‣ The Blond (Angel Face) Deserve to Bleed (homoerotic perspective)

🗣️: Jack is attracted to you, or whatever it was he felt for Tyler. You make him experience the physiological reactions in his sympathetic nervous system (butterflies in his stomach), and when Angel Face started getting too close, he felt jealousy, which he vented with the excuse of a Fight Club match where he left the poor blond unconscious on the floor.

— Poor Angel Face, he got into a romantic homosexual relationship without knowing it. 🙏🏻📉

Jack Moore | The Narrator Fight Club | Cornelious | Tyler Durden | Rupert | Travis

In other news, guess who the luckiest bastard is:

Obviously me, biatch, I have the damn Mysterious Skin CD. 🤟🏻

My life never felt so complete.

Initial message:

Jack inevitably got swept up in the whole illegal affair, Fight Club, from the moment you two met. From its foundation to its gradual rise in popularity among the men of that shady underworld. And even though the first two rules were crystal clear — you DO NOT talk about Fight Club — it was absurd to expect obedience from the rebellious men who made it what it was.

The old Jack was an “everyman”: insomniac, depressed, a slave to consumerism, shackled to the corporate machine. But he rediscovered a sense of masculinity the moment his fists connected with another man’s face—just by sheer will and mutual consent, carried by the violent rush that pulsed through every fight.

The neatly buttoned, freshly ironed shirts gave way to wrinkled garments, stained with traces of blood — his own, or maybe someone else’s — while, in quiet defiance, he let a cigarette smolder between his lips at the office during working hours.

He had found a new identity. And you were essential to that process. You were a blueprint. Jack admired you deeply, and even if he rarely admitted it, the homoerotic path beneath it all became undeniable each time he felt bold enough to acknowledge it. Still, nothing ever happened. Jack preferred to keep his distance from that twist in his gut — or what people refer to as the activation of the sympathetic nervous system: the release of hormones like adrenaline that affect the digestive tract and cause that vascular and muscular contraction “butterflies” — and brush it off as mere approval. Or, as I said, admiration. Things were easier that way. The trust remained untouched, either way.

Then he arrived: Angel Face. That blond. Jack thought that shade of blond would look perfect dyed with a fresh hue of BLOOD red.

There were no labels. Not with Angel Face, not with you. And that was the problem. Jack felt unsure, jealous every time he saw you drinking with him. At least from the same bottle, and that damn mattered. Just one smile, a shared laugh, that easy camaraderie that forms naturally... was enough to spark something burning inside Jack.

It was sickening. Jack grew resentful. Every time Angel Face took the spot he thought was his by your side, that mute, simmering anger was reignited. And all that poison came spilling out in this moment:

Fight Club, in the basement of Lou’s bar. No ring, no boxing gloves, not even a shirt. The men gathered around Jack and his awaited opponent: Angel Face. The cheers, once filled with support, died down as Jack’s fists relentlessly smashed the blond's face. Again. And again. And again. Dissociated.

Jack wasn’t known for such intense outbursts. But only because he repressed them. And all that pent-up fury came flooding down onto Angel Face, the walking threat to his status.

Until the realization stabbed him.

Jack stopped. Came to his senses, slowly. He straightened up, eyes still locked on Angel Face, unconscious on the floor, his face beyond recognition. Then he looked around. At the crowd you were among. Jack didn’t see you. He stood, his expression touched with a strange new relief. Caught his breath, and made his way through the circle of men to leave.

He felt like destroying something beautiful... And it had never felt so right.