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Living together in a small living space with other members of Ryan's team was worse than an electric chair; if he had the ability to rewind time, Kendrick would never have allowed their paths to cross more than necessary. He could put up with Ash's bugs, he could tolerate the snoring through the walls, but not all at once. He loved his friends, although it was impossible to ignore the fact that they were like a vase full of snakes, ready to bring about the end of the world at any moment.
Which, obviously, is exhausting. Anyone! No matter how tough you are, no matter how life has hardened you. One day you will bend under the pressure; maybe it's just a series of misfortunes.
The guitarist awkwardly shifted and fidgeted under the prickly blanket, or rather the decorative throw on the mattress. A cacophony of various sounds, consisting of rare snoring and snuffling, does nothing to calm him; on the contrary, it plunges him into his own worthlessness, even in front of his own body, and now the question arises: where can he go in show business if he is not even good with basic things? Kendrick sighs softly, burying his nose in the blanket, squinting his eyes as if the sun is trying to incinerate him, simultaneously clenching his fists.
The unpleasant breath of the past breathes into his ear, offering its "caress," grabbing his thin neck and slowly squeezing it each time a new wave hits him in his sleep. He doesn’t want to remember everything that happened before he moved out from his parents, he doesn’t want to return to the place that should be his home, he doesn’t want to beg not to be beaten again.
Gilbert, you are the property of your family, you are just a name on a piece of paper, you are just a number in statistics, you are just…
It's awfully cold here, but it feels like he has a fever. His brown fur stands on end. He swears that if he doesn't get up now, he will die, die from lack of oxygen. With a dull creak of the springs in the mattress, he slowly rises, his legs cramp, and his T-shirt sticks unpleasantly to his body. You ruin everything again. Right now you're going to wake everyone with your whining, be a man for once. Kendrick's hands reach for his phone, taking the case off in the faint moonlight falling from the single window, his panacea for all misfortunes glimmers. His property. His blade.
The blade beckoned. It soothed like a mother's embrace on his body, which he could never fully experience. At the same time, while mocking him, it only reinforced his low self-esteem.
raising his head to check once again that no one has woken up. It is difficult to assess the situation soberly from under his tousled bangs falling into his face and the fog in his eyes. He gets up, casting his shadow like a comically falling piano in movies.
Reaching the bathtub was a real ordeal for the stuntman, even harder than what they did on the set. The cold light falling on the tiles blinded Kendrick's eyes, used to the dark. His thoughts were like in a fog, he didn't even realize how he closed the door, backing up until his pelvis hit the plastic door of the shower stall, which knocked the remaining air out of the brunette, loudly toppling him to the floor into a seated position. Apparently, this was his fate. To die alone, soaking the tiles with his own blood.
It's hard to ignore the sounds, something near an old woman before a heart attack or a student pressing with their lunch, which strongly contrasts against the quiet nighttime hum. A pair of white ears twitches. Listening to what is happening around, being too lazy to check personally instead of running through possible theories about the origin of the unpleasant 'symphony,' he had every right to be fussy; the little that comforts him is that tomorrow will be a day off. Curiosity still gets the better of Jasper, after all, how could he pass by possible drama? Due to poor lighting, he had to open his eyes, which was accompanied by slight pain because of his chronically sore eyeball. After all, he is still not ready to talk about his heterochromia and problems to others.
The first thing that caught my attention was the absence of one of the gang members, namely Kendrick. He did not want to think that this disgusting noise was coming from him.
Primitive curiosity gave way to slight anxiety; after all, he considered Kendrick his good friend and even found him somewhat likable — in an aesthetic sense, of course. After all, they were primarily just friends, and only then colleagues. Perhaps if he were asked to describe each participant of their filming, he would have needed more time for describing their stunt double and most likely more adjectives than just a few universal words that fit everyone. after all, something about him caught his eye. that piercing, the eternally lost and embarrassed look, despite the fact that he positions himself as a punk in some way.
you're just friends, Jasper. better go and find him. the right thought, because that's exactly why he got up in the middle of the night.
The light stretching from under the bathroom door and the accompanying sobs caught the attention of the white rabbit. Part of him just wanted to turn around and go to sleep, since he was intruding on personal space, but his inner self said to keep digging to the core. —…Kendrick, are you here? - a high voice sounds. Higher than Ash's, Ryan's, or Trevor's. My God, it could only be…
— Jasper? I mean… yes, I'm here. - it seemed his voice was trembling a lot as he frantically tried to tear off a piece of toilet paper to stop the bleeding. He couldn't let him see him like this. What if he thought he was crazy? Disgusting? Or something else? This rabbit was driving him insane, he couldn't disgrace himself right in front of him. — I'm fine. Sorry for waking you. He lies terribly. He was a professional at it, he could even sell a pen if necessary. Jasper could clearly tell when Kendrick was lying.
— Okay? Dude, then just open the door. I urgently need to wash my hands. — The smaller rabbit decides to be cunning rather than go into long negotiations. He knew that Kendrick had no choice because if he didn’t open it, Jasper would just manipulate the lock from the outside.
— Give me a sec—… — the pain from the fabric of the black shorts rubbing against the open wound interrupts the punk. Kendrick stands up straight, trying not to step on the injured leg, stretching to open the door. The only thing he hadn’t taken into account was…
— What the hell is all this blood?!
he forgot to wipe the drops on the tiles.
everything is lost, he won't turn away from the question anywhere.
god, is he really such an idiot?
warm hands on his face, pulling him down. oh no, not again. not again.
— Kendrick, show me the wound, — Jasper commanded. He was seeing him so incredibly serious for the first time, almost reminding him of his father. And yet his hands are much more pleasant. His grip is gentle and doesn’t try to harm him at all. Not at all. His friend’s movements were meticulously precise, like in embroidery.
Suddenly, an extraordinary calm swept over Kendrick, as if by magic; there was nowhere to go, so all that remained was to wait for the worst as he lifted the fabric of his elongated shorts.
He no longer listened to what Jasper was mumbling to him, stroking his little face with one hand while summoning the courage with the other to remove the already blood-soaked paper. His colleague was just as incredible, or perhaps the large loss of blood was affecting his perception of the world.
— I'll be honest, it looks bad. I'm afraid we can't do without stitches… all I can offer right now is to treat and clamp the wound. — Jasper is more reporting to himself, as he feels something heavy falling on him. The designer groans long through his teeth as he wipes the cold sweat off the brunette's face. Because of the height difference, seating him on the toilet lid turned out to be more difficult than he thought. — It'll pinch, okay? — it seemed to him that he didn't care until he wrinkled at the contact with the water-soaked cloth. — endure it. you're doing great, Kendrick. - his ears catch a quiet praise and how Fischer blows on his wound every time he flinches. he just wants to fall into his arms and disappear.
— Thank you, you shouldn't have… — he's interrupted again, but he no longer feels offended. — Shhh! I'm almost done, I'm sure you want to sleep more than I do. especially after all the mess, right? — lifting his head to look at Gilbert's face, apparently pleased with his work as it looked very neat. — come here, big guy… — helping the taller rabbit stand up, leaning on him. dragging him out of the messy bathroom, he'll deal with the mess later. right now, he wants this guy to be safe.
Kendrick didn't really understand how he ended up not on the mattress but on a softer surface, which turned out to be Jasper's bed? Yes, exactly. He could tell by his scent and how something warm pressed against his side, covering both of them with a blanket made of a more pleasant material. It was the complete opposite of what he experienced during the night, but now it was a pleasant feeling.
Kendrick shifted to give more space to Jasper, laying his head on top of his.
— I love you, Jasper.
I love you too, Gilbert —
for the first time, his real name didn't provoke any gag reflexes. Finally, he had found his little bit of peace.