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“Stop… stop… Stop. Stop. Stop. Stop!”
The hands keep grabbing, tearing, pulling.
He screams, and begs, but is ignored again and again.
He doesn’t listen.
Like in an endless loop, he’s forced to watch everything play in front of him. He’s been through this countless times before, so much it doesn’t feel like he’s himself anymore, but he still feels it.
But this time there’s no encyclopedia. No escape.
Was there ever one?
He sees it all. Feels it all. He screams. He cries.
Then he wakes up.
Face wet with tears and hyperventilating, he feels an unpleasant feeling in his throat. As best as he can he rushes to the bathroom and gets on his knees in front of the toilet. It doesn’t take long and he barely bothers to wash the taste away from his mouth, he just lays on the tile floor, finding comfort in the harsh coldness against his still heated skin.
Breathe in, breathe out.
He forces himself to look around. He’s not in Bologna anymore. He’s not living with his parents either.
Still, the nightmare lingers on the back of his mind, almost makes him want to throw up again,
The fucking bastard. I should’ve killed him.
With trembling hands, he lifts up his shirt and throws it on the counter, making sure not to look at himself in the mirror. He can’t handle that right now. He pulls down his pants, with his own hands this time, and follows with his underwear too. He needs a shower more than anything else.
Once inside he immediately turns on the water, grabs the soap and scrub.
Scrub, scrub, scrub. Scrub him away, take away his touch, scrub until you're not the same anymore. His skin reddens and he still furiously scrubs, because it’s never enough soap, because he can’t take back what’s been taken away, because he’s still too weak.
His arm gets tired and he drops to his knees and cries. Quietly, he doesn’t want to wake up Narancia obviously. He’s crying quietly, like he used to do every night when he wished he’d just die instead, when he’d look at the knife beside his table and had to scratch himself not to grab it. Mindlessly, his fingers trace over the scare on his forearm, like a reflex.
Slowly, he starts feeling better. Well, he’s not sure. He’s not as emotional anymore, that he knows. It feels more like he’s numbing himself, he’s not feeling better, he’s just not feeling.
Just a bit more, he thinks while placing his head in his hands.
After a while, he turns off the faucet and wraps himself in a towel, like a safety blanket, and doesn’t mind the water still dripping on his face or his soaking hair sticking to his forehead. As he walked out of the bathroom, he heads to his dresser to find a clean change of clothes.
Clean.
He can’t let himself slip back into bed, he’s scared to fall back asleep. He’s scared to relive that moment once more. He’s scared of failure. He’s scared of disappointing people he loves. Between himself and the warm bed where his partner lay, there’s a huge gap on the floor. A line he can’t cross. A step he can’t take. He finds himself unable to walk towards Narancia.
Running away is much safer, much rational anyway.
He’s sure he can find some work he has to do.
“Fugo?” He almost jumps out of his skin.
He turns around and there he is. Narancia’s sitting up to have a better look at him, he squints and his lips turn upwards when he recognizes the love of his life, but it quickly changes into confusion.
“Why are you up?” In this darkness and with his bad eye, he didn’t notice he’d slipped into new clothes nor the fact that his hair was still wet.
“I, uh, couldn’t sleep.'' He feels like he’s been caught cheating on an exam, he can’t move, fears he might say something wrong, doesn’t want to get yelled at.
“Hmm…” Narancia rubs his eyes. He’s still so sleepy while Fugo’s all awake.
“Did I wake you? I’m sorry.”
“Don’t worry ‘bout it. Do you want to go back to sleep?”
“No.” he hurriedly said, maybe letting some of the fear through because Narancia looked worried for a moment.
“Was it a bad dream? D’you wanna talk about it?” Fugo didn’t say anything. He’s not allowed to show when he’s scared, when he’s upset, otherwise he gets yelled at because no one really cares how he feels, they just want to use him.
“Alright, I’ll stop asking about it. Can I stay up with you? It’s just 4 am, so it’s kinda useless to go back to sleep.”
... Huh?
He waits for the part where Narancia gets mad but instead he slowly gets out of bed, opens the light and puts on clothes because he always sleeps in his underwear. When Fugo doesn’t move or say anything, Narancia just looks at him and says “What?” and it hits Fugo harder than a punch or a cold shower.
Everything comes over him and tears flow on their own and he hears Nara say “Hey, are you ok?” and rush to him but he can’t do anything about it. Then, when he’s close enough, he collapses onto him in a hug, and it feels so good, so refreshing. Narancia rubs his back and hushers words like “Hey, it’s ok.” and “I’m here.” and “That’s it, let it all out.”
It feels like he’ll never stop crying but slowly, with Narancia’s help, he calms down and feels so relieved, like if he took off a heavy backpack, like something huge he didn’t know he had kept to himself finally let loose.
“Feeling better?” Fugo sniffles and nods, Narancia chuckles a bit.
“Let’s go in the kitchen, ok? I’ll make you a hot chocolate, or coffee if you prefer, then we’ll play video games. Sounds good?”
This is so different, but so much better. He never knew he deserved better, or that someone as kind and caring as Narancia could ever be in his life. And on top of that, he’s his boyfriend. It’s hard to believe it’s not just another dream, but he’s very tangible in his arms.
“I love you.” Narancia smiles.
“I know.”
“That’s not what you’re supposed to say.”
He laughs,“I love you too, so much I can’t even find words to describe it, but I’m also not as smart as you. I want to love you for infinity.” It’s not a poem from Byron but those are sincere words, because Narancia can’t lie and would never lie about this.
Maybe… By his side, I’ll actually feel better.
“I want coffee, actually.”