Oneshots

TW: Past sexual abuse, trauma

The moment she touched him, the very second she reached for him, he felt himself crumple. Like an origami swan in a tightening fist, he collapsed into himself, his long legs curling instinctively under him, as he’d always done as a small child.Theryoncould feel the way his chest tightened inexplicably, whether it was with fear or perhaps a melancholy sense of rejection, he couldn’t tell. Her hands were on him now, pulling him close, holding him to her, and at the same time, holding him in.

Him... Who he was inside: just a scared boy, really, wishing she was miles away and, at the same time, wanting her under his skin like this forever. There was nothing for him in her arms. He’d just be betrayed, like he’d been, countless times before. He’d be hurt, tormented by her “love”, cut open by her sweet words- shut up, he told himself firmly. You’re doing this to yourself, his heart wept, the scars on the beating organ already opening, revealing the decay of mistrust and pain he’d sewn up with threads of pure misery and denial.

Zhori wasn’t like that. He knew this, from countless conversations, from the kindness she showed him, even if he punished her for each and every loving moment she showed him. Suddenly, there are tears in his eyes, one already escaping the tight cage of his eyelids, desperately squeezing down. He shut everything out so often that letting it go felt like torture, and suddenly, Theryon was drowning. In her warmth, in his pain, in the memories that ravaged his mind through the floodgatesZhori’skindness opened. But he wasn’t weeping for himself, not for the pain and sorrow he’d been through countless times; he was crying for her. For his sweet girl, for how badly he’d been treating her until now. Zhori didn’t deserve his fury in exchange for her benevolence, his cruelty for her love.

And yet she stays, this stupid, beautiful creature, giving and giving while he takes and takes. Theryon knew that he was damaged, broken like a dove’s wing after a fall, but God, she didn’t deserve to be hurt in retaliation. She wasn’t the enemy, she never was, and she won’t ever be.

He doesn’t evenrealisewhat’s happening to him, as he buries his face into the crook of her neck, hiding from the world as he finally shatters. The smell of her perfume, something sweet and warm, envelopes him, only making him sob harder. He doesn’t know how long he stays this way, chest heaving, lungs drawing in air that is still tinged with her scent, the feeling of his surrender flowing through them both.

Her hands move in tandem along the sore muscles on his back, her clever fingers working him through the pain that wracks his powerful body. He doesn’t deserve her, he knows... But he thanks whatever God might exist that it’s her in his bedroom, holding him, instead of the silence of the dark that guards him in its cold embrace when things get too much.

Theryon moves his arm, the little snake tattoo on his left shoulder rippling like it’s alive. A reminder, like the sensation of hands branded into his skin, of ultimate betrayal. Of the moment when his innocence was brutally stolen by someone who was meant to love him. The night when he lay, asleep and defenseless in the presence of the woman whom he trusted without question, his first love... A merciless beast that took everything from him, his trust in women, his love for the world, and ultimately, his innocence.

But Zhori wasn’t her, Zhori’s hands weren’t like hers. They wouldn’t hurt him. The memory flashes, waking to find hands where they never should’ve been, and a sob wracks his body. ButZhoriimmediately soothes the tremor with a soft touch and murmuring of sweet nonsense.Theryonwants to scream, shout, break things, hurt someone as he usually does, but... What comes out is a small, tear-soaked, hoarse, “I love you, lovebug."

The nickname he gave her is so natural now, remembering how she always protested. He’d never, ever said those three words to her. He’s always said ‘one four three ’, or ‘okay cute’ whenever she told him this, never been ready to feel the weight of those words, especially not towards a woman. But now, he knows it’s time, not just for his own sake, but for hers. She, this gorgeous angel of a woman, deserves to know the weight, the depth of his love for her.

“I love you too,” she responds. Zhori had this mildly infuriating habit of yelling those words through rooms, saying it out of doorways when leaving or arriving, over the phone, over text, in emails, out of the shower, going to sleep and waking up, when getting something or giving it, during their love making and after... But Theryon knew she always meant it. No matter when, how and to who, she ALWAYS meant it. And God, herealised, how much he loved her for it. Such a tiny creature, practically five foot (5′1 she’d grumble) had so, so much love to give. So much... And how grateful he was that she chose him to give it to.