A/N: whenever i'm sad, i write. so this is just a plotless blurb - enjoy~
And if you're still breathing, you're the lucky ones. And if you're still bleeding, you're the lucky ones.
'Cause most of us are heaving through corrupted lungs.
Setting fire to our insides for fun
'Cause most of our feelings, they are dead and they are gone.
We're setting fire to our insides for fun.
-Youth; Daughter
~
His fingers ached. Ached from pulling, from twisting, from tearing at anything they could get a hold of. His mind was tired, tired of all of this, tired of every single wretched thought that dared to roll through his head like a dusty tumbleweed. His heart bled, and bled, and bled. Everything cried out for it to end, for it to let him have his peace, dear God, let him have his peace -
A touch.
A hand.
Not his own. He could never be so gentle. He was volatile, dangerous. Everywhere he went, he should carry a sign, carry a warning printed on his forehead in large, blocky letters, Stay Away. Please. Stay Away.
A voice.
A question.
It was laced with concern. Laced with love. So much kindness, held just in one syllable, just in one lousy, unworthy name. His name shouldn't be spoken on those lips. He didn't deserve the kindness that voice could offer.
He was aware of the bruises forming on his scalp from his fingers digging, yanking at the hair. He was aware of the hideous bend in his spine, the aching and throbbing from being curled, crumpled like a piece of paper in a wastebasket. He was aware of many things, but he did not care about them.
And his eyes were so screwed shut, so tightly bolted that he feared if he ever saw anything but that darkness beneath his eyelids, he would scream. Perhaps he was already screaming. His mind was screaming. His mind was hell.
But… there were arms. Arms encircling him. They wrapped tightly around his frame and he had worked so hard to build this wall, worked so hard to fortify every misguiding factor that he could all for it to come crumbling down around him at this embrace.
Tears didn't come. He didn't have any tears left worth crying. He didn't have anything left. He was empty.
Except for apologies. He would dole out an apology to every person he had ever come in contact with. He would write a novel of apologies simply for his friends.
But for the man with him now? No amount of words could fix what he's done. He did everything wrong. His own existence was a mistake. He was -
"You're alright."
It wasn't a question. It was a statement. A command. That he was alright. He almost laughed at the thought. Alright was a word so, so far discarded from his vocabulary that it didn't process correctly in his head anymore. The only things still being processed in his head were hateful things. Spiteful things. Things that meant something to him.
"You have to be alright."
"Stop telling me that. I'll do whatever I damn well please." he retorted. But his voice - so loud, so full of every lie he's ever told, was broken. Empty. It came across like a whisper that could easily get lost in the wind.
"No. You won't. Not anymore. Because I can't trust you to be kind to yourself anymore."
"You never could in the first place." He turned his head away from his chest, away from that heartbeat, away from the very thing that told him that this man was alive and well and would in turn tell him he was as good as dead.
"Look at me."
He'd screwed his eyes shut, though. He couldn't. He couldn't -
Beautiful, brown eyes. Beautiful, beautiful brown eyes. They were brimmed with tears. No, don't cry, I'll cry for you. I'll take your pain. Please, let me take it from you. I deserve it more than you ever will.
"I love you. So much."
Sean fell, hurtling at a dangerous speed, flying into whatever emotion Mark had to offer. Because Sean was void of emotion. He was dead to himself. He needed Mark to teach him how to live again. Teach him how to be whole again. Teach him how to be human again.