threedimensions (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
threedimensions) wrote2020-04-19 12:09 am
threedimensions) wrote2020-04-19 12:09 am
[1-2] CRASHING
Dimensions: [1-2]
Timeline: February 2017
Title: Crashing
Summary: Mark has a realization, and neither Jack or Andrew know what to do.
~1.3k
Jack was watching him when he came to the realization.
The band, guests, and personnel were all on the tour buses, making their way toward Springfield. Jack had settled into the corner with his e-reader and a throw blanket, and although he was more comfortable than usual, his attention repeatedly wandered from his book and he found himself watching or considering the others. It had been an easy morning; quiet, but not heavy with the most recent drama or any other.
Brandon was sitting sideways across two of the seats toward the front, his headphones on as he perused his laptop, occasionally bursting into a quick staccato of typing before becoming still again; his head bobbed (sometimes a little, sometimes a lot) to his music, and he seemed to be in a good mood. Curious, Jack used his phone to pull up Brandon's streaming profile to see what he was listening to, and he was not surprised to see it was a mix of his favorites: Pearl Jam, Alice In Chains, Smashing Pumpkins, Eve 6, Third Eye Blind, Soundgarden, Stone Temple Pilots...Jack did not care for much of that, but Brandon always defaulted to the tried and true when he was happy.
Keith had barricaded himself in his bunk with the curtain drawn, still preferring to retreat from the world even when there was not much from which to retreat. Jack was sympathetic to this. His understanding was that while Keith's medication was helping him greatly, he still had bad days, and he did not at all enjoy the attention that the others did. The idea of medication for himself was one Jack had touched on many times, but he always came to the same conclusion: it was not possible. He was grateful that, in the last several years, his life in general had gotten a great deal better, and a lot of the time, it was enough. With Brandon around, he was all right much of the time, and it was enough.
Andrew sat on the floor in front of the other corner bench, playing a game on the Xbox with his neck craned up, his concentration in full force, giving many muttered cursings. Jack watched his game for a while, but it seemed to just be an FPS and that did not interest him; games like those were flashes and explosions and immediate action. The maker of a popular FPS franchise had offered to collaborate with him last year, but he had declined, and not just because Brandon's band was getting set to release their third album and Brandon had said that he very much wanted Jack to come on at least one of the tours with them. Jack's other games had been so popular that while there was pressure to create more, he could choose to do so at his leisure. He had another two that were nearly finished; he planned to revisit them each in turn once this last tour was over, make final touches, and release later.
Mark was in one of the booths, his sketchpad and a pouch of colored pencils in front of him, but his attention was wandering this morning, too; he gazed out of the window for a while, a pencil in one hand with its point to the paper, but he hadn't drawn anything. He had been in a low state for the last several weeks, but today he seemed all right, and Jack was glad. He had joked with Andrew regarding a strategy to play their next concert in dinosaur costumes, he had participated in a conversation with Brandon regarding adding another cover song to their repertoire, and he had even offered Brandon the last half of his chicken biscuit when Brandon complained that his own breakfast had gone too quickly, and since they were already on the road, he could not have his assistant get him anything else and he didn't want anything in the kitchenette.
"You sure you don't want it?" Brandon had asked, eyebrows raised.
Mark had shrugged. "I'm not feeling it." He balled the wrapper around the sandwich and tossed it, and Brandon had flashed him a quick smile before opening it back up and taking a huge bite.
The next time Jack's eyes drifted away from his Kindle, almost everyone was the same except for Mark. He was watching Brandon now, but his eyes seemed to be far away. His head was tilted to the side, the tip of his pencil lightly tapping against the paper in either a 4/4 time signature or the tick-tock of a clock. This in and of itself was unusual—ever since the troublesome photographs had become part of their lives, he had stopped making eye contact with a lot of people, even looking in their direction, Brandon in particular. He had not looked at him even when speaking with him unless he had to, and then it had been just a flick of his eyes before turning away again. Jack had noticed that this tended to put a damper on Brandon's spirits, as he also noticed it each time it happened, but there was nothing to be done about it.
More unusual still was the way Mark's expression changed as he continued to look at Brandon. Jack watched his face turn from vaguely thoughtful to sharply contemplative, a line appearing on his forehead as he started to frown. Jack glanced at Brandon, but he was absorbed in something he was reading, oblivious to anything else.
Jack looked back at Mark just in time to see it happen. His gaze focused and his eyes widened, causing a strange mismatch of an expression that melded into horror. His mouth opened in a silent gasp just as his hand opened and he dropped his pencil to the tabletop, where it clattered. He stared, looking stricken.
Jack was concerned, and he had almost worked up the fortitude to speak to him when Andrew noticed. "Yo, dude, what's up?"
Mark looked at him, blinking several times. He seemed to try to speak and failed. Andrew had originally just glanced at him and then back to the television, where he was attempting to line up a sniper lens, but when he did not get an answer, he looked again, this time seeming to be concerned himself. "Mark?" he tried again. "You all right, man?"
Mark blinked again, his expression stilled stunned. He looked at Andrew, looked back toward the front of the bus, where Brandon was, and then his eyes focused on the table in front of him. "No," he said.
Andrew frowned and glanced at Jack, but Jack was wearing his dark glasses and he could not tell if Andrew knew that he was also watching. "What's wrong?"
"I'm a fucking idiot," Mark marveled to the table top. Andrew seemed to be at a loss, but he did not have a chance to try to respond; Mark abruptly stood up and looked around, his expression confused. He looked toward the front of the bus again, and then turned away and headed out of the middle, back toward the bunks.
Jack looked after him, and when he slowly turned back himself, he saw Andrew looking at him. Andrew seemed to hesitate, and then he said, in a low voice, "Guess he's finally figured it out, huh?"
Jack did not answer; he did not have to. After a moment, Andrew went back to his game, and Jack tried to go back to his book. He still could not concentrate, his attention wandering, but due to different reasons than before. He was troubled.
Timeline: February 2017
Title: Crashing
Summary: Mark has a realization, and neither Jack or Andrew know what to do.
~1.3k
Jack was watching him when he came to the realization.
The band, guests, and personnel were all on the tour buses, making their way toward Springfield. Jack had settled into the corner with his e-reader and a throw blanket, and although he was more comfortable than usual, his attention repeatedly wandered from his book and he found himself watching or considering the others. It had been an easy morning; quiet, but not heavy with the most recent drama or any other.
Brandon was sitting sideways across two of the seats toward the front, his headphones on as he perused his laptop, occasionally bursting into a quick staccato of typing before becoming still again; his head bobbed (sometimes a little, sometimes a lot) to his music, and he seemed to be in a good mood. Curious, Jack used his phone to pull up Brandon's streaming profile to see what he was listening to, and he was not surprised to see it was a mix of his favorites: Pearl Jam, Alice In Chains, Smashing Pumpkins, Eve 6, Third Eye Blind, Soundgarden, Stone Temple Pilots...Jack did not care for much of that, but Brandon always defaulted to the tried and true when he was happy.
Keith had barricaded himself in his bunk with the curtain drawn, still preferring to retreat from the world even when there was not much from which to retreat. Jack was sympathetic to this. His understanding was that while Keith's medication was helping him greatly, he still had bad days, and he did not at all enjoy the attention that the others did. The idea of medication for himself was one Jack had touched on many times, but he always came to the same conclusion: it was not possible. He was grateful that, in the last several years, his life in general had gotten a great deal better, and a lot of the time, it was enough. With Brandon around, he was all right much of the time, and it was enough.
Andrew sat on the floor in front of the other corner bench, playing a game on the Xbox with his neck craned up, his concentration in full force, giving many muttered cursings. Jack watched his game for a while, but it seemed to just be an FPS and that did not interest him; games like those were flashes and explosions and immediate action. The maker of a popular FPS franchise had offered to collaborate with him last year, but he had declined, and not just because Brandon's band was getting set to release their third album and Brandon had said that he very much wanted Jack to come on at least one of the tours with them. Jack's other games had been so popular that while there was pressure to create more, he could choose to do so at his leisure. He had another two that were nearly finished; he planned to revisit them each in turn once this last tour was over, make final touches, and release later.
Mark was in one of the booths, his sketchpad and a pouch of colored pencils in front of him, but his attention was wandering this morning, too; he gazed out of the window for a while, a pencil in one hand with its point to the paper, but he hadn't drawn anything. He had been in a low state for the last several weeks, but today he seemed all right, and Jack was glad. He had joked with Andrew regarding a strategy to play their next concert in dinosaur costumes, he had participated in a conversation with Brandon regarding adding another cover song to their repertoire, and he had even offered Brandon the last half of his chicken biscuit when Brandon complained that his own breakfast had gone too quickly, and since they were already on the road, he could not have his assistant get him anything else and he didn't want anything in the kitchenette.
"You sure you don't want it?" Brandon had asked, eyebrows raised.
Mark had shrugged. "I'm not feeling it." He balled the wrapper around the sandwich and tossed it, and Brandon had flashed him a quick smile before opening it back up and taking a huge bite.
The next time Jack's eyes drifted away from his Kindle, almost everyone was the same except for Mark. He was watching Brandon now, but his eyes seemed to be far away. His head was tilted to the side, the tip of his pencil lightly tapping against the paper in either a 4/4 time signature or the tick-tock of a clock. This in and of itself was unusual—ever since the troublesome photographs had become part of their lives, he had stopped making eye contact with a lot of people, even looking in their direction, Brandon in particular. He had not looked at him even when speaking with him unless he had to, and then it had been just a flick of his eyes before turning away again. Jack had noticed that this tended to put a damper on Brandon's spirits, as he also noticed it each time it happened, but there was nothing to be done about it.
More unusual still was the way Mark's expression changed as he continued to look at Brandon. Jack watched his face turn from vaguely thoughtful to sharply contemplative, a line appearing on his forehead as he started to frown. Jack glanced at Brandon, but he was absorbed in something he was reading, oblivious to anything else.
Jack looked back at Mark just in time to see it happen. His gaze focused and his eyes widened, causing a strange mismatch of an expression that melded into horror. His mouth opened in a silent gasp just as his hand opened and he dropped his pencil to the tabletop, where it clattered. He stared, looking stricken.
Jack was concerned, and he had almost worked up the fortitude to speak to him when Andrew noticed. "Yo, dude, what's up?"
Mark looked at him, blinking several times. He seemed to try to speak and failed. Andrew had originally just glanced at him and then back to the television, where he was attempting to line up a sniper lens, but when he did not get an answer, he looked again, this time seeming to be concerned himself. "Mark?" he tried again. "You all right, man?"
Mark blinked again, his expression stilled stunned. He looked at Andrew, looked back toward the front of the bus, where Brandon was, and then his eyes focused on the table in front of him. "No," he said.
Andrew frowned and glanced at Jack, but Jack was wearing his dark glasses and he could not tell if Andrew knew that he was also watching. "What's wrong?"
"I'm a fucking idiot," Mark marveled to the table top. Andrew seemed to be at a loss, but he did not have a chance to try to respond; Mark abruptly stood up and looked around, his expression confused. He looked toward the front of the bus again, and then turned away and headed out of the middle, back toward the bunks.
Jack looked after him, and when he slowly turned back himself, he saw Andrew looking at him. Andrew seemed to hesitate, and then he said, in a low voice, "Guess he's finally figured it out, huh?"
Jack did not answer; he did not have to. After a moment, Andrew went back to his game, and Jack tried to go back to his book. He still could not concentrate, his attention wandering, but due to different reasons than before. He was troubled.