survival kit
ship: murderfrog
rating: t (content warning for body dysmorphia, mentions of abuse)
summary: William and Tai spend a lot of time in their relationship rolling with the highs and lows of being two unstable wrecks in love.
other notes: comfort fic because brain hurted 🙈
“Hey, you in here?”
It was rhetorical, in a way. He knew Tai was in there, he’d been observant enough for once to catch her slipping into the door of her room while walking downstairs, and hadn’t seen her leave. She’d been kind of tight-lipped recently, unresponsive to affection and easy to irritate, and he prided himself on the fact that he had been trying his best not to blow up about it. He knew that wasn’t what she needed.
Nothing but a muffled groan came from the dark room, lit only by what he knew was her phone screen. It erred more on the side of ‘yes’, so he invited himself in, nudging her office chair out to take a seat near the foot of her bed. A beat of silence between them followed, nothing in the air but her phone speakers playing Cannibal Corpse on a volume so low he had barely caught it when he’d come in.
I despise what I see in the mirror Sadistic hateful scum I kill them but it's myself I hate Now I'll do myself too
William’s breath hitched as the growling spoke in her stead. It was a problem that both of them had: he would be lying if he said he was a stranger to the feeling of self hatred that settled in the pit of his stomach when he passed a mirror. It was like a smoking fire; something that would suffocate you from the inside. The light of her screen reflected onto her face, looking distant; desolate. Tai’s eyes barely moved as she scrolled downward, barely registering what she was looking at. It served as one of the better choices of distraction in times like these. She skipped the song mid-verse.
Hey pig, yeah you--
Tap.
You can tell From the scars on my arms And the cracks in my hips--
Tap.
I just know your fate I love how easy to convince you are My star
“I asschume you don’t wanna talk about it,” his voice broke her stride, allowing the filtered guitar and warbled vocals continue. The sharpness of his lisp made her look toward him, and he could sense the guilt coming from her in waves. “That’sch fine. I juscht... I know thisch feeling, and...” A sigh. He never liked being open with people, but being able to be vulnerable around her without having to make a scene was something he found more comfort in than he’d ever like to admit. “It’sch only going to get worsche if you don’t do anything about it.”
Another beat of silence-- tense and heavy --filled the air.
“I’m sorry,” Her voice cracked, mouth barely peeking out from her thick blanket. “I don’t want to worry you, I just... It’s easier to just hide away than to talk about it. I feel like you’ve heard everything, and it’s stupid to make you sit through hours of me spouting the same shit that I should be over by now--” Full body flashbacks wracked her to her core: the shallow and performative ways she had heard the same words until they had deemed her body unusable. The fear of being obsolete had brought her to this: a need for a physical perfection that was not coming fast enough. If she couldn’t reach that standard of perfection, would he still care? Was there anything left inside her to appreciate?
“Hey.” William hated to raise his voice at her, especially now, but it really was the only way to get her off of one of these self-deprecating tangents. He knew she would have done the same for him. “If you have to tell me the schame schtory every day for the rescht of my life to feel better, I’m all earsch. I don’t fuckin’ care what I have to do. That’sch why I’m here making schure you’re okay right now,” Pulling himself up from the chair, he walked slowly to her side, kneeling down so that he made direct eye contact. She lowered her phone slightly, her eyes visible and shining with the screen’s blue-white light. “I love you, Tai, you know that.”
There was a moment between the words and realization where she stilled, eyes looking straight ahead, unwavering, before the full weight of the statement really hit her. The way he held eye contact, something he detested unless he had to, and the feeling of his callused hand on hers through her blanket: it had caused a wave of emotions, too many for her to count. She had barely managed at least to hold back one sniffle before completely crumbling, tears glowing in the harsh electronic light and sobs raw and ugly.
That night, William had slept in her bed, shoes kicked off hurriedly and fully dressed. She held him like a vice, despite the smell of sweat and leather heavy on his person, and he coaxed her to sleep with murmured conversation and a hand stroking her back.
He had another reason to keep going, more than the flimsy delusions he had been feeding himself for years: knowing that he had someone who so fully loved and appreciated him for all he was worth, and reciprocating that with every ounce that he could.
