Fic: The King of Sorrow
E-mail:violet147@yahoo.com
Rating: PG-13.
Warnings: Major angst, baby. Mentions of cutting and promiscious sex.
Feedback: Always appreciated.
Pairings: Adam standalone.
Summary: Three days shaped what Adam would become. Now he must live with the consequences.
Notes: Inspired by King of Sorrow by Sade.


Davey read Atlas Shrugged when he was seventeen years old, and at first it was merely for amusement, something to do to pass the time. After chapter three, it became a mission. Every day at school Davey sat with that damn book, pouring over each page, eyes wide and mouth hanging open, shutting out the rest of the world and allowing himself to fall into that world, fall under the spell of John Galt. When he finally finished the book, he had looked up at everyone at the lunch table, and he stared upon them as if he had never seen them before. He looked as if he had been reborn, and he stared at them now with brand new, alien eyes.

Jade was twenty-one when he made the biggest decision of his life. After years of speculation, he finally pulled his friends aside and told them, yes, he was in fact gay. They had all patted him on the back, hugged him tightly, assuring him that he was always their friend and they loved him for his courage to be honest during a time in which honesty wasn’t exactly important. Yet he made one fatal mistake; he assumed that because his friends were supportive, strangers would be too. When he finally realized that it was best to discard his courage for his own safety, he had looked up at all of his friends, and he stared upon them as if he had never seen the world until now. He looked as if he had been broken, and he stared at them now with tired, alien eyes.

Hunter says he was seventeen when he had sex for the first time, but everyone suspects he was actually older, maybe even when he turned twenty, and everyone knows it was under the influence of alcohol. For reasons that no one could understand, Hunter has always been incredibly insecure. They suspect it goes back to when he was a kid, and how he used to be horribly made fun of for being so musically talented. All they know is that when Hunter gets drunk, he goes nuts with it. Ever since that night, he’s used alcohol as a means to get women so he doesn’t have to think about himself and everything people used to say to him. When he finally stopped and looked at what he was doing, he had looked up at his friends, and he stared upon them as if he had never seen himself before. He looked as if he were hidden, and he stared at them now with haunted, alien eyes.

These three days were all quiet, yet these are the three days that shaped who these men would end up becoming.

These three days shaped what Adam would become.

These three days are the worst days of Adam’s life.

He knows his role. He’s the quiet one of the band, sure, but he also knows his role behind the scenes. He knows just how much strength he has to have for all four of them. He knows just how far he has to go to ensure that the three of them don’t teeter over that edge. He is their heartbeat in more ways than just keeping beat on their drums. He is the one breathing life back into them, he is the one who has enough room for all of them in his head, his heart, and his conscience, and he does it beautifully. They’re all in their late twenties, Jade just turned thirty a month ago, and they’re still here. They’re still breathing, they’re still living; a true testament to how good Adam is at what he does.

His shoulders ache as he walks up the stairs in Davey’s apartment, his socks sinking into the carpet. He is good, yes, but even he cannot erase the physical pains of the tasks he performs every day. He refuses to acknowledge that his hands are shaking, merely tells himself that he can’t spill Davey’s soup. Davey has to eat. He has to have his soup.

When Davey is given another reminder of just who he is and what world he’s living in, he lies in his bed with his legs tucked up to his chin, lets his hair fall into his face and stares out the window. And every time this happens, who is here, but Adam, ready with a bowl of soup or a sandwich, making sure Davey eats even though food is the last thing on his mind. It’s like clockwork, but it has to be done.

While Davey died and became something else eleven years ago, Adam will not let his body fade away. He is always going to live, and Adam must see to it.

He tries to coax Davey to eat, and of course Davey refuses, which means that Adam has to physically sit Davey up and literally force-feed him. He straddles Davey’s lap and they sit eye to eye, one hand holding the spoon and the other pinching Davey’s nose shut until he finally opens his mouth to gasp. Adam then shoves the spoon in his mouth and Davey merely glares as they do this for ten minutes, until Davey finally relents and takes the bowl himself. There are never any surprises in this situation. It is like clockwork.

Later, when Adam’s lying on the living room couch as Davey sleeps upstairs, he wonders if he’ll ever find the recipe for making a soup so perfect, it repairs Davey with each bite. He dreams about it, sees Davey with a bowl of soup in his hands, his smile widening with each sip, the sparkle in his eyes returning, the warmth creeping back into his face, and it’s a beautiful dream, really. But it never lasts, and all he ever wakes up to are hysterical sobs from the bedroom upstairs and an ache in his shoulders that refuses to go away.

He sometimes thinks about the impossible. He sometimes wonders what his life would be like if he were to simply pack his clothes, get in his car, and just start driving. He’d like to think that he would be miserable, and he would miss his friends too much, but deep in his head, he knows that’s not true. He wonders if what will happen if he stays, wonders what his future will be if he continues on like he is doing, wonders how long it would take for his friends to truly collapse for good.

He tried leaving once. He was all ready to go, had his clothes packed, had a full tank of gas, and he even knew exactly where he was going. For the first time in years he felt liberated. It was almost bittersweet; here he was, a man who had been all over the world, had seen so many fantastic countries, and he was more excited about moving one county over than he had been about anything else in his life. For once, his shoulders had finally stopped hurting. He had felt so good, felt full and happy and truly living, for himself and for his future.

Then his cell phone rang. Adam, if he is anything, is a creature of habit; he didn’t even realize that he had answered his cell phone until he heard Jade on the other end, crying in his silent way, his obvious attempt to be brave. He had known it was Jade not by the caller ID, but by the tone of his silence, by the way his voice trembled as he asked Adam if he could stop by. Of course, Adam said yes.

It is hard to break a habit as great as Adam’s.

Hours later, after Jade had finally cried his heart out over a stupid homophobic comment one would think he’d be used to by now, Adam walked Jade out to his car, and Jade noticed the bags in Adam’s. He looked up at Adam curiously, his brown eyes still swimming in tears, and asked, “Were you planning on going somewhere?”

It took Adam a long time to swallow the lump in his throat and to shake his head. “No,” he murmured, looking away. He wondered if he squinted hard enough, would he be able to see his future, his salvation in the next town. He wondered if he would have to look on an atlas now to find it. “I wasn’t going anywhere.”

He understands now that there is no way he can leave. What in the world would happen if he were to leave? Davey would be cutting himself day and night to deal with the pain of knowing too much in a world that requires so little, Jade would live his life in secret, going to bars and hooking up with random guys, afraid to even wear just a touch of pink, and Hunter….it makes Adam shudder to think of what would happen to Hunter if he were to leave.

For as much as Adam loves Davey and Jade, Hunter is the reason why Adam will never leave. Hunter’s not like Davey and Jade, whose injustices they certainly never asked for, and are something they would never seek out for themselves. Hunter’s not the same way; his injustices are brought on by his own choices, and Adam doesn’t know what to say to make Hunter better.

It’s the insecurities. Adam knows it as he sits at home, waiting for the phone call he knows is going to come. He knows it all stems back to when Hunter was little. He has no siblings, and no one at school would talk to him, so he just picked up instruments and taught himself how to play. He doesn’t talk about it much, but talking with Hunter’s parents, it’s clearly obvious that he, like Davey, was a classic case of the ostracized talented child.

But unlike Davey, who grew up to the tortured artist, Hunter grew up to be the man too smart for his own good. Most of the time, he’s fine. Most of the time, he can deal with himself and his head. But sometimes, he can’t deal, and that’s when Adam knows to wait for the phone call. Because when Hunter can’t deal, alcohol and sex with random strangers can.

It’s the same cycle, with the same elements every time. But how it all fits together, Adam’s not exactly clear on. He doesn’t think he ever will be.

Nothing will be clear until Hunter finally self-destructs.

Adam finally gets the call at around three am and goes to pick Hunter up. He has to help Hunter into the car, and he doesn’t say a word as he sets up the couch for Hunter to sleep on. He does this because he has to, because it’s better for Hunter to be here drunk than out there, drunk and with people everywhere.

He gives Hunter a blanket and a pillow, and makes sure to lay Hunter on his side just in case he gets sick. He rarely ever does, but Adam doesn’t want to take any chances. Once Hunter’s all lain out, Adam briefly runs his hand through Hunter’s hair and goes to leave, but Hunter reaches up and grabs Adam’s wrist, forcing him to stop.

“Hunt?”

Hunter says nothing, merely looks up at Adam with clear, concise eyes. “Adam…” he murmurs. His eyes extremely blue tonight, and Adam’s heart tightens in his chest as Hunter smiles. Adam bends at his knees, eye-level with Hunter, and while Hunter’s eyes are lucid and aware, there is no smile in them.

Hunter leans forward until their lips are merely inches apart, and the smile fades as Hunter puts his hand on Adam’s face. They are quiet for a long time, and Hunter looks as if there are a million things he wants to say, but he doesn’t. He simply shakes his head and looks back up at Adam, staring him straight in the eye. “When are you going to give up?” he asks.

Hunter’s hand is extremely cold, and as Adam lies in his bed that night, eyes wide open, he realizes that Hunter’s hands aren’t the only things that are cold anymore. He turns his head and stares out the window. He winces as a sharp pain tears through his shoulder blades. He went to the doctor the other day, and got them checked out. There's nothing wrong with them, he hasn't pulled anything. He doesn't know why they hurt so much.

The tears that fall from his eyes are not new tears; he cannot possibly count how many times he’s cried for all of them. He can’t count how many times he’s sat in the corner and cried for every scab healing on Davey’s skin, wounds that give Davey comfort in his cold, cruel world he wasn’t made for, nor can Adam count how many times he’s shed a tear for every homophobic comment Jade’s had to hear, for simply wanting to hold his boyfriend’s hand as he walks down the street, nor can Adam count how many times he’s sobbed for every time he’s had to watch Hunter break down and find comfort in alcohol, both of them knowing each time he’s only getting closer to breaking for good.

The tears that are falling from his eyes are ice cold, and it reminds him of his grief. Both of them frozen, both of them permanent. It’s all just another part of his day, and there’s nothing any good any more in any of them. It will never go away, but this is his role. This is his life. This is what he has to do, even though it’s the last thing he wants to do, something he never asked to be.

He has to carry on.


The high-rolling cats wanna pay for that ass
This ain't floating my boat!
Home, Jones!


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