Shiloh

Oscar: Injury Care

HotShot walked into their shared dorm room, dropping their bag at the door before shutting it and dropping down on the couch with an exhausted sigh.

Their head flicked up at the sound of hissing, specifically hisses of pain.

HotShot went down the mental list of potential candidates. Last they recalled, Nik was in his second class of the day—with the annoying professor—so it couldn’t be him, leaving their other, similarly hot boyfriend as the main suspect.

They hopped up from the couch, their aching joints screaming as they did much to their chagrin, creeping around the couch and over to Oscar’s room, knocking on the door.

“Oscar” they called out, concern knit in their tone. They knocked again. “You okay?”

They heard some shuffling around before a thump—which only served to raise their concern more—and the sound of the door unlocking.

“He-hey HotShot!” Oscar greeted, a forced smile plastered on his face. What’s up?” he asked, holding the door so tight that his knuckles turned white.

HotShot narrowed their eyes. “Are you okay?” they asked again. “I heard you hissing—“

Oscar cut them off with a pain-filled smile and a forced tone. “I’m fine, just a rougher practice today.”

HotShot, for many reasons, didn’t believe him. They looked down at the wooden floorboards of the dorm room floor, noticing almost immediately that Oscar’s left foot was lifted ever so slightly off the ground, with pressure leaning heavily on his right. If that wasn’t enough, any time he shifted slightly, he flinched, as if pain was shooting through his veins.

They knew he was lying, but for what?

“Oscar,” their tone carried warning, a chance to admit any misguidance or misdirection. “Are you sure?” Their voice was firm, not accusatory, but clear and concise.

“Yes, I’m fine—“ Oscar began, lying right through his teeth to HotShot’s face-and he would’ve gotten away with it to, had he not shifted his weight at that moment and put far too much weight on his left foot, his legs giving out under him.

HotShot caught him within a split second, their arms gripped around him like a safeguard.

“I call massive bullshit, and you know it, Oscar,” HotShot declared, their tone unshaking. Before speaking again, they glanced at Oscar, who was clammy and shaking in their arms on the floor. Their eyes and tone softened, “Something’s wrong Oscar, you know it, and I know it,” he insisted, concern evident. “Just tell me what’s wrong, please.”

Oscar sighed shakily. “I didn’t lie to you, practice was a bit more rough than usual-“ he paused, pursing his lips and considering his next words carefully. “I fell, hard. It wasn’t too bad, at least I thought so-but as I continued to practice, my ankle began to burn, not just my ankle either, my arm too—I mean, I did land on my left,” he continued to ramble, shaking ever so slightly. “I think Bryce noticed, even after I told him I was alright. He called practice ten minutes early, even when I tried to tell him I was fine.”

“You’re not fine,” HotShot hissed, pausing and sighing before speaking again with a softer, less accusatory tone. “Why would you try to push yourself when you’re injured, Love? You know your limits, I know you do.”

Oscar’s lip trembled as words poured out in fervent succession. “We have a match Saturday, and we’re uncoordinated-we’re not ready. Jonah’s gassing himself out too quickly, Lukas is being way too aggressive, and I—“ he paused. “I keep bumping wrong. The ball keeps going awry and I don’t know how to fix it besides practicing until I can get it right and never get it wrong again and I—“ tears clouded his eyes.

“I can’t fail, HotShot. I won’t—I can’t,” he asserted, tears beading down his face as he tried to wipe them from his cheeks to no avail as the continued to pour. “I have to be strong enough, I can’t mess up—I can’t, I won’t-“ his breaths came in rapid succession.

HotShot pressed his head against their chest, rubbing the back of it with a gentle hand, comforting him tenderly. “It’s okay, I promise it’ll be okay.”

“It doesn’t feel okay!” Oscar sobbed into their chest, his arms wrapped around them. “It all hurts and I don’t want to mess up-I can’t mess up, I can’t disappoint them-“

HotShot cut him off sharply. “You better not finish that sentence. You are not disappointing anyone, certainly not your team,” they stated firmly. “Your team fucking loves you, Oscar. They follow you because they believe in you and they trust you. You think having a few off practices will make them disappointed in you? If so, I’ll have my own talk with them.”

HotShot cradled Oscar’s body, picking his head up to hold it in their hands. “I love you, and I’m so fucking proud of you and all you’ve accomplished. I will continue to be proud of you, even on your bad days.” HotShot looked into their boyfriend’s eyes, determination clear. “Nik is so fucking proud of you-I bet if I called him right now, he’d yap for as long as possible about how amazing and talented you are, not to mention handsome—and he’d also probably mention something about your hot ass, but that’s not the point right now.” That illicited a wet laugh out of Oscar.

“The point is, you’re disappointing no one and overthinking and pushing yourself to the brink, which is not okay, but we can talk about that later. Right now, I want to make sure you’re physically alright, yeah?” HotShot avowed.

Oscar nodded. “Yeah, okay” he answered hoarsely.

HotShot stood up slowly, picking up Oscar bridal style. “C’mon Princess,” they teased lightly. “Allow me to tend to your wounds, your highness.”

Oscar blushed and let out a few chuckles. “You don’t have to do this.”

“I want to,” HotShot responded firmly. “And I get to, because you’re my handsome boyfriend and therefore I get to take care of you. Am I wrong?”

Oscar shook his head, holding his arms around HotShot. “And that makes you my knight in shining armor, yeah?” he joked.

“Anything for you, Your Royal Highness,” HotShot answered, pressing a gentle kiss to Oscar’s brow as he placed him down gently on the couch, walking over to grab the first aid kit from beside the door and carrying over to Oscar, who pressed a loving kiss to his lips as what could be seemingly perceived as a ‘thank you for caring’ of sorts.

2. Nik: Gender Dysphoria

<Nik goes by He/They. This portion is Nik feeling uncomfortable in his own skin as a shapeshifting daemon>

HotShot pulled on a light blue Jean jacket over their nice pear-colored vest. They ran a hand through their hair, smoothing it ever so slightly.

They smiled, anticipating the date that they’d had planned for weeks with Nik. Getting tacos together wasn’t a big event, but they’d both been so busy lately and unable to hang out, and sue them, they missed their boyfriend.

“Nik!” HotShot called out into the dorm. “You almost ready to go?”

When they received no response, their head tilted ever so slightly in confusion. Maybe he hadn’t heard them.

“Nik?” HotShot called out again, walking out of his room and over to the bathroom, knocking on the door.

“Hu-huh?” Nik said startled, his voice shaking.

“You okay, baby?” HotShot asked, concern dripping from his voice.

“I-“ they began, voice murky. He swallowed, the words seemingly stuck in his throat. “Fuck,” they groaned. “No, I’m not.”

“Hey,” HotShot addressed softly. “It’s okay, can you open the door and let me in so I can see what I can do to help?”

Nik hummed in response, unlocking the door slowly and opening it. HotShot was met with the sight of their boyfriend fashionably disheveled. He had no shirt on and his hair was a mess, pants of different kinds strewn across the bathroom.

Nik melted into HotShot’s arms the second the door was open for more than two seconds. HotShot, however not anticipating it, still caught them, pulling him into their chest.

Nik weaseled his head out of their chest. “I was going to lie and say I was alright, but then I realized that was fucking stupid lying to you, because you’d help me and see through my shit.”

“You got that right,” HotShot snorted, arms wrapped around Nik like a gentle cocoon. “What’s up?”

Nik squirmed in their arms, seemingly uncomfortable from whatever had been occurring in the bathroom. “Fuck I don’t-I-“ They paused, taking a deep breath as HotShot pressed a tender hand to his chest. “It’s the clothes. Everything feels wrong.”

“How so?” HotShot cocked their head, keeping their hold gentle.

“It’s just, I don’t, I put on the red blazer and hated how masc it looked,” he took a deep breath. “Then I tried the yellow and blue crop tops and hated how fem I looked—and I couldn’t find anything else because everything else felt so wrong.”

HotShot listened with a careful patience, nodding.

“Everything felt too feminine, or too masculine. I couldn’t find anything that was a mix-I looked all around and then I started panicking because I felt like I wanted to crawl out of my skin, y’know?” they rambled, their voice teetering off the edge.

“Yeah, that’s shit,” HotShot told them. “One of the worst damn feelings.”

“Right?!” Nik responded, backing up out of HotShot’s hold. “I just-everything felt wrong and I didn’t want to ruin the date because I felt so gross in whatever I had to wear-“

HotShot cut them off. “First, let’s get one thing straight, you’re not gross. Second, no one’s forcing you to wear anything you’re not comfortable with wearing, certainly not me,” they insisted. “You would look good in just a plain t-shirt, but you can’t just wear that to a date,” they attempted to joke illiciting a few chuckles on Nik’s end. “But my point is, I don’t care what you wear, as long as you’re comfortable, yeah?”

Nik smiled slightly, warmed by HotShot’s gesture. “Yeah.”

“Now, since you can’t find anything in yours, let’s go raid my closet,” HotShot told them. “I have all the softest shirts-and as many cargo pants as people have fingers. We’re going to find something you feel comfortable in, and then we’re going to get boba from that one place run by that lovely fox shifter with the teal hair around the block.”

Nik smiled brightly, pressing a chaste kiss to HotShot’s lips.

“Thank you, really,” Nik insisted.

HotShot smiled and kissed them back, spinning them around. “Anytime, my love.”

3. Asteroth: Academic Pressures

Even when HotShot was tired from a long day of classes and way too little fucks to give, they noticed Asteroth studying to all hours of the day and night.

They didn’t know if Sevants needed as much sleep as Aethers or humans did, but considering they’ve found him passed out in the East library before, they gander that Sevants suffer from the same sleep exhaustion as most others do.

Unfortunately, Asteroth himself did not seem to understand that fact, in fact, he seemed to resent it so hard that he actively avoided sleeping.

The amount of times that HotShot has seen his favorite Sevants with a giant thermos full of far too many shots of Espresso to be healthy should’ve been a sign.

But no, unfortunately, HotShot had been way too stressed about midterms to be too focused on anything else.

Once midterms had come and gone, HotShot thought that Asteroth’s behavior would return to a semi-normal state, however that wasn’t the case.

They continued to find Asteroth sitting bet over a library desk, papers from all manner of classes lay askew while Asteroth continued to turn his thermos upside down and take a massive swig of whatever cursed caffeine juice he’d somehow acquired that day, or night.

When HotShot had found Asteroth at the library, dark circles heavy under his eyes while he practically chugged another canister of caffeine for the 5th day in a row, they knew it had gone too far.

“Asteroth,” they greeted, voice firm and laced with concern. Their hands were buried in their pockets despite the library’s warm interior. “What are you still doing here?”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about, HotShot,” he responded, his tone snappy. “But I neither have the time, nor the patience for it.”

“I’m talkin’ about the absolutely abhorrent amount of caffeine you’ve ingested in the past few days. That amount would be enough to kill a human within three days, so I’m astonished you’ve somehow lasted a week running on what I can only not hope is just caffeine,” HotShot responded sassily, their tone free of marginalized bullshit.

“I’ve had more than caffeine, I’m no fool,” Asteroth responded, not making eye contact and instead peering down back into the pages of a textbook. “I’ve had a few protein bars as well.”

“You’re fucking joking, right?” HotShot asked, utterly baffled. “I thought the caffeine might kill you, but by hell Asteroth, what have you been doing that’s been so damn important that you haven’t had a proper meal in what’s probably over five days?”

“I have work to do—“ Asteroth began, his tone serious and full of any sort of humor.

“Work that lasts a full five fucking days with minimal break? Yeah, sure,” HotShot rolled their eyes and crossed their arms. “I could understand this during midterms, because some of our professors seem to really enjoy torture, but we’ve been out of midterms for almost a month and you’ve been working yourself to the bone!” they snapped, tone empty of any room for negotiation.

Yet Asteroth tried anyway. “I have far too much work to do, if you haven’t noticed what school we attend-“ His stomach growled, rather loudly again the stilled silence of the library.

“Your body is starving!” HotShot snapped, whisper-shouting. “What is up with you?”

“I’m perfectly fine, there is no cause for concern-“ Asteroth responded, his tone monotone.

“Asteroth, I don’t want to hear you lie to my face again. I can see, I’m not as blind as people seem to think—point being, you’re talking so much bullshit it’s starting to smell.” HotShot sighed deeply, pinching the bridge of their nose and exhaling slowly. “In case it was hard to tell, I care about you, a lot. You destroying yourself for whatever grade you deem so damn important is a problem! Can’t you see?!”

“You do not need to be concerned about, I can concern myself with my own well-being,” Asteroth began, his tone beginning to lace itself with annoyance.

“I’m your friend, Asteroth, and I care about you,” HotShot continued. “I don’t understand what you’re so afraid of-“

“I can’t afford a single mistake, not right now,” Asteroth blurted out, his eyes focused on his book before he froze in his seat.

“You’re not going to make a mistake if you take a break, you are going to eat and rejuvenate so you don’t make mistakes during those breaks,” HotShot snapped with a logical tone.

“I can’t afford failure right now, I have people counting on me. I can’t afford breaks-“ Asteroth continued, flipping the page.

HotShot yanked the book away, much to Asteroth’s chagrin.

“What the hell is wrong with you?” Asteroth yelled, their voice raspy and quiet from lack to use and only research. “Why are you doing this?”

“What is wrong with me?” They asked with audacity clear in their tone. “No, what is wrong with you? You usually study, but never this hard and never for this long. This fear of failure is eating you up and you can’t even see what’s wrong!” They snapped.

“Nothing is wrong-“ Asteroth tried to insist.

“Bullshit, something’s up, maybe something you don’t want me knowing or something, but let’s face it, right now you are a fucking mess.”

The pair held a vow of silence for several minutes before Asteroth spoke again.

“I can’t afford mistakes-I can’t-I won’t,” and that’s all he had to say before the waterworks took over. The exhaustion had finally caught up to him.

HotShot immediately softened up, approaching him and holding his hands in theirs. “Hey, hey, it’s going to be okay. I’m going to make it okay.”

“I can’t afford to fail, I’ll get kicked out of Choir, then out of AMP and then I’ll have no where to go and I-“ he paused before whispering. “I’ll be all alone. I don’t want to be alone.”

“Hey, hey,” HotShot’s voice softened with their exterior expression. “You won’t be alone, even if you do fail. You’ll have me, Nik, Oscar, hell even Carlisle! You have people in your corner who care about you and your well-being!” HotShot snapped. “But you’re so afraid of failure that you’re letting it drive your life, and it shouldn’t be.”

“I don’t know how else to think,” Asteroth whispered slowly, as if he’d just revealed a secret he buried deep down inside of his soul.

“Well, let’s start with a hot meal and a nap, no? You can crash at my dorm, I’ll set up the couch with the good blankets,” HotShot offered, extending a hand.

Asteroth took it, wobbling as he stood up. Hotshot helped Asteroth collect his things much faster than if Asteroth had done it alone.

“Now let’s go get some food,” HotShot declared.

“Hey, HotShot?” Asteroth called out, his voice meek. “Thank you.”

“Don’t sweat it,” HotShot replied, a slight smile spreading across their face. “Now let’s go get some grub because I, for one, are absolutely famished.”

+1: HotShot: Mental Health and Grief

HotShot sat on the cool tile, head spinning from lack of water and sleep. Their head pressed against the wall, their eyes peering down at their arms, nails scratching harshly at their left forearm.

Everything had just been too much in the past few days, too loud, too textured, too bright—and some asshole on the subway called their mother a bitch, which they’d punched them for. That helped in the moment, but it only served as a reminder of what had happened.

“Ama ani metzta'ar, ani kel kech metzta'ar,” they whispered, eyes stock full of tears that ran down their face, smudging their eyeliner.

They were so exhausted, physically and mentally. Everything felt like too much, too cold, too warm, too mild. They didn’t know what to do, how to fix anything. They felt out of control, angry and vengeful. Their knuckles were covered with a thin sheen of blood, scratched up and dry.

Their thoughts ran like a rapid ghazal through their head, their nails scratching repeatedly over their left forearm hastily, drawing blood.

They didn’t notice, too entrenched in their thoughts.

‘Bittersweet because I can’t breathe/ inside your arms,’ the lyrics sang inside their head.

Pangs of loneliness hit them like a freight train every few seconds, guilt accompanying it.

They could call someone, Oscar or Nik, or someone else. Their uncle? No, their mind supplied. They don’t need to deal with this.

The thought sent waves of hurt through their soul, tears pouring down their face in rapid succession as they curled themself into a ball.

A knock rang at the bathroom door, their crying paused. “HotShot?” they voice called, ever so slightly scratchy. Nik. It was Nik. Nik was here. “Are you okay?”

“I’m fine,” they answered, voice scratchy and still chock full of tears. Their arm pulsed with pain.

“That’s fucking bullshit,” another voice, more aggressive and firm, called out. Asteroth, their mind supplied. Asteroth’s here. “You’re not okay, open the door!”

“HotShot, please,” another voice pleaded. Oscar, their mind told them. Oscar was here too. “Just open the door.”

“I can’t,” their own voice sounded so foreign to them, so broken and cracked, like a porcelain vase. Tears poured down their cheeks, sobs coming ever so faster. “I can’t, I can’t, I can’t,” they repeated. “I can’t!” Their voice crumbled and cracked at the last one, sobs pouring down their face as they cried loudly.

“Hey, hey, hey,” Oscar’s voice called, concern heavy. “We want to help you, we want to know what’s wrong, we just want to help.”

“HotShot, let us in, at least one of us,” Asteroth begged, his voice shaking. It never shook. “I’m-HotShot please I’m-I want you to be okay-“

“HotShot please,” Nik pleaded, tears streaming down their face. “I’m worried, I’m really fucking worried. Please, please just let me in.” His voice sounded so broken in the last few words.

The silence felt so loud after Nik spoke, practically lasting an eternity.

“My arm hurts,” HotShot finally responded, wiping the tears off their cheeks with a clothed shoulder. Nik froze, turning to the rest of the group with a grave expression. Oscar’s expression turned to one of fear whereas Asteroth’s became grave and unrecognizable.

“Please just open the door,” Nik pleaded, his voice a desperate whisper.

HotShot didn’t know if they had the resounding strength anymore, but the guilt they felt over the worry of the others drove them to stand, left arm bleeding and hung loose at their side. They walked towards the door, unlocking it and opening it, looking away from the gazes of their partners and friends.

Nik buried them in an immediate hug, sobbing into them, collapsing to the floor. They looked up, tired eyes ever so empty.

Asteroth scanned them for injuries, his eyes landing on their arm. He signaled to Oscar, whose expression became even more worried.

“HotShot,” Asteroth began, attempting not to let his voice quiver. “What’s going on?”

And that was all it took to let the dam break.

“I’m so fucking tired,” they sobbed into Nik. “I’m so fucking tired and overwhelmed and overworked and everything is too fucking much and I-“ their voice raised an octave with a sob, cracking. “I want my mom and dad, I miss my mom and dad, but I can’t see them, I can’t hug them, I can’t eat their cooking anymore, because they’re gone! They’re gone and they’re never coming back and it fucking hurts. It hurts every day and I’m so tired,” they sobbed, releasing the secret in all but a few words.

The group seemed to still at the revelation, Nik’s head raising. He recalled asking about their parents, Oscar asking about their parents. They never mentioned that they were dead, but it seemed that they were holding something back about them. They didn’t expect the people to be dead.

“It’s okay, love,” Nik attempted to reassure. “It’s going to be okay. I have you, I have you now. Oscar does too, we have you. We’re right here and we have you. You can lean on us, we’re here.”

“I’m so tired,” was all that came out.

“We know,” Oscar answered, approaching slowly, helping them up and into both his and Nik’s arms. “We know, we know and we’re here.”

Asteroth stood presently. “Let’s take care of you, okay?” His voice was an un-presented softness.

They all walked into the bathroom together, Asteroth and Oscar scanning the room for anything that might be used for any sort of harm, to which they found none.

Nik eased HotShot down to the floor, onto the soft mats made to catch water. HotShot’s tears had dried at this point, just feeling exhaustion.

Oscar pulled out the first aid kit, handing it to Asteroth, who kneeled in front of them, taking their left arm and placing it on his leg.

He pulled out the alcohol pads first, disinfecting the wound, much to HotShot’s chagrin. They winced, unable to meet Nik’s concerned gaze.

“We’re here HotShot,” Oscar announced. “We’re here for you, and we’re here to stay.”

“And while we can’t bring them back, we can be here to listen to you when you need it,” Asteroth assured firmly, now pressing a plain cotton pad to their arm.

“We’re not leaving, you have us now,” Nik declared. “We’ve got you.”