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currently-tired · 2 months

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yooo guys! new multichapter fic from me! this is chapter one.

Tuning in today, this time on a look into my brain and ideas; What if Lanyon made his own Hyde??

cw for: suicide; do not read if you are sensitive to that!

Henry Jekyll was furious in a way Hastie had never seen him before. Jaw working, eyes blazing, and a set to his shoulders that suggested he was stifling back a violent response.

“Oh, don’t give me that!” Lanyon snapped.

“It’s insanity!”

“No it’s not!” Jekyll snapped back loudly.

“Man IS comprised of dual-“

“Harry! You’re being insane!-“ Lanyon interrupted.

“Let’s say I believe this theory.

Mankind has two natures. Good and evil. Where do all the other feelings fall into?” Lanyon snapped, gesturing wildly.

“They!-“ Jekyll interjected.

“You don’t have shit on that and you know it!” Lanyon snapped back.

Henry growled, with venom in his eyes, and fell silent.

(He didn’t have any clue, did he? Perhaps Lanyon was being too harsh… But he didn’t want Henry to make some mistake, or fixate on this idiotic theory! It was incorrect in several ways, and it WOULD harm him!)

“Fine! Let’s say I believe you can actually divide the ‘good’ and ‘evil’ into different bodies.” Lanyon made quotation marks with his fingers, to stress his doubt of the concept. (There was no good. No evil. Why didn’t Henry understand that?)

“What happens to the evil when it is set free, and in a separate body to boot!” Lanyon took a deep breath.

“It goes on it’s own way, away from the ‘good’. Life is relieved of all that is unbearable. Fine!

But what will happen to the world, if it had a being of pure evil in it? A being with no remorse. No guilt. No consciousness to dissuade it. What sort of madness and chaos would that cause?”

Henry stuttered, and tried to choke out words, face flushed with wrath.

“It’s a fanciful idea Jekyll! You know it! It’s foolishness!” Lanyon yelled at him!

Why didn’t he understand it was a terrible idea! Why didn’t he understand the wrongness of it all!-

“You’re wrong! You’re so damn wrong!” Jekyll shouted loudly.

“I’ve seen good and evil in myself Hastie! All these sinful desires! I try to be a good man! I want to be a good man, and I labor towards it! I have to choke back my desires to watch the world burn! I choke back my desires to harm others! There is duality! It can be wrenched apart! How can I be so radically different at the same time? It can’t be possible!” Henry ranted loudly, hands grasping at his hair tightly, and pulling as he paced frantically around Lanyon.

“It has to be true!” He shouted, looking at Hastie hysterically!

Lanyon’s hard expression instantly crumbled.

“Henry… You aren’t evil.” He said softly, trying to push his all his emotions on the matter into his voice, with a soft tone.

Jekyll was probably the best thing that had ever happened to Lanyon! How could he be anything but beautiful to him? To anyone?!

Jekyll startled back, and stopped pacing.

“I’m evil! I am! How could I be good?!-“ His voice wavered, and he shook in place.

“Harry! You’re not evil!” Lanyon tried to convince him.

Henry stood stock still, staring at Lanyon with a raised eyebrow. (He obviously didn’t believe him…)

“Harry…” Lanyon murmured.

Lanyon stepped forward and embraced him tightly.

“There is no good. No evil. They’re all concepts made up by the church to try and make them feel better about themselves. No man is good. No man is evil.”

Jekyll made a disbelieving scoff from inside his arms. Lanyon hugged him even tighter.

“And if there was an evil man, it wouldn’t be you, Harry. You try so hard to help others.” Lanyon paused.

Another unbelieving huff from in between his arms.

…Lanyon was shit at comforting others.(Consequences from not a whole lot of comfort for himself.)

“Look. Don’t let the statue of Jesus christ tell you how to feel or act, alright Jekyll?”

Jekyll lifted his head up from Lanyon to stare him in the eyes hesitantly.

“…Alright.” He murmured with a small unbelieving chuckle, and a shaking voice.

Then dipped his head down in the crook of Hastie’s neck. Gently resting in it.

“I’m serious Henry. You’re not evil. Thoughts mean nothing, unless if they are performed.” Lanyon lifted a hand up to Jekyll’s hair, and stroked gently. The other hand was at the base of his neck, gently rubbing.

Henry shook.

“That’s not true. That’s not true. That’s not true…” He repeated, in a whisper that shook and trembled.

(He sounded as if he was about to cry. And Lanyon had never done well around crying…)

“You’re not evil Harry.” Lanyon said firmly. (Maybe the more he said it, the more the sentiment would ingrain itself in Henry…)

Henry pushed his head into the crook of Lanyon’s neck forcefully, tickling his jaw with his hair.

He began to sniffle.

(Lanyon really had never known how to handle crying…)

A tear ran down his cheek, falling onto Lanyon’s neck. Henry grabbed Lanyon’s hands from his head and neck, and pulled Hastie’s arms around himself tightly.

(…But for Jekyll, he’d make an effort.)

“Harry…” He whispered quietly.

Then Henry began to sob in earnest.

He let go of all of his weight, and Lanyon held him up tightly.

As Henry sobbed hysterically into his neck, nails clenched into his arms, Lanyon wondered just how far the damage that caused Henry to come up with that theory went…

————-/——-/—-/——/——/—-/—/——-///

It had been two months since he had seen Jekyll, laying in his bed in the middle of a Wednesday. The floor littered with empty wine bottles, and a notebook left open, scrawled with illegible words. A will on the table, written and signed by some unknown lawyer.

(And two months since Jekyll had cried into his shoulder, and begged him for death…)

It had been five months since Henry had started withdrawing from society.

He had been attending every social event he could. Every dinner, every party, every meeting of the royal society. (Lanyon went to those meetings just to see him. Jekyll’s eyes would gleam as he talked with others about their passions.)

That passion fizzled out slowly, and Lanyon watched it bleed from his eyes. (Snapshot by snapshot. From one social event to another.)

He was worried, but he had absolutely no clue what to do! (Did he deserve to comfort Jekyll after all that happened? Could he personally take comforting him? Not be selfish, and try to rope him back into a relationship that would end in misery again, or prison?-)

Six months before, a gala, in celebration of the birthday of Sir Danvers Carew. Henry looked so tired. Eyes red rimmed and eye bags obvious, he smiled (That fake smile that Lanyon taught him. But this one was unconvincing, at least to Hastie. Not that shining charming smile that Jekyll had made all his own…) and laughed.

Danced, with stumbling weak feet. Spent most of the time drinking, champagne glass to his lips, instead of talking.

Rebuffed most attempts at serious conversation, with polite words and that smile that didn’t reach his eyes. (Lanyon couldn’t even pretend to himself that he went for any reason other than Jekyll. And maybe it was good that he did attend.)

Lanyon spoke with him. Tried to distract him from whatever misery he was being plagued by. (If Jekyll was showing this sort of emotion in public, imagine how he felt it in private!..)

Jekyll reassured him (Unconvincingly!) and eventually left halfway through the event.

An irregularity. Jekyll usually stayed until the end, and then some. People loved to stay and chat with the ‘charming young man’ as they described him as.

(Leaving early during one of the biggest recurring events of the year in high society? Was concerning for sure. Extremely concerning, in fact…)

It had been two long years since his own [Damned!] wedding. Two years since he watched Jekyll smile and dance with the ladies in the crowd with an undecipherable expression. (Was he as torn up about it all as he was?-)

He slipped away at the end of the ceremony without even a single word to Hastie the entire time…

It had been twenty six months and one week since he had broken up with Jekyll. [Hastie wasn’t keeping exact count of the days! No! That’d be unhealthy! That’d hurt him even more!-]

Two years, two months, and one week ago, Henry had stormed out of their dorm after their argument. It was probably deserved. Lanyon broke up with him harshly, deriding their relationship. Poking at his insecurities. His deepest kept flaws, that Jekyll confessed to him with a sob.

(Who would’ve known that Jekyll’s family didn’t approve of his choice in life? A doctor, instead of what society deemed him to be? To have to be?

And that little part of himself that said he couldn’t be loved. Probably the same part that called himself evil, and screamed a song of revenge in his ears…)

And what had Lanyon done? What had he done with that information? He used it to piss him off. To hurt Jekyll! (Jekyll should hurt just as much as he was! Be as torn up about the words that were unwillingly leaving his mouth as he was!-)

Jekyll never said another word to him about it afterwards. About their relationship. About what they had shared. (Lanyon deserved that! Henry deserved better than a broken man who couldn’t even stop himself from getting married!-)

Every single interaction after that was a performance of their previous relationship, before intimacy entered it. [A mockery of it.]

Jekyll put on the character of the smart boy with a laugh in response to everything, (A laugh that grew bitter…) and Lanyon, the rich dandy who criticized everything, and tried to sneer at pain.

Both with a mask of indifference. (Was it a mask for Jekyll? Did he truly not care anymore?)

No matter what it was, their relationship was strained. Lanyon mourned that easy intimacy they had shared before.

(Everything around this broke Lanyon. Broke him in dozens of ways, both big and small, in every aspect of his life… Did it break Jekyll too?)

[Did it hurt him as much as it hurt Lanyon?]

And now, it had been just over one long, long, month since he had seen Jekyll at all. He left London. To go on some journey to go discover… Something. He wasn’t very clear about that.

Lanyon suspected differently…

How did Henry go from suicidal to smiling in less than two weeks? He wasn’t buying what Jekyll was selling.

Lanyon suspected that Jekyll was visiting home. He’d visit his parents for the first time in years. He’d check on them. And then go missing…

(Jekyll had always talked about the cliffs near his hometown. How gorgeous they were. How he’d sit on the edge, oh so close to death, and look down at the rocks down below calmly. How the thought of being so close to death, but not, comforted him. Being so high above and seeing seagulls fly by, and watching the waves crash. [Would he be just another one of the hundreds of bodies, dashed against the shore?])

Hastie would never see him again!

How could that slow, slow decline that Lanyon had watched suddenly reverse itself so quickly? All the pain in Henry’s voice. All the despair!

And so, Lanyon inspected every single one of their interactions. Grasping at straws, to hope he’d still be alive. Hoping that Hastie would see him again...

In all of his musings, one conversation that they had years ago, haunted him. (It just kept bringing itself back up in his mind, time and time again…)

Lanyon considered himself without Jekyll in his life at all. His life, his emotional state. He’d be miserable. More so than he had before, with just little tastes of the man he loved in public, in front of dozens of eyes. (Lanyon couldn’t bring himself to invite him to his house. And Jekyll hadn’t invited him to his own either…)

What else would happen though? Misery was such a vague thing…

Suicide was not something he believed in. Suicide was for the weak. Giving up on life, and quitting, instead of enduring through the pain. And Lanyon was not weak! (Was Jekyll weak?.. Maybe he had to revise some of his sentiments…)

But the idea of never even having the chance to see Jekyll again filled him with a pit of dread. (And if just thinking about it made him feel like that, then what about it actually happening?)

And maybe… Just maybe, suicide really wasn’t such a thing for the weak.

Lanyon was good at portraying indifference. Plastering it all over his face, and his mind. Shoving down things that pissed him off. (Or God forbid, made him feel…)

Shoving out a hard facade, sharp as broken glass, and just as cutting.

No one could touch him. They’d run away screaming, hands bloody and in pain.

But when he stopped and thought, it all hurt. It hurt so much!-

Did Jekyll give a damn? Did he care? He had been so good at compartmentalization, outside of his outbursts of emotion, alone in their room. Was any of it real? Any of those emotions he showed outside of those passion filled moments, where his emotions overflowed and exploded, things he truly felt, and not just another show?-

Was Jekyll shoving the emotions behind a curtain, just like him? (Pretty damned opaque curtain, at least to Hastie…)

How long would it have kept going if Lanyon didn’t break it off?

Would Jekyll still be whispering in his ear to that day? Telling him that he loved him, and how handsome he was?

Would they still be sharing kisses, even then?

(Would Jekyll be in his arms, instead of wherever the fuck he was?)

That stung. It all stung, so fucking much. But it was unchangeable. Finished. Cemented, set in stone, for all of eternity. (Did it have to be?!-)

Most of the time, he could keep up that idea. The idea that he didn’t give a fuck. That idea of being untouchable, indifferent, above it all.

The idea Lanyon was above it ALL, and nothing had ever harmed him. Could ever harm him.

But when he couldn’t? He couldn’t…

He really couldn’t. He’d think. He’d want to sob. (Lanyon hadn’t cried since he was a boy. Tears were not for men. Tears showed you cared. That it affected you. Tears were weakness. He. Was. Not. Weak!-)

Lanyon hated being lost in thought. Hated inspecting two years worth of a relationship. Just under three of a friendship, before the relationship and when they were both. (Before it all went to shit!)

Moment after moment. Hour after hour of smiles he’d never see again, both genuine and fake. Freckles and birthmarks.

Shyness fading to a sharp snarky tongue, that cut like a whip when it needed to.

(Would he ever hear one of Jekyll’s terrible jokes again? Ever fight with him about one of his theories again? Ever ‘discuss’ the best kind of fabric? Ever bitch about an old woman’s newest wig? Listen to Jekyll ramble about creatures and the supernatural, chemistry and anatomy? Ever crack open a bottle of wine with him again?)

Would he ever spend time with him again? Truly spend time, not separated from each other between a wall of memories and an old busybody next to them?

Lanyon’s heart would hurt…

And then that dammed conversation would rear its head again. And again. Whisper in his ear, wouldn’t this be so much easier?..

Now, with Jekyll gone, probably forever, he was considering it. Seriously…

…

Maybe Lanyon DID need some insanity…

Maybe Robert did need a wildly incorrect idea to latch onto.

Maybe Hastie did need to fixate on an idiotic theory…

Relieve all that was painful in life? That sounded good right about now. It sounded beautiful, as he had watched the man he loved, and was unsure loved him back die slowly, as he watched on uselessly. (As Lanyon did nothing!-)

Divide himself into two? Even better! One half indifference and gentleman, one half all his stupid emotions that choked him down.

He could free himself from his yoke. His noose, that slowly closed in, tightening around his neck, snapped.

He could unwind the complex winding knotted ball of string that was himself.

Complex was tiring. Complex was exhausting. Complex hurt his heart. Complex was hard to maintain.

Complexity brought pain. Simplicity would cut the gordian knot.

Done. Finished. No more of any of that shit ever again.

The duality of man, hmm?..

Lanyon could do that.

He was very stubborn when he wanted to be. And for something that would help him as much as this?

Something that would make everything so much fucking easier?

He would make it happen.

Yes…