A Little Therapy

Alex Gaskarth had very nice eyes. They changed when the light hit them, from this deep, dark and mysterious coffee coloured orbs that held secrets, worries and pains beyond anyone’s comprehension. But then the sun added its sparkle and suddenly they were like lemon and honey tea, swirling around in this pit of compassion, happiness and general adoration to the world around him. Surprisingly, it appeared to be light most of the time, and the only people who saw the dark was when the ones that closed themselves in Alex’s attic room; the only person that truly took notes however, was the one that wasn’t hitting the clouds the moment he stepped through the door.

Kellin Quinn had eyes like darkness. They were darkness, coated in these curtains of lust and malice, but he didn’t notice, he himself would never notice. Because in that malice is mischief, in those bright eyes that swam in the glistening azure depths of the sea, was a sparkle that no-one could resist. In the grand scheme of things, Kellin was a nice person; he was funny and in some respect, intelligent. But he also didn’t care and would never care for anything further than sex, drugs or the ability to piss someone off in two words. Kellin Quinn had eyes like a car crash, ones you just want to tear yourself away from and can’t.

Jack Barakat could find nothing particularly special about himself, or at least he wouldn’t if he looked in the mirror, but all that had to happen was for Alex to randomly drop in “You have really nice eyes,” and suddenly he couldn’t stop staring. They say that eyes are the gateway to the soul, is that why demons have black eyes? Because they have no soul? His own eyes were light brown, a chesnut colour, there was alight when he smiled and were absent as he stared (which he found intriguing to no end).

The cerulean eyed boy had had too leave, because his parents were home, his knees were bouncing together and his fists were clenching and unclenching nervously, his head glancing from once place to another quickly. So the last two boys had let him leave, even though there hadn’t been much protest against it anyway. Jack lay next to Alex, he could feel the hairs on his arms brush against the other’s lay next to him; their feet brushed and his breath hitched, him realising he was in far too deep.

Then, it happened, the Essex born boy tilted his head to stare at Jack, some smoke left behind him as it brushed against the ceiling. “Jack?” He’d whispered and almost as if he had been waited to be commanded, the younger turned his head at breakneck speed to look into the eyes had had already identified as beautiful. Their noses were brushing in the best and worst way, sending electric shocks stammering through his veins, those boringly muddy eyes closing so could stop his breath from hitching or running thin in that moment. “Your eyes are beautiful,” Perhaps they would find another situation like this too live through because that one shattered the moment a hiss escaped Alex’s throat followed by a cuss. The cigarette had burnt his hand, and now burnt the carpet. The Baltimore boy snorted only too flush the colour of dangerous skies, getting up off the bed and making his way towards the door, scooping up the cluster of pain on the floor, sweetly wrapped in the form of textbooks. “I’ll see you later Alex,” he whispered gently, only too have his hand caught.

“No,” He muttered, “Look Jack, you need to stop, before you get like me, I…I can’t…I’m not,” The darker offered a small smile, although his heart had just shattered inside his chest. Jack hadn’t even noticed he’d been so obvious, what if his parents had noticed? He’d be…no, don’t think about that now…he scolded himself.

He did see him later, or rather he saw him in his dreams; in a way that had him panting and writhing with a significant bulge and wet patch forming in his pants before the morning had even arrived. He usually jumped into a cold shower, he’d feel a little too disgusted if he did anything other, the confirmation of being a fag was too heavy for his already book-broken shoulders to carry. It didn’t make it any easier to look into those honey-caramel eyes the next morning anyway, no matter how soulful or Earth-shattering they were.

Notes