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The smell of fresh apple pie begins to waft through the apartment as Konrad removes the pastry from the still-hot confines of the oven. With a small thump against the counter, he sets the pie down, and finally removes his oven mitts to free the hands that lay below. As the pie remains safely placed on the counter, Konrad takes his time to close the door to the oven. Once everything is back into place, he takes his time to smile down at the pie that has started to slowly cool in the dry Arizonan air.
A few rooms away, the sound of the shower halts with a shake of the pipes that run through the walls of the apartment, Konrad tilts his head slightly at the noise but, other than that, does nothing in response. To test the heat, the pads of Konrad’s fingers slowly move to press against the pie tin, the sharp burst of pain that sparks through his nerves from the temperature causes his hand to move itself away before his mind catches up. To cool the pain, he sticks the offending finger in his mouth, and with his other hand, he rolls the fabric of his sleeve over the flesh, keeping it covered from the heat; he does the same with his other hand once the pain in his finger calms.
He grabs the tin containing the apple pie once again, with his sleeves still covering his hands, and picks it up from the counter. He slowly, but fast enough to keep the heat from fully reaching his skin again, makes his way past the dining table, and over to the window sitting near the door to Damviah and Silas’ room. He sets it down on the sill, letting the cold air from outside cool the pastry down. It just so happens that, once the pie is placed on the window sill, the door to the bathroom opens.
Konrad turns his body around, a smile on his face as he begins to speak to whoever had walked out, “I just made some apple pie! Once it’s cooled down you can have as much as you.. ah…” He trails off, as when his brain had processed his vision, he realized that the member of the household that had walked out was not only Damivah, but he was also without clothes. Thankfully for Konrad, a towel remained carelessly wrapped around Damviah’s waist, of which his eyes darted down to check only once and did not wander afterwards. However, the loss of his train of thought was not in relation to that in specific, but was rather what he had noticed as a result.
The hand not holding Damivah’s towel up on his hips, the right one, was turned supine towards Konrad as the limb’s owner scratched the back of his neck. What the action made apparent was the area of fur on his arm that was yet to grow back, as was a result of the scar tissue which left an obvious contrast between the light of Damivah’s skin and the dark grey of his fur. This realization, of noticing the scars which seem purposely placed on the anterior portion of his forearm, makes it feel like reality has paused for Konrad; as if time has screeched to a halt even as Damivah walks past him with a dismissive “Oh, okay” and enters the room opposite to the bathroom door.
Konrad stands there, in the middle of the apartment, letting the cold air from the open window next to him blow onto his face, for longer than he’d like to admit. His eyes stay locked onto some small point on the wall, before he blinks, shakes his head, and turns his gaze to the door Damivah had left the room through.
How could he not have noticed until now? Damviah’s worn short sleeves inside the apartment more times than Konrad could count, and yet the only time Konrad has noticed Damivah… harming himself, had been just at this moment.
He couldn’t let this continue on without at least some sort of intervention, he reasons. He wasn’t any good of a friend if he let Damivah continue.
—
The day afterward, after the pie had cooled, only two slices had been taken out for both Konrad and Silas, but not Damivah; and after it had been safely secured away under a layer of plastic wrap, placed near the wall to likely remain untouched until it molds, Konrad decides to make his move.
It was midday, and while Konrad was free from work, Silas remained out of the apartment and would only be back until at least the next half hour, leaving the apartment’s only occupants to be only Konrad and Damivah. Konrad had exhausted every mindless task he could think of to keep himself busy and, more importantly, to stall himself from confronting Damivah about his self-harm.
Konrad blinks, zoning back into reality and staring down at the spot on the counter he’s been scrubbing for the past few minutes; it seems there’s no other action to prevent him from this confrontation. He steels himself, standing up with a straight back, confident posing that he hopes will make him feel more confident than he does; he drops the rag in the laundry basket, which will, soon enough, go to the apartment’s communal washer and dryer, before turning to make his way over to Damivah and Silas’ shared room.
His fingers hesitate at the doorknob, the pads of which brush against the brass tubercle and leave smears shaped like his fingerprints on the brass, before he inches his hands away and instead rests his knuckles against the wood of the door. Before he can convince himself out of doing so, he flexes his wrist forward just slightly before knocking with an easy “shave and a haircut” rhythm.
The sound from the other side of the door is almost immediate: there’s a large amount of shuffling, and the incessant creak of, what Konrad assumes is, Damviah’s desk chair. “Hold on!” Damivah yells, and it’s the first time Konrad’s heard the man’s voice (or seen him, really) since their encounter yesterday afternoon. What follows is what’s meant to be a muttered, exasperated, “Jesus Christ…” but it’s much too loud, and so Konrad can hear it easy.
A roadblock quickly presents itself, either to let Damivah compose himself from whatever it is that he’s doing in his room before he enters, or to go in there now. Konrad, usually, is more than happy to respect his roommate’s privacy; it was to the point that, at times, Konrad had left the apartment for hours at a time at the request of “privacy” from either of his roommates. (Many of those times, it was by the request of Damivah whenever Podo came over, but Konrad never wanted to pry). However, with Konrad’s newfound discovery, he knows what could possibly be occurring behind that door, and the reality isn’t one he’s particularly happy with. If he catches Damviah in the act of hurting himself, it would be much easier for an intervention to begin since there would be no reason for Konrad’s “accusations” to be denied, he reasons.
Konrad nods to himself, once, final. While there’s still shuffling from inside the room, Konrad grips the doorknob, pushes against it, and twists until the door opens.
Damivah, as Konrad had expected, is sitting at his desk chair, however, everything else about Damviah’s state is what Konrad is expecting much less. The first thing Konrad notices is what’s not there rather than what is. The red of Damivah’s blood, which Konrad would’ve expected to stick out against the monochrome of the rest of his roommate’s body, is simply not there, the only red being in the sclera of his eye.
Damivah’s position is the second thing Konrad notices, he’s folded over his chair, which provides his arm with the position to unplug his computer from the wall; this, Konrad assumes, because the end of the cord is still clutched in the middle of Damivah's hand, which, as Damivah follows Konrad’s eyes to the item, he promptly drops. The last thing Konrad notices, which his eyes only glance at as Damivah sits up from his folded position, is the most damning.
Damivah’s pants are not only down to his ankles, but his underwear is as well, revealing the expanse of grey fur along the area of his legs (and more scarred areas along his thighs, but thankfully, none that seem to be open). As Konrad’s confused gaze flicks up to the area, he can see that Damivah has an erection.
“Aa- aAH!” No more than a second after Konrad had become aware of Damivah’s situation he had accidentally stumbled upon does he try to distance himself from it. He takes a step back, then another, covering his reddening face with the palms of his hands as he both tries to hide himself and his gaze behind his palms. “Es tut mir schrecklich leid!”
“Get out!” As soon as Damviah locks eyes with Konrad, who continues to stand in the doorway even with his movements to try and seem more uninvolved than he is. His hands quickly move upwards to the edge of his shirt, grabbing onto the hem before pulling it downwards to cover his erection, which is already beginning to grow soft under Konrad’s presence, “What the fuck is your problem!?”
“Why wasn’t the door locked!?” Konrad asks, turning his body further away from Damviah, even as he keeps his eyes hidden behind the palms of his hands. He’s still determined to confront Damviah about his self-harm, even despite the circumstances that prevent him from doing so in the way that he had originally planned for, so he stays standing near the doorway.
Damviah moves up to stand, pauses, then sits back down. “‘Cause you’re supposed to fucking knock!” He folds over again, if only to grab his sweatpants and underwear which, until this point, have remained down to pile at his ankles. He pulls them upwards just as much as he can easily get them from his position sitting down, before standing up and bringing them up the rest of the way, onto his hips; he doesn’t tie up the drawstrings to his sweatpants, however, as they aren’t at risk of falling off even without it. Konrad doesn’t notice any of this, however, as he still has his eyes covered and away from Damivah. “You’re always disrespecting my own privacy in my own apartment!”
“Well, it’s…” Konrad begins and then trails off, he had never particularly been the best at arguments, and it seems this conversation is turning into one rather quickly. He pauses, just a second before he asks, “...Do you have your clothes on now?”
“Yes.” Damivah’s voice is exasperated, more than it usually is in most conversations Konrad’s held with the man, but a confirmation is as good as any and Konrad removes his hands from his face, still a little red with embarrassment but beginning to fade back into its usual peach hue.
“It’s just… I have something very serious to talk to you about.” Konrad’s hands drop uselessly to his sides, as he turns his body from the wall, away from Damivah, and back to Damivah himself. He brings his hands to his back, holding onto his wrist with one hand to keep his arms steady in their new position, Konrad hopes he’s making himself seem as harmless as he wants himself to seem, so that, even with Damivah’s anger, the situation doesn’t go as poorly as the ending seems to be heading towards. “Last night… I… I noticed your self-harm scars and–”
“That’s what this whole thing was about?” Damivah raises an eyebrow, the one mostly uncovered by his bangs. He places his hands on his hips, the area where his sweatpants end on his hips but his shirt, a tiny bit too big to sit where it’s supposed to, covers that area of his body. Konrad begins to speak but Damivah waves his hand to stop him, and Konrad complies, quickly, and almost pathetically, closing his mouth with a small clink of his teeth. “I’ve had these for months,” Damivah explains, averting his gaze for just a second before looking straight at Konrad and asking, almost incredulously, “You’ve just noticed?”
“I mean…” Konrad averts his eyes from Damivah’s, trailing them downwards to the only available space of Damviah’s self-harm that Konrad can see, his wrist. The skin around the cuts that have scabbed over are discolored, darker than the skin they surround, a sign that Konrad’s relatively sure means there’s some that are a lot older than he had first assumed. “Well… They looked a lot newer than–”
Damivah holds up his hand again, stopping Konrad from continuing his sentence, Konrad as always, quickly shuts up and lets Damivah continue speaking instead. “Dude, stop,” Is all he says, breathing in to say something else, before pausing and closing his mouth. He goes silent for a second, but with his hand up Konrad finds it rude for him to speak instead, and still, after a few more seconds of waiting, Damviah just says, “...That’s none of your business, anyways.”
“Damivah…” Konrad begins, his voice soft and upset. His lips twitch down into a frown, which was already there before, but feels more pronounced as his muscles strain under the unfamiliar exertion of the movement as he keeps it on his face, “I feel like I’m allowed to be concerned about you.”
Damviah only averts his eyes for a second, a small glance away from Konrad’s face, still upset in that rare way that’s difficult to look at, before he looks back again. The furrow in his brow (the one visible, at least) has returned, having softened minutely beforehand. His voice is clear, declarative, “...I don’t get why you try so hard to be my friend. You’re not getting anywhere.”
“What..” There’s a tilt of Konrad’s head, a small, nervous, confused smile begins to tug at his face, attempting to calm the situation before it can inflame itself and hurt both of them, but most likely Konrad especially, but somewhere, in the back of his mind, knowing it’s all for naught anyways, “I’m not sure what you mean.”
“All you ever do is run around acting so happy about everything, but you never do anything.” As Damivah speaks, his voice fades into the uncomfortable static that only a stark realization could produce, combined with a sudden drop in Konrad’s blood pressure which, when combined, makes him feel far away from the argument. Konrad isn’t getting anywhere; he was aware Damivah disliked him, but the confirmation that his attempts at this point have been all for naught is a thought that definitely isn’t enjoyable.
Konrad looks at Damviah as he continues talking, most likely about Konrad’s wrongdoings, but he doesn’t listen, a harsh ringing in his ears and his own thoughts explaining the situation to himself too loud to hear anything else over them. He tries so hard, to not only improve the lives of his roommates (who are, as he is just learning now, not his friends), but to gain their approval, and both efforts, from Damivah’s self-harm to his own words, have seemed to not work in the slightest. As the lacrimal ducts at the corner of his eyes begin to feel warm, his mind begins to process Damivah’s words once more: “I’m not your friend,” He says, and he pauses, before adding, “Retard.”
The first thing to come from Konrad is a light sniffle, and, although Konrad’s vision is a little blurry from the tears that threaten to fall from his eyes at the moment, he can still see how Damivah’s expression changes minutely from angry to confused. It’s rare, nearly impossible, to have a moment which would warrant any tears from Konrad, so such an occurrence happening, especially with as little of a warning as now, was sure to be almost baffling, as it felt for Damivah.
As Konrad lowers his head, bringing his hands up to rub at his eyes and get rid of any tears which come from the corners of his eyes and begin to brim at the edge of his eyelids, and a small, fiery recess of emotion begins to make itself known deep inside his chest. The feeling itself is unfamiliar, as it was certainly something upsetting; unfamiliar, since Konrad himself has mostly never experienced any bad emotions unwarranted, and, for a person as passive as him, there usually isn’t any situation warranting it.
“I…” He begins, his voice soft, wavering even with the single syllable coming from his mouth. He sniffles, and when he speaks again, his voice is still teary, but much more clear, “I can’t believe.. you…” A deep urge to do something vaguely ‘bad’ begins to fill his veins, and his body begins to run somewhat hot with saddened adrenaline. “You’re so… mean!”
Konrad rushes forwards, and Damviah’s given only a small moment to react before Konrad has extended his arms to push the other backwards onto the floor. The movement Konrad creates, however, is less akin to a sprint and more akin to a faster walking speed than his usual, so the push that he gives Damivah does not send him lying on the ground but, instead, only forces him to stumble backwards slightly. His balance is relatively easy to recover, as only a few seconds after he had almost fallen, Damviah is standing up straight once more.
Damivah’s expression remains confused for only a few moments longer, before his mind catches up and his brows furrow in anger again. His eyes focus on Konrad standing before him, upset and with the clear threat of tears to fall from his eyes down his cheeks, “You.. motherfucker…”
Through Konrad’s blurry vision, obscured by his tears, he can barely notice the slight movement of Damivah pulling his arm backwards, but is all too aware of the feeling as Damviah jams it into the center of his stomach, right above where his belly button lies. Pain lurches through his body, traveling from his stomach up through his spinal cord to his brain, the tingles of hurt linger as far as to be felt in the tips of his fingers; the feeling of nausea is also quick to bring itself up to the brink of his throat. Damivah doesn’t move away, not afraid of any other attack Konrad could muster after his own, and only watches as Konrad leans forward, arms wrapped around the area of his pained stomach, coughing up what is now only saliva and phlegm but, from the heaving sounds that leave his mouth, seem near for something more to come up.
A smirk begins to form itself on Damivah’s expression, smug in the way that twists his face into something much different than his usual simple blank, frustrated look. “How’s that, hm?” He asks, tilting his head to the side, if only slightly, as he takes in the scene that is filling his vision, of Konrad put down so much lower than he already defaces himself.
Konrad tenses, the emotions of shame, humiliation in a sense, unfamiliar to himself as a man so easily optimistic, able to shed the bad emotions from others from his mind. Combined with his previous frustration, it’s able to wring itself into an amalgamation of emotions that of which form into an expression of real anger which he’s never well felt himself, at least not since his times as an unregulatory child. He raises his head upward just enough to look at Damivah, to focus his gaze on the smug expression which graces his “friend”’s facies, and the feeling that had begun to truly emerge itself only solidifies in his ribcage.
Konrad straightens himself upwards, erect in his posture, however Damivah still keeps his grin as his eyes trail Konrad’s movement. “Awww,” He purrs (because he is a cat), narrowing his eyes slightly at Konrad’s still pained figure; in his eyes it is clear to Konrad that even despite their difference in height, Damivah currently remains under the impression that Konrad is smaller than himself. “Are you gonna fight ba– Aack..!!”
Despite Konrad’s lack of experience, and the commonly held idea about the right area of the face to target first. The punch which Konrad had begun the movements for while Damviah’s eyes were focused upwards on his face instead, is aimed towards Damviah’s jaw, in specific the upper portion, which houses the grooves for his teeth and containing the nerves of which connect themselves to the rest of his body. For Konrad, the movement feels like an out of body experience, as his fist collides with Damviah’s face it’s more akin to watching an action play out in a horror movie, still inducing the same adrenaline rush from his sympathetic system but feeling as if it’s in no ability of his to stop himself. The feeling is yet to come back even as he pulls himself away, watching as Damivah moves by reflex, bringing his hand upwards to hold the area of his jaw which had been hit.
“Aughh.. ackk…” Damviah groans, choking on the excess saliva which had begun to be secreted, and the blood that crowded his mouth. The origin of the blood, already clear to Damivah but not yet to Konrad, becomes visible as Damviah coughs on the fluid that has entered his mouth, which pushes out a tooth, a point from his canines, out from his lips and onto the floor. It clatters to the ground with the sound of its weight, a soft noise that’s only audible as Konrad’s eyes trail the movement down, focused on the bone that had just left.
The unfamiliar feeling bubbling up within the recesses of Konrad’s chest has yet to leave, and as he watches Damivah heave with the overabundance of blood in his mouth, so different from his earlier demeanor that it hardly correlates as the same moment in Konrad’s mind, the urge to do more begins to supply itself into Konrad’s veins.
He reaches forward again, this time not to hit but instead to wrap his arm around Damivah’s neck. As soon as he does so, and as Damivah is still unbalanced on his feet and still too focused on the pain radiating from his jaw to fixate on stopping Konrad’s movements, he presses forward, pulling Damivah both closer to himself and causing the smaller man to move to the side, giving Konrad the opportunity to situate Damivah in front of him, so they stand chest-to-back.
With their new position, it’s easier for Konrad to press his arm harder against Damivah’s neck, the headlock working both to cut off some of his breathing but also to inhibit Damivah from moving his head away. Konrad stays still as Damivah begins to squirm, at first it’s only motion, as Damivah takes the ability of movement in the rest of his body to kick backwards at Konrad’s legs, although it only succeeds in jamming his heel into Konrad’s shin and does nothing to knock Konrad off balance. His arms are quick to move upward as well, gripping onto the arm that Konrad uses to press against his windpipe and, more importantly, running his claws down the side of Konrad’s arm, which is more successful as, even with the barrier of Konrad’s jacket it still succeeds in irritating the skin that lies beneath.
Although these moments happen in mostly rapid succession, the third thing that Damviah does is the most clear, as he makes noise. He hisses in half a breath through his gritted teeth, the cold air irritating the hole where his tooth used to sit. Then, he opens his mouth to take in a deeper breath, or as deep of a breath as Konrad’s arm would allow, the bulk of the muscle digging into Damviah’s skinny neck, however, proves it all for naught as his inhale only causes the excess saliva and blood to enter his trachea instead, worsening the choking feeling. “Aaahh–cck.. hhck…” He coughs, hacking up small bits of tinged-pink saliva onto the fabric of Konrad’s jacket, if his fur didn’t cover his skin to show his vascularization, his head would be tinted a dark shade of red; his eyebrows begin to knit together as a headache begins to form between his eyes.
It only takes a few seconds as Konrad continues his hold against Damviah’s neck, but the lack of oxygen begins to temporarily dull the synapses in his brain. While Damivah remains attempting to take in breaths with small gasping sounds which, if Konrad were aware of anything despite his own frustration, he’d be aware that they sound remarkably similar to moans, cut off by the occasional cough and choke, his limbs begin to fall slack. His legs halt their kicking, resting with only the tips of his toes on the floor as Konrad’s holding him upwards too far for his height, and his arms stop their scratching and rest limp around only half of Konrad’s arm.
Suddenly, only as dark spots begin to supply themselves in the edges of his vision, does Konrad’s arm move away just enough for Damivah to take in a satisfying breath. With newly found vigor, Damivah tightens his hand’s hold on Konrad’s arm again, and attempts to push it away from himself as to give him an ability to leave the situation. As soon as his first breath passes through his lungs, he uses the oxygen to yell, “You fucking bitch! Get the hell off of– aa-augghh.” Once again, Damivah gets cut off by a punch Konrad had inflicted (the thought of which, sets off a little bit of pride in the back of Konrad’s mind, like it’s some kind of revenge he’s imposing). The punch, as per another part of revenge, is directed to Damviah’s stomach, the area just above the belly button where Damivah had similarly hit him before, and, in the back of Konrad’s mind, admittedly still somewhat aches now.
A stark feeling of nausea begins to boil up towards Damivah’s throat, although, even with the burn of stomach acid in his esophagus, nothing comes up. He swallows with a loud, audible noise, trying to wash it down, and once he’s down, as his throat becomes uncovered by his epiglottis, he groans out a wet sounding, “gguh…”
This is how they stay for the next second or so, with Konrad holding Damviah in a loose grip and watching as the smaller man recovers his bearings from the punch (which was much harder than anything Damivah could muster). Slowly, as Damivah regains his bearings, pain becomes a secondary thought in his mind, and more rational thinking takes its place as the majority. He’s beginning to lose most of the nausea and pain, which has dimmed down to an uncomfortable hum, and Konrad’s holding him so loose he could just…
Damivah ducks downwards, and with a little bit of force he’s able to shove his head out of the limp hold Konrad had him in; he can feel, as he begins to leave, how Konrad tightens his hold, but as he’s halfway out anyway, it only succeeds in providing a harsh, inconvenient pressure to his forehead. The second he’s successfully free, Damivah takes no time to look back nor think, simply standing up and pushing himself forward to sprint out the door.
He can hear Konrad’s footsteps behind him, and the feeling of being chased, not even in a video game or movie but for real, causes an almost euphoric rush of adrenaline that coats every neuron throughout his body. A floaty, girlish giggle begins to bubble itself out of his throat, keeping his eyes locked onto the door to their apartment that he approaches.
“Come back!” Konrad shouts, his voice is confusingly not as angry sounding as Damivah would have thought, while there’s still a hint of frustration in his tone that’s hard to ignore, the word that Damviah would use to describe it the most would probably be whiny.
Unbeknownst to Damivah, Konrad, still behind and chasing the other, lunges himself forward to close the gap between the two of them. Before he falls completely onto the floor, Konrad tries his best to grab onto Damivah to keep him in place, to stop the other man from leaving, however, his hands grab onto the legs of Damivah’s sweatpants instead of any actual part of his body. Once Konrad hits the floor, hard enough which, if he wasn’t feeling as much adrenaline as he did now, would probably make him tear up (that of which isn’t very hard at all), his hands also move down far enough to pull Damivah’s pants down from their precarious position on his hips down to his ankles.
Damivah knows he’s falling before he even starts, his pants being pulled down is only noticed by the sudden cold that’s revealed to his thighs, which also re-reveal the scars that lay on the front. He’s already pushing himself forward towards a step, but with the limited mobility that his pants being down give him, he’s unable to fully move his foot forward as he had expected. As if it happens in slow motion, Damivah stumbles, and then he’s all too aware of the door that sits directly in front of his line of sight, slowly coming closer as his body loses its balance and falls forward.
The doorknob hits him before he even notices that that was his face’s destination. The tubercle jams into the area of and surrounding his eye, his eyelids instinctually blinks themselves closed before it collides, to protect his eyes from the brunt of the damage but still pressing harshly against the flexible organ, however only enough to hurt but not to injure, except for bruising around the area. As his face hits the doorknob, he instinctively recoils backwards, body flinching away from the handle that has pained him, however instead of hitting the doorknob again as his upper body continues to fall forwards, his forehead hits the basal area of the door secondly.
His hands quickly move up to cup the skin around his eye, already turning a bright red of bursted blood vessels under the coverings of his fur. The headache, having been concentrated previously on the middle of his forehead and now has spread to the sides as well, continues to throb with every, embarrassingly quick, beat of his heart. “Aaahh… oww…” He mumbles, too unused to eye injuries that he cowers at a simple fall.
Damviah feels Konrad’s hand, the man previously forgotten until now, grab onto the back of his shirt. He scrambles, hands and feet quickly dragging against the floor and the door to try and pull himself upwards and open the door to let himself out, an embarrassingly loud whimper leaves his mouth, but his mind is preoccupied, and only in the back of his mind is he embarrassed. He feels himself get pulled upward by the back of his shirt, the front, now pulled tight against his chest, digs into the still sore area of his stomach; his legs stumble to ground themself onto the ground as he turns upright. With his elevated position, his pants that remained bunched around his ankles fall down to land on the ground, leaving all of his lower half exposed, only his underwear covering him up from public indecency. His eyes, however, focus on how the door, still taking up most of his vision as he faces forward, is pulled away from him, clear even with the blur taking up most of his sight on his injured eye.
Konrad’s arm moves forward, into Damivah’s vision and towards the door, and grabs onto the doorknob. It twists, and there’s the tell-tale click of the lock being undone, the small latch between the door and doorway unclasping itself; and the door falls open with only a small bit of momentum from Konrad’s hand.
At the sight of the outside of his apartment, the area where Konrad doesn’t sit to continue to hold his anger towards Damivah, where the stairs lie, leading towards the salvation of some sort of freedom, that of which is anywhere away from Konrad. His legs scramble across the floorboards in an attempt to run away from Konrad once more, but it quickly becomes clear that the action is futile, as due to Konrad’s hand still holding onto the back of his shirt, Damivah can’t get anywhere.
“Christ! Let me go, Adolf!” Damivah’s acutely aware of the way his words and actions, and his struggles still to remove himself from Konrad’s grip, would only serve to frustrate the other more, but he simply can’t help himself. As Konrad begins to walk out of the apartment, Damivah is dragged in the same direction.
“You wanna leave?” Konrad asks, his voice, the first time Damivah’s heard it rather than a few groans since this encounter began. It’s scarily… serious, a stark contrast to the regular Konrad Damivah knows, who’s all laughs and smiles, and certainly doesn’t have it in him to choke Damivah out and glare at him like he’s lesser. At least, Damivah didn’t think he had it in him.
Despite himself, however, he feels hopeful that this is where it will end, and the only thing Damivah will have lost is a tooth and some of his dignity, but not all. A small smile, full of nerves and formality, not really representing how he feels graces his face. “Uhh… yeah, I do,” Is what he answers, glancing away as he begins to feel crushed under the weight of Konrad’s stare.
He doesn’t look back as Konrad releases his grip on the back of Damivah’s shirt, now standing on his slightly shaky legs rather than being held up only by Konrad’s hand. The glance he gives to Konrad is only to make sure the other won’t hit him again, before he sprints over to the stairs. Only slowing as he gets to the edge of the first step, taking care to keep himself steady as he would rather not fall due to his own hurry, since his walking is still relatively unstable from being pained and deprived of oxygen for such a prolonged period of time.
However, while Damivah attempts to keep himself stable, there’s nothing to stop an outside force from removing that stability from him, especially in such a precarious position as the top step of a flight of stairs. The hands that press into the top of Damivah’s back is such an example, the push still being as pitiful as it occurred before, but the fact remains that the first had made him stumble, and the second is sure to do so as well.
Damivah stumbles, teetering on the edge of the step he stands on for just a moment before gravity brings him downwards. The first movement down, his arms held out in front of him to soften the impact but only succeeding in making it worse, is by far the furthest of the amount of drops it takes him to reach the bottom of the stairs. However, due to the obtuse angle Damivah is forced to collide at, and the lack of nutritional diet to keep his body strong, the moment his hand hits the ground, left hand first, the crack of a broken bone echoes throughout the reverberant room.
The fracture happens quickly in Damivah’s descent, but his first fall of many downwards still continues for a few more milliseconds, in the time that it takes for Damivah to fully reach the ground, it displaces the broken bone to such an extent that the distal end begins to sever the skin, muscle, and fat surrounding it. This leads to, as Damivah reaches as far down as he could go and begins to roll down the following steps, the jagged edge peaking out from under the free-bleeding hole it hides behind.
Even as the further rolling irritates the bruising around his eye, and although his nose does not break, even though it begins to bleed on a rather harsh fall, nothing other than the first collision leads to much pain. The pain from the broken bone is still enough, however, for that when Damivah hits the level, he’s already in tears.
Through his blurry vision, Damivah is able to discern feet a couple inches from where he lies on the floor; as his gaze travels upwards, he’s mortified to find that the source of the feet comes from Silas, who stands before him, still in uniform from the job he had likely just finished.
“Holy shit!” Silas yells, stepping backwards to where Damivah lies, tears and snot falling from his face in a gross concoction of fluids. Eyes wide, his vision trails from Damivah’s prone form on the ground up to the start of the stairs, where Konrad stands at the top step. Their gaze locks for just a moment, and the unplaceable expression on Konrad’s face becomes replaced with a much more familiar timidness, however it’s short lived as Konrad moves to the side as to remain out of Silas’ sight.
Looking back down, Silas’ gaze lands back on Damivah, and even despite the other man’s pitiful, bleeding state, he hesitantly inches himself closer to the other feet dragging against the floor as he reluctantly makes his way over. Kneeling in front of Damivah, Silas starts to reach out a hand aimed to rest on Damivah’s shoulder, however, before the inch between the two closes, he retracts his limb and rests it near his side once more.
Damivah’s face, flushed with embarrassment, turns itself away from Silas’ perturbed gaze, hiding the tears that continue to fall down his face but not the noise that comes from his throat with every sob nor the sound of his sniffling. Without thinking about it, Silas’ hand moves itself upwards to wipe at the uncovered area of Damivah’s face, where the tears wet the light fur that covers his skin. Damivah eyes, or at least the one uncovered by hair, quickly moves upwards to look at Silas’ face above him, and Silas has to force himself to avoid the other’s man gaze, instead deflecting with a, “Let’s, uhm… let’s get you up… the stairs… yeah?”
Silas doesn’t wait for a response, instead putting his arms under the junction of Damivah’s armpit, between his arms and his chest. Even with Damivah being so light, skinniest one of the three in both muscle mass and fat, it still takes a bit of effort from Silas to get the other man off of the ground. Damivah’s legs are shaky under his own weight, and even with Silas taking most of the load away from the other it’s still difficult for Damivah to keep himself upright.
With Silas’ hands placed under Damivah’s armpits, his arm is forced to raise, irritating the muscles which attempt to contract against the bone pierced between the tissue. However, as further tears begin to bubble up at the corners of Damivah’s eyes, he grits his teeth and tries his best to not make any noise more than the sniffles as he inhales through his nose, although a few moans of pain further escape the silence he attempts to keep. This, Silas does not mention.
Each step up the stairs, while Silas carries most of the weight of Damivah’s body, is utter agony. Damivah is lightheaded, a deep sense of vertigo framing the edges of his vision as blood continues to leak from the wound on his arm, each movement sending sparks of pain up the expanse of his synapses from the limb to his spinal cord. His body leans itself against Silas, only moving away once they reach the end of the staircase, instead leaning himself against the wall nearby.
Konrad still stands outside of the apartment, his expression no longer angry, that rare unreadable look Damivah was sure to be seeing in his dreams, but now a familiar, timid expression graces his features. He seems innocent, like nothing that had just occurred had just happened. Damivah can’t tell if the shock on Konrad’s face as he sees Damviah is genuine or not.
“What the hell happened?” Silas speaks up, suspicious but not entirely aiming towards the correct conclusion for the situation, only curious over the circumstances and not towards anyone’s involvement. Damivah’s eyes glance over to look at Silas’ confused face, a frown framing his features, he looks for the many milliseconds that silence remains between them, and his gaze directs itself back to Konrad as the other speaks.
“I… I don’t know!” Is what Konrad says after a beat, his voice much too genuine for the lie Damivah knows he’s telling. His voice is slightly watery, like he’s about to cry, and when Damivah strains his eyes to focus in on Konrad’s face before him, he can see the glint of unshed tears on the precipice of Konrad’s eyelids. Konrad’s gaze then trails to Damivah’s arm, and his wince is visible, as he grimaces and moves his arms up to block his vision of the injury. He continues, uncertain yet clear, “I was… We were gonna go out and then he fell!”
For only a moment, Silas is silent; and after a small moment of consideration, his face calms as if he believes the lies that Konrad is saying, not even through his teeth, but openly. Damivah looks up towards Silas, and he’s shocked to find the other is looking at him already. Silas’ eyes very clearly trail themselves across Damivah’s figure, looking over him for any discrepancies which would cause him to disbelieve Konrad (which the both of them prefer doing more than ever believing him), before they end up on Damivah’s bare legs. “Without pants?”
“‘Without pants’?” Konrad repeats, removing the arm blocking his gaze from Damivah to look at the other’s lower half. Damivah can see how his eyes widen even under his blurry vision and the distance between the two of them, and how Konrad’s face begins to flush with the shame of his lies being challenged. “He’s… he’s not wearing pants? I didn’t even notice!” Is what he says in return, and his tone here is to obviously fake that any form of belief that Silas had once festered quickly disappears under disappointment.
The hold which Silas grabs Damivah’s hand with could hardly be defined as one, the flesh of Silas’ hand only lightly rests against the other’s, as it only serves for a signal that Damivah should follow. Despite Damivah’s legs still being shaky, his moment of rest has allowed his balance to recover well enough to walk behind Silas once he begins moving. Their destination, however, becomes easily apparent as the short walk leaves the both of them at the foot of the apartment’s doorstep once again.
“I… I am not going back inside,” Damviah states, out of breath and voice still wavering at each bolt of pain that travels throughout his body with each beat of his heart; he’s slowly coming back to himself, now that he’s not talking to Konrad, the anger slowly begins to reinvent itself in his brain in place of the fear that has slowly begun to mellow out.
Silas’ expression changes in that way that Damivah’s seen much too many times, one that means something like ‘I know, but I don’t care’, and in Damivah’s state, there’s really no fighting it. “Listen, Damivah, we just need to give Konrad time to…” He pauses, rotating his hand around as he thinks before finally coming onto the term of: “un-tard himself… Also, your arm,” His finger moves to poke the broken end of Damivah’s bone that sticks out, and as Damivah instinctively moves away, a reflex at the pain the slight pressure puts on his wound, Silas quickly draws his hand back and to his side once again, “Sorry, but it’s gonna get infected outside. Probably. Inside you can like… put ice on it. I can make a doctor's appointment for that.”
“I guess,” Damivah sighs, looking back down towards his feet. Even without looking at Silas, it’s clear the man took that as an affirmative, as he moves to the doorknob and opens the door, similar to how Konrad had opened it just moments before. He leads Damivah inside, and the feeling of finally being able to sit down on the couch feels heavenly, as he’s able to remove almost all of the pressure of holding up his body off of himself.
Silas moves away, and Damivah only looks back towards the door when a sniffling, frowning Konrad enters the apartment. It’s a wonder that Konrad doesn’t say a word when Silas says, after Damivah had given him a dismayed look, “I told you he needs to un-tard himself. He can’t stay outside, he’ll make everyone sad.” There’s a pause, and before Damivah can respond, or even formulate a response, Silas declares, “I have to leave anyway, I have… plans. Totally.” The door closes with Silas behind it before his sentence has even processed in Damivah’s mind. What an asshole.
Konrad stands near the doorway for a moment longer, avoiding eye contact with Damivah for a few moments before he’s suddenly leaning over him, arms wrapped around Damivah’s shoulders like the past few events never happened. Sobbing, Konrad buries his face into the top of Damivah’s head, wetting the hair that sits there to an uncomfortable degree. “I’m sorry…” He apologizes, and if Damivah believed his voice sounded watery beforehand, it certainly is now that Konrad is actually crying. Reluctantly, Damivah brings his uninjured hand up to pat the closest arm to his limb, “I’m such a bad person.”
Despite wanting to say something, to agree in any way, shape, or form, Damivah keeps his mouth shut; the reasoning, mostly, is to avoid any kind of anger from Konrad to return. He instead lets out a hum of agreement, one that could be interpreted as a pitiful response, an ‘I’m sorry that happened’ rather than a ‘you’re right’.
“I don’t know why I acted like that,” Konrad continues, and despite the fact that his words suggest he no longer feels resentment towards Damivah, the fingers that dig into his shoulder suggest otherwise. Even as Damivah digs the nails of his fingers into Konrad’s hand, to attempt to get him to let off, Konrad only continues, a sad, but angry tone of voice, beginning to grace the other’s tone again: “It was… It was all your fault!”
Konrad moves away, and Damivah, for a moment, thinks that it’s over; but as always, he’s proven wrong only a second later. Once Damivah flicks his eyes upward to look at Konrad, to see his actions, but the other’s hands are already moving towards him. Wrapping around his neck, Konrad’s thumbs very intentionally dig into the sides of his neck, cutting off the blood flow both towards and from Damivah’s neck.
Konrad’s face, once again enveloping most of his vision, is angry, and while tears still fall from his eyes there’s a noticeable downturned furrow in his brow of which Damivah’s only seen today. The result of Konrad’s choking is almost immediate, unlike before, the position is no longer weird, there’s no longer the cartilage of his trachea blocking the brunt of Konrad’s force towards his neck. Now, Konrad’s hands almost exclusively press into the fragile ends of his neck, jugular vein and carotid artery only blocked by the muscles superficial to it, which are, for the most part, forced to remain relaxed due to the position Konrad keeps his head in.
It’s a different kind of choking now, while air still enters his lungs it feels like there’s nothing going towards his brain. The familiar pressure of a headache begins to build against his forehead, even as a cold, lightheaded feeling starts to show itself from where Konrad’s hands lay to the top of his head. A feeling of fear, all encompassing throughout his body, appears again, only spurred on by the unfamiliar senses the choking supplies; even though he hates it, Damivah can’t stop the tears that begin to form at the sides of his eyes, feeling pushed out from each squeeze of Konrad’s hands against his neck.
Similar to before, Damivah’s hand, the good one, moves upward to Konrad’s hands, claws scratching at the limbs holding his head in place, leaving red lines against Konrad’s pale skin, soon to be inflamed by his own inflammatory response. “Khh.. cut it out…” Damivah gasps, and even with the oxygen entering his lungs, he’s shocked to find himself out of breath.
It’s only until black spots begin to appear in the corners of Damivah’s vision, startling fast for such a short period of time; and as Konrad stares down at him, with this intensity that Damivah had barely seen in any of the other attacks inflicted on him beforehand, he realizes that maybe, again dissimilar from anything else today, Konrad won’t stop.
Bringing his hands up to Konrad’s face, Damivah begins to scratch at the more delicate flesh that lays there, and even as blood drips down the expanse of Konrad’s face and down Damivah’s hands, Konrad doesn’t let up. Damivah’s eyes are wide, pupils only pinpricks of his sclera that dart around wildly both Konrad’s face and the room around them; his breaths, real but unsatisfying, come out in quick, wild puffs of air out of his mouth.
The fear is overwhelming, with the terror of suffocation biologically inscribed into every ounce of his genetics it’s no surprise that it wouldn’t be. As adrenaline runs through his veins, Damivah feels unbearably hot with the rush of blood to every area of his anatomy, even his heart beat, barely ever felt unless he’s looking for it, can be felt as a stinging throb throughout his body. Each and every synapse of his nerves is firing off information faster than he could ever interpret, leaving his skin feeling tingly with a light form of that familiar pins-and-needles sensation.
The claws on Damivah’s hands grip into the flesh of Konrad’s cheek, and instead of leaving red lines against the other’s face this scratch provides a comparatively large amount of blood which begins to drip down the curvature to Konrad’s chin. Damivah can’t take pride in the way Konrad’s eyebrows furrow in pain, an emotion which he’s thankful to be very familiar with, as only around half a second afterward, Konrad is pushing him backwards by his leverage on Damivah’s neck. The push is in such a way that the bone sticking out from the fracture on his left arm is jammed further into his arm due to the pressure it puts on the couch they both sit on.
If it was even possible, the pain is worse than when Damivah had broken his arm, his reflexes force him to move his hand away, even as Konrad doesn’t move his, to try and hold the source of the pain and cover it from further harm. If the fear felt overwhelming, the pain certainly exemplifies it, the feeling seems to express itself all throughout his body; it’s to a point that it’s almost all that he can feel, the expanse of it triggering every nerve cell in its wake and leaving him having this sort of not-quite-seizure. The express amount of pain-riddled sensory input seems to not only overtake his touch but all his other senses as well, as even his auditory and visual interpretation goes blank for a moment.
Until, of course, it comes back. Damivah is suddenly back to where he was before, sitting on the couch and holding his arm which is now radiating a tolerable amount of pain, Konrad stands before him, no longer angry but now with this absolutely appalled look on his face which Damivah isn’t sure originated from.
Konrad sniffles, one, twice, before breaking out in tears again. He doesn't try to get closer to Damivah, only stepping away as he covers his face, similar to how he had during the very beginnings of their interaction today. “Oh no…” He murmurs, and the shame that resonates in his voice is absolutely overwhelming, “I’m such a bad person…”
There’s barely even a second for Damivah to respond, not that he would want to other than to agree with him more objectively than he had beforehand, before Konrad runs off to his own room, opposite and as far as it could be from Damivah’s. The loud sound of the door slamming shut is final, enough that Damivah is relatively certain that it’s the end of their encounter, hopefully forever.
Damivah shifts, and he feels something weird in his boxers that he’s sure wasn’t there before. Curious, he extends his waistband just enough with his thumb under the fabric to look and see what the cause of the feeling is, even if he already has an idea. Sure enough, sitting in the confines of his boxers was a small accumulation of cum that wasn’t there last time he checked. That must have been what scared Konrad so much.
Looking back at the closed door to Konrad’s room, Damivah is aware of the shame, deeply feeling the embarrassment of the situation especially towards himself, but it had gotten Konrad off of him. It amounted to something, even if now Damivah has to deal with putting on new boxers with a broken dominant hand.