TW for discussion of abuse, and mention of past self-harm/suicidal thoughts
help \ ˈhelp
verb
: to give assistance or support to
.
xviii
spring
age twenty-four
.
"Sorry I'm late."
Natsu flops down into the booth across from Sting, tossing his bag into the corner and running a hand through his messy hair. His eyes are red, and he looks like he's barely slept.
"You look like shit."
"I know," Natsu mumbles, rubbing his eyes and gratefully taking the cup of coffee that Sting pushes across the table at him. He grabs a handful of sugar packets and rips them open all at the same time, dumping them in the cup and stirring it. "It was a late night."
Sting nods. He'd only received two short texts from Natsu after the first one – His name is Gray now, and I need to talk to you; tmw at 1? He's about to ask what happened when the server appears at their table. "Good afternoon," he says. "Welcome to…"
The man trails off, staring past Sting at Natsu with wide eyes. Sting immediately recognizes him from the picture on their old fridge – his hair is shorter, and his face is leaner, but he's definitely the same person that Natsu has been desperately in love with for years.
Natsu looks like he might say something, but then the man – Gray – turns to look at Sting and his eyes widen further, this time in fear. It takes Sting a second to realize that Gray is staring at the badge on his uniform. An unsettled feeling creeps into Sting's stomach as he starts to take in more details – the dark circles under Gray's eyes, the way he's clutching the menu with fingers that are turning white, the faint red mark on his cheek.
"You must be Gray," Sting says, giving him his best warm smile and reaching out his hand. "I'm Sting – a friend of Natsu's from college." The relief on Gray's face is obvious, and Sting's heart aches as he quickly puts the pieces together. "Nice to meet you."
"You too," Gray says, voice soft as he shakes Sting's hand. He's like a rabbit, skittish and ready to bolt, and Sting wishes that he didn't recognize himself in Gray's eyes.
Natsu leans forward and starts to say something, but Gray quickly interrupts him.
"Sorry, I, uh—there was a mistake, I…" He sways unsteadily and Sting's ready to reach out again, but Gray catches himself on the table and stares down at the floor. Before Natsu can say anything, Gray turns around and runs.
"Fuck," Natsu whispers, rubbing his face with both hands as he watches Gray retreat to the kitchen. "Shit, he probably thinks I'm stalking him. I swear I didn't know he worked here."
Sting doesn't answer, just stares at the kitchen door as it swings back and forth. His stomach is twisting itself into knots, trying to push away memories of anger and fear and hurt. He knows exactly why Gray ran away, and he wishes he didn't.
Another waiter appears quickly, a young girl with blond hair who is friendly and sweet. Once she's taken their order, Natsu takes a handful of coffee creamers and starts to stack them into a tower.
"What happened last night?" Sting asks, even though he's pretty sure he knows the answer.
The tower of creamer cups falls over and Natsu starts to stack them again. "We were…"
"Drunk?"
Natsu winces. "I'm sorry."
"You don't have to apologize. Was he with somebody?"
Natsu shakes his head. "He was alone, and he—god, I was so excited 'cause I finally found him, I haven't… I haven't seen him in five years. He looks so different. I missed him so fucking much."
Sting can tell that Natsu is fighting tears, and he reaches across the table to squeeze his hand. "I know you did," he says softly.
"We both had too much to drink," Natsu says. "I didn't know… we were making out, I don't remember who started it, and he came back to my hotel with me, but then he was… he seemed so upset. And he told me he had a boyfriend and left, but he forgot his jacket, so I went to look for him and I found him throwing up in the alley and crying, it was…"
Natsu lets go of Sting's hand and rubs his face with both hands, then runs his fingers through his hair, groaning in frustration.
"He was so scared," Natsu says, looking down at the table. "I paid for a cab to get him back home, but he was terrified. I'd never seen him like that before."
Sting's heart aches. "Someone's hurting him."
"I know," Natsu says sadly. "It's his boyfriend, but he won't admit it, and I don't know what to do."
They spend the rest of the meal talking quietly, but Sting can tell that Natsu's heart isn't in it. He keeps looking over Sting's shoulder, searching the restaurant for another sign of Gray. Sting sees him a few times in another section, but he pointedly avoids them for the rest of the meal.
"I don't think that's a good idea," Sting says gently when Natsu contemplates asking the manager to talk to Gray. "I know you want to see him, but if you're right about his boyfriend, that could make things worse."
Natsu's jaw tightens and he looks like he's going to cry. "I know that, I just…"
"Here." Sting hands him a pen. "Write him a note, let him know you're gonna be at the beach later. Then it's up to him if he wants to come meet you."
Natsu nods and quickly scribbles something on the paper, then folds it a few times and writes Gray on it. He tucks it into the sleeve of the credit card holder, then looks past Sting once more toward the kitchen.
"Natsu," Sting says gently as they head out the restaurant and back into the spring afternoon. "You have to think about this. What are you planning on doing?"
"I don't know," Natsu says. "I just want to talk to him. I missed him so fucking much, I don't want to lose him again." He looks down at the scuffed toes of his shoes. "Can you—is there anything you can do?"
Sting sighs. "Not really," he admits. "He's an adult, he's legally allowed to make his own decisions. And involving the police – if he's not ready to leave or admit something's wrong – can make it worse a lot of the time."
"Fuck."
"I'm sorry." Sting's chest aches at the helpless expression on Natsu's face. "I can keep an eye on him. This place is pretty close to the precinct, it wouldn't be suspicious."
Natsu nods, staring back at the restaurant. "I wanted to find him," he says quietly, "But I didn't want it to be like this."
Sting keeps his word and visits the restaurant as often as he can. Gray works most days, and while he's wary of Sting at first, eventually he starts to relax and talk a little. They never talk about Natsu – Sting can tell that Gray wants to ask, but he doesn't know how to bring it up.
Over the next few months, Sting starts to learn things about Gray. He's smart – he wants to be an engineer one day – and he's kind. He has a Rottweiler named Bella. He likes his coffee black and his eggs over easy, and he's definitely being abused.
"You don't look so great," Sting says one afternoon as Gray refills his coffee. Gray's eyes are red, and his hair is a mess, and he looks like he hasn't slept in a few days. Sting's pretty sure he saw a bruise peeking out from under the collar of his shirt earlier.
Gray doesn't answer and Sting frowns. "Gray? You okay?"
Gray stares at Sting for a few seconds, then quickly shakes his head.
"Yeah, it's… I've just been sick." The words are hollow, and his smile is forced. "I'm fine."
You're not, Sting thinks, guilt and frustration welling up inside him. It doesn't have to be like this, please let me help you.
"Rogue came down with something last week, too," he forces himself to say instead. Then his police radio crackles and Gray is so startled that he jumps back from the table. Before Sting can ask anything else, Gray gives him a quick smile and backs away, then turns and heads toward the kitchen.
Sting runs his fingers over the bill and stares down at his forearms. He's wearing his long-sleeved uniform today and his scars are hidden, but he has every one of them memorized. His skin carries so many memories – bruises in the shape of his dad's fingerprints, a burn from one of Ryan's cigarettes, self-inflicted marks that will never disappear.
I'm fine. He's ten and his teacher asks why he doesn't have a lunch, and how he got the bruise on his arm.
I'm fine. He's eleven and Uncle Wes keeps asking him how he's feeling.
I'm fine. He's fifteen and the school counsellor asks if he's been sleeping okay.
I'm fine. He's seventeen and a woman at the bus stop wants to know if he needs money for the ride home.
I'm fine. He's nineteen and his coworkers are asking why he's hungover every goddamn day.
But he was never fine, and Gray isn't either, and there's nothing Sting can do.
If you need help and you can't tell someone, ask me if I want decaf coffee next time I'm here. I'll know what you mean and do what I can to help. People care about you. ~Sting
That evening Sting gets a text from Natsu.
Natsu [17:23] he texted me.
A wave of fear rushes through Sting and he sits down heavily on the couch, holding his phone in both hands. Rogue frowns, looking up from his crochet project and setting it down on the coffee table.
"What's wrong, love?" he asks, shifting closer to Sting and wrapping an arm around his waist.
"I'm not sure," Sting says. He leans into Rogue's embrace as he replies.
Sting [17:24] Is he okay?
Natsu [17:24] no but i cant fucking do anything. he said i cant text him or call him. that fucking asshole is hurting him and i just wanna drive out there and take him away.
Rogue reads the message over Sting's shoulder, making a sad sound and pulling him closer.
Natsu [17:25] i gave him your # and said if he needed help to text u. im so scared for him. this is his # but u can't text him or call him.
Natsu [17:25] Shared Contact: Gray 3 (G)
Sting saves the number, staring at it for a minute and wishing he could just call it and drive over there and bring Gray here, where he'll be safe. He knows Gray isn't ready, though, and it hurts.
Sting [17:26] I've got it saved. I told him today that if he needs help he can ask me if I want decaf when I'm there. I'm sorry I can't do more.
Natsu [17:27] its ok. i hope he texts me again. i miss him so much.
"I'm sorry," Rogue murmurs as Sting sends a quick reply, then sets his phone down on the table. He turns to Rogue and curls up against him, pressing his face into the crook of his neck. Rogue smells like coffee, and he's warm and comforting – Sting's safe place.
"I just want to help," Sting says quietly. Frosch, their new kitten, hops up onto the couch and meows at Sting loudly before curling up on his stomach. He sighs, stroking the soft fur behind her ears.
"You are helping," Rogue says. "Maybe just knowing that he has people looking out for him is enough right now."
"Maybe." Sting nudges Rogue until he's lying back against the couch and Sting's curled up in his arms. Sting's wearing a t-shirt now and can see every scar, and when Rogue notices him staring, he takes Sting's arm and kisses the marks. "It's weird," Sting says quietly, "being on the other side."
"What do you mean?"
"Trying to help instead of refusing it." He tips his head back until he can see the photo of him and Uncle Wes hanging on the wall. Rogue took it a couple years ago at the pride parade – they're both wearing rainbow t-shirts and Sting's cheeks are covered in glitter. "Is this how Uncle Wes felt?"
Rogue doesn't answer, just kisses Sting's forehead and holds him closer. A lump grows in Sting's throat and he tries to swallow it down, but a few stray tears escape. Rogue brushes them away with his thumb and leans in to press a soft, gentle kiss to Sting's lips.
Sting returns the kiss, then rubs his eyes and says, "I need to go see Uncle Wes."
As soon as Uncle Wes opens the front door, Sting pulls him into a hug.
"Are you all right?" Uncle Wes asks, voice filled with concern as he returns the embrace. "Are you hurt? Where's Rogue?"
"He's at home, I'm fine," Sting reassures him, pulling back and rubbing his face. "I, um… needed a hug." Now that he's here, the idea of driving an hour and a half just for a hug seems silly.
"Of course," Uncle Wes says without hesitation. "You're always welcome here. Come in." He holds the door open and gestures for Sting to come into the living room, then settles down next to him on the couch. "What's wrong?"
"One of my friends is… in a shitty situation," Sting says, curling up in the corner of the couch. Uncle Wes still has the same knitted blanket that he'd grown attached to after moving here as a kid, and Sting pulls it off the back of the couch and drapes it over his legs.
"What kind of situation?"
"His partner is hurting him," Sting says quietly, "And he's not ready to leave."
"Ah." Uncle Wes nods. "And you know how hard that can be."
Sting sighs, tugging at one of the pieces of yarn that's coming loose from the blanket. "Yeah," he says. "I want to help, but I can't, and… is this what you felt like? For all those years?"
Uncle Wes doesn't answer right away. Instead he looks over at the side table where there's a picture of the two of them on Sting's twelfth birthday. Sting remembers it like it was yesterday – the first time in a long time that he'd felt safe and entirely at peace. Right before everything had fallen apart.
"It was hard," Uncle Wes admits. "I wanted to make it better for you – to take away all the things that hurt you and make them disappear. I felt helpless, watching you have nightmares, and cry, and get so angry."
"I'm sorry," Sting says, but Uncle Wes shakes his head.
"You were hurting," he says. "And your friend is, too. But you can't take those things away for him. You can't fix it."
"I know," Sting says miserably, thinking about the way Gray had jumped at the static from his radio earlier. His mind drifts to days with Ryan, to the blur of shouting and drinking and wanting to die.
"You found your way eventually," Uncle Wes says. "And so will he."
"But what do I do?" Sting asks. "What can I do now, to make it better?"
"All you can do is love," Uncle Wes says, reaching out and squeezing Sting's knee. "Love, and have hope."