Trembling, suffocating warmth, sweat, dim silence, withheld breath... shaking again. No light. Hiding the scars, the face, the bruises. That didn't happen. It just didn't. Accident.
Or maybe, he fell on the street, or was hit by a bicycle, or...
What else could be?
Oh, yes, he tried the gym but he fell from the machine or hit himself with the weights. Probably that.
Maybe that's too obvious... he'd never go to the gym by himself.
Falling from the stairs was still too weak...
Biting the lips, but they are swollen already. They hurt more as he feels the salty and metallic taste of flesh. Oh God. That can't be explained.
He put the long-sleeved shirts in a box in the wardrobe, since they were for the autumn... he has to dig them out. And, the cap too... yes, he has sore throat, that's a good one... or, he doesn't like the sun, it's piercing...
Hiding his face with the arms, crawling under the pillow. He wears something... on his hips... He feels the stretch of his own skin under patches and band aids. Someone cared for his bruises. It was not him.
But the smell is not his. The covers, the sheets... the pillow...
Fear grows inside. Trembling. Tightening the grip on the cushion, tensing the muscles in his arms, in his feet... if he had to fight, he is ready. Withheld breath, listening. The smallest noise can't escape his notice. There was a fly in the room... once bus passed by outside, cars on the road... distorted noise of a radio. He wants to sniff the air of the room but afraid to come out from the shelter of the pillow. His forehead aches.
His neck aches as he tries to crawl deeper in the bed... pulls his knees up to his chest and strains them again, ready to kick if needed but his mind temporarily forgets that, trying to hold onto this tiny bit of safety that he has now. Several spots on his body ache.
Steps, confident, strong ones with exact direction. The door, the lock turns and opens up.
His whole body tenses, eyes wide, ears alert, his breath ceases.
The person stops beside the bed, he stands. The door closes, the man breaths quietly. He moves, something has been put on the nightstand... there is a nightstand... beside the bed, then.
Something is put on the end of the bed, a weight. His feet are ready to kick at the first touch, he waits, wants to faint, just get started, why is this taking so long...?
"Hey, come back. Don't disturb him," the man beside the bed breaths and takes the weight away from the bed, then joints crack and the weight returns... right behind his figure, holding the blanket down. "We should wake him somehow. I don't want to shock him."
He can't stand this. Why is the man waiting? Just get started and end this fast.
He feels fingers on his shoulders and his body gives up; he shakes from the inside and can't stop it, it's obvious.
"Hey, wake up. It's okay, you're safe. I have a cat."
What does that mean?
"Hey, it's alright," the hand strokes his arm, his sides, it's burning and horrifying at the same time. The trembling from the inside grows; he doesn't know how to react. Break free, let it go, hold onto it...
"You are safe. You are in my bed, I slept on the couch. Your bruises will hurt for a few days, if you want you can stay here. I made toast for you, it's here," he moves the plate a little on the nightstand for the other to hear, "and you had another guard. He's been trying to get in this room all night, so... here he is, Cookie."
The weight shifts from behind his back and returns right in front of the pillow. His eyes widen, breath stuck as he actually sees the intruder. Fur, soft paw, light green eyes, curious gaze. The cat lies in front of his face, waits for him, measures him then purrs as approaches a little bit more. Its paw reaches his nose, they both sniff. Seconds pass in silence again, before he squeezes his eyes shut as the wave of tremble strikes his body again; his throat tightens, he whimpers.
The cat meows, the man behind him strokes his side and his arms comfortingly, but the physical contact just strengthens the fear inside. It's a vortex, he wants to crawl deeper, safer, to become invisible, be unreachable. It's too much.
"Hey, don't be scared. Would you like us to leave?"
He wants to nod but his body doesn't obey anymore. It's beyond that point. He grips the blanket tight, so tight his fingers hurt. They are all white; his joints ache from the strength. His body tenses as the hand leaves his side, his lips tremble. The cat comes closer, sniffs him, meows.
His breathing is weak but sufficient, squeezing his eyes shut he tries to force consciousness into his muscles but the only thing he achieves is clutching his elbows to himself like a baby. Pathetic.
The man stands behind him; he can see his figure in his mind. He is the one who brought him here, made him breakfast or lunch, he can't judge, and he tried to comfort him a little. He brought a cat too. For a brief minute, nothing happens. No shift, no light flashes, not a shadow moves.
The man kneels beside the bed again, the cat raises and walks from the pillow covered head.
There is a distance between them even though their bodies connect; he feels the man's hand on his shoulder; he holds him and hesitates.
"I cleaned your bruises yesterday. You were barely conscious. I put you to sleep and now I realized I don't even know your name."
That doesn't change a thing. He's in fear; this man has control over him, he did a huge favour that cannot be returned, he saved his life. He is in a huge dept now, it can be used against him. He prefers to stay silent, anyway, he cannot even control his own breathing.
"Well... now, should I call the ambulance? Are you in pain?"
The question startles the blonde; he jerks, pushes the pillow off his head and tries to flee from the blanket but from the mere shock the man grabs him, calls for his attention and tries to hold him down from falling from the bed, all in vain. He is half-way down to the floor when he realizes his legs are tangled in the sheets and he can't get out. The man holds his arm, carefully pulls him back but to do this he also had to climb on the bed. He puts the injured back on his place, lies down beside him and slowly tugs him in the blanket.
"It's alright... I guess I won't call them, then. No need to be afraid, you are safe."
Still, he is stiff and tense like a caged animal in the night-time fear, being so close to a complete stranger.
He doesn't know this man, but he is warm. He doesn't wear shirt which is terrifying and soothing at the same time... He holds him carefully, gives him space to move his arm into a more comfortable position, he lets him turn away even though it hurts; the bruises ache. He can't escape; he's going to be hugged, even though that feels like being imprisoned into an unknown person's embrace, it's tight it's relaxing it's too safe, natural warmth, natural touch. He doesn't know how to react, the emotions twirl in an unnatural twist, they build up into burning pain, perplexity.
He cries. It's a weak whimper then it grows, it cannot be stopped it's too harsh, all at once. The man buries his head in the nape of his neck, holds him tight as he, the injured, the betrayed, wails. He's been hurt, stomped on, cut open, torn open. He's clear in front of this stranger, there is no cloud or mist in their communication. He is broken, the other is strong. He is forgotten, the other is known. It hurts even more; no one but a stranger came to save his life from those people. It hurts, the wounds ache, the bones remember the kicks. His crying just intensifies it all, he can't hold onto anything but the person's arms, his scent and his tight presence embracing his whole figure...
"Let it out."
He never had a beating before, he never had anyone humiliate him so openly, so obviously. It just started, just happened, and here he is... still alive. Why?
He doesn't remember clearly, they asked his name and where he's heading, before he knew he was slammed in the wall and it all began. He didn't know where it all came from, all he remembers is the flash of lights, the laughter, the pain... and suddenly it ended and his memories are faded. He remembers the scent, the hold of this man, his voice. Oh yes, the couch... he was naked in front of him, he cared for his injuries and placed him into this bed. His sobbing slowly faltered into weak cries and before he registered, he was holding the man's hand in his own, tangling their fingers. The other lay still behind his figure, hugging him, breathing into his neck and keeping him safe from his own self.
He didn't let him fall again... he protected him.
He cleared his throat even though his voice was raw, he managed to pronounce an answer for his hero.
"Arthur."
...
The minutes grow into hours in silence. There is a hole in between them, one of them is on the borderline of sleep, the other is gently watching. Sometimes these roles switch, tender strokes are exchanged. There is no point in denying it, the sun goes down slowly; it paints the walls crimson and they spent the entire day in the bed.
The sunset ends all. The man shifts, Arthur tenses.
"I gotta go. I'll be back soon."
He tries to say something but instead he only sits up, slowly and wincing from the ache. He looks at the other, and for the first time since they met, consciously. His saviour is tall, strong and... young. Younger than expected. He puts glasses on, ruffles his hair a little bit to organize it but a mop of hair stands up at his forehead but he neglects it since their eyes met and he keeps Arthur's gaze.
He stops in his moves and shifts his weight from one foot to another and looks back at him; eyes sunk in tenderness, care and sorrow. For a few seconds he says nothing then collects his thoughts as his eyes wander and check every bruise and wound. "You should re-heat the toast, if you are hungry. There is more food in the fridge."
He doesn't want to go. He fidgets on his place, pulls a shirt on, walks to the window and checks the weather and Arthur casts his eyes down. He should be grateful. At least, say something.
"Okay."
The man nods, takes his shoes on and returns to the bed to sit on the edge which is closer to Arthur who stiffens again. The young man hesitates; he wants to say something but he simply cannot, he avoids his eyes and instead, caresses a band aid on the injured blonde's arm. "I'll be back soon."
"Okay."
"You shouldn't move so much. Rest, your body needs to heal itself."
He only nods and casts his eyes down again, tries to drain his own attention away by looking at his own fingers. Something unspoken has been revealed. He's not sure, but he knows, feels it in his chest. Skin tingles upon being touched, the man says goodbye and walks out of the room. The door closes, the lock clicks. He's gone.
. . .
The next morning finds him beside the man again. He was sleeping all night; his mind needs time to digest all that happened. The beating, the aching parts, the saviour and the sudden relief of being safe. He feels it as he is touched and cared about with tenderness but with a kind push to do things by himself and get back into his usual routine. He still has questions but the person beside him is asleep and he doesn't want to wake him, instead he decides to make breakfast for him. The favour would be returned, the dept would shrink a little.
They eat together at the table in the kitchen; Arthur is glad his ribs don't ache that much. They still do but it's not that unbearable anymore. The man in front of him, shirtless again, gazes in the empty distance in front of him, his mind is racing it can be seen on his expression. After being so quiet he puts his fork down beside the plate and clears his throat, Arthur glances up.
But there's too much to say at once. He swallows and Arthur nods, he understands. They are practically living together for two days, sleeping, waking, eating and relaxing together. He knows that this man has some unknown burden on his shoulders that can't be confessed so easily.
"I..." he mumbles. Bits his lips, raises his eyebrows, shakes his head. He has the urge to talk, but how? Suddenly Arthur is helplessly lost too; should he continue eating or wait for the words...?
The moments pass in mutual embarrassment, the man chuckles instead, blushes slightly and scratches the back of his head. "Err, well..."
"Just say it."
"I... hope I'm not creepy."
Arthur has to raise his eyebrows at that, and chuckle. He didn't chuckle for days, his own soft voice is strange for his own ears. It's a nice feeling. The morning light shines on them, warming their skins and brightening the whole scene. His saviour tries to hide his smile, glances down and tries to reach for his fork at the same time so he nearly spills the glass of water. Arthur is scared for a moment, but the man catches the glass and saves their breakfast.
"You're not creepy... you're a dolt," the blonde utters, as their gazes meet he tries to keep his own reddening cheeks in control. Now his ears are flaming in a nice crimson colour instead.
"I'm a superhero."
"Oh."
First Arthur thinks the man is joking to save the situation and bring the previous atmosphere back... but the seconds pass in silence and the man doesn't move. He is serious. Arthur looks up, his jade green eyes melt in the ocean's blue. The morning sunlight burns his arms, he draws them away.
He doesn't know what to say, so he just fumbles with his bacon a little bit more before taking it into his mouth. He has to digest this again... that nonsense.
"How could you be?"
"I have a... power."
Just like every superhero right...? He wouldn't call himself that if...
"Well."
"I am... strong. Very strong. I can lift cars if I want to."
Looking at the muscles in those arms by instinct, Arthur can't judge. Yes, he definitely looks strong however, not from working out. Those are... not bubble-muscles from chemicals. Those are real ones, from physical work, steady and every-day physical work, though they don't seem to be surreally sized. Just, normal. He feels how his own body is smaller, tries to shrink a little but it's impossible. He's seen by those blue eyes, he's open in front of him.
"You are the first one who I... brought home. I couldn't reach you in time, you were beaten badly. I'm sorry, it's my fault."
He only blinks. There's no need for that nonsense. It was not his fault, and he knows it too it can be heard in his voice. He apologizes because he feels guilty but the guilt is not rooted in Arthur's case. It's only a weak attempt. He averts his eyes from the man, frowns and swallows since he doesn't want to say anything that might hurt the other. He's a saviour, a hero after all. Or, should be.
"When you feel better, I'll take you home if you want.." he's hesitating, he shakes his head a little which means he doesn't want to do as his own words suggest, "and if you want, then... you'll not see me again."
That's surprising for Arthur; now he's the perplexed one, "why would I ask for that?"
The young man shrugs and averts his eyes. Shame, trembling self-esteem, he glances up with his eyes again, hoping to get a brightening reply. "Because, I'm creepy?"
"You're not creepy."
"But you don't believe me."
That's true.
"You saved me."
"But..."
"Thank you."
It's over, the young man's eyes tell so. He takes a deep breath and puts his fork down, leans back in the chair, bites his own lips and glances down to the floor. He's disappointed and suddenly, lonely.
Arthur's eyes widen at the realization.
He's lonely.
For moments, he only watches the man as he is sitting and tries to consider options how to deal with the whole situation, then the blonde looks around the flat again, secretly pretending to watch his own plate. He doesn't see photos about family, trips or anything. There are no little souvenirs or anything that might suggest that this man had someone to share his thoughts with. Only comic books, posters, little statues of characters, DVD piles...
And he had no choice. He saved Arthur, he tried to do his best to keep him safe and content, he tried to give him comfort and help him to recover fast and now, he sees it. He has no choice, what is going to stay and what is determined to leave.
His eyes sank into coldness. He sighs, raises his gaze to meet Arthur's and the blonde freezes on his place, the sunlight pierces his skin with sudden violence. There is no light in those eyes anymore. He failed himself. He saved him, tried to give him everything but it was not enough. He would do anything to make him stay. He's lonely.
"If I told you, that... I don't even know you, but... hearing that you offer me, not to see you again, is nonsense... it's... it's all nonsense," now, here they are. Arthur doesn't know how to say it. His eyes show the same urge that the other had a few minutes ago and he needs time too to compose his thoughts into sentences. "It's all nonsense."
"Why?"
"Because... why wouldn't I want to see you?"
It's so hard to be honest to someone who matters, so suddenly. Two days ago, he didn't even know this man existed.
"Because I'm not normal like the other people. I have this... power, and I use it to save other people. I want to... do big things, do good... and you don't believe me. You think I'm a freak, and when you recover you'll leave."
"What if I told you to slow down?"
That startles the young hero. "What?"
It seems foolish, but Arthur decides to follow his mind's ideas. Anyway, he has no secrets in front of that man. "May I... ask your name?"
The blue eyes soften; he bits the insides of his lips and nods. "Alfred."
"Thank you Alfred, for saving my life."
"Your welcome," the young man nods and sighs, this time with relief. "You're right."
The blonde hums in contentment as he returns to his breakfast again... considering that they spent the previous day in the same bed, cuddling through numerous hours and then he found themselves in the same position that morning... Arthur feels a strange kind of curiosity. He never had that comfortable feeling around anyone, without wearing shirt and longer trousers and with Alfred he felt natural in being around barely wearing shorts. He wished to know more about him, after all they went through.
"How old are you?" He begins.
"Twenty."
"I'm twenty-three."
"You... your accent. You're not from this area, right?"
"Yes, I'm British. I was born in Manchester."
"Wow, and you're now here in Maine."
"Oh, yes. Long ride."
He smiles, and Arthur's heart beats happily. He smiles too.
"I work in a bookstore, Alfred, in the centre."
"I work in a BestBuy on Crossing Way."
"That's a nice place to work at."
He nods. "I want to apply to the military soon. I want to help the country."
"I see."
"You still don't believe me, right?"
Arthur hums.
"At least, we introduced ourselves. Let's move step by step."
Now it's Alfred's turn to hum in agreement. He sees Arthur's point and he is calm again, he leans towards the table and takes a look at Arthur's bandages again. His eyes wander on his shape of the blonde, taking in the colours of the bruises and as he measures the damages he tries to keep the other distracted. "Alright. I... I like comic books, movies, video games... I like some books too but I prefer watching above reading."
Not like Arthur is not watching him. Accidentally their eyes meet, both blush, Arthur hides his face in embarrassment while Alfred just chuckles and glances up on the ceiling.
"Sorry?" Laughing softly, he looks back at Arthur with kindness and cherish in his eyes.
"You started, idiot."
"Apologies. Just checking your..."
"I'm fine."
"Well, but they are..."
"It's alright, stop it you... git."
At that, the young man raises his eyebrows. "Excuse me? A what?"
"Git, you deaf git."
They can't hold it back, Alfred cracks up laughing and Arthur is so embarrassed he starts chuckling too.
"You're not a superhero, you're a dork."
"Not a bad start."
Arthur is not sure how the other means it but certainly, he agrees. That's not a bad start.