Fix Me

3: Jax

Jax sighs. He wants to go somewhere else. Somewhere with darker lighting, and less colorful people. His roommate is too cheerful, too lollipop-red for somewhere so somber.

He woke Jax up with his singing in the middle of a nap, all brown eyes and big smiles, curly chestnut hair tumbling all over itself. He was good at singing, with a strong, sure voice.

It made Jax want to throw up a bit. There was no reason at all for his roommate to be happy, not in his opinion. But, whenever Oliver smiles at him, he can't help but blush a little bit.

He makes Jax want to speak more.

But, Jax is stubborn. He knows from experience that speaking too much will get anyone into trouble. So, he keeps his lips sealed tight most of the time, offering only minimal responses when absolutely necessary.

Oliver gives him small gifts: gum wrappers folded into top hats, a gummy bear he'd snuck in from his parents' last visit, an old teddy bear ear that he'd found underneath his pillow. Jax gathers them in his bedside drawer, a horde of little treasures, and this seems to please Oliver.

But, when Oliver asks about his parents, Jax doesn't answer. He doesn't even look up, eyes locked somewhere above Oliver's ear, eyes deceivingly empty. Any mention of how he got where he is, or his life beyond the confines of the room, and Jax gives a similar lack of response, shutting himself into a glass box until he's sure it's safe to emerge.

Oliver, despite his careless words, learns quickly. If he accidentally brings up a topic that makes Jax upset, he leaves him a little note apologizing, along with another small gift of some sort.

Jax finds it endearing, though he'd never say so. He just places the notes in the drawer along with the presents, creating a small mountain of sweet nothings. He looks through them on his easier days, and Oliver sometimes keeps him company.

On his rougher days, though, he remembers that it's all pointless. He wants to throw away the junk in his drawers, though he hasn't got anything else to put there. He wants to die. But, Oliver doesn't let him sulk properly, battering him with random questions and ponderings until Jax can barely hear himself think.

Jax's bedside table stays devoid of flowers and candy, of bears and get well soon cards. Oliver gets too many. Often, he throws them away without looking at them, a solemn expression on his face, usually dancing eyes lazing about, desolate.

Times like these, Jax wants the smiling, bouncy Oliver that sings too loud and talks too much back. But, he lets Oliver sulk inside of his shell, lets him emerge in due time, because he doesn't really feel like talking any time soon.

And, eventually, the playful boy is back to himself, folding little birds out of sticky notes and humming softly. Jax almost always wants him to go away again.

But, in secret, Oliver is beginning to grow on him. Like a mold, a fungus, a weed, like... Something new?

Jax isn't sure. It scares him a little, excites him more.

He thinks that he wants to, when his heart is ready, find out more about this Oliver.

A/N:

I didn't know how to end it... Jax's POV is proving a little harder to write than I thought it'd be. Oli's is easier aha. Next chapter is really good though... I promise... :)