AN; First off, thank you for taking the time to even read this. Like, really. Thank you. Reviews, including constructive criticism, are greatly appreciated ^^ Really, point out any issues you see if you don't mind. I'm trying to improve. Anyway, this is a Gale (Wizard) X Chase fic, so if that isn't your cup of tea please leave rather than flame me. The idea came to me as I was listening to "The Well and the Lighthouse" by Arcade Fire, and the prologue is written to it. Yes, I am horrible with titles. And no, I don't plan on writing any further chapters to lyrics. Just the prologue. But, anyway, I hope you enjoy it. Again - thanks for reading.

Warnings: Yaoi, Angst, Violence, Adult Language, Alcohol Consumption
(Warnings apply to the fic as a whole, and not just a certain chapter or section.)

Prologue

Chase's POV

I am serving time
All for a crime I did commit

I let myself hope. I suppose that was my first mistake.

You see, hope is like Russian Roulette. You load the chamber with your hopes, your wishes, everything you've ever allowed yourself to dream for. You cram it all down into one hole and snap that cylinder shut. Then you spin the chamber and surrender any knowledge, any control you ever managed to cling on to. You grip that gun tight and shove the muzzle into your mouth, teeth scraping against the cold metal. Then there comes the moment of hesitation. Should you really be doing this? Is it even worth it in the first place? And if you change your mind, well, too bad. 'Cause that chamber's been spun and you have no control over what happens next. Backing down and returning to how you were before isn't an option. The chips are down, baby, and there's no taking them back. This is your moment. You close your eyes and your finger tightens on that trigger, your entire body tense and anticipating.

And hope will be the bullet that kills you.

Or not. Maybe you're lucky, and all that comes to you is the snap of a click, followed by a silence that slams into you like a brick wall. Then relief. Oh, God, overwhelming relief. You won, your hope having won out and flooding back into your being as you cry over how beautiful this is. How your soul hung in the line and you won. You won.

But what if hope didn't hold out for you? Say it was misplaced, or misguided, or just plain stupid and blind. You put your whole being into it only for it to slam back into you tenfold, blowing shattered chunks of what used to be your faith across the wall, across the floor, tearing holes in your soul like a soldier being torn apart by shrapnel.

I am not a lucky man.

I sit here in this freezing-ass jail cell and I'm Tired. Tired in every aspect of the word, Tired to the point that every breath I take feels like like a deadweight pressing down on my heart. So Tired that I feel if I lay down for even a moment, I'll never get up again. I let myself hope after I screamed at my heart to never hope again. And this is where it got me.

You want to know the truth?
You know I'd do it all again

The cold air blowing in through a crack in the window stings at the cuts on my hands, the ones I obtained while shattering and ripping everything of Gale's I could find. I look over them now, recognizing and cataloging each bloody gash, recollecting how each one was earned. The myriad of criss-crossing cuts on my left knuckles from punching in his window. The deep gash on the inside of my right hand from smashing a vase into the wall. The bruising on my left hand from trying to rip out a banister from his staircase. Yeah, stupid idea, I know. But it seemed plausible at the time. And innumerable others, all red and glaring, playing out over the contours of my hands like cracks in a mirror. Jin bandaged them for me soon after I got here, but I tore them off within a few minutes after he left. In a sense, I'm thankful for the pain. The cold bite of it keeps me awake, reminds me of why I'm here and how I fucked up and made all this possible. Because, really, for all my anger and lashing out, this is my fault. My fault for being naive. My fault for wishing for something I don't deserve.

No, I don't enjoy the pain. The freezing sting that licks at my wounds isn't something I consciously invited, nor is it something I necessarily like. But I need it. And I thank whatever Divine entity that may or may not be listening for it. I need them to darken and scar, to forever remind me of this oblivion that I brought upon myself. To scrape bitter reality across my face every time I look at them. I need the ugly, I need the unpleasantness. Because if I allow myself to forget, this will all just happen again.

Honestly, I had thought that I had reached this point already. Assumed that with all the pain I've felt, all the nights spent laying awake with tears staining my face, I had come to know it. It makes me want to vomit—my entire life, how jaded I'd thought I was. I understand pain now. And I realize how, then, everything I did was all to avoid it, despite what I told myself, despite what I thought my motives were. Now I've lifted the veil, and I was sickened by what I saw.

Left for dead,
Heaven is only in my head

I understand, now, that nothing good has ever, will ever come without pain. That there is no light without proportionate shadow. There is no happiness without an equal or greater grief looming above or beneath it. Oh, I thought I knew. I really thought that I knew. I told myself every day of my life that if I wanted to be happy, if I ever decided to try and better my life, I would have to deal with grief and pain, perhaps more than was worth it. I preached this to myself, to people who didn't really want to hear it, but I never really believed it in my heart until now. I was naive when I believed myself to be jaded. And now I'm paying the price.

Because there is no heaven here.

Whether or not a heaven-like plane exists somewhere in our universe or in the afterlife, I don't know, and I won't until my heart stops beating. But there is no heaven here.

I heard a voice
Calling from down inside the well
"See that silver shine?"
She said to come claim what was mine

I never deserved Gale. Never deserved his warmth, never deserved his touch. I'm a beaten dog, snarling and willing to lash out at whatever happens to move too fast for my liking. Malefactor or benefactor matters not—my broken is deeper than that. My broken seeps through the cracks and poisons the ones I allow myself to love. "Chase is just a little snappy," they say. "Don't take it personally. He's just... you know, like that. You get used to it." Yeah. They do get used to it, I suppose. My irritability and seething criticism are bearable when they're just skirting the edges of your life, embodied in a man you only ever see so often.

It's when I try for something deeper, something that actually means something, that people get hurt.

Gale thought he could help me. And I guess that's not his fault. He wanted to save me, be my knight in shining armor. For a while, it looked like it would work. Gale has been broken. And he knew the way to call me to him was to call to me from that bad place, that dark place I retreat to when I've nothing left but my fears and insecurities. He was willing to tear open some old wounds to help relate to mine. And when it turned out that my broken is deeper than he thought, that maybe he can't fix me like he thought he could... well. You know. I won't judge someone for giving up when I've long given up on myself. I won't judge him, but that doesn't seem to stop me from giving in to my rage.

He said that this was a task for someone better at healing than him. That he would find someone who could piece me back together. He won't believe me when I say that it has to be him. That I don't want wise words. That I don't need a stranger with more experience—I love him. I need him. I know that it has to be him.

Because no one's ever breathed life into me like that before.

So down I fell, down into the water black
My prison cell, only the moon was shining back

AN; So, there you have the prologue. Yeah, I'm an angst bunny. Sorry. ^^
Not sure if it's a prologue, technically, being it takes place seven months after the beginning of the story, but, you know. It works. All reviews are greatly appreciated 3

DISCLAIMER: Chase and Gale belong to Marvelous Entertainment, Inc.
Lyrics - "The Well and the Lighthouse" by Arcade Fire