You're my boy, Michael!
I got you, Gavin.

Daylight (2/4)


Pairing: Mavin

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 Note: Part DOS! I have decided this will probably be split into 4 parts like my other story. I just can’t seem to write short fics. :’( Maybe you guys enjoy that? LOL. I hope so! Thanks again to all of you wonderful people who send me PMs and comments and reblogs and EMAILS even! Gosh, you guys are fantastic~ I could never ask for a better or more supportive fanbase. :3 Enjoy part 2!

“Goddammit,” Michael cursed to himself quietly, wringing his hands in front of him while he paced the empty hallway of the shitty motel. It wasn’t so unusual that Michael Jones didn’t know what to do—there were plenty of times in his life where he was up shit creek without a paddle, and many of those same times were within the last four years of his life, but this? This was something entirely different; had to have its own category even. There was no way that any other possible event or decision had ever been as fucked up or hard as the one he was facing right now.

Did he fucking love Gavin Free?

A part of him was screaming at him, banging against the insides of his head as loud as possible: So what if you do? It could never work. It’s Gavin, for fucks sake—the same guy that drives you absolutely crazy and makes you want to punch a hole through the damn computer screen because he’s just that much of a jackass.

Yeah, yeah, Gavin was a jackass; Michael was fairly positive he could get anyone at the office to agree with that statement. But no matter how many instances Michael could think of where Gavin had managed to push all of his buttons, he could think of just as many where he’d pushed them again in a very different way. Maybe it was his stupid accent, or the way Gavin gave off this ridiculous little laugh whenever he was completely smashed, or maybe it was how he had this goofy ass look on his face whenever he saw Michael, and that same goofy ass look made him feel special.

No one looked at Michael that way, not even Lindsay. Lindsay had always been his “for sure” thing, his go-to and security blanket. Things were normal with Lindsay. There was no yelling or screaming with Lindsay because she didn’t try to be an annoying little prick, and there was no wanting to punch her in the face because she was absolutely and maddeningly complicated without even meaning to be. He’d stayed with Lindsay because that was what he always figured things should be like; him, in love with a fairytale ending that was more boring than he’d ever dreamed possible.

But things didn’t have to be safe and normal. Michael didn’t have to wake up to a white picket fence and a home-cooked meal. He didn’t have to be married by twenty four and certainly not to a woman. Things with Gavin? Yeah, they were fucked up and crazy and insane and all of the above and below, but Michael liked it. As much as he got angry, and as much as he wanted to punch Gavin, he liked the little fucker more than he hated him, and it was that combination that made Michael realize they were actually pretty damn good for each other.

All this time he’d been calling Gavin the fool when in reality it was Michael who was just too narrow minded to consider anything else aside from what he’d been told was “normal”. Gavin had been trying to open his eyes for a long ass time now, and like a giant fucking dick he had denied Gavin over and over again, treated him like shit and used him as if he were a goddamned toy he could stick back on the shelf.

“Here’s your first aid kit, sir.” The voice of the shitty motel’s clerk caused Michael to snap out of his thought, and he reached out eagerly to snatch it from her grasp.

“Thanks,” he bit out, resisting the urge to add on bitch, and not at all pleased that it had taken that long for them to come up with something manageable. Knowing this piece of shit, it was probably going to come packed with a few opened Band-Aids and some toilet paper.

Michael used his keycard on the door to the room Gavin had purchased, his anger boiling as the door refused it three separate times. On the fourth try, Michael was ready to just kick the damn door open, but had his dreams shattered as the light on the door flashed green. Shoving the door open, Michael’s eyes immediately scanned the room, finding the spot where Gavin had fallen to the floor only a little while before.

“Gavin?” Michael called out, seeing the small blood stains on the rotting wood of the floor but not the Brit. “Gavin, I brought you some shit to fix up your head. I hope you have Advil, because they sure as Hell don’t.”

No way he had left the room, right? No, he couldn’t have—his suitcase (only filled with some essentials and toiletries) was still lying next to the bed unopened, and his shirt was still discarded where Michael had tossed it earlier. Maybe he was using the restroom?

Turning toward the small door to the even smaller restroom, Michael lifted a hand a slowly knocked on the door. “Gavin? Gavin, are you in there? It’s not fucking cool to just ignore me, you dick.” Michael paused, wincing at his choice of words. “I mean—what I mean to say is, that, I uh…wanted to talk to you and…say that I’m sorry for earlier, you know, when I…did what I did…”

Michael wanted to slam his own head into the door he was so fucking frustrated. Why couldn’t he articulate his words? He was never good with feelings because he never had to be, so why did Gavin have to come along and make actually feeling something feel good?

“Gavin, answer me. I’m going to bust this door down if you don’t answer me, and I could give a shit less if you’re in the middle of taking a dump. No pun intended.”

When Gavin didn’t answer for the third time, Michael had decided that he’d had enough. He jiggled the door knob and found that it wasn’t locked, which made him feel equally stupid and also really fucking stupid. Slowly he pushed open the door, half expecting to really find Gavin on the toilet.

What Michael did find was definitely not anything he was expecting.

“Goddammit, GAVIN!” Michael yelled, not giving a single iota how loud he was being. His heart was pounding so hard in his chest and he could have sworn he was going to vomit just from anxiety alone after seeing the Brit laying there in a pile of his own blood. For a moment Michael wondered who had done this to him, who had managed to get into the motel room and hurt him and what on Earth they could have wanted—

And then he saw Gavin’s arms.

Michael immediately bent down and arrived at Gavin’s side, eyes searching the tall man’s body as he desperately tried to figure out a way to help him. There was blood everywhere and Michael’s pants were effectively coated in it—in Gavin’s blood—and he—oh Christ—oh fuck what was he supposed to do?

“Gavin, Gavin, oh fuck, shit.” Michael shook his best friend’s shoulder, trying to get him to wake up and reveal this was all some sick, fucked up joke. He felt his eyes begin to sting with the tale-tell sign of tears and he tried with everything in him to force them away. He had to stay focused, had to keep Gavin alive. “Please, Gavin, please wake up…”

“Mi…chael….” Gavin croaked out, and Michael felt his heartbeat increase again. “Michael you…you came back…?” His sentence ended in a question, and Michael furrowed his eyebrows.

“Of course I came back, you fucking idiot,”—he began to dig in his pocket for his cellphone— “why wouldn’t I?!”

“You said…you were done…”

“Just stop fucking talking, okay?! Just…jesus christ, Gavin, why did you…how…” Michael managed to dial 911 with a shaking hand, using his free one to grab the nearby towel off one of the racks. Without knowledge on how to do this at all, Michael tried to wrap it around one of Gavin’s wrists to stop the bleeding but found himself jumping back when Gavin hissed in pain.

“Michael…Michael it hurts,” Gavin whispered, and Michael was watching the light fade from his eyes, watching the last little bit of strength give way in a man that Michael once thought was so unbreakable.

“Of course it…of course it hurts,” Michael stuttered out, stumbling over his words like a prepubescent boy, the burning in his eyes all that was keeping him going as he waited for the operator to pick up.

“No…not…not my arms,” Gavin responded, his eyes slowly sliding shut. “I hurt…it hurts to keep trying…to keep pretending that I’m happy when I’m not…and…and that I don’t love you and…and the fact that you…that you hate me…”

“I don’t hate you!” Michael corrected angrily, but couldn’t continue the thought, the thought that would tell Gavin no you fucking idiot, I don’t hate you, I love you. I love you so fucking much and that scares me, it scares me so much that I don’t know what to do or think and this isn’t normal, it’s not fucking normal, it’s not, but I love you—

“911, what is your emergency?”

“He’s…oh fuck…the guy I love is dying…and I think…I think that it’s my fault.