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Joke tilted his head back, draining his third—no, maybe fourth—drink of the night. The sharp burn of alcohol in his throat was a strange comfort, one he’d grown familiar with in moments like this. Around him, the relentless thrum of the music filled every corner of the dimly lit bar, a pounding rhythm that drowned out his thoughts. It was why he’d come here, after all. To lose himself in the noise, the crowd, and the fleeting numbness the alcohol promised.
He swayed slightly, letting the drink settle into his bloodstream and ease the tension that had coiled tight in his chest all day. But beneath the surface, the ache remained. No amount of liquor could erase that.
Jack.
The name floated unbidden into his mind, sharp and unavoidable. The memory of Jack’s cold gaze, his cutting words, came rushing back as if they were burned into his brain. “There’s nothing between us. Stop making Rosè misunderstand things.”
Joke squeezed his eyes shut, the pain of those words twisting like a knife in his gut. Jack had delivered them so easily, as if Joke’s feelings—his love—were nothing more than a burden. An inconvenience.
He’d tried not to think about it, about him , but the universe seemed determined to rub salt in the wound. That damned video Hoy had sent earlier was proof enough. Just a few seconds of Jack and Rose dancing together at some stupid event, their smiles brighter than the soft lights that illuminated them. Jack had looked… happy. His hand on Rose’s waist, his face lit up with that smile Joke had once foolishly believed was meant for him.
Joke shook his head and took another swig from his glass, the alcohol warming him from the inside out. But it didn’t fill the hollow ache gnawing at his chest. He hated it. Hated how even here, surrounded by strangers and distraction, he couldn’t stop thinking about Jack.
The bar was packed tonight, the air thick with the scent of sweat, cologne, and alcohol. The shifting lights painted the room in shades of red and blue, shadows stretching and distorting across the throng of bodies on the dance floor. Joke stepped into the crowd, letting the pulse of the music wash over him, the bass syncing with the buzz in his veins. Here, he could disappear. No one knew him. No one expected anything from him.
For a moment, it almost worked. The music, the movement, the anonymity—it was enough to quiet the storm inside him. Until a voice cut through the haze.
“Hey.”
Joke turned, his eyes landing on a man who stood just a little too close. Tall, broad-shouldered, with a confident smirk that seemed to border on predatory. His hair, slightly tousled, framed an angular face, and his dark eyes sparkled under the bar’s dim lights.
“Hi,” Joke replied, his voice quieter than he intended, but his lips curved into a polite smile.
“I haven’t seen you here before,” the man said, leaning in just enough to be heard over the music. “What’s your name?”
“Joke,” he answered, his tone guarded but friendly.
The man’s smirk widened. “Joke, huh? I like it. I’m Chan.”
Chan extended a hand, and Joke hesitated before shaking it. The grip lingered, Chan’s thumb brushing against the back of Joke’s hand before he let go. There was something deliberate in the gesture, something that made Joke’s pulse jump, though he wasn’t sure if it was from nerves or intrigue.
“You here alone?” Chan asked, tilting his head slightly.
Joke shrugged. “Kind of. Just needed a break.”
Chan nodded, his gaze steady and unnervingly direct. “Well, lucky for me. A guy like you shouldn’t be spending the night alone.”
The line was smooth, practiced, but Chan delivered it with enough charm to make it work. Joke laughed softly, shaking his head. “Do you always talk like this?”
“Only to people worth talking to,” Chan replied, his grin turning playful.
Joke rolled his eyes, but he couldn’t stop the small smile tugging at his lips. Maybe it was the alcohol loosening his guard, or maybe it was the warmth of Chan’s attention, but he found himself relaxing.
“Dance with me?” Chan asked suddenly, extending a hand.
Joke hesitated. The rational part of him wanted to say no, to keep his distance, but the restless ache in his chest pushed him forward. “Alright,” he said, slipping his hand into Chan’s. “But if you’re terrible, I’m leaving.”
Chan laughed, his hand moving to Joke’s waist as he guided him onto the dance floor. “Don’t worry. I’ve got moves.”
The rhythm of the music slowed, and Chan pulled Joke closer, their bodies moving in sync with the beat. Chan’s touch was firm but careful, his fingers resting lightly on Joke’s hip as they swayed together. It was easy, effortless, and for a moment, Joke let himself enjoy it.
“You’re pretty good,” Joke admitted, his tone teasing.
Chan grinned. “Told you.”
But as they danced, Joke couldn’t ignore the hollowness creeping back in. Chan was charming, attractive, and clearly interested, but it wasn’t enough. It wasn’t him .
But… why even in that moment did he have to think about him? Why couldn’t he let himself enjoy the warmth of a stranger and finally let go of everything?
“You know,” Joke said, his voice low but flirty, “for someone who talks a big game, you’re a little slow to act.”
Chan’s grin turned wicked, his hand sliding up to the small of Joke’s back. “You’re not exactly subtle either, Joke.”
“And yet, you’re still hesitating,” Joke said, raising an eyebrow, his lips curving into a smirk. The alcohol was making him bold now, his usual shyness replaced by something freer. His head was empty and all he wanted to do now was just… forget.
Chan didn’t need any more encouragement. He leaned in, his lips brushing against Joke’s in a way that was soft yet insistent, testing the waters. Joke didn’t pull away. Instead, he let it happen, his hands sliding to rest on Chan’s shoulders almost automatically.
The kiss was slow at first, measured, but it carried an intensity that demanded more. Chan’s fingers tightened on Joke’s waist, pulling him closer, and Joke responded, leaning into the warmth and pressure. It felt good—easy, even—as if the rhythm of their movements matched the heavy pulse of the music surrounding them.
But something about it didn’t sit right. As the kiss deepened, Joke realized he was overcompensating, pouring himself into it to drown out the ache in his chest. The distraction worked for a moment; the pull of Chan’s lips against his and the firmness of his touch sent a flicker of heat coursing through him. Yet, there was no real spark, no connection that went beyond the physical.
When they finally pulled apart, Joke’s breathing was uneven, but the buzz he’d hoped for wasn’t there. Instead, a hollow emptiness settled in his chest, heavier now than before. Chan’s gaze locked on his, filled with smug confidence and satisfaction, but it only emphasized the contrast.
“So,” Chan said, his voice low, a sly grin tugging at his lips, “was that enough to impress you?”
Joke bit his lip, trying to mask his uncertainty with a teasing smirk. “Not bad,” he said lightly, but his words felt hollow. His cheeks were flushed from the kiss, but it wasn’t the thrill he’d wanted—it was the warmth of someone trying to pretend they felt something they didn’t.
Chan chuckled, his hand still lingering on Joke’s waist. “I think I can do even better if you let me.”
Joke forced a small laugh, but as his eyes drifted past Chan’s shoulder to the crowded bar, he felt the familiar ache creep back in. It wasn’t Chan’s face he wanted to see leaning in closer. It wasn’t Chan’s hands he wanted to feel steadying him. And no matter how much he told himself to let go, to just enjoy the moment, the weight of that truth settled heavily on him.
It was Jack—the only one who could light him up and tear him apart all at once. And no amount of alcohol, music, or fleeting distractions could change that.
Jack shoved the bar’s heavy door open, the weight of his frustration propelling him forward. The oppressive heat of the room hit him first, thick with the mingling scents of sweat, spilled alcohol, and cheap cologne. Music pulsed like a heartbeat, a relentless bassline that seemed to vibrate through the floor and up into his chest. He barely noticed. His grandmother’s worried voice was still rattling in his head: “I haven’t seen him since this morning, Jack. He’s not answering his phone.”
Her concern had been enough to push him into action, but it wasn’t her voice keeping his heart in a vice grip now—it was his own. Those words he’d thrown at Joke, cold and cruel.
He thought he was doing the right thing when he’d said them. Pushing Joke away had seemed like the only way to protect him. But now? Now Jack was clawing through a crowd of strangers, his pulse thundering as dread coiled tighter and tighter in his chest.
He should have known Joke would end up here. When Joke felt too much, he acted out. And lately, he’d been feeling too much every time Jack looked at him. Every time Jack turned away. Jack could still see the hurt in his eyes from their last conversation, raw and unshielded. He hated himself for being the one who put it there.
His sharp gaze raked over the room, scanning the dim lights and shifting bodies. It was a mess of heat and movement, everyone lost in their own intoxicating haze. Jack pushed through it all like it was nothing, his urgency slicing through the chaos. He needed to find Joke. Now.
Then he saw him.
The air in Jack’s lungs froze. Joke stood in the center of the dance floor, bathed in the erratic, colorful glow of the bar lights. He looked like a fragment of something Jack had tried and failed to forget—messy black hair, flushed cheeks, a crooked smile that cut too deep. For a split second, relief flooded Jack’s chest. He was here, he was fine—
But then he saw who Joke was with.
The relief shattered, leaving something darker and sharper in its place. The man was tall, broad-shouldered, and standing far too close to Joke. One hand rested on his waist, fingers splayed with a possessiveness that sent Jack’s stomach lurching.
Jack’s fists clenched at his sides as his breath quickened. He watched, frozen in place, as the man leaned down, his lips brushing against Joke’s ear to murmur something that made him laugh—a sound Jack hadn’t heard in weeks. A sound that wasn’t meant for him anymore.
Then the man kissed him.
Jack’s world tilted. His stomach churned, anger erupting like wildfire in his veins. The kiss wasn’t gentle. It wasn’t sweet. It was bold, claiming, designed to draw a line—and Joke leaned into it.
Jack couldn’t look away. He hated the way Joke’s body seemed to soften, his hands lifting to rest on the man’s shoulders like he belonged there. Like he’d let himself believe that this—this stranger—was the answer to whatever ache Jack had left behind.
Something ugly twisted inside Jack, jealousy burning hot and suffocating. He told himself he had no right to feel this way. You pushed him away. You told him you were nothing. But no amount of logic could extinguish the fire roaring in his chest.
The sight of Joke’s lips parting against someone else’s was unbearable. His hands curled into fists, nails digging into his palms as rage pulsed through him. It wasn’t just the kiss. It was the way that man’s hands stayed on Joke, gripping him like he had the right. It was the way Joke’s smile didn’t falter, the way he looked like he wanted to be kissed.
Jack couldn’t breathe. The music was too loud, the lights too bright. All he could see was Joke, tangled up with someone who wasn’t him.
His body moved before his mind could catch up, a jolt of raw emotion propelling him forward. The crowd blurred around him as he shoved his way through, his eyes locked on the two figures in front of him.
By the time he reached them, the man was leaning in again, his lips dangerously close to Joke’s. Jack didn’t think—he couldn’t.
“Joke.”
The single word landed like a slap, cutting through the pounding music. Joke stiffened immediately, his head snapping toward Jack. Their eyes met, and for a moment, everything else seemed to fall away.
Joke’s expression flickered with something unreadable—surprise, guilt, maybe even anger—but it was gone too quickly for Jack to decipher.
The man straightened, his hand still possessively resting on Joke’s waist. He looked Jack over with a smirk that made Jack’s blood boil. “You know him?” the man asked, his tone oozing with lazy arrogance.
Jack’s gaze dropped to that hand—still on Joke, like it belonged there. The fire in his chest roared hotter. “Let go of him,” he said, his voice low and dangerous.
The man raised an eyebrow, clearly amused, but he didn’t move. Joke, however, stepped back, slipping out of the man’s grip.
“Jack, what are you doing here?” Joke’s voice was steady, but there was an edge to it, a defiance Jack wasn’t used to.
“Looking for you,” Jack bit out. “Grandma’s worried sick, and you weren’t answering your phone.” His gaze flicked to the man again, dark and unrelenting. “Now I see why.”
Joke’s jaw tightened. “I don’t need you checking up on me,” he said coldly. “I’m fine.”
“Fine?” Jack scoffed, his jealousy spilling over. “This is what fine looks like?”
The man beside Joke chuckled softly. “Should I leave you two to sort this out?” he asked, his tone dripping with amusement.
Jack didn’t even look at him. His attention was locked on Joke, on the way his arms crossed, his eyes flashing with defiance. “We’re leaving,” Jack said, his voice rough with finality.
Joke’s head tilted slightly, his jaw tightening. “I’m not going anywhere with you.”
The words hit like a slap, but Jack didn’t back down. He stepped closer, his voice dropping to a low growl. “Don’t do this. Not here. Not with him.”
For a moment, Joke hesitated. His gaze flicked to the man, and that hesitation was all it took. Jack’s jealousy exploded into action. His chest tightened, the fire inside him burning hotter. Before Joke could react, Jack grabbed his wrist firmly, but not harshly. “Enough,” Jack muttered under his breath, more to himself than anyone else. Without waiting for a protest, he turned and began dragging Joke through the crowd.
“Jack, let me go!” Joke shouted, pulling against Jack’s grip. His voice carried over the pounding music, drawing a few curious glances from the crowd.
Jack didn’t stop. His grip didn’t loosen until they were past the dance floor, past the bar, until he shoved open the door to the dimly lit bathroom at the back of the club. The door swung shut behind them with a loud thud, muffling the noise outside.
Only then did Jack release him, his chest heaving with the force of everything he hadn’t said.
Jack let go of Joke’s wrist, but he didn’t step back. Instead, he leaned closer, boxing Joke in against the cold countertop. His chest brushed against Joke’s, his voice low and sharp, crackling with barely restrained frustration. “What the hell was that?”
Joke’s breath hitched, but he recovered quickly, his glare cutting through the tension like a blade. “What do you think it was?” he spat, his voice trembling slightly despite the bravado. “It’s called having fun, Jack. Not that you’d know a damn thing about it.”
Jack’s eyes narrowed dangerously. “Fun?” he echoed, his voice rising. “Drinking yourself stupid? Grinding on strangers like—” He broke off, his jaw clenching as he tried to rein in his temper. “What if something happened to you, Joke? Did you even stop to think about that?”
Joke laughed bitterly, the sound sharp and hollow as it bounced off the tiled walls. He shoved at Jack’s chest, but Jack didn’t move. “Why do you care? Why does it even matter to you, Jack?” His voice rose, a wild edge creeping in. “You made it pretty damn clear that I don’t mean anything to you!”
“That’s not—” Jack began, but Joke didn’t let him finish.
“Don’t,” Joke snarled, his voice breaking on the word. His hands trembled at his sides as his anger spilled over, raw and unfiltered. “Don’t you dare stand there and act like you give a shit about me. You think I’ve forgotten what you said? How you told her I was just some useless, homeless man ruining your life?” His voice cracked, the words heavy with pain. “You don’t get to do this. You don’t get to push me away and then drag me out of the bar like you own me.”
The accusation hit Jack like a punch to the gut. He flinched, his throat tightening as he scrambled for words—anything that could undo the damage he’d done. “Joke, I didn’t mean it like that,” he said, his voice quieter now, but still heavy with frustration.
Joke’s laugh this time was softer, sadder, and it cut deeper than his anger ever could. “Then how did you mean it, huh?” he pressed, his voice trembling. “Because all I heard was that I don’t matter to you. That I’m nothing but a burden to you and your grandma. That I—” He cut himself off, his voice faltering, but the unsaid words hung heavy in the air. That I’m not worth it.
Jack’s chest constricted at the vulnerability in Joke’s voice. He wanted to deny it, to tell Joke he was wrong, but the words caught in his throat.
“I was trying to protect you,” Jack said finally, his voice rough with desperation. “You don’t understand. Being around me—it’s dangerous for you.”
“Bullshit,” Joke snapped, stepping closer now, the anger reigniting in his eyes. “This isn’t about protecting me. This is about you. You’re too much of a coward to admit how you feel, so you decided it was easier to hurt me instead.”
The words sliced through Jack, leaving him raw and exposed. For a moment, he couldn’t speak, the truth of Joke’s accusation ringing in his ears.
“I didn’t want to hurt you,” he said at last, his voice barely above a whisper. “I thought—” He faltered, his fists clenching as he tried to keep his composure. “I thought if I pushed you away, it would make things easier. For both of us.”
“Easier?” Joke’s voice rose sharply, his frustration boiling over. “You call this easier? You made me feel like I was nothing—like I didn’t matter.” His voice cracked, the vulnerability breaking through his anger again. “We made a promise, Jack! But you just shattered it like it was nothing! Like I was nothing!”
Jack’s face was pale, his jaw clenched as he tried to hold back his own emotions. “Joke, I do care! I just—” His voice broke, and he looked away, his hands fisting at his sides as if trying to hold himself together. “I’m so screwed up right now, Joke. I don’t know how to—how to fix any of this.”
Joke stepped closer, his hands curling into fists at his sides. “You don’t know how to fix it? Really? You think this is just about you, Jack?” he shouted, his voice trembling with the force of his emotions. “It’s about me, too! And I’m tired of being just a burden to you, of being someone you can push away whenever it gets hard. I can’t keep doing this! I need you to actually see me.”
Jack flinched at Joke’s words, his hands clenched at his sides as if holding on to something tangible, something that could anchor him in the midst of this storm. His eyes were wide, his expression desperate. “That’s not true,” he shouted back, his voice cracking with emotion. “I still care about you! But the situation—it’s so complicated, Joke! You don’t know what it’s like—“
Joke’s eyes blazed, his jaw tight, his arms crossed over his chest like a barrier he refused to let down. “Then why don’t you talk to me?” he demanded, his voice rising, cutting through the thick tension. “Why can’t you just be honest for once, Jack? Why do you always pull away when things get hard?”
Jack froze, his gaze dropping to the floor as though the answer might be written there. He opened his mouth to speak, then closed it again, his lips pressing into a hard line of frustration. “I…” he began, his voice a hoarse whisper. When he finally looked up at Joke, his eyes were pleading, but the words still refused to come.
The storm brewing inside Jack reflected in his tense posture, his chest tight as Joke’s words battered him. Beneath Joke’s anger, Jack saw the cracks of something more fragile, something that twisted painfully in his gut. He wanted to fix it, to explain, but the thoughts in his head collided, leaving nothing but chaos.
Joke exhaled sharply, stepping back as if Jack’s silence had physically pushed him. His expression softened just slightly, the anger still simmering but now tinged with the kind of vulnerability that made Jack’s stomach churn.
“Don’t leave,” Jack said softly, the words breaking free like they’d been clawing their way out of his chest.
Joke pulled away further, his back hitting the cold tiles of the bathroom wall. The chill grounded him, but his sharp, unforgiving eyes stayed locked on Jack’s, daring him to say something that mattered. The muffled bass of the bar music barely penetrated the charged bubble around them, leaving only the raw weight of their emotions.
“Talk to me,” Joke demanded again, his voice lower now but no less intense, a rasp of barely controlled frustration. “Be honest with me for once. Tell me what you really want. Or I’m leaving.”
Jack’s hands trembled at his sides, his fingers twitching as he hesitated. Finally, he reached out, his touch light on Joke’s arm as if afraid he might break him. “Joke, I—” Jack’s voice caught, his throat tight. He took a shaky breath, his words fumbling over themselves, but they wouldn’t form properly. The emotions tangled inside him were overwhelming, threatening to drown him.
Joke’s jaw tightened, his eyes scanning Jack’s face as if searching for some trace of the person he used to know. The anger building inside him was relentless, like a tide rising higher and higher, leaving him gasping for air. He stepped closer, his trembling fingers half-reaching toward Jack, half-clenching into fists.
Inside him, emotions churned violently—frustration, fear, sadness, all mixing into something suffocating. How had it come to this? How had Jack, the one person he trusted above all, become the one who made him feel so unbearably alone?
“What?” Joke asked again, his voice cracking under the weight of his emotions. “Tell me, Jack. What do you want from me?”
The intensity of his gaze burned into Jack, as if the question carried more than frustration. It carried fear, doubt, and an ache that Jack could feel deep in his chest. The air between them thickened, heavy with words left unsaid, unspoken confessions hovering just out of reach.
“See! This is so infuriating!” Joke finally burst out, his voice rising in a crescendo of frustration. His hands balled into tight fists, his knuckles white. “You came here, dragged me away, and you still won’t explain! What the hell am I supposed to do?”
The room seemed smaller, suffocating under the weight of Joke’s words. Jack watched as Joke’s anger bled into something else, something more painful, more vulnerable. The tension between them was almost unbearable now, a storm about to break.
Joke’s fists trembled at his sides as he struggled to keep himself together. The frustration and hurt felt like a weight pressing down on him, making it hard to breathe. He couldn’t stand the guessing anymore, the endless uncertainty. It was too much.
The silence that followed was heavy, a suffocating pause as Joke’s heart pounded loudly in his ears. The stillness felt alive, the air electric, the storm inside both of them poised to erupt.
Joke moved toward the door, his steps faltering as he reached for the handle. His movements were shaky, like the weight of everything between them was dragging him down.
But just as his fingers touched the handle, Jack’s hand shot out, gripping his arm firmly.
“Don’t,” Jack said, his voice breaking into the silence. The desperation in his tone was a blade, slicing through Joke’s fraying resolve.
Joke froze, his breath catching in his throat. His shoulders tensed even further, and his eyes shimmered with unshed tears as he looked back at Jack.
“Let go of me, Jack,” he demanded, his voice trembling under the weight of emotion. The words came out thick, choked, as though he could barely force them past the lump in his throat.
Without thinking, Jack yanked Joke closer, his lips crashing against his in a kiss that was more fight than anything else—desperate, raw, filled with the anger and confusion neither of them could find the words for. Joke resisted at first, his fists pressing weakly against Jack’s chest, but then he gave in, his hands clutching at Jack’s shirt as if he didn’t know what else to do.
The kiss was slow to begin with, but there was nothing gentle about it. It was a clash of emotions, a mingling of breath and desire that felt like both a battle and a surrender—Joke’s fingers trembling as they gripped Jack’s shirt, and Jack’s hands curling into the back of Joke’s neck as if he was afraid to let go. The intensity between them built until it felt like the walls of the bathroom were closing in around them, the noise of the bar outside a distant, fading murmur.
Joke’s eyes squeezed shut, tears breaking free as he let himself feel—feel the press of Jack’s lips, the burn of his hands, the storm of emotions that had been bottled up for days, weeks, maybe even months. The kiss grew deeper, slower, their movements now fluid, not frantic. It was as if, for that moment, they were saying everything they couldn’t in words—apology, regret, fear, longing—all of it tangled together in the way their lips moved.
Joke’s hands moved cautiously, tracing the warmth of Jack’s jaw before gently cupping his face, his fingers feeling the slight stubble against his skin, his thumb brushing Jack’s lips. It was as if he was memorizing the touch, the feel of Jack’s breath against his skin, savoring the intimacy. Jack’s lips were soft under Joke’s, coaxing him to slow down, to press closer. Joke could feel the shiver in Jack’s hands as they moved under his shirt, feeling the muscles of his back tense and relax with every touch.
Jack’s kiss was different from anything Joke had ever experienced—there was an honesty in it, a raw vulnerability that Joke had never seen before.
It wasn’t just the kiss that felt different—it was the way they held each other, as if they couldn’t bear to be apart, as if this was the only place where they could be honest. It was real—the raw emotion behind the kiss, the tears in their eyes, the desperation in Jack’s hands as they clutched Joke’s waist. It felt more right because it wasn’t about forgetting or escaping; it was about being honest, about admitting what they both wanted but couldn’t say out loud.
When Joke kissed Chan, it was like he was hiding—running from the pain of Jack’s rejection, the truth of what they were. It was fleeting—a distraction, a way to pretend he didn’t care. But with Jack, it was different. This wasn’t a mask—it was honest, painful, needed. When they broke apart, breathless and trembling, Joke’s hand still on Jack’s jaw, he felt more connected to Jack than he ever had with anyone else. This kiss wasn’t just about physical desire—it was about the fear of losing each other, the fear that this might be the last chance to say what they needed to say. It was different, deeper, more right because it wasn’t just about the now—it was about everything they had been through, everything they had ever felt for each other.
When they finally pulled apart, their foreheads rested together, Jack’s breath shaky as he tried to catch his own. It felt different than any other kiss they’d ever shared, not just in intensity but in the depth of connection. They didn’t speak; they didn’t need to. In that moment, the silence between them spoke volumes—their past, their future, everything they had ever meant to each other laid bare.
“God, Jack,” Joke whispered, his forehead pressed against Jack’s, their breaths mingling. “I don’t know how to do this. I don’t know if I can.”
Joke’s hands stayed on Jack’s shoulders, fingers brushing over the back of his neck in a soft, soothing touch that felt like both a promise and a question.
“You don’t get it, do you?” he said, his voice quieter now, tinged with something softer, more broken. “I’ve spent my whole life being told I’m not enough—by my family, by my dad, by everyone. And then you—” His voice faltered, and he looked away, his fists clenching at his sides. “You said it too. And it broke something in me, Jack.”
Jack stared at him, his heart in his throat. He wanted to say something, to fix it, but he could see how close Joke was to breaking completely. “Joke…” He whispered.
Joke closed his eyes, his shoulders trembling. For a long moment, neither of them spoke, the silence filled only by the distant thrum of the bar’s music. When Joke finally opened his eyes, they were filled with tears. “I’ve spent my whole life trying to be someone worth something. And every time I think I’m close, someone reminds me that I’m not.”
Jack’s grip on Joke’s arm tightened, his own eyes stinging. He shook his head, his voice thick. “You’re wrong. You’re so wrong, Joke. You’re worth more than you’ll ever know.”
Joke let out a shaky laugh, wiping at his face with the back of his hand. “Don’t lie to me, Jack. Not now.” His voice was barely above a whisper, tinged with fear and longing.
“I’m not lying,” Jack said firmly, his voice steady despite the storm of emotions raging inside him. “I’ve been a coward, Joke. I pushed you away because I was terrified—terrified of how much you meant to me. But you do mean something to me. You mean everything to me.” His words were soft, almost a confession, a hesitant whisper in the dimly lit bathroom.
Joke’s breath caught, his gaze locked on Jack’s, searching for the truth. For a moment, he looked as though he didn’t believe him, like he was waiting for the other shoe to drop, for Jack to pull away again. But then, slowly, the walls he’d built around himself began to crumble—brick by brick, leaving his vulnerability exposed.
Jack stepped closer, his hands shaking as he reached out to cradle Joke’s face gently between his palms. His thumbs brushed away the tears on Joke’s cheeks, his touch tender, as if he was memorizing every line of his lover’s face. “You’re not nothing, Joke,” he whispered, his voice barely audible, his eyes soft with regret. “You never were. And I’m so sorry for making you feel that way. I’m so, so sorry.”
Joke closed his eyes, leaning into Jack’s touch as if it was the only thing keeping him grounded. His tears fell freely now, like a dam that could no longer hold back the flood of emotions. “You don’t know what it’s like,” he whispered, his voice breaking with the weight of his pain. “To always feel like you’re failing, to always feel like you’re not enough.”
Jack’s heart clenched at the pain in Joke’s voice. He shook his head, his hands tightening just a fraction on Joke’s cheeks. “You are enough,” he said fiercely, his voice breaking with the weight of his emotions. “You’re more than enough. And I’m going to spend the rest of my life proving that to you if I have to.”
Joke let out a shaky laugh, the sound almost swallowed by the roar of the bar outside. His lips curved into the smallest of smiles, but there was still sadness behind it, a flicker of doubt. “You’re such an idiot,” he said softly, his voice still trembling, but there was a trace of relief in his tone, a sign that maybe, just maybe, Jack’s words were getting through.
Jack smiled back, tears escaping his eyes now, making his smile tremble. “Yeah,” he admitted, his voice thick with emotion. “But I’m your idiot.”
“Fuck you.”
This time, when their lips met, it wasn’t out of anger or desperation. It was slow, tentative, filled with all the words they couldn’t say yet. The kiss was a prayer, a promise—an unspoken vow that they wouldn’t give up on each other, no matter how hard it got. And in that moment, surrounded by the noise of the bar and the chaos of their emotions, it felt like the beginning of something new. Something real.