In Bloom

Chapter 7

Jackson was doing his best not to let the memory of that dreaded night eat him up inside. He’d been running on the treadmill for the better part of the last two hours while heavy metal blared through his sound system, after he tossed and turned for several hours; the writer realized sleep wasn’t in the cards for him so he decided to do something to try and burn off his anxiety. The more the images flashed in his mind the harder he ran.

Sweat ran from his forehead to his chin before dripping onto his bare chest. By this point, Jackson looked like he’d been swimming instead of running, but he couldn’t stop. At least, not while he was alone. He knew he needed Mark, and he knew the man would break the sound barrier to get to him, but he couldn’t bring himself to pick up the phone and call his best friend. It felt like admitting defeat and that would shatter him. So he kept running.

Mark had laid awake most of the night going over his meticulous checklist for Jackson. He knew the stubborn asshole wouldn’t follow a single thing on it, but a man could dream. Of course, he’d never tell the writer, but part of him was too worried his phone would ring. Ever since Jackson’s attack, Mark had trouble sleeping, even more so when nerves and stress were factored in.

When his alarm started blaring, the editor groaned loudly before turning over to hit snooze. He’d snuggled back into his blanket, ready to soak in those last precious moments with his bed, when his eyes shot open and he grabbed his phone. Slightly panicked, Mark unlocked his phone and breathed a sigh of relief when he saw he hadn’t missed a call from Jackson.

He smiled softly before tossing his phone onto the bed and rubbing his hands up and down his face. “This is a good thing,” he whispered, “maybe he’s becoming okay with it.”

The last word had left a sour taste in the editor’s mouth and a chill shot through him. Even if Jackson was okay, he wasn’t. He needed to get eyes on his friend as soon as possible, only then could he settle down and start nagging the man about the carefully calculated list. Mark climbed out of bed with a sharp huff and headed straight for the shower, turning the hot water on full-blast. He went to undress when it hit him that he already was; the man assumed he’d gotten twisted up in his clothes while sleeping and thrown them somewhere. At least that was one less thing to do today, he thought with a chuckle as he stepped into the scalding water, letting out a sharp hiss as the stinging drops of water worked hard to relax his tense muscles.

After his longer-than-normal shower, Mark quickly got himself ready and headed out the door, putting in their breakfast order as he locked the door. Traffic was light this morning and the man was humming along to the radio; the coffee shop had gotten the order exactly right and after picking it up, the editor was on his way to Jackson’s.

When he pulled up, the smile he’d found on his way to his friend’s house faded quickly as he saw the windows shaking with bass. “f**k…” he said, grabbing the food with haste and sprinting to the door. He fumbled for a moment before he was able to get the door unlocked, “Jax?” he called out only to be met with nothing but blaring music.

Mark threw the bag on the table before making his way through the house towards the source of the noise. “JACKSON!” He called out through cupped hands, but the other man seemed lost in his own world as he ran hard enough to make the treadmill bounce. The editor walked up to his friend and placed his hand on Jackson’s shoulder.

Faster, Jackson thought to himself as he picked up more speed. Every inch of his body was screaming at him to stop, but he kept pushing. He was so focused on thinking about nothing that he didn’t hear Mark walk into the room, the only thing he noticed was the sudden feeling of a hand on him. His mind, still on edge, sent his body into fight or flight and the writer instantly grabbed the strange hand and pushed back while jumping off the equipment. Jackson’s other arm shot up towards the person’s throat and using his forearm, he pinned the stranger to the wall. “WHO-” he panted, unable to say anything else as fear threatened to overtake him.

The writer could barely make out the garbled words of the stranger over the music, but when he heard “Mark,” his free hand, found the person’s face. He felt around until he found the man’s ear; the familiar feeling of the sun-shaped earring dangling down brushed his fingertips and Jackson let out a shaky sigh of relief as his arm immediately dropped back down to his side. “I-” the man croaked out, defeat heavy in his voice.

The writer reached over to the touchpad on the wall and turned the music off before looking at his best friend. “I'm…so sorry…” he whispered, the lump in his throat growing bigger. He'd never hurt Mark, not internationally, but he had and that was the last thing he needed this morning.

Mark rubbed his neck and let out a cough as the room fell silent, aside from the heavy breathing of the two men. “Hey,” he said softly before pulling Jackson into his arms; the editor felt his heart breaking at the state of his best friend, and he couldn’t help but feel he was responsible for it. After all, he was the one who pushed Jackson to take the project.

Mark stroked his friend’s hair as the other panted into his chest. “I thought I was gonna be okay this time,” the writer said as tears welled up in his eyes. He knew that none of this was either of their faults, but he couldn’t help the heavy feeling of defeat that made his stomach drop like an anchor.

“I know Jax, it’s okay. You’re safe now.” Mark said softly, using his arm that was around the man’s shoulders to squeeze him reassuringly. The editor promised himself, after Jackson’s attack, that he would always protect the younger one, but even Mark couldn’t protect him from this.

After a few more minutes of soaking in the comfort of his best friend, Jackson pulled back and wiped his eyes, “I should probably go shower, huh?” He said with a half hearted chuckle. “Oh absolutely,” Mark said, scrunching up his nose, “you smell like gym socks.” The elder fanned his hand in front of his face and attempted his most disgusted expression.

“f**k you,” the writer laughed, genuinely, before landing a punch on his friend’s arm. “OUCH!” Mark cried out, cradling his shoulder, “I think you broke my arm,” he whined before sticking his lip out and making it quiver. Jackson sighed and rolled his eyes with a smile before padding down the hallway and into the bathroom.

Having shut the door behind him, the writer leaned back against the wood and brought his hands to cover his face before letting out a choked sob. It was all too much and he was too exhausted; all he wanted to do was crawl into bed and melt away into the sheets, but then that bastard would win. After all he’d taken from the man already, the writer wasn’t going to let him take this too. Jackson moved his hands to the door and pushed himself off to walk over to the shower and turn it on the hottest setting. Steam quickly began filling the room in swirling clouds as Jackson slipped out of his pants and stepped into the water.

He was there for longer than he planned, having allowed himself to slink into a dark corner of his mind to lick his wounds. The writer was only pulled back to reality by Mark opening the shower door, “dude your skin is going to melt off,” he groaned, reaching past a very wet and naked Jackson to turn the water off. Having been friends as long as the pair had, seeing each other in the nude had long since stopped being a shock.

The editor handed his friend a towel and turned his back, tapping his foot impatiently. Jackson wiped the water from his face and pushed his hair back before stepping out and giving the older man a wonky smile, “okay mom,” he sassed before sticking his tongue out. The writer’s skin had a soft pink tint that was fading quickly, but not quickly enough that Mark wouldn’t point it out. “See! You were cooking in there!” The editor griped while poking the other’s chest.

The two continued to bicker over the state of Jackson’s showering habits for a few more minutes before Mark’s phone began to ring. The man held his finger up to Jackson before answering, “hello? Yes? Oh…OH! Yes, yes of course! Please express our apologies and tell Mr. Bloom we’ll be there soon.”

The man’s eyes were wide with panic as he looked at the writer; Jackson’s eyes mirrored the other’s as he spoke on the phone. So as soon as he hung up, the friends made a break for the bathroom door, both barely squeezing through before Mark was running down the hall to the kitchen to get Jackson’s things gathered into his messenger bag. “Your clothes are on the bed, hurry up!” He called as he sprinted.

“s**t, s**t, s**t, s**t, s**t-” the younger cursed as he hurriedly dried himself and began to dress. Luckily for him, Mark was overly organized by nature and had laid everything out in the order the writer would need it. Within minutes he was dressed and running down the hall to join his friend before they both barreled out the door, Mark bitching about being late on his first day and Jackson laughing maniacally like a kid being chased.