(c) Nausea (pg)

Title: Nausea
Rating: pg minor swearing
Author: me
Status: oneshot, complete.
Summary: Quinn's jealous.


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It’s one of those obnoxious rock clubs, with too loud over-played music, and annoying flashing lights where all you have to do is take a breath and the taste of sweat saturating from practically everybody in the room is on your tongue. There’s people grinding, there’s people laughing, there’s people drinking and the muscles in Quinn‘s stomach are clenching so tightly his intestines feel like metal springs ready to snap at any moment. The lump that has been bouncing up and down the back of his esophagus the whole tour, is about to burst and he has to swallow to keep his pulsating heart from leaping out; to keep the words hanging on the tip of his tongue from slipping out.

It’s like a car wreck and he can’t tear his eyes away from it. They’re smiling, smiling and laughing and it makes Quinn feel like he’s been left out of some big joke for the past month. They have their own table, and Quinn has made a place of faux comfort next to Jeph whilst the tattooed man chats away to whoever’s willing to listen.

He tries not to watch, he really does, but every time he looks away, there’s that nagging urge to keep watching. Seriously; a fucking car wreck.

Bert’s making the same jokes Quinn has heard to many times to count and Gerard is laughing because maybe it’s a whole new joke just for them and nobody else. Not even Quinn.

Maybe he can bash his head against the wall behind them, paint the bricks with his brains and decorate the floor with confetti shreds of his skull while everybody else is preoccupied with everybody else. Desperate times call for desperate measures, and jealousy calls for childish attempts and the waving of arms for attention. And he wonders if he could even muster up the strength to lift the head of the shambolic mannequin that he calls his body.

Bert looks over his shoulder, his eyes smiling when they meet Quinn’s. The corner of Quinn’s lip slightly twists up into a faltering sneer and he’s half-glad he knows that Bert wouldn’t notice even if he was sitting right across from him. And if he did a simple 'I'm fine', would satisfy any questioning.

The heavy beat of the nauseating music seems to be getting louder and louder every time he blinks. The only place he can feel his heartbeat is in his eyelids and it feels as if a knot has finally uncoiled. The contents of his stomach are threatening to pass through his clenched teeth and then he’s running.

Running and pushing one person after the other out of his way, tripping over his feet in desperate attempt to find some sort of porcelain salvation. And then there are two hands on his shoulders, weaving him through the people, pushing him through a door, pushing him to his knees. His chest heaves while the meals of the day drop down into the toilet, paying no attention to the droplets of water specking his cheeks.

“Dude”, Jeph says, stepping back bringing his arm up to cover his nose. “Dude, what the fuck did you take?”

When Quinn opens his mouth to answer, nothing but vomit escapes.

checked: rafiki.