NOTED | JARBYN ✓

10

WARNING: CONTAINS MENTIONS OF SELF HARM

jack dared to stand, knees weakening as his eyes were locked on his bedroom door. he mounted the staircase with feeble fingers gripping the railing. his heart was battering against his ribcage, and when he looked down he swore he could see the same outfit he wore on that night.

his steps were trembled, slow. he could feel panic rising in his chest in the empty house. he could almost hear the echo from months ago, calling out corbyn's name.

when jack reached the final steps, he dared to look around the darkened hallways. the house wasn't often lit up anymore, and he finally noticed it.

he could hear his own boots, the same ones he wore months ago. it was like he was hallucinating it all, with some record playing every sound in the memory.

why was it all so vivid? gosh, it was as if he was reliving the moment, and he could feel every ounce of anxiety raise in his bristling skin.

jack jumped at the sound of his grocery bag dropping to the floor, looking at his feet to expect the rose and note, and his bag of treats.

he carefully pushed open the door, walking into the room with every action from the past week playing through his mind. it was almost as if his body was forcing him to the bathroom, and he only stepped with it.

when his hand landed on the door knob, his bones chilled. the memory flushed into his mind as if it was yesterday, and he froze in his steps.

•

jack entered his shared home, calling out to corbyn from the doorway. although he was angry, he knew corbyn would respond— or at least, he hoped.

when the echo of his voice simply bounced from wall to wall, jack began to quicken his pace upstairs.

his eyes met the untouched rose on the floor, dropping the bag of treats for his love. jack hurried to work on the door, finding it locked.

the silence, the locked door, the untouched note— it caused for a slight panic in jack. he simply wanted to open the door to find his blond wrapped up in blankets, resting.

jack rushed down to the office, taking the keyring for every room. once again, he was stood outside the door. this time he was fumbling with the jingling keyring, struggling to find the proper key.

he sighed in relief when the door flung open, nearly falling through the entrance as he stumbled to catch himself. just in case corbyn was asleep, he didn't want to wake the poor angel.

jack's air hitched in his throat, heart ramming, beating. corbyn wasn't in the bed, which was entirely made.

he heard a slight tap over his heavy laboured breaths, beginning to step over to the bathroom with a great hurry to see corbyn. his throat was tightening, closing in as he clutched the doorknob.

it turned slowly, and jack held his breath as it opened. he didn't care for knocking, but at the sight of his bath tub, jack wished he had— he could feel emotions beginning to build, tumbling over each other, but nothing was clicking to him.

jack was focused on the blond in the tub, eyes shut with his lips parted. he fell to his knees, pace quickened to look at the blond. his hands clasped onto corbyn's forearm, tracking across the deep lines dented into his creamy skin.

the curly haired male rushed to take a face cloth from the shelf, simply knocking them all onto himself and the floor. jack applied pressure, tears beginning to drop from his eyelashes. his thought process was almost cutting off, just kept on the main focus of saving his angel.

the facecloths were being swapped out, each one soaking up water and crimson. he only paused when there was enough of a gap to check the pulse, finding a faint, leisurely beat.

jack realized it was far too late to call the paramedics, or even 911 in general— he was too late.

jack cried against corbyn, hand feeling the pulse sink away.

•

jack looked at the empty bath tub, imagining the blond still sat in such a peaceful state— like he wanted to be there.

who was he kidding? of course corbyn wanted to be there, or it all wouldn't have happened the way it did.

jack felt a pang in his chest, knowing it was his fault for the loss. he stared blankly into the bathroom, uncleaned with the bath tub stained a pale shade of pink.

noted: corbyn is dead.