely used to Jack's antics he still is never failed to be surprised by the other.

The elder looks over at the other two and his hand rests gently on Jack's. Josh, instead of feeling uncomfortable at all, simply smiles and lies on his front "I think I'll go talk to Zack and Rian now, I feel rude, not having really spoke to them," He slides out over Alex and shuts the door behind him. Immediately he finds two pairs of eyes on him, awaiting some form of grand entrance or explanation; he fumbles for a second, blinking furiously before "...hi," yeah, that'll do.

Zack talks less than Rian, but unlike the other two members of the band, they are more down-to-earth, less hot headed and more polite. Josh feels like if the band were a family, these two would be the parents of two children with disciplinary problems. The British man wants to know what is going on in that bedroom, if those two were finally talking; his stomach twists at the thought from both excitement and jealousy (And the knowledge that he essentially got them together and broke up a marriage).

Jack comes out a while later and his cheeks are a little red, his hair much messier than it had previously been. He meets Josh's eyes and the two of them bite their lip and look back through the doorway. The younger stands and leans closer so that the guitarist can whisper too him "I think he's crying," Both of them swallow and look down at their feet before Josh pushes open the door to repay the favour that he's been owing Alex Gaskarth for years. Alex is looking teary, but he's not completely broken down.