Like Copper.

This was the kind of agitation that tasted like copper between his teeth. There was no other way to describe it aside from sucking on a dirty penny. It was a taste Jackson loathed but argumentatively yearned for given the context of what came with it: an undeniable high. And like most addicts, he ignored the warning signs. The fact after that very high came the inevitable crash was something Jackson felt content to neglect. He felt it was an excusable vice, something he could justify under his breath. Nevermind that being a practiced chant from many addicts before him.

A person could get addicted to anything: drugs, alcohol, food─ people. In his case, it was the latter; it was an intoxication that came in the form of a gentle, lazy weight on his chest from a resting head as they lay splayed on his old couch. His mother would be rolling in her grave if she knew what he was doing and who with. That boy. She'd always resort to calling him, uttering it like a curse word even when they both were well graduated and old enough to know better. That boy, that Gunter.

Jackson couldn't jeer at his mother's words too much. In high school he had always viewed Gunter as the kid who ate his lunch in the hallway. Strange, awkward. Misunderstood.

He couldn't quite see the expression on Gunter's face, the young man had half of it smooshed against Jackson's stomach but, Jackson pictured those torpid grey eyes zoning off to the TV he had flipped on to fill in the silence.

Because having a dumb black and white romantic film on was far easier than being left to your own devices. Something Jackson was finally learning after years of knowing Gunter, he wasn't very great at it. Sharing his thoughts, that is. Not that Jackson was any better by comparison, despite being the more emotionally explosive one of the two, the type to wear his heart on his sleeve, he did so with a fumbled clumsiness.

So instead of addressing the glaringly obvious elephant in the room, Jackson laid there, clad in the white tee and sweat pants Gunter had loaned him. Both were a size too big, but Jackson had been grateful as he had shown up unexpectedly and wet from the rain at an ungodly hour last night.

There had been tears, angry exchanged words, and an accusation or two thrown that evening. Jackson could barely pick apart through the haze of last night's alcohol, but he recalled being upset with Gunter's negligence and self-conscious over the instability of their relationship.

Relationship. What even was their relationship? It was a labeless conversation that Gunter had been successful to avoid time and time again. An awkward dance with an inebriating sensation to being strapped to a roller coaster. The rare bouts of affection Gunter had shown, that made him feel special, pressed into every tender spot of Jackson's addictive personality just to be left with the emptiness of Gunter's absence when the man decided to clamber back into his shell. Like the shy, socially awkward turtle he was. It was all verbiage that read to Jackson as someone who doesn't know what they want.

And Jackson wasn't stupid, he knew what the signals of the other avoiding him had looked like, but never really understood what it all meant. Not at least until last night. Seeing the collection of brightly yellow pill bottles peppered in a sloppy assembly line on the coffee table, all sporting Gunter's name on it should have been an obvious advertisement. How did he not see it before? Hell, he had known Gunter since High School─ well, sort of. It wasn't until they were stuck in the same colledge two years prior did he really bother to get to know the man. Where he fell for him. The real plummet.

How long have you been sick? Is it serious? These were questions Jackson had wanted to ask, but he knew better. A private man like Gunter? Jackson would have better luck convincing an orange that it was an apple. It only solidified his growing concerns with the addition of Gunter's conflicting behavior. Would you want to put your loved one through that kind of turmoil? Had the roles been reversed, Jackson knew he wouldn't. It all finally came crumbling down when Gunter had finally put his thoughts into words. It was a moment when they both knew the cat was out of the bag.

What did you expect, Jackson? A happy ending? Gunter had sounded so exhausted last night. There is no happy ending. Not for me. Not for us. Just hospital bills and stress.

It had been so strange, he's always known Gunter to be this solid pillar. A quiet beacon of strength. Looking at Gunter now though, tall lanky limbs tangled with his, his much larger hand absently curled around Jackson's, and his legs too long that they spilled over the arm of the couch carelessly─ despite being one of the most towering people Jackson has ever known, he looked so small. So fragile. Something he had wanted to protect, but didn't know how. God did that ache the worse.

With his free hand, he swept his fingers through the messy short locks. The mangled bed head caught his fingertips, making Gunter deeply hum his grizzled contentment as Jackson carefully pulled a tangle out.

It's so hard to fight the stinging that was building against the backs of his eyes, that prickled, nasty feeling. Because he knew after this high, the crash was peeping just around the corner. Gunter will probably go on to avoid him for weeks again after this closeness. He will probably scurry back into hiding. Much worse─ Jackson would probably let him, desperately riding out each pattern because this is what addiction does to a person.

And that copper taste comes back. It's sour and it makes his stomach clench and flip. And Jackson swears to god that it tastes just like sucking on a dirty penny.