thewebspinner:

[Jim doesn’t really respond to the contact, doesn’t really know how to respond, but there’s some tiny, terrified part of him that doesn’t want Sebastian to let go, some tiny irrational fear that if he does, Jim will shatter into a thousand like the mirror, that not even he will be able to put himself back together.

He does know. Thinks he does. No, he does know. What Jim doesn’t know, if whether Sebastian feeling anything at all means anything at all. It doesn’t stop some people, getting out for their own good, for whatever reason, and that’s exactly the thing. There is a replacement, ten, twenty, that look, sound, feel like him, act like him without most of the sharp, fractured bits, the bits he knows Sebastian loathes about him.]

Why?

[When he speaks, it’s almost inaudible, one word breathed out like he doesn’t understand, but what he questions isn’t certain. Why does he feel that way? Why did he do it? Why does he stay? Why should Jim believe him? Why should that make any difference?

He’s tried, is trying, still trying, God, if He exists, knows he is. All those days Sebastian wasn’t around, he didn’t touch a drop nor a gram of anything, still hasn’t, unless the other man has been there. Even when he stood in front of the mirror and hated with every fibre of who he is, the pack of razor blades sat happily in the corner of the sink, he didn’t. Walked away.

He breathes out a tiny sigh, the tension bleeds out of him, exhausted. Quietly, he speaks.]

People change. Brains, emotions, hormones, whatever. Nothing lasts forever.

Everyone leaves some day. Very few people are irreplaceable.

[Least of all me, by the look of things. He doesn’t say.]

Why? Because I just won’t.

[Knowing that giving Jim leeway for escape might very well be a bad idea, Sebastian chances it anyway. One arm is still wrapped around Jim, the one that’s now pinned under them. While his fingers are still closed on Jim’s opposite shoulder, it’s not enough to restrain Jim’s arm. Still, though…

He trails his fingers across Jim’s collar, feathers through his short (as ever pristine despite everything) hair, traces the shell of Jim’s ear with his thumb.]

It’s too damn bad you think so. You’ll have to wait till I’m dead before you try, or I’ll just kill all the damn competition.