The moment Whumper’s voice rose, something inside Whumpee snapped.
“You’re going to ruin everything.” The words were spat like venom. “If you so much as look up at anyone out there, I swear I’ll—”
Whumpee flinched before the sentence finished. His hands instinctively shot up to cover his ears, shoulders curling in, but the words still burrowed deep. Sharp. Hot. Poisonous.
The room was too small. Or maybe too loud. His thoughts were fracturing—slamming against the inside of his skull like they were trying to get out.
“I-I didn’t mean—” The words came out broken, too thin. He swallowed hard. “I didn’t—I’m sorry—”
“You think that matters now?” Whumper hissed. “Shut up. Shut up and smile.”
There were footsteps outside. Laughter. Doors creaking open. The event was starting.
Whumpee’s chest constricted—tight like it was being cinched with rope. His breath came fast, ragged, each inhale harder than the last. The edges of the room blurred. He couldn’t catch his breath—why couldn’t he breathe?
“I—I c-can’t—please—” His voice shook. His knees gave way and he crumpled where he stood, hands pressed flat against his mouth like he could force himself silent.
Whumper cursed and grabbed his collar, dragging him toward the corner behind the heavy velvet curtain. “You’re going to ruin this,” he spat. “You want to cry? Then cry where no one can see you.”
Whumpee whimpered—a pathetic, too-high sound that slipped out against his will. “Please, I’ll be quiet, I promise, I promise, just—don’t—”
He barely noticed the impact when Whumper shoved him against the wall. But he felt the pressure on his mouth—something cloth and tight being forced in to silence him. Panic exploded in his chest.
He thrashed, weakly, twisting his face away, shaking so violently his teeth chattered. “I—I can’t—” he choked out. “Can’t breathe—please—don’t—”
Whumper growled, “You’re overreacting. Get it together.”
But he couldn’t. There was no together left.
Everything spiked—every sound too loud, every shadow too sharp. His lungs clawed for air that wouldn’t come. He couldn’t see. Couldn’t think. He was going to die. He was sure of it.
He bit his own fist to stay quiet, shoving it so far into his mouth his jaw ached, just trying to muffle the gasps. The sobs. The scream that built behind his teeth like fire.
And before he could even turn his head—he vomited.
The silence that followed was sharp. Final.
Whumper stared down at himself, drenched, seething. Whumpee was already sliding down the wall, trembling, face white, trying to fold himself into the smallest shape possible.
“I’m sorry,” he gasped. “I didn’t mean to—I didn’t—I’m sorry, please don’t hurt me—please—”
The belt hissed as it was drawn from the loop.
Whumpee covered his head. “No, no, no—please—”
“The King’s asking for you,” Caretaker’s voice called, smooth but deliberate—meant to be overheard.
Whumper turned, furious. “What?!”
“Now,” Caretaker said. “He’s looking for you. I wouldn’t keep him waiting.”
Then Whumper kicked Whumpee once—hard—and stormed out.
As the door slammed, Whumpee curled up tighter, still trembling, still gasping through tears and bile and too many sounds. He couldn’t stop shaking. Couldn’t stop whispering, “I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m sorry…”
Caretaker didn’t flinch at the vomit. Didn’t hesitate. He dropped to the floor beside Whumpee, pulled him into his arms, and held him—tight but safe. Safe.
Whumpee tried to squirm away, whispering hoarsely, “No—no, I’ll get you dirty, I didn’t mean—”
“I don’t care,” Caretaker murmured. “You’re safe now. I’ve got you.”
Whumpee collapsed against him, sobbing into his shoulder, fingers curling into Caretaker’s coat like he was afraid he’d be taken again if he let go.
And Caretaker just held him. Rocked him. Whispered steady, quiet things until the worst of the storm passed.
Until Whumpee’s breath started coming just a little slower.
Until the trembling started to ease.
Until the fear stopped choking.
stormborns
snowghoul
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baratheonpilled
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