His shirt. Oh fuck oh fuck oh fuck, his shirt.
Ennis almost broke down right there, clutching Jack's shirt to his face, breathing in the scent of the man he just couldn't quit, but he kept it together, if for no other reason than Jack's parents were downstairs, sipping coffee and holding back tears of their own.
Jack was dead. How, Ennis wasn't sure, but he could imagine, and the scene he imagined brought a shudder to his body. He choked back a sob, trying to rid his head of the thought, the idea of men, bad men, carrying baseball bats and wooden boards, whatever they could find, and smashing them over his dear Jack's head, his chest, his legs and thighs, until every inch of his body was bruised, until Jack lay there bleeding from his eyes and nose, his body twitching in pre-death.
Ennis had gritted his teeth and slammed his forehead against the doorframe. Fuck. He just, he just couldn't get the man out of his mind. There was something there, something much deeper than sex, and it ran hot through his bloodstream, threatening to set his soul on fire. Jack did something to him that no one else did, that no one else could ever hope to. He wasn't sure how to explain it, other than Jack truly was his soul mate.
And now he was gone.
A lone tear ran down Ennis' face, and he shook his head. Never again, he vowed to himself. Never again would he let his heart do this to him. This was the last time, and as he trudged back down the stairs, Jack's shirt clenched in his fist, he remembered the man Jack was, the way he was with him, and how he'd never be the same again.