MAI ⸝⸝ PAPER ʚ₍ ᐢ. ̫ .ᐢ ₎ɞ

OJ was no stranger to bad mental health days. Turns out being god’s Gary Stu, and being put in charge of keeping all his other OC’s alive without ever realizing it is exhausting.

But that was behind him. He wasn’t the hotel manager anymore. Sure, he was still responsible for guiding his fellow mephone creations, but now he had suitcase and cabby at his side to help. So, lately he’d been doing pretty good in that department.

That unfortunately meant that when bad days did happen, he was less desensitised. He swore, his bad days had been getting less common but more intense.

As far as he was aware, there wasn’t even a trigger! His brain just decided to dig up old memories and throw them right in his face. And he could feel it so clearly, too.

He knew logically that he was okay. He was in his room, sitting on his bed, with no one around. But apparently his emotions and senses didn’t get the memo. No amount of logic made the feelings running through him any less real.

Primal fear coursed through his brain, alarm bells firing at full blast, demanding he fly, freeze, or fawn. He could feel hands on his skin so clearly, burning lips on his even clearer. And then the sounds. Her voice piercing straight into his brain and alerting every function to the danger he was in. and the horrible droning of laughter. His ‘friends’, the people he thought he could trust, laughing as he was violated. His creator among them. He was suffering, pushing back, screaming for help, but no one came to his rescue. It ‘wasn’t that serious’. She just ‘liked him’, ‘no harm in that’! For those moments, and those moments alone, he’d been forced into his own personal hell where ‘stop’ meant ‘go’ and ‘no’ meant ‘yes’. And everyone he knew, everyone he loved, was in on it, just laughing like this was the best entertainment of their life.

Entertainment, that’s all they were. Was that why no one, not even mephone, stopped it? Because it was just too entertaining to let go?

Fuck, their lives had been broadcasted to the masses while the show was airing. Did-did the audience find it entertaining?! Did they tune it to watch him suffer, getting off on his continuous violation? As if a crowd just short of twenty watching him and laughing wasn’t bad enough. God, he was gonna be sick…

“OJ..?”

He looked up from his position laying down on the bed, hands tangled in the sheets in his stress. Paper looked down at him, a worried look on his face.

“OJ, what’s wrong?” he asked, kneeling down to be closer to eye level with him.

“I-I…” he pulled the blanket closer to himself in a clump, hugging it. “Just bad memories. I’m just overreacting, I’m sorry.”

“If it’s affecting you to the point of tears, I don’t think it’s an overreaction at all.”

OJ put a hand to his cheek, and sure enough, it came back wet. When had he even started crying?

“Do you… want to tell me about it?”

“It-it was… it was about her.”

“Oh, OJ…” paper leaned down further, laying his chin on the bed, just across from OJ. “do you need anything? Is there anything I can do to help?”

“I-” OJ immediately cut himself off before the words had a chance of embarrassing him. Why would that even be what immediately came to mind? What was he, five?”

“What?” paper asked, ever so patient.

“N-nothing. It’s stupid.”

“If it would make you feel better, it’s not stupid.”

OJ hesitated for a moment. “I… I guess I just thought that… I’d like it if you… kissed it better…”

He looked back to paper’s face, expecting some kind of pitying or disgusted reaction. Expecting him to laugh at his vulnerability. But instead, paper’s eyes were filled with nothing but love and understanding.

“Where does it hurt, jay?”

“I-I just-I want something that feels… good. Something I chose…”

Paper hummed, and pressed a finger to OJ’s lips. “Here?”

“Y-yes please.”

Paper fully climbed onto the bed, and laid down to face OJ. He pushed one of his dreadlocks out of his face-when had he even taken them out of a ponytail?-and leaned in, placing a gentle kiss to his lips.

It wasn’t anything strong. Not claiming, or rough, or lustful, just soft. Not even particularly ‘romantic’ in the traditional sense. It was just respectful and reassuring. A moment of intimacy that pulled OJ fully back to the present, that made him feel safe.

When paper pulled back, he cupped OJ’s cheek softly in his hand. “Better?”

“Better.” he nodded. “Thank you. Thank you so much.”