#i uhm...

you are free.

A MOMENT OF WEAKNESS ...   sel acc

My muse is been beaten badly and is in bad shape, yours finds mine in this state.

like he’s goddamn john cusack in   say anything  ––––  he knows he could knock. to be completely fair, he’d much rather have   HIS PARENTS     react to the state he’s in than saville himself. but he can only guess how they would look at him, can basically feel his mother’s fingers curl around his chin to examine the bruise blossoming at his jawbone, can hear mister saville curse under his breath, say something along the lines of     enough is enough     ...  they would pity him. they would look at charlie and see   damaged goods  –––– a boy broken by the circumstances of his upbringing and he’s not ready for it. not ready for the questions either ( how many times has this happened? has it always been that bad? why didn’t you say something?) even though he has all the answers ready (too many times. once, maybe, when i wore one of my brother’s sweaters to school. because i’m fuckin’   terrified .... and he’s still my father).  so instead of facing all of this, he’s standing in the damp grass in the middle of the goddamn night, throwing pebbles at rufus’ window (with the arm that doesn’t hurt like a bitch) praying that the other - for once - isn’t a complete dickhead and helps him - and charlie doesn’t even know with what, doesn’t even know how. he needs ice, an aspirin and a place where he can stay the rest of the night (doesn’t care what’s gonna happen when they find his bed empty in the morning).

it’s not the window but the door that opens, but it’s unmistakably rufus. and he’s visibly pissed  (and that kind of anger is almost refreshing) . he can tell he’s ready to snap at him and charlie prepares himself by drawing a long and deep breath, calming his nerves. trembling hands hidden deep in the pockets of a burberry, as are the bruises from where he was gripped a little too tight. and when a flashlight shines in his face, he turns his head, squeezes his eyes shut and frowns ...    he almost   YELPS   at the pain in his left cheek - the one turned towards the light - feels the split in his bottom lip tearing again. and rufus stops - freezes - stares - and fuck if he doesn’t hate this more than if he’d just yelled at him for showing up here at this hour.                            ❝  –––– would you fuckin’ mind, saville?  THE LIGHT ! ❞

head only turns when he can properly blink again, shoulders tense as he focusses on the boy he’s known basically all his life. he wonders if he already knows, if he just assumes or if he simply doesn’t care ...    tongue darts out to lick over the cut because he’s always been a bit of a sadist - took him too long to realizes that bruises are not a sign that they care about you. he barely winces, has got a grip on himself finally and just stares rufus down.  there’s a shrug  (hey, what can i say, right?)  and he’s balling his fists in his coat pocked so hard he almost hears them crack.  rufus doesn’t ask. charlie doesn’t care to fully elaborate. he assumes he’s smart enough to put it together -  he thought his father was in monaco, turns out the trip was cancelled - charlie had brought someone home. the terrified look of the poor guy from somewhere overseas, the way he grabbed his clothes and just ran for it (and charlie can hardly blame him) not something rufus would want to hear about not something he’d feel much sympathy for, he assumes.  so he just keeps looking at him - where he would’ve lowered his gaze just years ago. to hide what has happened. he doesn’t    care   anymore.   ❝  got into an...   ARGUMENT  - i ended up here, i don’t know why i just ...❞    so here it is. he remembers the old lady that sat next to him at the opera once. asking for help is always the hardest part.   fuck her! fuck her for knowing jack shit about what is the hardest part.   ❝  i would’ve brought a drink but i was in a bit of a hurry. ❞   a pause, he tries a smirk but fails miserably.                       ❝ can i come in? ❞