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kafkaesque: having a nightmarishly complex, bizarre, or illogical quality.

bexutifully:

     _{When Beckham was in Jasper’s presence, somehow, everything just felt better. He wasn’t sure how that was, or why it was but it was the truth and Beckham couldn’t run from that any longer. The boy had been denying himself the simple pleasures in life for too long and he wanted them back. He wanted to smile again, he wanted to feel like he could breathe properly and he wanted to let himself feel. Beckham knew he had fucked it up before, but he’d needed to learn and come to terms with his shit on his on. He had and now here he was. It wouldn’t be perfect and he still had a lot to figure out and work through but he was willing to try now and that was what mattered, right? But, the boy knew he couldn’t just come out and say all of that though, it had been too long. It had taken Beckham too long and he’d missed his window of opportunity, he could see that now. That didn’t stop him from staying a little longer though, torturing himself a little bit more with every passing moment. Beckham plastered a smile on his face and hid behind a persona, buying his real feelings within. He couldn’t let Jasper see that he was hurting, he needed to make him think that he was moving on too because clearly the other had. It was such bullshit and Beckham wanted to crawl deep into a hole and never come back out. “Ah, still just as quick to doubt what I do and don’t know I see.” Beckham hummed, brushing his hand through his hair, before leaving it to absentmindedly scratch at the back of his neck. He felt his smile falter for a moment when Jasper called him out on his shit, of course he knew. “I know,” Beckham whispered. “I know and I’m sorry, okay? I’m fucking sorry. I have my reasons for coming here but they’ve all gone to shit now. So, it doesn’t really matter, does it? Just— forget it. All of this. I’ll go and never come back. I just needed to see you is all, know for myself.” The boy backed away slowly, not watching where he was going and his eyes completely focused on Jasper. Beckham nearly choked when the other next spoke, pausing for only a moment.}

      _{In Jasper’s point of view, him and Beckham were two entities that were supposed to be one. They were nothing without each other, and that had been apparent once he saw the eyes of the other. It was fascinating, to see that he once contributed to the impact of his ex’s future. Jasper wanted him, he wanted him even when he was alone in the middle of the night, full of urges. Once Jasper gave positive consent to his valiant effort, he looked up. There wasn’t anything else he could have said; the look in his eyes told a story that words would not have been able to say. He didn’t really know if there was anything Jasper could have said. He wasn’t really a man of many words. Au contraire, he preferred to speak in less than five whenever someone wished to speak with him. Calloused fingers brush against the side of his chair, an unexpected trait of nervousness overcoming him. Had he been in grade school again? The raven haired junkie cursed himself for being so dull-witted, and instead ran a hand through his hair to conceal the anxiousness settling across his uneasy countenance. “I um—…” Should he have restated what it was he said just mere moments ago? “I don’t know if that’s what you wanted to hear, honestly.” There was a moment’s pause, and then he continued. “I mean… I love you. I still do. I just thought that you were here to make my life a living Hell. That is what you’re wont to do, anyways.” Perhaps it was because he knew him more than he knew himself, he didn’t really know. Jasper preferred to be with Beckham than to be with anyone else. He had endeavored to move on, but all he could get was a partner who made him unhappy. They were one night stands at first, but then that turned into something more serious. A woman came into his life, a lean blonde youth with a knack for painting, but she had brought him displeasure and shame. All he could think of whilst he had been yanking her hair, scratching her back or kissing her was Beckham. Guilt washed over him like a high tide, and he could tell that his musings had come to haunt his face. “You’re the only person I think of, it’s true. I didn’t know you missed me. If I did, do you think I’d be sitting in my house watching Cheech and Chong for a week straight?” It had been a rhetorical question, but that wasn’t the sort of fate he had in mind for himself. His fate was now in Beckham’s hands. Whether he wished to take it or not, was his choice.}