abyss ↣ joe sugg au

forty nine

[Trigger Warning: mentions of depression/suicide]

Sorry that the last few chapters were crappy my mind was too full up of exams and Christmas x

Charlotte thinks that out of all the moments she'd like to have photographed and permanently stored in her mind, burned into her eyelids, laced in the blood that runs the course through her body, it would be the moment that Joe swiped the key card of room 89 and continued to push the door open with a bit too much enthusiasm. 

It was the moment that all previous anxiety that Joe was experiencing, drained out of him and left him with this sudden feeling of weightlessness.

The room was a mixture of blacks, whites and greys and it was phenomenal, if Charlotte may say so herself. Charlotte thought Joe looked right at home in this artwork of a room, as she thought Joe himself, looked like he was crafted by the Gods. 

When Joe put down the bags on the bed and turned to face Charlotte, a shit-eating grin was splitting his face and his eyes were blue like the ocean outside their window. 

"I want to scream right now. I want to jump on the bed and take fully-clothed showers and I don't know if it's because this is fucking crazy or it's because I've spent too much time with Troye and Tyler." 

Charlotte quirked an eyebrow but barked a laugh, before they did just that. Messing up the beautifully presented bed by their own British feet, hitting each other with the pillows until a feather peeked out and Joe nearly cried with guilt.

They then took the fully-clothed shower, which became extremely uncomfortable as they were still dressed in the appropriate attire for freezing cold England. They gave up eventually, peeling off their soaked clothes and cringing as each item slapped wetly on the panelled floor of the bathroom. 

"Turn around." Joe mumbled, hands sloppy on Charlotte's hips.

"Jesus, you have been spending too much time with Troye and Tyler." Charlotte joked.

"I was going to wash your hair but after that remark you can wash your own." Joe raised an eyebrow all mock-stern. However hard it was to take Joe seriously with water beating his hair down flat against his scalp, Charlotte pouted and reached for the shampoo. 

"I don't know how." She tried to do her saddest eyes, presenting the bottle to Joe and looking up from behind her wet eyelashes.

"Well," Joe cocked his head to one side, "I suppose you have worked really hard on this whole thing."

Charlotte just nodded with her pout strong and eyes even stronger. 

"Well, okay then, you twisted my arm." Joe winks.

Charlotte turns around and makes a comment of, "I would never dare twist your arm. That would hurt."

Joe just chuckles at that, before the sound is broken by the shampoo bottle being popped open. As Joe massages it soothing into her scalp, she reckons with herself that this is a much better way to remember a hair product that's haunted her for most of her life. She decides that this is what little steps mean, that maybe this whole thing is much bigger than Charlotte and Joe put together and they can't just overcome it over night, but they can start to put together fragments of a better life. Joe for example, in a few years time may think back to LA, and think about that dead romantic time where his two best pals got wed and he stayed in a hotel that was modernized from head to ass and that's already a brighter picture than what once was. It could be the same for the shampoo - whenever Charlotte's browsing in the local store for a new bottle, it could bring her back to that time where herself and that dopey photographer jumped in a shower fully-clothed, with a place so beautiful surrounding them, and he made the shampoo feel like a golden treasure and she was rolling rolling rolling in it's riches.