Immovable Object Ch. 12

A/N: Wow it's been too long! Shorter chapter, I know. Just trust me when I say that Chapter 13 is going to be a long one... Thank you for reading, and I do hope you enjoy.

Immovable Object, Unstoppable Force: Chapter 12

Jackson had skipped his first class.

The headache had come about two seconds after Jackson had taken care of his most pressing need. The nausea about two seconds after that. In the aftermath of the morning, Jackson was almost grateful to have his hangover symptoms as distraction.

Yet as the day wore on, Jackson was forced to consider his second class: Queer Literature.

Part of him just wanted to fuck it and skip that class, too. Physically, he was barely equipped to get out of bed, and mentally, well... it would save him from having to see Ollie.

And yet, the other side of Jackson said skipping would only make things worse. Either Ollie would judge him for irresponsibility, or, Jackson considered, Ollie would want to come check on him. Both outcomes felt much, much worse than encountering the man in a controlled environment.

Dreams are weird things.

Jackson had adopted the mantra about an hour into his headache, when all options felt either too loud or too bright to distract him from his thoughts. He'd had all kinds of insane dreams, nightmares especially--demons, losing his teeth, endless falls and impossible spooky houses... this was just another nightmare.

What had come after? That was less easily explained, but disorientation and fear can do a lot.

He wanted to ask questions, to sit with someone who could offer advice, but everyone who came to mind felt much too close to the situation. He wondered if these were the kinds of situations where normal people called their moms; you couldn't pay him enough to do something like that.

He pushed the musings from his mind and checked the time on his phone: 2:00--just enough time to change and brush his teeth before class. He was going to have to get ahold of himself if he wanted to go.

Hungover, the walk was excruciating. It wasn't very long, but with the residual snow reflecting the sunshine, Jackson found himself second-guessing his decisions. Sure, skipping class was a bad look, but showing up to a Wednesday class with a splitting headache and propensity to vomit wasn't much better.

And more pressing, he would have to find a way to explain his symptoms to Ollie.

Waving a temporary white flag on he and Ollie's early attendance competition, Jackson flopped into his seat just before 2:30. Looking to his left, Jackson caught Ollie staring at him with unconcealed concern.

"Are you okay?"

His low voice was just like that of Jackson's dream, just like that of Jackson's... fantasy.

Shut the fuck up, Jackson pleaded with the overactive half of his mind. This could be normal. He could make this normal.

"Killer headache," Jackson groaned, trying to take on a casual affect.

"Oh, that's the worst," Ollie offered sympathetically, "Do you think you're sick?"

"No," Jackson let slip, with a little too much confidence. Of course, he knew he wasn't sick, but this persona he was attempting to create would have no idea, "I-- I mean, I don't think so."

Ollie reached out to pat Jackson on the shoulder, and Jackson tensed himself for the touch.

A strong hand on his shoulder, leading him to sit down...

Yet this touch was gentler than that horrifying image. The image itself seemed to fold against the truth.

Dreams were dreams and reality was reality. And in this reality, the most pressing issue was Jackson's hangover, not his misbehaving mind.

"That's rough," Ollie offered, removing his hand from Jackson's shoulder as casually as he'd placed it there, "Do you want any ibuprofen?"

Jackson brushed him off.

"Already took some, thanks."

"And it hasn't worked?"

The question remained concerned, but it took on a slightly more interrogative tone. Jackson couldn't hold Ollie's gaze anymore; he looked down at the desk before him and let his hair wall him off from Ollie's seeking eyes.

"Kind of... not fully."

Jackson could still feel Ollie's eyes on him. Could imagine the way the man was opening his mouth, ready to ask a question Jackson didn't want to answer.

"Alright!" Their professor cut through their conversation, "Let's talk some more about these midterm projects."

The class was supposed to be a peer-to-peer workshop day. Bring your draft, work with your table partner, trade feedback. Jackson was still... notably without project.

"I'm just feeling really uninspired," Jackson groaned and Ollie smiled at him, his lips tilted at the same angle Hyeon's often were--knowing, concerned, attempting to be empathetic. It looked just as frustrating on Ollie's face as it did on Hyeon's.

"That's okay," Ollie offered, "Don't get too caught up in it; getting frustrated will just make everything worse."

Jackson scrubbed his face and ran his hand through his hair.

"We should just focus on your work today," Jackson eventually offered, "I, like, know you. If I want help, I can just ask for it anytime."

Ollie snorted.

"Yeah, for sure."

Jackson took his time with the paper. They'd only been required to bring a few pages to class today, but (of course) Ollie showed up with almost the full ten. They weren't a shitty ten, either--insightful, interesting, only needing that last bit of polish.

Reading it, Jackson was struck with the same question he often found himself returning to: Why on Earth did Ollie find Jackson worth his time? Why did Ollie find Jackson, of all things, smart?

He was a slacker, a kid sailing through life on his parent's money, a friend who has freaky fucking nightmares. A person with one good quality for every ten bad. He was decidedly not worth Ollie's time. Yet here they were--Jackson was reading Ollie's brilliant essay, and Ollie was on the edge of his seat waiting for whatever feedback Jackson had.

Jackson stared at the last sentence, reading it over and over again.

'Fire Island ultimately displays a contradiction in the cultural conception of the Queer City.'

There was still a conclusion to be written, this was only the first line, but even if the work ended here, Jackson would've given it an A. He finally managed to close the paper and look up at Ollie.

"So?" Ollie asked animatedly, before tempering himself slightly, "I know you're not feeling your best, so whatever you have for me is more than enough."

"Ollie, I--" Jackson started, but he didn't want to finish his sentence. To admit he had nothing for Ollie? After all the man saw in him? That felt lower than low.

Jackson let his eyes skim the first page once again--Ollie's thesis, his description of the texts, his description of Fire Island...

He had something.

"This is something small," Jackson hedged, "The paper's really good shit, honestly."

"I don't care if it's not a huge edit," Ollie shrugged with a smile, "It makes my life easier."

Jackson had to laugh at that.

"Okay, so, your descriptions of Fire Island," Jackson explained, "They're not very vibrant. I mean, it's a beach and more than that a queer haven; if I were writing this, I'd want my reader to see Fire Island as a... second Garden of Eden."

"Aw, Jackson," Ollie started, "You know I'm not good at the creative stuff. How am I going to make Fire Island sound like the Garden of Eden?"

Jackson rolled his eyes, despite the hangover, Ollie animated him.

"Use metaphor, simile, imagistic language, fucking anything. The best essays have a spark of creativity in them, as well."

Ollie sighed heavily, looking back at his own copy of his essay, brows furrowed.

"You could be good at the creative stuff if you tried," Jackson could see Ollie was frustrated, "And c'mon I've never seen you back away from a challenge."

Ollie snorted at that; a smirk wormed its way to his lips.

"Thank you," He finally replied, looking back up and locking eyes with Jackson, "I may ask you to look at it again, if that's okay."

"For sure," the silence of Jackson's lack of draft sat between the pair for a moment, "Uh, by the way, when the fuck is this due?"

Ollie didn't just snort, he laughed. Jackson felt himself flush, but he was smiling too.

"The last day of class before Spring Break."

"Oh, so I still have a week."

"So you still have a week," Ollie responded, running a hand along his head.

In one movement, Jackson's dream came creeping back.

The conversation had distracted him, but it was hard not to let his mind drift in the silence. He didn't want this--to be freaky or fucked in the head, to hold frightening secrets behind his chest--but he wasn't about to let one of his first chances at happiness, real happiness, slip through his fingers. If strange, secret dreams were the price, he'd pay it every night.

XXXXX

Jackson was back in his bed.

Ollie had invited him over after class, but between the hangover and the uncontrollable thoughts, Jackson had thought it best to refuse.

It had felt like the right decision at the time. Jackson could stay in the dark and quiet, get some mental respite, maybe even some sleep--a valuable resource that he hadn't been able to quite grasp that morning after his dream. Yet now, in bed, whatever imagined benefits staying home had were quickly growing hazy against the gray backdrop of boredom.

He was in too much pain and too tired to manage anything interesting or productive, but sleep remained elusive. Hyeon had texted him, asking if he wanted to get dinner, but the idea of getting out of bed now that he was in it seemed beyond comprehension. And so, he was left to mindless activities--doomscrolling, listening to music, and the increasingly attractive possibility of finishing off the twelve-pack in his fridge. There weren't many beers left, certainly not enough to get him as drunk as he'd been yesterday, but maybe enough to dull his senses... and his mind.

He rejected the thought every time it came, though. Hadn't he learned enough times that dulling his senses just led to worse senses? And he was not trying to have another dream like the one he had last night.

So instead, he just... lay there and let his regret gnaw at his stomach.

He'd been listening to a shuffled playlist of his Liked Songs, a strange and oscillating medley of new and old, earthen folk and heavy grunge, but then he heard the first iconic, acoustic notes of a song that felt too familiar. Hotel California.

No. No, he could not do that right now. For all he knew, that strange video was what had caused his strange dream.

He huffed, grabbed his phone from beside his pillow, and opened Spotify to skip the song.

Yet even after he did, he had an idea. He typed 'Wish You Were Here' in the search bar.

He'd never found it to be the most compelling Pink Floyd album. Give him the choice and most days he'd much prefer to listen to Dark Side of the Moon or The Wall, but today, he wanted to hear what Ollie heard.

The guitar in "Shine On You Crazy Diamond" was slow, rhythmic, plodding (so slow, a lesser version of Jackson would've already given up), but it carried with it a deep sense of hurt. When the vocals came in, everything felt like it focused, a camera lens finally finding its target.

Now there's a look in your eyes

Like black holes in the sky.

Shine on, you crazy diamond.

When Jackson looked down on his life, who was Roger Waters? Who was Syd Barrett? Please, God, he did not want to be just a crazy diamond.

The trumpets faded, the heavily processed throb of a synthesizer took its place. Jackson let himself fade into the feeling of the song, allowing the music to wash over and envelop him in the way more electronic stuff often did.

He let his mind go to static.

He knew it would not erase his dream.

By the time Wish You Were Here played, he'd settled into a comfortable trance. Experiencing the music more than listening to it--keeping himself comfortable and blank.

A sharp knock on the door startled him out of the said trance.

Who on Earth--

"It's Hyeon, I just want to make sure you're alive." The call answered his question.

She would know he was hungover just by looking at him, and after looking at him she would stare, reproachfully. But she was already here and Jackson didn't imagine she'd take no for an answer.

"Come in, it's unlocked," Jackson groaned through the noises of wind in his headphones--the transition between the penultimate and final songs on the album.

As the door opened, Jackson pushed himself up in an approximation of a seated position. Hyeon entered gingerly, and Jackson cringed as she turned on the lights. She was holding a brown paper bag in one hand, using the other to close the door behind her.

"I got you McDonalds," She smiled.

Jackson thought about eating and realized he hadn't eaten all day. Again. Taylor and Ollie's questions rang in his head; he didn't know how he managed to forget about eating, but it happened more than he'd like to admit.

"You're a lifesaver," Jackson replied, rubbing his temple as he sat up the rest of the way.

Hyeon shrugged and handed him the brown paper bag.

"When you didn't respond, I thought you might've been... incapacitated."

"Incapacitated?" Jackson probed, raising a single eyebrow. He was poking the bear and he knew it, but it was hard to help when he let everything roll off his tongue.

"Well, you're not currently drunk so I'm taking my wins," she replied.

They both knew he was hungover. She wasn't pushing the issue, Jackson guessed this was a better sight than whatever she was thinking she would find.

"Well, I appreciate it," he replied, opening the bag and digging into the burger. She knew his order by heart--they'd made plenty of late-night trips together under similar circumstances when they'd been dating, "How much do I owe you?"

"Just a conversation," she said, flopping into his school-issued desk chair and looking up at him, "I feel like I haven't seen you in forever."

"The power outage fucked up our rhythms," Jackson replied, mouth full.

"Chew then swallow," Hyeon scolded lightly, "Yeah, it totally did. I'm glad you were able to stay with Ollie, though. My room got a little crowded."

Jackson laughed.

"Sleeping in the same room as your boyfriend is low on my list of priorities, if I'm being honest."

"Oh my God you seriously have a complex," Hyeon joked back, rolling her eyes, "Beckett is fine with you."

"He's fine with me?" Jackson pushed, "That's what I say when I like someone, too."

"I'm serious," Hyeon replied, "You two are just... different kinds of people."

Jackson snorted and rolled his eyes right back at Hyeon.

"Very different."

"Whatever, shut up," Hyeon brushed Jackson off, "How was Ollie's?"

Jackson shrugged and took another bite of burger. There were certainly ups and downs from that trip, but ultimately, they felt like moments too unremarkable to share with Hyeon.

"Pretty chill," He finally managed to reply, "Taylor's super nice; I see why you two are friends."

"Oh yeah, isn't she great?" Hyeon responded before pausing to parse Jackson's answer, "But seriously just 'pretty chill?' I'll never understand how you went from hating him to crashing at his house so fast."

How had their friendship developed so fast? If Jackson took a moment to be candid with himself...

"Yeah, honestly? I've been wondering the same thing," he replied.

Hyeon snorted, before realizing Jackson was serious.

"What do you mean? Are you back to hating him after too long together?" She asked.

"Wha-- no, no, no," Jackson replied immediately, before realizing how desperate he was making himself look, "I mean-- No, I still like him."

Hyeon cocked a single eyebrow at Jackson's antics but continued to push forward.

"So, what do you mean when you say you've been wondering the same thing?"

"Like, I guess," Jackson floundered for an answer that made him look less insecure, but none came to mind, "I just don't understand why he finds me worth hanging out with. Do you know how many times he's called me smart? That's sweet, but I'm not fucking smart, and yet he seems sure of it."

"Jackson," Hyeon chuckled, "Are you really that bad at letting somebody compliment you?"

Jackson felt heat rise to his cheeks. He took an overly large bite of his burger--just to give him the excuse to chew.

"It's not about compliments," he finally objected, "It's about him. I just... don't buy it."

"Well, he let you stay at his house for days; he clearly likes you," Jackson moved to object, but Hyeon beat him to the punch, "But Jesus, if you're so concerned about it why don't you just ask him?"

Jackson tried to wrap his mind around the hypothetical conversation, but every attempt to ask his question felt too insecure, and every answer Ollie gave--in Jackson's mind--just hurt his feelings.

He couldn't help but see a version of that conversation where Ollie turned back to him in pensive bluntness and said: You know, I've been wondering that myself recently. Why on Earth did I find you smart?

"That's-- you're insane," Jackson objected.

Hyeon laughed and rolled her eyes.

"Jackson, do you remember our second night together?" --Jackson had to admit he'd been on the edge of drunken forgetfulness for most of that night, but Hyeon continued-- "You asked me, point blank, if I believed in God, and do you know what you said when I told you I wasn't sure?"

Jackson took another bite of hamburger. Hyeon glared at him expectantly.

"Fuck me," Jackson mumbled, swallowing, "No, I don't remember."

"You asked, 'Really?'" Hyeon delivered the line in an easy yet incredulous tone that was much too reminiscent of drunk Jackson to be inaccurate.

Jackson rubbed his eyes and tried to cover red cheeks with his hair.

"Is this going somewhere or are you just fucking torturing me?"

"It's going somewhere," Hyeon reassured, "Now, look, if Ollie's gonna be friends with you he has to be okay with blunt Jackson. I mean-- I find it endearing, I love that story."

Jackson laughed but managed to uncover his eyes. Truth be told, he was never even trying to be blunt, he just... struggled with his impulses.

"So, what you're saying is I can acclimate Ollie to idiot Jackson by asking" --Jackson took on a high-pitched, mocking tone-- "Why do you like me?"

Hyeon shrugged and looked down at her lap.

"I know you well enough to know you won't let it go, otherwise."

She was probably right about that one.

"I'll think about it," Jackson eventually sighed in concession, if only to move to another topic of conversation.

He paused, Hyeon remained silent.

There has to be a way to ask about the dream without... asking.

His mind puzzled around the problem--he wanted advice. The hair on his arms raised in anticipation.

"Can I, um, ask you something?"

"Shoot."

Jackson shoved a handful of french fries in his mouth and chewed on the wording of his question.

"You ever have weird dreams?" He eventually offered noncommittally.

"Weird dreams?" Hyeon repeated, chuckling, "I feel like all my dreams are weird."

Jackson sighed and grabbed another handful of fries. He could feel the way his eating made the conversation stutter, but he didn't want to show his hand. Still, it seemed like asking about this was becoming increasingly difficult.

"I mean-- yeah, duh," Jackson finally offered, "But I mean, like, specifically about other people. Like, fuckin', weird dreams about people you know, your friends and stuff."

"Oh, yeah," Hyeon replied easily, "You used to be in my dreams all the time when we were dating."

He was in Hyeon's dreams? Had he been in Hyeon's dreams the same way Ollie was now in his? How was Ollie even in his?

"Was I like-- what'd I do?"

Hyeon's brows furrowed.

"Uh, I mean, all sorts of things," she let the question stew for a moment, "Sometimes you'd just kind of be there; you cheated on me once; and, uh, well, we were dating so..."

"We'd fuck?" Jackson filled in the blank without hesitation.

Hyeon looked at the door, squeezing her eyes closed for a moment before opening them again.

"Yes, dumbass."

Jackson wondered what their sex had been like in Hyeon's dreams. If it had felt as vacant as it had in the real world.

"So, I wouldn't always act like myself, then," Jackson asked, before realizing what his statement had sounded like and clarifying, "Like, I would never cheat on someone."

Hyeon finally managed to look back at Jackson. He ate another handful of fries.

"Yeah," she answered, after inspecting him for a moment, "The dream version of you was always different. I mean, it's my brain's version of you, of course it's not going to be you."

Jackson was still chewing; he worked to swallow, but the mass felt stuck in his throat. He had to start taking smaller bites.

"Why are you asking?" Hyeon offered in the prolonged silence.

Jackson finally managed to swallow, just in time for the alarms in his mind to begin blaring.

Fuck, fuck, fuck...

"I, uh, I've just been having some... strange dreams recently."

"About?" Hyeon was quick on the draw--she knew him too well.

"About all my friends." Jackson offered nothing more, twisting his lip ring with his tongue.

"What on Earth am I doing?" Hyeon asked with a snort.

"Cheating on me," Jackson snarked with an eye roll.

Hyeon sat expectantly for a moment, before turning away again. Jackson finished the last of the fries.

"Thanks," she finally replied, rolling her eyes at the door.

"Welcome," Jackson replied, mouth still full.

Hyeon sighed, but a laugh escaped in the noise.

"God, I cannot wait for spring break."

Jackson laughed, but the comment began to turn some of the rustier gears in his mind.

"Jesus," he eventually sighed in thought, "I keep forgetting how soon it is."

"I didn't," came Hyeon's blunt and immediate response, "I need a fucking break."

"Exciting plans?"

Hyeon was the one laughing now, but Jackson could practically hear the gears in her own mind spinning out of control.

"Very exciting," She replied, "Beckett is meeting the parents."

Jackson snorted. He was intimately familiar with the reason Hyeon seemed somewhat nervous about the impending event.

"I bet it'll go better than last time," Jackson reassured, "I heard the last guy was a real jerk."

Hyeon laughed--it sounded purer than her last chuckle.

"My parents were real jerks, too."

Jackson shrugged and arranged his trash in the brown paper bag--giving his idle hands a task.

"It was-- I'm not good with parents. I don't think shouting matches are normal," he admitted, "I'm not bullshitting you; I really do think things will go alright."

"I do, too," Hyeon admitted, "Beckett is, like, my parents' dream guy. He's also not so... combative."

Jackson had to laugh at the description, although he wouldn't call it incorrect.

"What? I'm not your parents' dream guy?"

Hyeon joined in on Jackson's laughter.

"You wish."

"Okay then," Jackson teased between chuckles, "Who's your parents' dream guy?"

"Doctor, lawyer, vaguely religious," Hyeon recited without hesitation.

"Doctor and lawyer?" Jackson asked, jokingly, "Damn they're demanding, no wonder I couldn't make the cut."

Hyeon rolled her eyes, but she was still laughing.

"Doctor or lawyer, dumbass. Although I think doctor and lawyer would make my mom faint."

"And religious?" Jackson questioned the final part of Hyeon's earlier statement, "I didn't know Beckett was so Godly."

"Vaguely religious."

Jackson nodded, smirking.

"So religious in the way that you're religious."

Hyeon could only shrug.

"Sure--lost and confused," she finally managed.

Jackson's smirk turned to a grin, but Hyeon continued.

"What's your plan? Staying here again?"

"You know me so well," Jackson replied. His grin had fallen.

The pair were both quiet for a moment.

"I--" Hyeon started and stopped, "Just be safe, okay?"

Jackson snorted.

"I'm always safe."

In the frozen silence after his last word, Jackson hopped from his bed to the floor. He walked behind Hyeon's seat to the trashcan and threw out the empty paper bag.

"That was your first meal today, wasn't it?"

Jackson felt his dream flood back--the paralysis in his muscles, the confrontation of what stood before him. He could not move from his spot before the trashcan, could not stop staring at the damning bag that sat at the bottom.

"I can fucking handle myself, Hyeon."

He heard a sigh. He could not look back at his friend.

"But you have to understand why I worry about you." It was a plea.

You could tell her about the dream, you could tell her about the alcohol, you could tell her about how you feel...

"I'm fine," Jackson said, "Seriously."

He tried to give the declaration less of an edge. It remained impenetrable. He remained impenetrable.

"Okay," Hyeon finally conceded. Jackson felt the paralysis disappear. "Just know that if you do need help, I'm always here for you."

Jackson walked to his bed and returned to his previous post.

"I appreciate it," Jackson said before pausing, chewing on his lip ring in thought, "But you need to trust that I'll ask you for help if I need it. I'm not... fuckin' five."

Hyeon's dark eyes sought Jackson's. Deep brown tried to pull something from stormy blue.

"I know, I know," Hyeon finally said, "I'm being silly. Sorry."

"It's okay," Jackson replied. The pair sat together in a silence of their own design.

She knows I'm hungover, was the only thought running through Jackson's mind.

"Okay, I have work," Hyeon announced artificially, standing and stretching her back.

"Right."

Jackson didn't move.

"Text me if you want to grab dinner later this week?"

Jackson shook a false sense of life back into his expression.

"Uh, yeah."

Hyeon shook her head and pulled on her coat.

"Time's fucking limited," she said ruefully, "It doesn't feel that way now, but after spring break? Every day will suddenly seem precious."

Jackson chuckled; he'd heard this from afar--other seniors from other years who were sad about graduating. He... didn't think it would feel so dire for him. Sure, college had been a great chance to party, but he couldn't see himself missing this cold and unfamiliar place where even the air seemed to call him a failure.

He'd be happy to graduate--he was sure of it.

"I can't tell if I buy that," Jackson admitted, but he could see Hyeon's message from between the lines: There weren't that many more dinners for them to get together, "But I'll text you, I promise."

A small smile bloomed on Hyeon's face.

Jackson thought about his friend. No, friends with an 's' now, he corrected himself. Hyeon, Amira, Taylor, Ollie... would they all be scattered? Would he be so far away in California? Would he lose touch?

You'll be happy to graduate, Jackson reassured himself, nothing but happy.

"You better," Hyeon said as she reached the door, "Sleep well, Jackson. I hope you feel better tomorrow."

Jackson snorted and laid back on his bed as she opened the door.

"Yeah, me too. See ya, Hyeon."

"See ya!" She called back at Jackson before closing the door behind her.

In the silence, Jackson felt a familiar tightness in his throat--tears, he identified almost instantly.

He hadn't cried in years, though, and he was not about to break that streak now. Why on earth did he feel like crying at all? Nothing had really happened other than dinner with a friend, and yet...

Here he was, in the quiet, and he still felt like crying.

He ran a hand through his hair and huffed. He was tired--probably from the hangover--but after eating he felt like sleep could do him some good.

Yet, he sat awake and pulled out his phone instead. It felt stupid, almost more stupid than crying, but there was part of him that didn't want to sleep at all.

XXXXX

He was back in Ollie's house. A strange, uncanny sort of feeling pulled at him, but he was able to identify the warm and familiar room easily.

He sat back on the couch--

Wait, when did he move from the doorway to the couch? Thinking back, he couldn't remember himself ever moving and yet here he was.

And in the distance, there was some noise... What was that noise?

There was no one in the living room, but as he turned his head to follow that strange humming sound, he heard Hyeon's voice behind him.

She was there, lounging on the couch as if she'd been there for hours.

"You alright?" She asked incredulously.

Jackson didn't understand how the fuck she'd gotten there, what the fuck was going on.

He nodded limply.

"You're not drunk, are you?" She asked, shifting to a harsher timbre.

"N- no, no!" Jackson heard himself respond, his voice sounding oddly guttural and unsure.

Was he drunk? He didn't think so, but everything seemed so strange and unnatural that maybe he was. He felt his unease in his tone, his confusion in his chest.

"He's definitely drunk."

That was a different voice--flat, condescending, with the same sort of Northern California drag he found in his own. That was a voice he knew well, but he didn't understand why it would ever be here.

He turned, and in the doorway stood his sister, Mary. Beside her stood Beckett, both faces feeling sort of... blurred and fuzzy.

"I know field sobriety tests," Beckett offered as he moved to sit beside Hyeon, a possessive arm wrapping around her waist, "We could test him."

I always fail tests.

The hum was louder. Jackson stood up, felt himself do it, watched the couch fall away from him.

He wanted to shout. To ask what the fuck was going on. To ask that if he hadn't gone home for spring break then why was his home so unpleasantly here?

The same tightness in his throat. Paralyzing, silencing... as if he was going to cry.

"You know Jackson," Mary's voice came again, but it was behind him this time. Hadn't she just been at the front door?

But when Jackson looked, she wasn't there.

When the fuck had she moved?

"I think Oliver's right," she continued.

The hum got louder. Jackson whipped around.

"Maybe cutting your hair would finally make mom and dad proud."

There Mary stood, Ollie beside her--buzzcut fresh as it had been when he'd cut it days earlier, clippers humming in his right hand.

Ollie laughed, then. The kind of joyful laugh that--in normal circumstances--would've made Jackson join in. Here, though? It felt wrong.

"You know, Mary and I really get along!" Ollie chimed in, then, "I can see why you thought we were similar."

Had he thought that? At one point, yes. He still associated them somewhat in his mind but... Jackson thought he knew Ollie better than that now.

Yet here they were, together. Jackson toughened himself.

"Fuck you all," he turned towards the door, "I'm going."

"Wait," Ollie said from behind Jackson. The voice was low enough to be an anchor, and Jackson watched as the room in front of him stretched. The door sliding further and further away while he stood.

A gentle touch on his shoulder; everything was close, too close, even though everything was too far.

"It's okay, you want this."

The humming died out for just a second, before it grew loud and--

"FUCK!" Jackson yelled at the walls of his bedroom as he opened his eyes.

He sat up, ran two hands through his hair, took a deep breath. Hung on to the life raft of Hyeon's words about her dreams from earlier.

This was normal. This. Was. Normal.

And yet, that was becoming hard to believe.