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day 10 | jack
[ he wakes up in a bed. that's kind of weird to him because well, he still has he vague sensation of nails tearing through the skin of his face and his throat being crushed under metal. it's not a good feeling.
neither is the knot of anxiety in his stomach as the memories flood back to him, both of his death and his real life. the tiny gaps that were missing are all there again. he thinks of vaughn, he thinks of fiona, he thinks of jack. he also thinks of how his warnings fell on deaf ears and how -- how nothing he did will come to fruition.
he sits up, covers his mouth, and lets out a sob. his body shakes with it for a few moments, wet tears sliding down his face as he buries it against his knees and lets every bit of tension he's felt since his death failed come out of him in loud, wracking sobs. nothing he did mattered and -- and ciel is going to die, isn't he? ciel and angel and none of them listened to him. he was right, so painfully right about everything, and yet no one took any of his words to heart.
not even jack.
it's a long time before rhys is able to get himself together and it's with shaky footsteps that he finally pushes himself out of bed and drags himself over to look at the closest reflection he can find. he's in his pajamas -- the ones he preferred before... everything here. jack's old yellow sweater. his worn out blue and white pants. his hair hangs loose in his face as if freshly washed and there are no bruises, no blemishes. the blood is gone, the scars are gone, and he's whole again. he even takes a moment to lift the sleeve of his left arm and there it is, skin covered in blue ink but otherwise whole.
he's not sure if he's relieved, but this is better, maybe. he has a long time to get used to it.
so, with a sigh he leaves the bedroom and heads for the kitchen because -- well, he's due for some ice cream, he thinks. ]
neither is the knot of anxiety in his stomach as the memories flood back to him, both of his death and his real life. the tiny gaps that were missing are all there again. he thinks of vaughn, he thinks of fiona, he thinks of jack. he also thinks of how his warnings fell on deaf ears and how -- how nothing he did will come to fruition.
he sits up, covers his mouth, and lets out a sob. his body shakes with it for a few moments, wet tears sliding down his face as he buries it against his knees and lets every bit of tension he's felt since his death failed come out of him in loud, wracking sobs. nothing he did mattered and -- and ciel is going to die, isn't he? ciel and angel and none of them listened to him. he was right, so painfully right about everything, and yet no one took any of his words to heart.
not even jack.
it's a long time before rhys is able to get himself together and it's with shaky footsteps that he finally pushes himself out of bed and drags himself over to look at the closest reflection he can find. he's in his pajamas -- the ones he preferred before... everything here. jack's old yellow sweater. his worn out blue and white pants. his hair hangs loose in his face as if freshly washed and there are no bruises, no blemishes. the blood is gone, the scars are gone, and he's whole again. he even takes a moment to lift the sleeve of his left arm and there it is, skin covered in blue ink but otherwise whole.
he's not sure if he's relieved, but this is better, maybe. he has a long time to get used to it.
so, with a sigh he leaves the bedroom and heads for the kitchen because -- well, he's due for some ice cream, he thinks. ]