monachopsis.

s e v e n

it's friday, and corbyn drags himself out of bed to head to his only early class. jonah's side of the bed is cold; he's already left for work, and corbyn won't be seeing him until late tonight.

at least, that's what he hopes jonah thinks.

today is their two year anniversary, and corbyn has a surprise up his sleeve. he's already called jonah's secretary and made sure his schedule is clear by half past eight (it is), and he's arranged a special dinner at jonah's favourite restaurant.

as corbyn trudges toward the bus stop—jonah takes the car to work, so corbyn uses public transportation to get around—he runs through the evening again in his head. pick jonah up, drive him to the restaurant, have a romantic dinner, go home, make love, fall asleep in each other's arms. not once does he screw something up or make jonah angry in his plan for the night, and he hopes that everything goes according to plan.

corbyn's stomach churns in his gut as he sits on the bench, waiting for the bus, the warm rays of the early morning sun highlighting his hair. he bites his lip, fighting the urge to vomit. he's so nervous about tonight, is the thing—he does love jonah, and he wants everything to be perfect. he's so afraid that he'll screw something up, like he always does.

"you look a bit green," zach says shortly in lieu of a greeting once corbyn disembarks from the bus. he always waits for corbyn at the bus stop a few minutes from the college, and walks him the rest of the way.

"yeah," corbyn mumbles. "it's jonah and i's two year anniversary, and i'm planning a surprise dinner tonight."

"oh, yay. let's celebrate two years of him beating you around and brainwashing you into loving him," zach snorts, and corbyn winces, the words hitting their mark.

"listen, zach, i don't expect you to understand—"

"you sure as hell better not expect me to understand, because i don't. why does my best friend stay with his abusive boyfriend? why does he let him rape him? why does he always stand up for him? hell if i know!"

"zach, shut up," corbyn chokes out, tears threatening to escape. his chest is tight, and the urge to vomit is back in full force.

"no, corbyn! someone has to tell you all this, and i'm your best friend so that someone is me!" zach yells, and corbyn shakes his head rapidly.

"you tell me this every time i see you, every time we speak! it's not going to change anything!" corbyn cries, tears cascading down his cheeks. "i need you to be by my side and support me, not chastise me for every decision i make like i'm two! i'm twenty! so just leave me alone!"

the last word is a choked sob, his voice cracking, and zach falls silent for a long, awkward moment.

"okay," he says finally. "i'll leave you alone."

and he turns on his heel and walks away.

corbyn watches him go, his eyesight blurred by tears. he stumbles into the bathroom and into a stall, just in time to throw up his meager breakfast into the toilet. bile and half digested food forces its way up his throat, and he gags and heaves into the toilet, his knees buckling beneath him. he remains there for a minute, traces of vomit dribbling down his chin, his shaky hands clutching the rim of the toilet bowl. corbyn feels disgusting, and he's sure he looks it, too.

he takes a piece of toilet paper and wipes his mouth and chin, tossing it into the toilet before flushing. shakily bracing himself on the toilet seat, he stands, exiting the stall and washing his hands and face in the sink. he washes away any trace of tears and vomit, and when he glances at his watch and sees that he's fifteen minutes late for his lecture, he doesn't even try to fight the sinking feeling of dread in his heart.

corbyn only hopes that the start of his day isn't an omen of how it will end.