Chapter Text
Alcohol seemed like the only answer — or at least that’s what Jackson Wang told himself. When the weight of expectation got too heavy, when the image he’d built felt like a mask he couldn’t lift, he drank to blur the edges.
Tonight felt like it was cracking anyway. The club thumped so loud that his team’s voices were swallowed. They danced around him like guardians, blocking strangers from getting too close, while he stood with his back to the crowd, a nearly-empty whiskey bottle in one hand and a glass in the other. He stared at the black stage floor, took a slow sip, and tried to make the world disappear.
He had only just arrived, but he already wanted to go home. He’d promised Jay B he’d be at the grand opening, so he stayed, smiling and nodding while the same question followed him from teammate to teammate — “You okay?” He gave them the smallest gestures he could: a nod, a thumbs-up. Any more and he felt certain he would crack.
Jackson wore a lot of titles — singer, composer, director, CEO of his own label, founder of a fashion line. He thrived on people and performance, but the responsibilities that came with that control had a way of piling up until there was nowhere left to breathe. He’d chosen to keep the reins tight because no one else shared his vision; now that choice felt like a weight.
When the hour finally ended, he slipped away, ordered an Uber, and pushed through the press of bodies like a man clawing toward air. Outside, the night hit him cold and clean; for the first time in hours, he could breathe. The drive home felt short and endless at once. Back inside his apartment, the door closed, and something inside him folded — the tears came suddenly and hot, and with them a sob he couldn’t hold back. He didn’t know why he was crying; he only knew he couldn’t stop. Somehow, he made it to bed and buried himself under the covers until morning.
He slept through the appointments he’d meant to keep. When he finally woke and fumbled for his dead phone, it booted back to life and a single message blinked on the screen. A name he hadn’t seen in months:
Mark Tuan: Come home, Jacks.