Chapter Text
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=xwUv4md9uXA
It was 5 am when he finally stumbled into his room half naked and exhausted. He closed the door silently behind him, afraid to wake his housemates.
He noticed something on the bed across the room. It was a carefully wrapped package placed there for him.
He sat on the edge of the bed and slowly tore off the paper then stared at the fresh yellow hoodie in his hands. He paused and read the card that lay inside the packaging.
This one's the real deal.
P x.
He was shocked looking down at it. Finally he pulled it close and cradled it against his chest trying to soothe the pain there.
He nuzzled his nose into it and took a deep breath. It smelled of a familiar cologne. Jules tried to imagine Preston going to buy it.
Jules rubbed the material between his fingers. It was much softer than the yellow hoodie he currently had on that was also covered in blood.
Preston was a lost little boy underneath the tattoos, slicked hair, expensive watches, rings, and tracksuits. His first instinct to any threat was to lash out.
But he'd begun to soften in the moments when they were alone. That's how Jules knew everything had gone too far.
A few days earlier they'd been lying in Jules' bed. Preston lifted his hand to caress his face and asked about the scar on his forehead. "What's this?" A sincere moment of concern for Jules' wellbeing.
"I got in a fight."
"Gimme a name, I'll fuck 'im up", he wanted to hurt the person who'd hurt Jules.
Using violence was Preston's first instinct when it came to proving his love and loyalty too.
It had been on the tip of Jules' tongue: How could you not know who I really am? You brought us here. I wanted to destroy your life the way you destroyed mine...
Jules regretted not telling him sooner: You gave me this scar.
It had gotten out of control, and too real. It unnerved Jules. The next morning he'd stripped the sheets from the bed once Preston was gone, trying to get rid of any trace of his presence: the scent of cologne that turned him on now and the flecks of spunk that had stained the sheets after he'd come inside Jules from behind.
But he still had the video.
Except he couldn't do it. He couldn't carry out his plan. He couldn't fuck up Preston's entire life for revenge. He had to end it because this had gone too far.
Preston cared about Jules, and Jules couldn't betray him that way even if he deserved it.
It was dangerous the longer it went on.
Jules stood up and pulled off then threw the blood-spattered hoodie in the bin beside his bed. He went to the shower to wash off the rest of the blood and dirt.
He stood under the warm jet from the showerhead and closed his eyes. The sting of the cuts and scrapes that covered his face and body made him wince. He toweled off carefully and avoided looking at his swollen face as he went past the mirror and back to his room.
He lay down on the bed in just the towel, curled up on his side and stared at the yellow hoodie and note that sat atop the dresser. He couldn't bring himself to toss them in the bin.
He closed his eyes and heaved a sigh, tried to sleep, not looking forward to the moment he would eventually have to get up again.
He didn't want to run in to Toby or Alicia who were already moving about the flat. They would immediately see the state of his face and Jules didn't know what he could even say.
He tried to think of a lie. He'd fallen? Run into a door? Another random thug had attacked him after the show?
They'd see through. Preston's beaten you up?! We have to ring the police!
Jules was suddenly enraged as he remembered. Fucking Toby. He'd invited Preston last night 'as a surprise'. What the fuck was he hoping would happen? Probably that Preston would run away.
Toby was jealous and petty, but he didn't really know what he'd done.
Jules had to admit he was the one to blame, for lying to them all. Who would ever imagine Jules had done something so fucked up anyway?
He finally dozed off. He dreamed of Preston lying there beside him in the bed, his face covered in blood. He was crying quietly, inconsolable, wounded and helpless the way he'd appeared on the ground behind the club that night.
Preston couldn't speak through the sobs. He reached his hand out toward Jules, touching his face again. The hand was bloodied and adorned with rings. His eyes begged Jules for help. In his dream Jules saw his own hand reaching out slowly toward Preston's, something he hadn't done that night.
Then Jules woke up.