Hemorrhage ::In My Hands::

Memories aren’t just where you need them,


Jack sighed, thoughts of him flooding his head.


Drag the waters ‘til the depths give up their dead,


He was probably dead to the man, as it was anyways.


What did you expect to find?


It wasn’t as if he’d ever cared about him, so…why couldn’t he stop thinking of him?


Was it something you left behind?


No matter what the young man tried, he couldn’t completely forget about him, the man he loved so truly and deeply.


Chase Young.


Oh, hold me now, I feel contagious,


Chase gazed blankly outside from his bedroom window. He wondered absently if feeling physically ill with a person’s absence was worrisome.


Am I the only place that you’ve left to go?


Spicer had abandoned him, all of them, and had formally renounced his dedication to the Heylin side or otherwise in the entire conflict.


Just like that.


He’d said his farewells to absolutely everyone, everyone but him, and the warlord wasn’t quite sure what to make of it.


She cries her life is like some movie in black and white,


It was as if the boy had taken the color from his life when he’d gone, sending it back to the bland monotony it’d been before he came.


Dead actors, vacant lines,


He’d forgotten how much he hated this battle of good and evil with the same-old, same-old: with Wuya, Guan, Hannibal, Dojo, and the Xiaolin monks. It didn’t matter that the monks were not the same every generation, either, because they were taught the same, imbued with the same skills and views as those before them.


Jack Spicer had been new, different than any other he’d ever encountered in his long life.


Without him, it would all be the same, again.


Over and over and over again, she cries!


Chase snarled roughly, throwing an object through his window and shattering it, savoring the harsh sting of cold air on his flesh.


And I wanted you to turn away,


He had been wary of the change Spicer’s presence promised to bring and had acted cruelly towards him in the hopes of driving him away, maintaining the vicious circle he hated in favor of accepting the possibility of it being replaced with something he might've liked even less.


He’d never imagined that it was an opportunity he’d been driving off, or that he would regret having chased it away.


You don’t remember,


Jack shook his head and wandered absently from his back porch to the garden, hoping to find some peace among the flowers.


This wasn’t worth thinking about: Chase had probably gladly forgotten all about him by now, and if that was the case, he should do likewise.


But why was it so hard to imagine life without him?


Chase had always made his otherwise lonely life better just by existing as his inspiration.


He wasn’t in this for Wuya, never Wuya; once she’d appeared and he’d realized just what he could be getting involved in, he’d participated in the Xiaolin-Heylin battles in the singular hope of catching a glimpse of the man that had motivated him to become evil. When he finally did…


Oh, god, it’d been love at first sight.


The warlord was amazing in legends and stories, but he was perfection in person; Jack had been instantly smitten.


However, unwavering hope and devotion could only go on so long in the face of constant hate and derision.


The goth couldn’t take the pain anymore and had decided to separate himself from the entire thing.


He couldn’t bring himself to actually say goodbye to Chase in the end: he’d start bawling and begging for sure, and he at least wanted the man not to remember him as even more pathetic than he already surely would.


Even without the goodbye, he felt he might start bawling and begging to no one, anyways.


But I do,


Chase realized he would never forget Jack Spicer, and in that instant, he knew what had to be done.


You never even tried…


It was worst, Jack supposed, that the man he loved had never once attempted to be civil to him.


With that thought, he collapsed onto a marble bench before his mother’s prized rosebush, holding his head in his hands as he was unable to hold back a quiet sob.


“Spicer.”


His head instantly shot up, and he gasped, “Chase..!” He became aware of the fact that there was a tear or two sliding down his cheeks, and he blushed, mortified; he really hadn’t wanted the man to have seen him crying.


The goth was startled to feel gloved hands on his face, wiping the saline away; of course, Chase’s facial expression was unreadable.


“You cannot leave me,” he said sternly, “I will not allow it.”


The warlord bent and took Jack’s lips with his own.


Don’t fall away,


And leave me to myself,


Don’t fall away,


And leave life bleeding in my hands,


In my hands, again,


Leave life bleeding in my hands,


In my hands,


Life lies bleeding…