John was on the verge of collapse but he couldn't. Not yet, he had to get out, he needed to get out. He needed to escape his own mind, his own life. Tremors shook his body like an earthquake, breaking into his soul and snapping him into pieces. His thin shoulders shook with unheard sobs, seeping through cracks and spaces like water through glass. Empty, empty, empty. The poster covered walls cracked and broke, swirling in and out of existence as he slid onto and curled up in his mess of sheets, shaking his head with reality dancing just outside his reach.
He mouthed silent words to himself as beads of sweat popped up on his forehead and neck, trailing down his pale skin. He murmured unintelligible words, twisting the tortured fabric in his trembling hands, curling empty air slowly before springing back out. John yelled and screamed in vain to the empty house. Empty, empty, empty. His mind split into two voices, each yelling for a different cause. One for relief and sanity, one for death and destruction. His lower lip quivered, the voices were relentless in their fight for control. Drawing their swords and beginning their battle. Relief, death, relief, death.
The wire bedframe shook beneath him, threatening to send spokes of sharp metal through the already worn mattress. It scraped across his marred wooden floor sounding like a creature begging for freedom from captivity. But he couldn't grant this, not now not ever. He was trapped inside his own cage, fighting against his own vicious owners who refused to free him. Dark talons that kept him from struggling, that pinned him down until he could barely even breathe.
John curled into a tighter ball, tucking his head down between his knees as sweat continued its way down his spinal cord, diving into the dips and curls of his flesh and bones. Hiccupping breaths were all he knew now. His lungs expanded just to shrivel back up and lay still in his rib cage before the process repeated itself. In, harsh pause, out. He couldn't tell what was up or down from what was left or right. He attempted to swallow but only ended up in a coughing fit that felt like it was cracking his ribs and spreading the shards through the open chest cavity.
Hours passed before he calmed himself down again, pulling himself up and onto his knees, half sitting, half leaning on the wall. Although he was still breathing hard, his eyes fluttered shut as he attempted to catch what was lost to him. Shakily, John wiped the rivers of sweat, licking his chapped lips before sliding off the mattress. He forced himself to look into the mirror, slowly reaching up to adjust his dark hair, straightening his square glasses before stepping into the desolate hallway.
His hand came away wet when he wiped his eyes, tears appearing as he found the bare wasteland of a house. Papers taped to the walls, furniture filling up small corners of the living room and leaving the middle of the room empty. His fingers ran along the dirtied walls, running along the deep marks he had cut into them. Stopping to look at a particularly deep one, he swallowed hard before forcing himself to move forward.
A kitchen without utensils or plates isn't really a kitchen. Right? The refrigerator sat uselessly in its wall space, humming like a crowd of bees. A small rarely used microwave glared at the back of his head as the time continually ticked with the small green numbers. His hands tightly gripped the dark marble as he pulled himself up and onto it, lazily knocking few papers down onto the hardwood floor in his struggle to reach for his mp3 player and speaker system. The instant he pressed play, the entirety of the house was filled with loud thumping bass and occupied the air that he could not speak into. John watched the ceiling fan spin around and around, spreading the warm air throughout the room. He thought he should open a window, but he couldn't bring himself to do it. It was just too far away. He tapped to the beat on the table, counting the spins of the fan as it continued on its set course. One, two, three, four, five.
After several minutes of this, he brought out enough strength to stand up, turning off the music and allowing the house to return to its original silence, wrapping himself in a sweater despite the weather and slipping into well-worn sneakers. When he clicked open the lock, warm air instantly wrapped around him and as he stepped out, he breathed it in. Almost immediately, a bike slammed into him. His glasses went flying off into the bushes, resting at the top of one as if they were the king while their owner rolled head over heels and hit a tree. Wincing a bit, he slowly began to stand up and reach for the lenses that were just five feet away until a pair of hands landed on his shoulders, pushing him back down.
The blurry image of a face hovered above him, saying something that he was too dazed to notice. Instead, he focused on the pale pink lips that moved in slow motion. A pair of dark frames were gently placed on his nose and the world instantly cleared up. John blinked up at the figure, tilting his head to the side before furrowing his brow and waving a bit. The boy in front of him frowned and held out his hand. He slowly reached up to grab it before pointing at the house behind them.
"Is that yours?" The biker asked, and wow now that he was listening, his voice was really nice.
The boy nodded slowly as he was pulled to his feet and towards the brick and wooden house. Once the pair was inside, John moved to sit on the countertop again, reaching for the speakers but deciding against it and instead mouthing the amount of times that the fan spun. 'One, two, three, four, five, six, seven…' The biker went off somewhere, presumably to look for a bathroom of some sort but quickly came back after realizing that this wasn't his own home. John quickly grabbed a stray paper and a pen, scrawling a note: 'what are you looking for?'
"The bathroom, you're cut up pretty badly." He explained, looking down at the sitting boy when he silently pointed down the hall with a covered arm and then gesturing towards the wall it was on. The other nodded before rushing off to receive the first aid kit. John sat quietly until the biker-whose-name-he-still-didn't-know came back, setting a few rags and a box of Avengers Band-Aids. John winced lightly when one of the clothes was pressed against his knee. His hand gently clenched on the ripped denim right above the wound, chewing on his lower lip.
"My names Dave by the way." He supplied helpfully, holding the rag there for a moment longer before pulling it off and gently placing a bandage on the spot. Dave hummed softly to himself, something John envied, as he continued to clean off several more of the wounds, repeating the process each time.
John sat still as he watched the other boy, feeling his lip curl into a nearly invisible smile. As Dave slowly stood back up though, it instantly disappeared. He smiled fondly at the sitting boy, who simply tilted his head before picking up the paper and writing his name in sloppy letters. He waited for a moment before looking down at his intertwined fingers. Dave simply smiled wider and said a simple I like that name. He gently patted on Johns shoulder before turning around and walking towards the door. "Would it be okay if I came back tomorrow?" He asked rather hesitantly, ducking his head to avoid looking right at the mute boy. John smiled as wide as he could before stopping himself was a possibility and stood up, limping over to the other boy and tapping on his shoulder until he looked up. When this happened, he nodded eagerly, smiling lopsidedly.
Their meetings had become a near daily occurrence until one day when John didn't answer the door. Instead, he was curled up on his bed, nails scratching at the base of his skull and at his forehead, causing small streaks of blood to trail down his cheeks and spine. Tears streamed down his cheeks as silent screams tore through him. Glass shards from countless bottles littered the ground, several droplets of blood filling up the spaces in-between them. Dave knocked on the door again, harder this time.
"John? Are you there?" He knocked again before sighing and pulling out the key that his friend had gifted him but he had never had the opportunity until then. He quietly unlocked the door and stepped inside. Despite the fact that its only inhabitant couldn't speak, the rooms were always filled with some sort of noise, whether it was music, or the television. But now, he heard nothing. Dave carefully made his way down the hallway until he reached the bedroom. He'd never been inside, the two of them usually went to see a movie or anywhere outside the lonely house. So he didn't know what to expect when he gingerly pushed open the door and he quickly realized that this was definitely not what he wanted and so he gasped at the sight of the poor boy on his bed.
John cowered when the lights were turned on, curling up into an even tighter ball as silent hiccupping sobs escaped him. His body trembled and shook and rammed itself against the wall, aching for something that wasn't there. His glasses laid smashed on the ground among the mass of busted up bottles, leaving his electric blue eyes wild and exposed without the lens glare. The boy in the doorway crept around the shards to slide onto the bed with his panicked friend. John slowed momentarily to stare up at the taller boy before shaking his head and pounding against his chest, thrashing and crying. His thoughts raced, he couldn't process the fact that Dave wanted to help and even the small shred of his mind that told him this couldn't believe it, so he cried harder because he couldn't understand, and maybe he just didn't want to understand.
Dave slowly wrapped his arms around John, threading his fingers through the other boys' hair. He whispered soft words in his ear, humming lightly despite his own panic. John whimpered, painfully silent as the light caused the tear tracks to become tragically visible. His arms locked around the crying boys' waist, slowing his movements gradually. "It's okay…" He whispered against the messy dark hair, sliding his hands up the back of his shirt to gently press against his burning skin.
John buried his face in Dave's neck, small breaths hiccupped against the safe skin. Shaky tears streamed down his cheeks as his hands moved to tightly clutch at the fabric of the others shirt. He rapidly mouthed his friends' name, apologizing in multiple ways as he curled and uncurled against his chest. More hiccupped sobs escaped him, gripping him closer in an attempt to make him understand. Johns lip quivered, thoughts racing with the same word, no. No, no, no, no, no. He barely moved his lips but still he tried to say 'I'm sorry' and all that came out was a thin raspy trail of nothing. And that was his voice. Slowly though, he stopped, allowing himself to be curled around and held.
Silence descended over the room as his harsh breaths turned into eyes sliding shut and fists unclenching as the tendrils of sleep wrapped him up. Dave smiled at the smaller boy, brushing his fingers across the scabbed over lines on his forehead. Carefully, he brushed away and dried off the blood, sighing softly to himself before leaning down and pressing a gentle kiss to each one. He continued to hold onto John even as he sat up, pulling the sleeping figure onto his lap when he leaned over to turn off the lights, returning the room to its original state of darkness. Paper crinkled lightly under him as he leaned against the wall, arranging John in a way where he wouldn't be uncomfortable.
John shifted a bit, curling up against the others chest and wrapping his arms around himself. His head lolled to rest on the spot where Dave's neck met his shoulder. Soft, careful breaths passed through him as his eyes fluttered beneath the lids, dreams wrapped around him like a blanket. Dave smiled fondly, continually rubbing his back and keeping him close.
Hours passed before John stirred, slowly peaking up at the now sleeping figure above him. The boy smiled groggily, burrowing further into his safe space between his arms and chest. His breaths remained soft even as sparks of panic awoke within him. What if he hates me? What if he never wants to see me again? Tears pricked his eyes as these thoughts lodged into his head. What if he's just pitying me? No, no he wouldn't do that. He's my friend, he wouldn't leave me. Johns breaths quickened when he saw that Dave was waking up, eyes widening as they struggled to focus on the blurry figure above him.
"Mm?" Dave murmured groggily, tilting his head to look down at the mess of hair below him. "Somethin' wron'?" He slurred, yawning softly and unconsciously pulling John closer to him.
The panicked boy quickly shook his head, cheeks flushed as he held onto the taller boys chest. Black tangled hair covered his eyes, his lower lip trapped between his teeth. 'Nothing' he spelled out in shaky letters on the palm of Dave's hand, squinting up at him before looking down again. Dave only smiled slightly and hummed a bit, carefully shifting and pressing his lips to Johns forehead. A blush flared onto both their cheeks, bright and obvious.
"It's okay, you can look at me," He mumbled against the soft skin, rubbing lightly at his back and smiling, after a moment he pulled back and grinned at John. "I won't hurt you." Quiet chuckles escaped him when John slowly looked up at him, blue eyes wide enough to see his pupils struggle to focus on the other boys face.
Dave slowly leaned in and pressed a kiss to the tip of his nose, causing both males to blush furiously. The slow spread of red deepened as he carefully fit their lips together, gently holding under his jaw. One of Dave's hands slowly began to thread through the tangled locks, eyes sliding shut as they both moved closer to one another. A laugh escaped from his counterpart, silent and breathless and perfect.
When they parted, the dark red was only a light dusting of pink, like blush set on pale skin. 'I love you.' John mouthed as his lips quirked into a small smile. He carefully placed his head on Dave's shoulder, folding himself up as he began to settle. Right here he was safe, loved even (hopefully), he couldn't have wanted it any other way. No, no, his mind chided, there is no other way. This is the only way. They cuddled closer to one another, content in their little ball of warmth. It certainly wasn't perfect, but then again when is something ever perfect, but even with the fact that John couldn't say I love you with his own voice, somehow they both knew it. This is how it was supposed to be from the beginning.