[PRP] Lifeline (Jamie & Shiloh)

[saedusk]

It was absolutely, positively a stay in your pjs kind of day, even if Jamie had managed to worm his way out of bed and over to the desk. There wasn't anything pressing to be done, at least not pressing enough for him to care right now, and he looked almost zen as he surfed the internet reading news articles about cute things like a dog with vitiligo helping inspire a child with vitiligo to love himself and not about American politics nor about all the things wrong with their world today.

It was something like preparation for a weight he didn't know was coming.

Or maybe he did, in some small way. Occasionally he'd look behind him, spurred on by a weird feeling in the air or a tickle at the back of his neck. He didn't say anything, just let his eyes drift slowly towards the computer again.

On the way back this time, his gaze lingered on Glubby and her flowing curtain of fins. She turned her many eyes to him and said, "Be kind today, Jamie." He didn't really understand why she was telling him this.

Melancholies

 

[Melancholies]

Glubby would know because of all the people, of all the things in the world Shiloh had been confiding into, it was her. Somehow talking to someone who couldn't speak back was reassuring. A listener. He didn't need someone to dispense advice or try to empathize, just... hear him out. The problem came when he started needing that advice, that feedback, ******** something. Anything.

Shiloh couldn't ******** take it anymore.

Jamie would feel it the second he walked in the door. In the aftermath of the confrontation with Eve and Melany, Shiloh had it together. A calm before the storm; today he broke. He shattered. The support beam holding up all the stress on his shoulders cracked. He felt surprisingly calm on the outside despite it, but his head swelled and swelled and swelled with an incomprehensible amount of pressure. It felt like two people in his head were playing a game of ******** ping pong and all he could focus on was the sharp crack contact that the ball made as it bounced around.

Useless, useful, hopeless, hopeful.

Jamie would feel it. He'd feel the sudden snap back of pure ******** anxiety slap into his mind. He'd feel the cracks, the crumbling, the noise, the pain, the hopelessness, the helplessness. You'd think Shiloh was ******** dying.

The Shiloh who walked up the stairs and into their room looked decidedly alive despite it, his gaze fixed on Jamie as he lounged in the room

"I ******** give up." Is all he says.

saedusk

 

[saedusk]

In reality, Shiloh opened the door like any normal person would. As Jamie turned in his chair, it felt more like a door had been slammed open in his face. Figuratively, his nose was bleeding.

Since they'd forged their mental bond, there had been good feelings and bad shared between them, sometimes very bad, but nothing like this. Shiloh was apparently better at keeping a lock on his anxiety than Jamie had realized. Guilt picked at the seams of his resolve, but he was able to push it away in favor of something more important. Right now it was immediately apparent that Shiloh needed him.

Standing up from the chair felt like stubbing his bare toes on deep, angry gashes in a concrete sidewalk. Moving closer to Shiloh felt like trying to breathe in thick, humid air in the middle of a summer heatwave. None of that stopped him, but it did feel like a reminder of a harsh reality.

"Let's talk," he gasped out, surprised at his own breathlessness. Shiloh looked composed on the outside, but Jamie knew better. He set both hands delicately on his arm, guiding him to the bed.

Melancholies

 

[Melancholies]

There's nothing to talk about; the thought came through like shattered glass, harsh and cacophonous and sharp... and then it died, slowly at first, but it died down and down and down. He watched Jamie's face and the expression he wore and he remembered himself. His thoughts were his own, but they could be experienced by Jamie now, and vice versa—it was almost a crime to call them his own, actually. What they had was shared and mutual and open.

Which was why it was so ******** hypocritical when he tried to stuff them away, tried to hide them, tried to smother them. His thoughts were bursting and there wasn't enough ******** room. There wasn't enough ******** room for school and work and Court and Jamie and Melany and magic and being a principal and—

What ******** good is a key if it doesn't fit any ******** locks.

Down, down down, go away, shut up. Shut up. Jamie's hands on his arm felt like fire. It seared him. It burned him. It branded him. He was already ******** branded, scarred and gnarled and, and—shut up, shut up, shut up.

Suddenly it all stops. Everything stops. Time is the only thing that had the audacity to creep forward. It's almost shocking how quickly all the overwhelming sensations halt; the gate closes, the key gets thrown away. Shiloh's face never so much as twitches, never reacts, never shows any of the mass murder going on in his goddamn head. It's silent.

"I told you." He said as he's led forward, "I give up. I don't wanna do this s**t anymore." Shiloh looked so utterly defeated, "I can't do this s**t anymore. I can't. I'm tired." And it wasn't the sort of tired sleeping could ever ******** fix.

He yanked his phone out without saying anything else, showing Jamie the text he recieved from Horace not so long ago.

saedusk

 

[saedusk]

To his credit, Jamie didn't flinch. The onslaught of thoughts was near overwhelming, the pressure like a ballon filled to overflowing, the self-loathing palpable on his tongue. Interrupting Shiloh felt wrong now, so he let the mental tantrum work its way out, he listened as what amounted to desperation ricocheted around their shared consciousness and stuck everywhere like a thousand bullets piercing skin.

It hurt and Jamie's joints ached as he guided Shiloh to sit on the edge of their bed. It hurt so goddamn much, but he knew Shiloh's suffering had been festering beneath the surface much longer than this.

"I believe you," Jamie said because he had no reason not to believe. Blunt and straightforward, that was the Shiloh Beaumont he knew, even if only in word. Inside, in his head, he wasn't always honest, not even with himself. Jamie took the phone and muttered a quick, "Let me see."

Again something had happened to Melany, just like the text he'd passed on from Eve after a sickening internal debate. At this point it wasn't even that Jamie blamed Melany, it wasn't just her, it wasn't one single thing, and the magic that continued to ******** them over had ******** her over all the same. Jamie definitely didn't know the whole story, but it was hard to be mad anymore. What reason was there to hold onto old grudges? Safety, sure, but they barely had that to begin with.

We don't have to talk... he spoke into the link, drawing his hands up over Shiloh's shoulders and gently against his neck, massaging. Don't close back up, okay? Now Jamie was reaching around, non-physical hands groping through the vast, white emptiness of the receding thoughts. Careful but firm fingertips pressed up against the barrier shot down the center of their headspace.

No key fits every lock.

Melancholies

 

[Melancholies]

The mental space between them seemed to splinter, if only for a moment. Such a terrible burden, how did he hold it back? Why did he hold it back? It was funny how much a year could change someone. He remembered meeting Jamie, gruff and indifferent, friendless, nothing to lose. That was the problem; he had nothing to lose, once. Now he had everything. It wasn't just Jamie, or Oliver, or Melany, it was ******** everything. He made no sound, but his eyes screamed. The headspaced wailed—and then shushed, the screech turning to a gentle lull. A hum.

I trust you said something frantic, something that really didn't sound sure of itself. The words meant nothing, even if they were true. He was closed off, cold and suffocated together. This was keeping it together in the most primal sense of the word. This wasn't like the smooth interchanging pieces of a puzzle, this was a boy who was bound and gagged and let to rot.

"Did you ever translate those messages?" He asked, his voice so so hoarse. "Do you know what they say?"

Kill me Kill me Kill me Kill me.

"She thinks—" The headspace wavered, more cracks, the dam threatening to burst, "—She thinks killing herself is the ******** end all be all Jamie." He sounded so lost. "It's so ********. It's so <******** knew about that s**t better than anyone.

"You know?" He swallowed hard, "I keep thinking, day after day after ******** day if we did the right thing." The smile on his face wasn't a genuine one. It was sarcastic and vile and cracked; it was vaguely reminiscent of when Shiloh came back after his trials, when he had lost everything. That was the problem. He had everything and he lost it all. He got it back and the laws of the universe wanted due reward. "When we made the cage, when we reset everything," his hand was shaking as he brought it up to Jamie's face, his movements dripping with desperation. "We didn't know what we were doing, that's what I kept telling myself. It's so much ******** easier to be an ignorant jackass and blame everything else."

Between their minds was a dull thud: the sound you got when someone kept tapping on the glass of a fish tank, vaguely reminiscent of a heartbeat. Thud. Thud. Thud.

"I can't do it anymore." He said again, "I can't. I keep ******** everything up. I thought I could do it, but I can't." There were vines and buds and flowers blooming along his shoulders, but they looked all twisted and wrong. They wilted as soon as they grew. They bloomed dead and awkward and withered. "I can't fix the Court. I can't help Melany. I can't help Noeh." He sucked in a breath, "Noeh might even be a lying b***h for all I know. I don't—I can't trust anyone. I don't know what to believe, I—" Every thought was interrupted by another, every syllable ragged, "Why does anyone have to die Jamie? Why is that always the ******** answer? Do I need to die?" He asked suddenly, his eyes wide, "Did we ******** up the second chance that bad? Do we need a third one?"

saedusk

 

[saedusk]

They were nineteen. They were both nineteen and this was not a conversation any teenager should be forced to have. At this age they should've been having a good time, sharing shakes at an ice cream parlor, sneaking kisses behind trees at the park, living, breathing, growing, flourishing. It wasn't fair that their lives had been shackled like this, reduced to brief flashes of happiness between absolute pain, time spent wondering if the happiness was even real to begin with.

It just wasn't fair.

That was part of the lesson, though, wasn't it? Life wasn't fair. If it was, they wouldn't have come from the backgrounds they did and they wouldn't be in the situation they were now. Nothing would be handed to them. Over and over again they'd be thrown to the dirt and forced to decide if they'd pick themselves back up. As corny and predictable as it was, Jamie wasn't ready to lay down and die yet and he planned on lifting Shiloh back up with him each and every time. No ifs, ands, or buts.

"It's ********..." he agreed and his voice wavered slightly. It was hard to be strong, and part of him wondered if that was even what Shiloh needed right now, but Jamie felt it was right. He kept going. "But we haven't gone far enough yet." Something smoothed over the constant dull thudding, a hand between finger and glass, soft and fleshy and real despite being only figurative.

"I... I don't know if we've ******** it up yet. There's no way we could know." The dead-growth snaked between his fingers and he held it even though it was withered and brittle. "We didn't know what we were doing, not even a little, but we... we've gotta take responsibility."

Jamie leaned forward then, setting his forehead at Shiloh's collarbone. "One step at a time. One thing at a time." We can change things. There was a hard emphasis on we.

Melancholies

 

[Melancholies]

He sighed. Shiloh was a special sort of case. He was a kid that grew up with the notion that one day, he wouldn't make it to eighteen, and then he wouldn't have to worry about his future. He was a kid who did, in fact, make it to eighteen, only to find out he was completely unprepared for the real world. No amount of textbooks told you how to be a good friend. They didn't tell you how to be a good brother. They didn't tell you how to be a good lover, or a good son, or a good student. The funny thing was that despite how special he felt in that regard, he was still wrong, because there were so many others just like him, all silent, all suffering, all hiding behind their masks. He couldn't wear a mask with Jamie.

"We ******** it up." He reiterated, his gospel nothing but self loathing and regret. "I don't wanna go any further. I don't wanna ******** it up more." I'm dragging you down, said a voice so soft and barely there. There's no we.

The headspace shuddered. Admitting that hurt. I'm sorry— "I didn't mean... I didn't..." He slumped against Jamie's frame, his face getting swallowed by waves of thick brown hair. "It just—it ******** sucks." He whined petulantly, "I hate not knowing anything. I hate that everyone has their own ******** personal agendas." He lifted his head a little bit, "People are so ******** selfish! I hate them! I hate them."

Slowly—a sliver—the barrier between their minds started to unfurl. The flowers didn't bloom on his body anymore. Instead they laid there, withered, melting into dust.

I'm so ******** scared. Said the voice, tiny and quiet. I'm so, so ******** scared.

This time when their bond opened back up again, it was warm. The air was still tense and rough, but it wasn't the agony, the screaming, the uncontrolled turbulence that was his anxiety. Instead it was... numb. Dead. Warm only in that stagnant sort of way when the days were long and hot and the heat hung in the air like oppressive walls. It was an image of that room, of Shiloh barging in, the Spinel Lady there, Eve sitting slumped and lost. There wasn't any sound, but there didn't need to be. Something about the silent film aspect was telling all on its own; when the Spinel Lady's mouth moved and Shiloh hesitated—twitched—dropped to one knee. When she combed her hand through his hair and yanked his head back, bared his neck, turned to Eve with a look of utterly fake dismay.

Melany—her back, the bubbling wound—the look on her face as Shiloh explained everything—the way she took off.

The memory shivered a little.

"I don't want her to die." He said out loud. "Mercer wants to remake the Court but I don't know how. I have the ******** charter but I don't know how. What if it hurts her? She is the Court. I—I can't trust anyone anymore..."

saedusk

 

[saedusk]

Their mind was a temporary distortion, a leaf landing on a puddle, the ripples making the reflection of the world shake. Jamie's touch never fell from the barrier, not even with the way it stung. It sent aches through his nerves again, a sadness so real it was physical, but he knew what spurred Shiloh to say those things wasn't rooted in the actual truth. Doubt, regret... it was easy to hate yourself and unbearably hard to love. Jamie knew. Failure only made that worse.

It's okay to be scared... Jamie was watching Shiloh's memories through his eyes, then the scene would shift, like a jump cut to another camera. Imagination filled in the blanks where reality couldn't. It was sickening, like experiencing true terror in 3D, like surround sound, loud and blaring, even when he couldn't hear a pin drop.

At some point it happened, Jamie didn't know when, but he opened his eyes—the ones he'd squeezed so tightly shut they went blurry when he did—and he was Shiloh again, looking at Melany, watching her face. His own feelings mingled in their headspace: confusion, worry, doubt, empathy, wonder. Oh how she screamed. Static. You were never born with it. Static. I wasn't kidding when I said I still wanted to be your friend. The thoughts made Jamie's throat dry. They were trying so hard to be strong. So goddamn hard.

I don't know what the truth is. I-I'm scared, too.

The bond eased into a low hum of static, still warm, still thick. Outside their head, Jamie's arms were wrapped tightly around Shiloh. He could feel the warmth of his breath in his hair.

"You... You can trust yourself," he replied aloud, "Trust yourself. Doing nothing is... it's worse than failing. I-It's letting the inevitable happen anyway. Y-You-" he paused, voice shaking, and he couldn't tell if his eyes were open or not. He saw the void of their headspace. "Y-You can count on me, too." Trust me. "I'm gonna... I'm gonna stand up a-and do what I think is right, but... I'm gonna support you, too."

There is a we, but there's a you and a me, too.

Did that make any sense? Jamie wasn't sure, he wasn't sure of a lot of things, but all he had left to guide him was his gut. This was it, this was how it spoke to him.

Melancholies

 

[Melancholies]

You can trust yourself.

A drop of red stained the center of the memory. A single droplet on top of of a photograph; it spread outward, oozed, stained everything in a dull crimson. The memory zoomed out a little to reveal Shiloh holding the Court charter, Jeremiah grasping it on the other end. Blood calls to blood. The fingerprint on the parchment dripped like it was fresh.

And then it started to cycle; Blackfrairs, throwing Micheal into the Otherworld. Court, Melany breaking him in like he was a goddamn dog as he refused, disobeyed, fought. The void, Sunny laughing and taunting them into choices they didn't know anything about. That was it wasn't it? No matter what he did it was wrong.

He just wanted to do it right.

There were little tiny fingers probing around the headspace now. I wanna trust you he said, I do trust you. And he did trust Jamie with so much, but there was still that lock, still a wall...

He found his arms around Jamie's torso, gently grasping for something to hold on to. His headspace continued to branch outward, reach further, seek more like he was trying to find resistance or an excuse to pull back; except Jamie was warm and metaphysical love and it almost hurt him.

"I don't want to lose you too." He said suddenly. Something not quite fear but not quite sadness seeped through the cracks in the void, "I don't want you to leave or give up on me. I don't wanna be alone." He sighed as he relented his thoughts, I don't want to fail anyone anymore. I don't want to be forgotten. I don't want to hurt you.

There was a space between them; metaphorical for all intents and purposes, but it started to dwindle. It started to meld away between the lines, started to fade into something indescribable and not quite there. His face hidden away against Jamie's hair, he allowed their minds to click together. It wasn't just sharing memories and thoughts now; it was a unified conciousness. I'll try, said his voice from all angles, I'll try...

"Do you mean that l?" He asked, voice warm and thick as his thoughts started to melt out of his head. "I wanna support you too that's why--that's why I have to be strong." His posture was relaxing as he finally gave in. "I didn't wanna burden you. It'd be better if I could just ******** deal with it. You try hard too and it isn't fair..."

saedusk

 

[saedusk]

There was silence as Jamie watched the memory reel play out in their heads. Sometimes there were things he remembered, Blackfriars, a circumstance that didn't even exist anymore despite what it had meant for him as a person, or Sunny forcing them to show their hand and leap into the void before any of them were probably ready.

Other things he didn't remember, he couldn't because he hadn't been there, but sharing Shiloh's subconscious made it feel a lot like a movie he'd fallen asleep watching the first time. It felt familiar in that way, but dotted with holes. Shiloh was allowing him to fill in the blanks and that alone was a liberating feeling no matter the subject. Being opened up to meant more than he could ever explain.

I trust you, too, he responded, his own mental hands finding Shiloh's, fingers twining, separation no longer a comfortable option. He was picking at the lock, gently, patiently, but never quitting.

I trust you and I believe in you. We can get through it even if it hurts. Not that Jamie wanted pain for either of them. He didn't want the sting of failure or fear, but he was willing to experience anything and everything for the sake of their relationship, for their futures, and for himself, too. I won't give up on you because... because we can work through anything if we try. I know it.

"I mean it..." he promised, voice soft and loving and genuine, grip tight and unyielding as he held onto Shiloh both mentally and physically. Where the mind link felt like a separate entity before, it was wholly different now, something that extended into the way Jamie rubbed Shiloh's back or the way they breathed in tandem with one another. It was warm.

"It's not just me... It's both of us. You try so hard, too." The same way Shiloh's voice had filled every cavity of their mind, an impossible mix of both their tones, Jamie's did, too. It's us. We'll finish what we started...

Melancholies

 

[Melancholies]

Sigh.

The walls rippled with the sound. It wasn't hot, but the air looked slightly distorted with heat wave-esque lines. The air was palpable with the emotion, the rugged relief, the quiet fear. At the center was a tiny, tiny thread; well worn, barely hanging together, scarcely there. A metaphorical heart string.

When there's a catastrophe, people always expect it to be loud. They expect the car crash, the screech of the brakes, the smash of metal groaning and twisting around in ways they weren't meant to be. When there's a gunshot it echoes and echoes and echoes, even long after it's been fired. For some people the gunshot never stops. Not all tragedies are obvious. Not all pain is noticeable. Not all growth is worn on a sleeve like a patch-work emblem.

The string is like that—the heart—it's there and trembling and barely holding on and had this been a different story, it would've healed. It would've grown back together. This story would have the same ending as the first, but in a far different way. It wouldn't heal stronger. There wouldn't be any healing at all. All his vulnerabilities were crowded onto one little line, and it snaps. It doesn't reverberate like a rubber band. It doesn't slap Jamie in the face like a freight train. It's like someone takes a pair of scissors to it, hesitates, and then cuts it. It falls like a feather and the void left behind makes it seem like it'd never been there at all.

It's utterly empty. There's no feeling to it. It's a silent film but they're the only two in the theater. Shiloh had broke and broke and broke and broke again. Healing the pain with tempered glass obviously wasn't working. Who needed a window when you could have steel beams instead?

But there's something poetic about giving up like this too. It's painful and humiliating but it means something deeper too; it's not healing, not really, but it's regrowth. It's starting over from scratch. His story wasn't meant to be an uplifting one; it was one build on cold harsh truths and realities.

"We'll finish it..." His voice cracked with some sort of emotion; it wasn't tears or even really sadness, it was just thick with the weight of it all. Finally he moved, his head slowly leaning back, his eyes grey-blue and steely. Whatever hypothetical thing it was that flowed through them, it flowed freely now. "Who cares if the world comes crashing down, right?"

His hands—roughed and calloused and worn—touched Jamie's cheeks so carefully, so delicately as he set their foreheads together. I believe you, he seemed to say. <******** it. ******** the magic and ******** everyone and their agendas and ******** all of this.

"I just want you to be okay." He admitted finally, "You, and Oliver, and Melany, and everyone else that I care about." People like Kaleb came to mind, people who were friends. People like Aleksy that he almost saw as another brother. People like Lady who were just as angry and vindictive as he was. People like America who had to shoulder the weight of the world with him. People like Eve who got stripped of their pride in the most humiliating ways. He knew it. He understood it. "I think I almost get it now, what Liam was telling me those times I met him, what they were saying back in the eighties." His voice was so, so soft, "I just wanna save my friends Jame. That's all. Did I ever tell you what I thought about when I added my blood into the sigil?" His face actually smiled tenderly. "I was thinking about you. I thought I would take whatever it was that I felt the strongest about and it'd put it in there."

His head shook like he was embarrassed with himself. "Love, something softer, some place where nobody had to hurt. It's so stupid and naive right?" The laugh was warm but self deprecating. "But I still want that. That's all I want. ******** everyone who wants power or control or whatever the ********. I wanna tear it all down." He nuzzled close enough that their noses brushed. "I wanna burn it all the ******** down."

"It's just so frustrating. I ******** hate them all." Their headspace started to bleed in different arbitrary colors. It looked almost like a canvas; if anyone decided to fill the whole board up with nothing but random paint strokes. This shade of yellow is called innocence, Shiloh's mind decided to inform him.

saedusk

 

[saedusk]

It was quiet, but it was awe-inspiring, too. Giving up such a huge part of yourself was never easy, not when it came with admitting so much. There was silence between them and silence in the void and they left it that way for a while. After some amount of time Jamie couldn't properly process, he could feel a warmth returning to the space. Nothing would sprout up immediately, not even overnight, but the soil was ripe for rebirth and whatever he could do to help nurture what Shiloh had begun, he'd do it.

Whatever he could do to continue nurturing the goals they'd both chosen to stand up for, he'd do it. They would finish this, one way or another.

"Whatever happens, happens, but I'm not giving up on what I want to see without a fight," he said, a small smile creeping to his face even as his eyes fluttered shut. For a moment he just felt, just breathed, and reveled in the way it felt like their minds were connected even through their skin where their foreheads touched. Then he opened his eyes again and they were bright and clear.

"I like the way you think," it came with a laugh like a breath of fresh air. "I don't care if it's naive. I wish we could live in a world like that." Maybe it wasn't possible, maybe people as a whole were too combative, too selfish, too blind to live in a world entirely guided by love and softness. Maybe, but Jamie liked the idea, at least. After all, he was the most selfish person he knew; he had flaws like everyone else, but he still wished for softness.

I want to protect you. I want to protect my friends.

When Jamie closed his eyes this time, all he saw was the world inside their heads. It was a space they could learn, experience, craft the softness they both sought. I like the color, he said, though it sounded like his voice came in small, spiral waves that interrupted the yellow and pushed it around like water. What about this one? The swirls were tinted a gentle pink where they mingled with innocence.

Melancholies

 

[Melancholies]

"Maybe someday..." Shiloh sounded wistful. He seemed to notice this too; "I feel like an old fart sitting on the porch reminiscing about back in my day." His voice got faux-deep at the end, and the impression caused him to laugh at himself. "Even if the entire world can't be that way, I want it to be that way for the people I care about..."

He was silent for a while after that, his mind pushing around the swirls of pink.

"Life was a lot easier when I didn't care about all that s**t, y'know? Like, life was just... sneaking out at three in the morning or cutting class or getting into fights with Ollie." He laughed again, "And then I met you and it was all ********' down hill." Still, he sounded so endeared. "And then I started making friends, 'cause I started getting involved in all this magic bullshit. And then I started—ugh—caring about people." God Shiloh, stop giggling.

But you know what? I'm happy.

He nuzzled just a little closer, just a little.

"You think it's s'okay if we just kinda..." He made a vague motion with his hand, "I'm really tired." Mentally he was pushing forward, blurring the lines between their separate consciousness.

saedusk

u wanna ftb on ur next post?