Rating/Warnings: Not intended for younger audiences. Has mentions of self-harm and suicidal tendencies, along with sexual descriptions. There will be NO character death, however.
Summary: Slowly Gavin lifted his head to stare into the one set of eyes that belonged to the person he’d come to hate more than anyone else:
Author’s Notes: Second fic so soon?! I know, I am surprising myself! What can I say…I love this fandom. :B This is a combination of a few suggested/wanted prompts (included at the top), which I decided to do all at once because they were similar and such. :D If you have a prompt you’d like to see me fill, please feel free to send me it! In the mean time, enjoy the new fic which is full of way more angst and sad crap than the last one (not sure how I managed that!). Please pay attention to the warnings. There will be NO character death.
“S’how it’s gonna be every night, isn’t it?”
Michael’s ears perked up at the sound of the thick British accent and he involuntarily lulled out of his half-asleep state. His eyes slowly opened to peer at the ceiling of the dirty motel room, and he found himself more interested in counting the various brown stains than responding to the proposed question.
“No reply, as usual,” Gavin stated, this time a little more angrily. Michael felt the bed shift with Gavin’s weight as the Brit sat up, but Michael didn’t bother to look over at him. Typical. “Don’t know why I ever expect more, honestly. That would be asking you to be more than just an insensitive prick, and we both know you can’t manage that.”
The rickety old bed squeaked as Gavin stood, and as Michael heard the audible sigh escape his mouth, he knew Gavin was running his fingers through his hair with frustration. It was what he always did when he didn’t know what to do. He was bad with insults, and Michael had never seen him cry—it made Michael wonder what exactly Gavin did with all the emotions he bottled up inside of him. Running fingers through your hair couldn’t be the trick.
“If you’re not going to fucking do anything, then why are you even here?!” Gavin growled. Michael’s eye slowly shifted to stare at him, and Gavin threw his hands in the air. “Oh, he looks at me! What a wonderful miracle I have been chosen to witness!”
“Can you stop being such a sarcastic fuck for one second, Gavin?” Michael snarled in return, sitting up in bed and sending the man across the room a nasty glare.
“Sure, sure,” Gavin replied, beginning to pace the small space of the room. “As soon as you start being honest with yourself!”
“What is there to be fucking honest about?!” Michael yelled, the rage beginning to build in his chest to the point of losing control. “I don’t desire to have any kind of gay ass pillow talk with you. We’ve discussed this, Gavin—no fucking feelings involved, because there are none.”
“S’that right?” Gavin inquired, his own voice steadily raising as he took a step toward Michael. “I have a feeling that there’s a reason you’re always running back to me and not your silly little posh girlfriend. Admit it: I’m a better fuck. She will never be me, and you bloody well know that.”
“Shut the fuck up!” Michael roared, his fist flying out to meet the bridle plaster of the wall. He grit his teeth angrily. “You don’t know anything.”
“Don’t I, though?” Gavin pondered aloud while tapping his pointer finger against his chin in mockery. “I know how you moan when I suck your cock. I know how you feel inside my ass, and I know how much you love it.”
“Fucking stop!” Michael screamed, his fingers curling into his hair with a tug. “I’ve told you a million times, this is all we can ever be! You’re the fucking idiot that said ‘okay’! I didn’t force you to do anything, so be a big boy, grow a pair, and take responsibility for your mistakes!”
“Mistake?” Gavin repeated, his voice full of unexpressed hurt. He furrowed his brows. “You think this is a mistake?”
“Goddammit, I am so done with this bullshit. If I wanted to have this kind of argument, I would have just fucked my own girlfriend,” Michael spat angrily. Shaking his head, he bent down and began searching the floor for his discarded shirt, grabbing his glasses off the nearby nightstand as well. By the time he’d re-found all of his lost items, Gavin was barely getting his brain to start functioning appropriately again.
“Michael,” Gavin said, watching the other man adjust his clothes and check his appearance in the mirror. “Michael—Michael wait!”
“I’m done with this petty shit, Gavin. Now get the fuck out of my way before I make you.”
Gavin narrowed his eyes, his body establishing quite clearly that he wasn’t even considering moving one inch in any direction. Michael stood in front of him for a few moments before releasing a loud and angry sigh. Then, without so much as a warning, he was pressing his hands into Gavin’s chest and shoving him roughly backwards.
It wasn’t hard for anyone to knock over someone Gavin’s size, regardless of his height. Caught off guard by Michael’s harsh decision, he stumbled backwards and fell directly into the small cabinet next to the door, cracking his head against the corner. He had enough time to hiss loudly in pain before his vision went black.
When Gavin woke up, it wasn’t in his bed like he thought it would be. For a moment he’d actually bothered to forget what had transpired earlier that night, and the second it all came tumbling back into focus, he immediately wanted to rip his bloody brain out. He groaned as the migraine began to make itself comfortable, and rolled around on the floor for a bit in an effort to get his vision to stop spinning.
Michael had just left him like this? He hadn’t even bothered to make sure he was okay, or to put him on the bed. The logical part of Gavin’s brain seemed to be able to make sense of it: Of course he didn’t bother. He doesn’t care about you, Gavin—he said so himself. He cares about his girlfriend. You’re just a fuck he runs to because you’re the only person sad and pathetic enough to let him.
Gavin did feel quite pathetic, that was for sure. Even the amazing sex that he and Michael had earlier that night was doing nothing to soothe the ache he felt growing in the pits of his chest. The longer he laid there, pressing his hand against the mass that had swelled on his head, the more he began to feel absolutely miserable; a feeling that he hadn’t experienced in a long, long time.
Pulling his hand away from his head, Gavin wasn’t surprised to find blood on his fingers. It had felt like the table had left a pretty nasty gash alongside the killer headache, and now that he knew he was right, Gavin found no reason to get up from the floor. There was no reason to do anything really. He’d already paid for a night in this shitty motel, so there was no real rush to leave.
Gavin stared at the blood coating his fingers, pulling each digit apart and watching as the sticky substance was transferred in between them.
Why am I so damn worthless? Gavin wondered, blinking abysmally. What about me is so damn disgusting and repulsive that Michael wants absolutely nothing to do with me? What is wrong with me?
Gavin hadn’t felt this depressed in what felt like forever. Maybe six or seven years ago was the last time he’d felt this…this hopeless. He’d outright confronted Michael, and he wasn’t a man that desired confrontation; in fact, he steered clear of it. Go figure the one time that he speaks his mind—his heart—and it gets shoved right back in his face by the one that he loved.
As if Michael could ever love someone like me.
Gavin had, at some point, stood up from his position on the ground and made his way into the extremely small bathroom only a few feet away. He flipped on the light, watching as his tired and disheveled form came into view in the mirror. He looked absolutely wrought with grief. The bags underneath his eyes were darker than usual, and the gash on his head wasn’t entirely that pretty either.
But those things hardly held Gavin’s attention. What he began to focus on were the things that were rather normal about himself; the things that he decided were more and more repulsive with each passing second.
Your lips are too big.
Look at how big your nose is.
Your eyes are the damn dullest thing you’ve ever seen.
You’re entirely too skinny; no one wants to love skin and bones.
Gavin’s palms found the top of the sink and he sank down onto them, leaning against the structure as he felt wave after wave of self-loath and hatred spawn in each part of his body. Slowly Gavin lifted his head, staring into the eyes of the one person he’d come to hate more than anybody else:
With a howl that could have very well shaken the walls, Gavin threw his fist forward. It hit its intended target, smashing the mirror and causing the shards to scatter into bits and pieces around the bathroom. They landed all around the small room, but a rather large one in particular settled right in front of Gavin on top of the sink’s counter. He stared down at the broken and jagged shard and saw a tear roll down one of his cheeks.
Gritting his teeth, Gavin swiped the sharp piece of glass and held it tightly in his hand, not caring about the wound he would ultimately be receiving. Blood began to pool in his shaking hand, but his vision was too blinded with rage to give it a second thought. It wasn’t until that very same pain began to make him feel better that he began to pay attention to it.
Gavin admired the broken piece of glass, releasing his tight grip on it and watched as the particularly sharp point sliced into the other part of his hand. He was mesmerized by the way the blood began to slowly seep from the self-inflicted wound, and was extremely pleased with how easy it was to control. He may have not been able to make himself desirable, but he could make himself bleed.
Over and over again Gavin took the piece of mirror across his forearms, both on top and underneath. He watched each individual line start as something small and then grow until both of his arms were entirely coated in red. When he finally reached the end of his arms—the area where his wrists and major veins were located—Gavin suddenly had a thought.
You said it earlier, he thought, narrowing his eyes while his chest heaved with each angry and loud breath. You’re worthless. You’ve nothing worth living for aside from the promise of a meaningless fuck with a man that will never love you. No one will miss you. Not a single person will give a damn if you’re gone, so just end it. End the pain, the torture, the humiliation—end it all.
Gavin closed his eyes, inhaled deeply, and dragged the shard across his wrist.