“jus' get ou'. ge' ou' an' leave me alone.” simon's fist is still embedded in the shattered mirror, his head hanging low, and attempt to hide the tears that have streaked across his face from soap. he's bleeding from his knuckles, but he can barely feel it. barely feels anything but the ache at his core that always comes back. but it's one he doesn't want to address. one he tries to use his most standoffish hiss of venomous words to make the one man who cares about him back off and leave him to... whatever misery this is. whatever misery it has always been. he'd rather go it alone. tear away from the idea of comfort and care. he knows it's not for him. it'll be ripped away again one day. it always is. it's better to learn to deal with it alone.
IT HURTS, BADLY. he can't pretend it doesn't. not only the sting of being pushed away -- after finally having been accepted, no less -- but that of seeing the man he adores so deeply, cry on his behalf. it twists his guts every time he even so much as worries him, &. he catches the emotions captured in the soul's windows. that which he's allowed to see. let alone looking past his own reflection in the broken mirror to see the remnants of tears messily streaking his cheeks. his blond hair disheveled, knuckles bleeding as the startled weightless feeling still slowly dissipated in johnny's chest. replaced with anxiety, hurt &. well, the steadfast, bullheaded sergeant inside of him that cannot back down from what he wants.
the fun-house mirror of cracked panes of glass separate soap's image into a kaleidoscope of narrowed brows &. clenched jaw. having followed the lieutenant from the bed like a stray without his leash, with admittedly good intentions. his wide legs exposed, with a shirt clinging to his upper body. he knows nightmares. knows what they look like . . . ever dutiful in his attempts to soothe, as soap wishes he had in such scenarios.
but he hadn't expected this. even if maybe he should have.
soap shakes his head, light but obvious. his chest inflating with a further scrunching of his features. he's unable to stop the sear of anxiety. worried that ghost would go nuclear, &. actually kick him out -- or worse. put a hand to him.
"no." he speaks. "am stayin' here." he takes a step forth towards him with a prominent sway of his shoulder. "don' shut me ou', si. let me help ye, please." he tilts his head as he studies him. hand half-reached out, but stalled. mouth pausing slightly open, momentarily.
"yer not scarin' me away" when he speaks again it's much softer. quieter, &. earnest. his expression showing the worry he harbors. odd, to be afraid of retaliation from someone whom has the capacity to treat him so tenderly. . "now c'mere. let me get a look a' those knuckles . . ."
🍒 @designedparadigm 𝐀𝐒𝐊𝐄𝐃 ↪ right in the guts. angst sentences.
