Archive of Our Own

Joke should have expected this. He knew it couldn’t have lasted. He and Jack weren’t meant to stand on the same side. What was that saying? A wolf and a lamb could never be friends? Yeah, that sounded about right. Joke tried so hard to be something he wasn’t, and now he’d stepped back over the line, watching his boyfriend break down across the chasm of wrongdoings he had committed.

He ruined everything: Jack’s chance at happiness, Toi Ting, their relationship. Joke knew he was wrong to steal the ring, but somehow, he thought Jack would still forgive him, would understand that he did it for him. Jack had promised, after all.

Joke was starting to get dizzy from the lack of air. He sank to his knees, barely feeling the cold tile through the fabric of his pants. “I’m sorry,” he wailed at Jack’s retreating back.

“Hey, don’t hurt yourself.” Strong but careful arms embraced him, and hands grabbed his wrists. Joke hadn’t even realized he was hitting himself, but he deserved it. If Toi Ting died because of him…

He might have been hyperventilating because the world started getting fuzzy at the edges. Maybe when he woke up, this would all have been a terrible, terrible dream, and he was really still in prison.

Joke slumped against the person holding him up, and the world faded to black.

Unfortunately, Joke did not wake up in prison. He opened his eyes to the sterile white of the hospital. When he sat up, his back ached from the uncomfortable plastic seats he was lying on.

“Hey,” a voice said softly.

Joke glanced over at the noise. Hoy was stealing furtive glances at him like he was a wild animal ready to fight or flee at a moment’s notice. Aran was sitting on his other side, and Tattoo was hovering over them both.

“You okay?” Hoy asked. He looked like he didn’t know what to do with his hands; they were clasped in his lap, his knuckles white from how tight he was squeezing them. “You were out for a minute.”

“Fine.” Joke winced at the rasp of his voice. His throat was raw from crying. “Toi Ting?”

Hoy looked away.

Joke’s stomach dropped, and his eyes snapped to Tattoo, then Aran. Neither spoke for a moment, and Joke wanted to shake the information out of them.

Then Tattoo hung his head. “She might not make it.”

Everything stopped.

“No,” he choked out, the breath catching painfully in his chest.

Aran covered Joke’s trembling hand with his own. “It’s not certain yet. She’s a fighter. Don’t give up on her.”

Joke tried to swallow around the fear and regret that had lodged in his throat. “No, no… I can’t be here anymore.”

Even if she lived, Joke would never forgive himself.

He struggled to get up from the seats. The combination of his weak limbs and the restraining hands of his friends nearly overpowered him. “Please,” he begged, his fingernails scrabbling at their arms in an attempt to pry them off. “Call me if there’s an update. I — I need to find Grandma.”

His friends didn’t seem to want to let him go, but Joke pushed through. In his struggle, Hoy’s elbow slammed into the back of the plastic chair with a hollow thump, and Joke felt another stab of guilt run through him.

He stumbled to the door, ignoring the stares of other people in the lobby. He’d already made enough of a scene. He didn’t think he could ever show his face here again.

It should have been impossible to cry more tears, but Joke felt his eyes beginning to water again as he staggered through the familiar streets. How could it have turned out like this? Just when he thought he’d found his place; just when he thought happiness was attainable, it was all stripped away. In the end, he couldn’t change who he was — a burden.

Now, Jack couldn’t even bear to look at him.

By some miracle, Joke made it to Jack’s house to pick up his things and say goodbye to Grandma, but Grandma wasn’t home. Of course Joke wouldn’t even be granted a chance to thank her for everything. Instead, he crept into Jack’s room — because it wasn’t theirs anymore — and threw a few things into his bag. He swept his clothes and toiletries into the duffle without much care.

Joke stood in front of the mirror. He was a wreck; blotchy cheeks and dark circles under eyes that were red and puffy from crying. Joke couldn’t recall another time he'd ever come this undone.

When he couldn’t stare at himself any longer, Joke opened the medicine cabinet so he wouldn’t have to see his reflection in the mirror. Between the various tubes of toothpaste and boxes of bandages sat the bottle of Vicodin Jack was prescribed after he was stabbed a few weeks ago — a stab he took to protect Joke. His grandma forced him to the hospital when she found out, and it was a good thing she did. The bottle had ruptured his kidney and damaged his large intestine; Jack was sent into emergency surgery.

It made Joke sick to think that Jack could have died because of his misplaced devotion to Joke.

The bottle sat there, mocking him. Jack hadn’t taken any of the pills, assuring Joke he’d be fine on extra-strength Ibuprofen.

Joke stuffed them into his bag and shut the cabinet before he could displace the impulse.

Walking through Jack’s home was an out-of-body experience. Joke was just drifting through the halls, untethered to the mortal world. He wouldn’t be surprised if he looked down and saw his hands fading in and out of existence. Joke vaguely wondered if this was what dissociating felt like.

He took one more look at this home; a small place filled with warmth, laughter, and happiness. He no longer belonged here.

Joke shut the gate behind him.

What could he do now? He had nowhere to go. He couldn't go home — no, he had already been too much of a burden on his family in the past. He couldn’t do that to them again. If they saw him like this; if they knew what he did… Joke wouldn’t be able to stomach the disappointment on their faces.

Joke couldn’t go back home, and he couldn’t go back to the hospital where the others were waiting to hear about Toi Ting’s fate. He was a burden to everyone he crossed paths with. No matter what he did or where he went, if he were still around, the problems would never stop.

A wave of nausea washed over him, and Joke had to fight down the bile rising in his throat. He would go to the river near Jack’s house: the one they’d visited with Toi Ting several short days ago.

Joke was a selfish, selfish man, and this was as far as he would get from Jack. That’s why this was for the best. If given the opportunity, he’d throw himself back at Jack’s feet, begging for the forgiveness he didn’t deserve.

It was quiet when Joke arrived at the riverbank. The only sound came from the low buzzing of cicadas and the incessant whirring of his thoughts.

You’re worthless. Everyone is better off without you.

Just this morning, Jack would have told him those kinds of thoughts were untrue; that Joke meant everything, that he was worth so much to so many people. And Joke tried to believe it. God, he tried. But if this is how everything ended up, those thoughts couldn’t be wrong.

It would be better if there was no opportunity for him to fuck anything up anymore.

Joke released a shaky breath and looked down at the half-filled duffle bag beside him. The part of him he’d worked so hard to keep locked away whispered at him to open it. It curled in his ears, drawing him in like a siren’s call.

Would it be another betrayal if he did it? What if Toi Ting woke up and he was gone? After he promised he and Jack would never leave her? Well, half of that promise was as good as broken, anyway. Jack wanted nothing to do with him.

His lower lip began to tremble.

Jack was right back then. If Joke really wanted to be forgiven, he should just try dying.

A stronger man would have been able to weather the storm — to emerge scarred but strong on the other side of adversity — but Joke was not that man. He reached for the bag.

The round bottle was familiar in his palm. He’d tried this once before and failed. Imagine the irony of waking up in the hospital surrounded by the disappointed faces of his brother and parents. Such a fuck-up he couldn’t even kill himself right.

Joke’s hand drifted unconsciously to the Still Alive tattoo adorning his right bicep. It was a stick-and-poke given to him by one of the other inmates while he was still in prison — a reminder that he’d made it this far and a promise that he’d keep going.

Past-Joke might have found the whole thing morbidly amusing, but now he just felt like a failure.

“I’m sorry, Toi Ting… Jack,” Joke whispered into the still night air. Then he emptied the bottle into his palm and tossed the pills back before crawling to the edge of the riverbank. He scooped handfuls of water into his mouth until the mass of pills dislodged itself from his throat. They sat heavy in his stomach.

It didn’t matter if drinking the river water would make him sick; he wouldn’t be here long enough to feel the effects.

Joke lay down on the grass, trying to control his breathing. In and out, in and out, in and out.

He hated himself; hated that he couldn’t change. Nothing he did would ever be enough, but at least it would be over now. That thought was comforting.

Still, as Joke waited for the world to fade to black, he wished that in another life, Jack would come for him.

.oOo.

Jack couldn’t sleep. He’d narrowly escaped Boss’s men at the hospital. He took a few hits that should have knocked him out, especially with his still-healing stitches, but the rage and adrenaline flowing through his veins must have kept him going. 

He had been patching up his wounds in the bathroom as best he could when Tattoo called him. When he shared the news that Toi Ting was out of critical condition, the relief had brought Jack to his knees. But the removal of that stressor only meant he could focus on the most important man in his life.

Joke.

Just thinking his name was enough to make Jack’s stomach churn with guilt. He shouldn’t have screamed at him like that. He had been so blind with rage from Save’s betrayal that Joke giving the ring to Boss had been the final straw. He had cracked, and he regretted it.

He should have stopped to think about why Joke did what he did. He did it for the same reason he did everything: to help Jack. And now Joke probably wanted nothing to do with him. It’s not like Jack could blame him. Either way, Joke was too good a man to go against Jack’s wishes. He didn’t know his worth — always putting Jack’s needs above his own — that of course he would just accept it if Jack told him to stay away. God, he probably thought he deserved it.

When he walked into their bedroom, Joke’s bedding was folded neatly against the wall; all other traces of him were gone.

Jack had broken down right there on the mattress.

The sorrow and self-loathing had initially prevented him from forming a coherent thought, but now he’d been lying there for hours, tossing and turning with no hope of sleep coming to claim him. He was too worried about Joke being out on his own.

Once or twice, Jack considered sliding into bed next to his grandmother, but he stopped himself. He wasn’t a little kid anymore, and his grandmother couldn’t protect him from his mistakes.

Jack hadn’t seen her all evening. She’d gone out to the market like everything was normal and cooked the same meal Jack had been eating every Sunday for as long as he could remember. He couldn’t will himself out of bed to eat with her. The kind yet troubled expression she’d have on her face would be enough for Jack to spill everything, and he wasn’t ready to relive it. He didn’t even know if she knew about Toi Ting. She would be beside herself with worry.

There was no way Jack would be able to sleep like this. He kicked the tangle of blankets off the end of the bed and stood up, wavering for a moment as the world faded out and back in the way it sometimes did.

He would just take a quick walk to clear his head. He could use it as an excuse to look for Joke. Jack knew Joke wouldn’t answer his phone even if he tried to call.

Jack climbed out of bed and stuffed his feet into his flip-flops. It was eerily quiet as he walked down the darkened street. The scent of wet clothes and rotten wood was thick in the humid air. It was a scent that was hard to stomach at first, but Jack had grown used to it, comforted by it, even.

Everything that moved made Jack turn his head, but he was always left disappointed. Of course it wasn’t Joke. Joke was probably long gone by now. Maybe he went back to stay with his family. Jack didn’t know a lot about them because Joke kept his family life close to his chest, but he’d seen enough to know they hadn’t been good to him. 

Still, Joke’s father seemed to be coming around, so Joke’s home wasn’t the worst guess. But Jack didn’t know where Joke lived, and it wasn’t like he could go knocking on every door around looking for him.

Without realizing it, Jack’s feet had taken him down the path to the Chao Phraya River. He used to splash around in it when he was a kid. Just last week, he and Joke had taken Toi Ting and her friends to play in the water.

The acute stab of pain that knifed Jack through the chest hurt more than his actual stab wound.

As he approached the riverbank, Jack thought he saw something different. He was almost sure his eyes were playing tricks on him, but the silhouette of a person lying in the dirt became clearer the closer he drew to the water. They had a bag next to them that looked suspiciously like the one that had made a home in the corner of Jack’s room.

“Joke?” Jack called out cautiously, creeping closer.

The person didn’t respond, but Jack would recognize that leopard-patterned shirt anywhere. He breathed a sigh of relief; a small smile tugging at the corners of his lips.

Then Jack took a hopeful step closer, and his blood ran cold.

Even in the silver light of the moon, Joke’s face was too pale.

“Joke!” Jack dropped to his knees, grabbed Joke by the shoulders, and shook him. “Hey, stop playing around.” Laughter burbled up in his throat. It sounded almost manic in the darkness.

 Then Joke stirred, his head moving a fraction of an inch against the dirt before falling limp again, and Jack clutched that hope close to his chest.

His fingers weren’t cooperating with him as he scrambled for his phone. “1669. I have to call 1669,” he muttered frantically.

Jack finally managed to get his phone out of his pocket, but his knee knocked into something in the commotion. He looked down, and his stomach dropped, his wide eyes immediately latching back onto Joke.

A familiar orange bottle lay at Jack’s feet like an unmistakable reminder of everything he had done wrong. He wouldn’t be able to live with himself if Joke died. It was his fault. He should have gotten rid of those pills the moment he stopped needing them. Keeping them had just been a precaution.

The bottle was completely empty. Jack couldn’t remember how many pills there had been, but he was sure there were too many to be safe.

Jack fumbled with the keypad on his phone but managed to dial the right number. Each tone seemed to span an eternity. The ringing echoed in the silence like it was mocking him — proclaiming to the darkness what Jack had done.

He clutched Joke’s listless body to his side as he waited, heart in his ears. He was sure his nails were going to leave marks on Joke’s skin with how tightly he was holding him.

Finally, a woman answered, “1669. What’s your emergency?”

Jack nearly dropped the phone in his rush to respond. “My boyfriend… he took too many painkillers. He’s not conscious.”

“Okay. Do you know what he took?”

“Vicodin,” Jack said, voice trembling. “I-It was my prescription, but I didn’t know he’d—”

“Alright, I need you to calm down, sir. Can you tell me how long it’s been?” The woman was too calm. Shouldn’t she be panicked? Joke was dying in Jack’s arms, and she was speaking as if this were any other call. “Sir?” she prompted when Jack didn’t respond.

He looked at Joke, at the dried tear tracks on his pallid cheeks, and suddenly he couldn’t breathe. “I—I don’t know. ”

“That’s okay. We’re going to send someone to help. Keep him on his side until EMS arrives. If he throws up, you need to clear his airway.”

“Okay, okay,” Jack breathed. He could do that.

Jack maneuvered Joke onto his side. His head lolled in the dirt, and Jack wanted to vomit. He wasn’t sure how he managed to give the woman their location without falling apart, but she assured him that help was on the way and promised to stay on the line until the paramedics arrived. 

Even with the call still connected, Jack had never felt so alone. He tried to suck in a breath, but it was mucousy and made him cough. His fingers came back damp when he touched his face;  he hadn’t even realized he was crying.

Jack brushed Joke’s bangs out of his eyes with quivering fingers. How could this be the same man he’d fallen in love with? The same man who never hesitated to tell him when he was acting foolish? The same man who would do anything to make Jack happy?

“Please, Joke,” Jack sobbed. “I’m so sorry. I’m sorry. I’m sorry .”

Joke didn’t move. The weak pulse beating languidly in Joke’s wrist was the only thing giving Jack any solace. He would hold onto that for dear life.

It felt like an eternity waiting for help to arrive, and when it did, the EMTs trudged through the grass much too slowly. Jack wanted to get up and drag them over, but he couldn’t bear to leave Joke alone. What if he died when Jack wasn’t looking?

Jack thought he heard the woman’s tinny voice on the phone one last time before the call disconnected, but his head was spinning so much that he couldn’t be sure.

“Is this him?” one of the paramedics asked as he wheeled a stretcher over the dirt path.

Jack nodded mutely.

The paramedic inclined his head to the two people beside him, and they bent down to pick Joke up off the ground, but panic spiked in Jack’s chest.

“Sir, you have to let go,” the first man said.

Jack shook his head and tightened his fingers around Joke’s wrist. If he let go, he was going to lose him.

It felt like a piece of him had been ripped away when the EMT pried his fingers from Joke’s arm and laid Joke on his back. 

Jack watched with bated breath as the man inserted the tip of a spray bottle into Joke’s nose and administered some type of drug.

Joke was still lifeless when they strapped him to the stretcher and loaded him onto the ambulance. Jack clutched Joke’s hand tightly. His vision was blurry with tears. “I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m sorry,” Jack repeated under his breath, watching Joke’s body jostle beneath his restraints as they drove over the uneven roads.

He didn’t let go of Joke’s hand for the whole ride, even when the paramedics administered a second and then a third dose of medication into Joke’s nostrils.

Jack’s sense of time must be fucked up because suddenly they were at the hospital, and he was running alongside the stretcher to keep up with the EMTs.

The sterile white of the hospital lobby was blinding, and Jack was sent back a few hours ago when they wheeled Toi Ting through these same doors, her small face mangled and covered in blood — when Jack had said the words that made Joke go to these extremes.

“Overdose,” one of the EMTs said to the nurse when they reached the door to the ER. “Three doses of Narcan were delivered to the patient. Heart rate is steady, but the patient has not regained consciousness.”

The nurse pursed her lips but didn’t say anything as she opened the door to let the medics inside.

They started to pull the stretcher away, and Jack tried to follow, but someone stopped him.

Jack writhed against the arm holding him back. “No!” he screamed, and the sound ripped through his battered vocal cords. “I have to be with him!”

“Jack, you have to let them work, or he won’t make it.”

Hearing his name, Jack stopped and craned his neck to look at the person restraining him.

It was Joke’s father.

Jack’s legs suddenly couldn’t support his weight, and Jack slumped against the doctor’s chest. Strong arms caught him as he collapsed. Jack let himself be led over to the waiting room and lowered down into one of the waiting room chairs.

Jack’s vision was blurring from tears, and he absently wondered if he was going to pass out. Then Joke’s father’s face came into focus in front of him. “Do you know what happened?” he asked.

He did, but Jack shook his head. He couldn’t say it. Joke’s father wouldn’t speak this kindly to him if he knew. Even at a time like this, Jack still had his pride, and he hated himself for it.

When Jack didn’t answer, Joke’s father sighed and gripped his knee. The touch was oddly grounding. “Do you have someone you can call?”

Jack nodded. He felt like he was moving through honey trying to dial the number on his phone. His first thought was to call Grandma, but he could imagine the look of shock and disgust on her face when she found out what Jack did, and he couldn’t bring himself to do it. He dialed someone else instead.

“Yo, Jack. Any updates on Toi Ting?” Tattoo’s gruff voice was too loud in Jack’s ear.

He just gasped for air, trying to swallow the panic he couldn’t quell.

There was rustling on the other end of the line that sounded like Tattoo putting on his sneakers. Jack thought he heard another voice in the background that might be Aran, but he wasn’t sure.

“Jack, what happened?”

His voice trembled as he fought to get the words out. “Joke… He tried to… hospital.”

Jack thought he heard a gasp in the background, followed by an, Oh my god.

“We’re on our way. Stay there, okay?”

Jack didn’t think he could string together a coherent sentence right now, so he settled on, “’Kay.”

His hand dropped to his side when he hung up, and the phone clattered onto the chair. He was starting to get dizzy from lack of breath, and his head was pounding.

He couldn’t stop thinking about Joke — about how the last thing he might ever say to him was that he never wanted to see his face again. Joke would die thinking Jack didn’t love him. God, and Joke’s family, his friends; Jack took him from them.

Jack squeezed his eyes shut and tried to drown out the ringing in his ears.

He must have had his eyes shut for longer than he thought because someone was shaking his shoulder gently. “Jack, what’s going on?”

Jack slowly opened his eyes. After his vision cleared, he saw Tattoo, Aran, and Hoy standing in front of him, their faces grim. It was Hoy’s hand on his shoulder. He had bent down so they were at eye level.

“Is Joke okay?” he asked softly.

The question sent a fresh wave of grief through Jack’s body, and he shook his head, tears welling in his eyes again.

It’s my fault.

The three of them exchanged a panicked look, and that was when Jack realized he’d spoken aloud.

“What do you mean, it’s your fault?” Aran asked.

Jack shook his head again and covered his face with his hands. His whole body was shaking. “He took my Vicodin. I—” His breath hitched. “I found him by the river.”

Hoy started rubbing his back. “It’s not your fault, Jack. We shouldn’t have let him leave. We knew he wasn’t doing well.”

Jack dropped his hands. “Yeah, and that was my fault! I told him to get out!”

Tattoo was pacing back and forth across the floor. His sneakers squeaked against the white tile. “Listen,” he said after a moment, stopping in front of Jack. “You were an asshole, but it’s not like you forced him to do this. So just apologize when he wakes up.”

If he wakes up, a nasty voice in Jack’s head said.

Jack mumbled something unintelligible under his breath. He didn’t even know what he was saying at this point, too overcome by guilt and grief to make sense of anything.

Tattoo, Aran, and Hoy stayed with him for hours. They sat in silence on the uncomfortable plastic chairs until the sun peeked over the horizon.

Jack wasn’t able to sleep at all. He picked his nails into bleeding nubs in his anxiety. He needed to know if Joke was okay. It had been long enough, hadn’t it? They should know by now.

Finally, the ER doors opened, and Joke’s father appeared alongside another doctor.

Jack shot out of his seat, and the others followed him. He stumbled over to the door.  “Joke,” he said, voice breaking. “Is he…?”

After a too-long moment, Joke’s father looked at him. Jack couldn’t read the blank expression on his face.

“He’s stable.”

Stable.

The relief was so intense that Jack nearly collapsed, but Tattoo caught him before he crumpled to the floor.

Aran started to cry beside him, and Hoy rubbed his shoulder, but his eyes were also filling with tears of relief.

“You’re lucky you found him when you did. A few more minutes might have been too late.”

Jack didn’t know how Joke’s father could speak so impersonally, but Jack didn’t have the energy to pick a fight with him right now, not when he had just spent hours fixing Jack’s mess.

Maybe Jack’s sleeplessness was divine intervention. The gods were giving him a chance to fix his mistakes before they became irreversible.

“Can I see him?” Jack asked, his voice hoarse.

Joke’s father nodded. “He’s asleep, but you can sit with him.”

Tattoo and Hoy supported Jack through the halls to Joke’s room. When they opened the door, Joke was lying in the hospital bed hooked up to an oxygen tank and an IV. His finger was connected to a pulse ox that read 96%.

Jack’s eyes flicked over to the monitor beside the bed, and his gaze followed the spikes of Joke’s heartbeat as they were etched onto the screen. The steady rhythm was comforting.

There was a hand at his back leading him over to the bed, and Jack sank to his knees beside it. Joke had an oxygen tube in his nose, and the skin of his face was ashen, but he was the most beautiful person Jack had ever seen. He took Joke’s limp hand in his own, tracing his smiley face tattoo with his thumb. “Don’t scare me like that,” he said weakly, focusing on the weight of Joke’s warm hand in his.

On the other side of the bed, Aran leaned down to press a soft kiss to Joke’s forehead, and Hoy smoothed down his messy hair with the utmost care. Even Tattoo squeezed Joke’s free hand gently.

Regret sloshed around in Jack’s stomach, mixing with the grief and fear to create a toxic sludge. To think he almost took him away from them. He sniffled, blinking rapidly in an attempt to dispel the tears.

Aran gave him a look with too much knowing for Jack’s comfort and then grabbed Tattoo’s hand. “Come on. Let’s leave them alone for a minute.”

Jack exhaled a shaky breath and wiped the tears from his eyes with his free hand. When the others left, all he could do was wait. He laid his head down on the side of the mattress, keeping Joke’s hand clasped in his. Maybe he’d be able to think of an appropriate apology by the time Joke woke up.

.oOo.

Everything hurt. Why did everything hurt? His throat was sore, and his limbs were sluggish.

Joke blinked, and the ceiling came into focus. With the ceiling came the crushing feeling of failure. He was supposed to be gone.

The IV in his arm was itchy, but when he tried to scratch it, something stopped him.

Joke turned his head with difficulty, and his eyes widened with panic when he saw the mop of brown hair at his bedside.

No, this wasn’t supposed to happen. 

Joke jerked his arm away, and Jack sat up immediately.

God, he looked awful. His face was red and splotchy, and he looked like he hadn’t slept all night.

The familiar feeling of guilt flooded Joke’s chest. Just another thing to blame himself for. He was so selfish; wanting to die when it would destroy the people around him. His only solace was the knowledge that they would forget him eventually. Grandma, Hoy, Aran, Tattoo… even Jack might be sad for a while, but they would find somebody better than him. Somebody reliable and trustworthy. Somebody good.

“No,” Joke choked out, and he winced at the pain in his windpipe. 

Jack’s face crumpled, and he reached desperately for Joke’s hand. “Joke,” he said, voice wavering. “Please.”

Joke looked up, blinking to try to keep his traitorous tears in. “Toi Ting… Is she okay?”

He couldn’t see Jack’s face, but he could hear the complex jumble of emotions in his voice as he said, “She’ll live.”

Joke breathed out a sigh of relief and carefully lowered his gaze again as if to confirm that Jack was there, that this was actually happening. When Jack didn’t disappear, Joke’s guilt only multiplied. “I’m sorry,” he said, the words strained and thick with emotion.

Jack’s eyes were impossibly wet, and he shook his head fervently. “You have nothing to be sorry for. I’m sorry.” He squeezed Joke’s hand impossibly tighter.

Joke wanted to believe him, but the voice in his head kept saying, He’s wrong.

Some of Jack’s tears dripped onto Joke’s arm. The wetness further grounded him in this reality. He was really here. Jack was really here.

Jack’s head dropped to the side of the mattress.

Joke could feel the breath of his heaving sobs on the skin of his arm. “I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m sorry.” Jack repeated the words like a mantra.

Hot tears slid down Joke's cheeks. This wasn’t right, but sue him if he pretended it was — if he pretended he deserved it. To think that someone would miss him in his absence… that was more than Joke ever could have imagined he’d have.

When Jack didn’t seem to be calming down, Joke shakily placed his free hand atop Jack’s head. He could feel Jack’s body shudder beneath his touch, and he lifted his head.

“Why are you sorry? I shouldn’t have stolen the ring for Boss. Toi Ting… it was all my fault.”

Jack shook his head again. “It wasn’t. And I shouldn’t have said those things to you. I should have known Boss would have ended up like this with or without you. Either way, I forgive you.”

Joke let out a watery laugh despite the guilt still nestled deep within his chest, and Jack squeezed his hand like he was afraid Joke would disappear again. His touch tempted Joke with its sincerity, but some part of him still refused to accept it.

It was quiet for a moment, and then Joke whispered, “I’m sorry. I just didn’t know what else to do. I haven’t felt like that since I was a teenager. I just… didn’t want to be a burden anymore.”

“Joke,” Jack started, voice breaking. “You have never been a burden. All that stuff is in the past now.” He used his free hand to caress Joke’s cheek. “You are worth so much, Joke. So much.”

Joke’s vision started to blur, and he felt hot tears slip out of their own accord. He bowed his head so he wouldn’t have to see the look on Jack’s face. He didn’t think he could handle that kind of devotion.

But when Jack swiped his thumb under Joke’s eyes to dry his tears, Joke had never felt so loved. 

“I never want you to feel like that again,” Jack said, tipping Joke’s chin upward so Joke would meet his gaze. “Please, never leave me.”

Joke knew he couldn’t promise anything, but Jack made him want to. “If you insist,” he said weakly.

“I insist. I’ll spend the rest of our lives showing you how loved you are if I have to.” Jack’s hands slid down Joke’s arms until he was covering Joke’s hands with his own.

The room was quiet for a moment, but then Jack spoke again, more hesitantly this time. “Will you… Will you get some help?”

Joke’s first instinct was to get defensive, to say he didn’t need help because it was easier to be angry than to admit he wasn’t in control, but it wasn’t just about him anymore. If he couldn’t do it for himself, maybe he could do it for Jack. 

“I… I’ll try,” Joke said shakily.

Jack kissed him then, slow and impossibly gentle. When he pulled away, there were fresh tears in his eyes. “I’m so proud of you.”

Another swell of emotion grew in Joke’s chest, and he looked away. Jack never let go of him for a second, even when the tears bubbled over again, coating Joke’s cheeks in a thin sheen of salt.

Then the hospital door slid open, and both of them looked up. Jack pulled his hand away from Joke’s, and Joke immediately mourned the loss.

“There are my grandsons.”

Joke’s throat tightened as he stared at Jack’s grandmother standing there with an expression somewhere between relief and sorrow. Joke didn’t know what to do when she came over to the edge of the bed and gently patted his free arm.

“You gave us a good scare. I didn’t even know anything was wrong until Hoy stopped by.” Her words were stern, but there was a painfully pitiful look in her eyes that made Joke feel like she could read his mind.

“I’m sorry, Grandma.” Joke’s lower lip wobbled even as he tried to hold back his tears.

Grandma only held his hand gently and bent down so they were at eye level. “Oh, sweet child. Don’t be sorry. Just come to us next time. I can’t lose anybody else like this.”

Joke couldn’t look at her. He nodded into his lap and sniffled quietly. Then there was a knock at the door.

“Ah, your friends must be here. I saw them waiting outside,” Grandma said. She turned back to Joke. “Shall I let them in?”

Joke nodded mutely, and Grandma stood up to open the door.

Hoy, Tattoo, and Aran poked their heads through the doorway. 

Hoy rushed to his side. “Dude, we missed you.”

Aran set a vase of flowers on the night table and ruffled Joke’s hair affectionately. “Don’t know what we’d do without our Joke.”

Joke looked away. A telltale lump was building in his throat.

“Don’t do that again, or I’ll kill you,” Tattoo said sternly, pointing a finger at Joke.

Joke couldn’t help the watery laugh that bubbled up in his windpipe. Tattoo had never been good at comforting people, but Joke could see he was trying.

He was expecting disappointment, but it never came. Having his friends here, holding his hands and chatting with him like he didn’t just try to kill himself, was almost too much for Joke to bear. He sniffled, blinking rapidly to try to keep the tears in.

Then Jack laced their fingers together.

“I told you before,” Jack said, and Joke turned to him. His face was still a mess and his voice was stretched thin from tears, but Joke had never been looked at with so much love. “You’re family.”

A small smile teased the corners of Joke’s mouth, and he finally let the warmth wash over him.

Maybe this time, he could believe it.