Wore the Clothes You Wanted
Aster always wondered why people who knew him, thought he was the definition for 'hope', just because he was charitable and worked part time in an orphanage; but that was only a facade that kept him sane, to let him understand that he was capable of a kind action. Even for a junkie, he was a seriously pessimistic sod, and at the best of times he didn't have much room in his heart for caring. Scrubbing the heel of his hand along the overgrown stubble (he really needed to shave) along his jaw he looked at the pale figure lying on his sofa.
"Jack."
We need to talk.
"Jack."
He repeated and the teenager said nothing. His pale hair was shocking against the awful green carpeting of the piece of furniture. Aster sighed and scrubbed both hands through his already messed up ashy blue grey hair. He felt awkward, unneeded and afraid. His rabbit heart was thudding two time in his ribcage and he swallowed, hoping to alleviate the pressure on his pulsing life force.
Jack still said nothing and curled in on himself. It was uncharacteristic of Jack to be silent, the silly teen would always be more than happy to yak away, more than often turning a person nuts, wishing they were deaf. But Aster always knew there was more to Jack than met the average human eye, Jack Frost was a complex human being. Jack had recurring nightmares, bouts of amnesia and vomited violently whenever fish was introduced to a dinner table (probably the smell, Aster wasn't much of a fan of seafood himself.) Jack was also incredibly self conscious, he wasn't a looker, he had a pointy nose and pointed elfin ears and a paper thin complexion that was actually rather unnerving to look at with all the spidery veins crisscrossing across his body. Needless to say, this did not mean in Aster's opinion that Jack was unattractive though, but there were always far better catches to be had. Yet the Australian male had never wanted Jack to be anything other than his lanky underfed, strangely disproportionate self.
But more importantly it was this Jack lying on his hideous sofa that had splintered more than possibly imagined. Then again you always had to be observant to see Jack for who he really was. Aster however found the difference in this Jack Frost as compared to the one from 3 months ago terrifying. Jack twitched slightly and his toes curled in discomfort at the involuntary action. Aster chewed on his bottom lip, a bad habit, awful really but he was beyond caring when coppery blood invaded his palate. Jack snuffled into the sleeves of his hoodie and that was when Aster realised something was dreadfully wrong.
"Jack look at me."
The Australian said quietly, firmly as if talking to a skittish animal, Jack shook his head, his pale thin hands coming up to clutch icy white strand of hair. Then he went back to hugging himself. Aster saw red frosting white hair and felt winded.
"Jack!"
Aster strode over and reached down, grasping a frail wrist, only for it to be snatched away. Jack hunched over with a sob. Aster didn't want to see Jack like this.
"C'mon Jack."
Let's talk. It'll be alright, it will work out.
Words stuck in Aster's throat, like hell he could even begin to spout such sugary drivel. That was Toothiana's job, ironically for a dentist, her words were simply cloyingly sweet. It was beyond him how much he believed hope originally could've even begun to salvage the situation. Aster sat down, ignoring the stickiness on his fingers from where he had held Jack's wrist.
"Frostbite, it's me."
Aster murmured, but made no other move to comfort the boy other than rest a hand lightly on his head. Jack made a funny noise as if he was gagging. The moment could've been described as tranquil, almost loving. But it was brief and Jack sat up, pushing the older man away, his face a picture of cryptic distress. Such beautiful eyes did not deserve the enhancements that crying did. Jack said he looked horrible, Aster thought it was beautiful, the delicate shade of red under the puffiness of his eye bags and the thickness of dark lashes closing over bloodshot icy irises. Jack right then was probably the most beautiful thing Aster could've imagined. But then a shadow of an ugly grimace shredded the visage and Jack bolted.
Aster leant back into the sofa with a sigh, rubbing his face disjointedly as he heard the bathroom door slam and a tap being wrenched about and water running, splashing on full blast.
Aster looked down at his hands in defeat, his breath stuttering to one long semibreve of dismay as he saw his stained fingers.
He wasn't bleeding.
Aster looked to the bathroom door and could only hope for Jack.