It had been months since Jay had last seen Masky.
Jay last laid eyes on the mask in the scorching heat of the abandoned building. Amongst the vague shards of his memory, Jay vividly recalled the sun lighting up the other man's brawny silhouette from behind. A flaring, blazing assault. Jay was robbed not only of his humility, but of his camera too.
He had enjoyed it, admittedly. That was what disturbed him the most.
Jay also got the message.
He didn't buy another camera.
The rest of that fiery day ebbed slowly into the cool night, and was spent trudging back through Rosswood. Jay was exhausted by the time he reached his hotel room. His mind and body were drained. Dull. Gray. That was all the world was to him. A sullen mess, he remained in his room for a long time.
An unclear amount of time.
The void which had taken residence within his chest consumed him. Jay didn't even think he moved an inch - until he received a phone call.
It shook him awake. Jay's fingertips had trembled as they brushed against the cool plastic buttons.
He heard Tim's voice, but not the words he spoke. The sound itself was enough to break Jay. The sweet, caring voice of his only friend cracked him and pulled him apart, until he was sobbing into the receiver. Tim's concerned voice echoed through the phone as Jay cried.
Jay was convinced that he was done with it all.
Done with filming.
Done with being stalked.
Done with the mask.
Jay didn't hear the knock at his door - he was still shaking with the phone gripped tight in his fingers. Tim let himself in. He was soaked, shirt clinging to his skin from the rain outside. Jay wasn't really sure of what happened next. He was somewhat unaware of the feeling of Tim's waterlogged clothes against his own. Not quite sure if he really truly felt the rain seep into him. Slightly aware of his face pressed to Tim's chest - even more alert to the warm sound of his beating heart.
Jay thinks he was carried to the car. So pathetic. He could remember the feeling of Tim's arms around him. Even in the passenger seat, he remembered catching Tim throwing occasional glances at him, eyes dark with worry.
Jay was sure that he didn't deserve this sort of attention. He wasn't worth all of Tim's troubles.
At least, that was what Jay was thinking now. With his head under Tim's covers, in his soft bed - it smelled like tobacco and something sweet - Jay pretended to sleep. He couldn't dream. His dreams were haunted. Empty, hollow, and infected by images of the mask. Memories of shameful, burning, pleasure.
Jay could not risk closing his eyes.
He wondered if Tim knew that he was awake. He could hear his friend peeling off his wet clothes. Don't think about it like that, Jay. Don't think about it at all. Jay could hear only the occasional rustling of cloth and his own, erratic breath. The bed shifted with Tim's sudden weight. As if with uncertainty, Tim hesitated before lifting the covers.
Tim thought for a moment if this was alright. They were both clothed, right? I mean, more or less. I have some pants on.
Tim slid beneath the covers and stared at the back of Jay's head. He shifted uncomfortably.
Yeah, nope, this is weird. Sharing your bed with your friend is weird.
Tim was about to get back out when he caught Jay shuddering in the corner of his eye.
