"they broke your heart." sweetrav <3
@otomates
"I didn't have one." His answer was curt and fast, the boiling anger and grief in response to the recent hell dreams finally being let out in that single statement. He's gotten better with controlling his temper, moving into a room that they made into some sort of quiet zone whenever he felt his emotions become too much to handle. Its better this way, he thinks to himself, simply distancing himself away from anything that could get in a way of a horrible attack in his moment of desperation. That 'anything' moreso meaning Sweets. Its not just himself he's doing this for, its for his love.
Sweets had to deal with his unanswered spats and hits for years, and didn't need to again for a long while now.
This however, still sent guilt. It always does. It wasn't anything rude, but it felt as if he was yelling at him. He caught it nearly immediately, another practice he's been working on after using this room more frequently. A moment after he said it, he sighs, mumbling a soft "I'm sorry." as his spike starts to settle down.
Travis leans his body back, landing in an uncomfortable position against the wall. Its there he realizes that he's sitting way into the corner of the room. He can't remember how he got here, how long he's been here, what he's been saying.... If he's been speaking at all. Whatever happened, Sweets was here-- which meant an answer to any of those questions was bad. He usually left him alone when he came in here, unless Travis himself cried out for him when everything was too much to handle alone.
He blinks as he watches Sweets scoot closer, one side of his vision pulsing red in defiance, causing the man to flinch. The immediate concern from the other hurt to watch, Travis shaking his head and quickly saying "It's not you." It never has. It never will be. It all came down to everything that's been haunting him.
.....
"......Well. Its true-- in a way." He croaks out after a silent few minutes. His head is starting to be less foggy, now being able to register scattered books and paperwork he keeps in the chamber. He must've thrown everything during his haze.
"I don't think I've ever had a heart. I sure didn't feel it in my earlier years. Until you happened, anyway." He pauses. Perhaps it needed explaining. He could feel Sweets' gaze on it, not in a patronizing way, in the way here he looks like he's attempting to understand so he could sympathize. It was the same look he gave him whenever Travis prayed to a God that he can never cut the cord from.
He wonders if Sweets was able to catch the small movement of the corner of his lips when he tried to smile. He is cute. At the very least, it was nice to know someone was actually listening.
"Having a heart... It meant connecting with people. Loving them, caring about their wishes and dreams. Having your own dreams. Empathy. All that... Stupid sunshine optimism every single person who thought 'Hope that person is having a good day.' carried with them." His eyes were burning. Jesus. Was he crying earlier? Pussy move.
"I didn't.... I didn't have that. I didn't feel any of it. I didn't have a heart for them to break. I was... Nothing." Nothing at all. He could hear his father's voice so clearly his eyes darted across the room for a moment, expecting to see an intruder inside the house already. He gets worried every now and then, that a survivor would come back for him and carry out his father's wishes. Slaughter him in cold blood and fed to the depths of hell. A punishment fit for a traitor.
"I guess that's what they wanted." He murmurs, shifting positions so he could fold his legs and bring them close to his chest. Sweets doesn't know the full story of his time with the cult. It was Travis' fault if any; he didn't want to being up that kind of history and have to accept what happened all over again, and he didn't want to say too much, in fear of having his partner see the type of eigth layer devil he really was. "They broke my head, my mind, every bone and tore every ligament in my body; to shape me into what they wanted. To f i x me." His sharp, harsh tone came back with the specific word. He had issues that could have never been fixed, and he knew that made him hated in the family even more.
Had Sweets told him this a long time ago, he would've been incredibly offended by it, by the mere audacity of him having a symbol of something so weak and useless in the first place. Right now, he was mourning.
He can't remember what triggered it. His body was tense and shaking when he felt trapped in a claustrophobic tunnel again. He felt someone else's warm blood when he slaughted an innocent person in the name of a holy ritual. His eye burned from ghostly remnants of something sharp and toxic. He could still hear the screams of ghosts his father had murdered before him. An awful, ugly, disgusting sin. That's all he could feel.
Right now he wished it would, simply put, go away. The only thing he ever wanted to feel anymore was the warmth and love from the man sitting next to him. That was not something he needed to say out loud; he felt hands protectively latch onto his arm without a second thought, and Sweets' head resting perfectly on his shoulder. He wanted a kiss. He didn't know if Travis was okay enough to get one though.
That thought alone was enough to make Travis shudder from a forced chuckle. He moves his legs forward so his abdomen was exposed and Sweets could right after move to set himself on his lap. He could feel him curl up next to him in every attempt to get closer than he already was, not once him letting go of his arm. It wasn't long until the sweet comfort he always gave him start to take over him. The feeling in his chest untightened, the alarm bells of possible danger nearby start to quiet down.
It hasn't gone away completely, it might never will, but the world seemed more manageable for now. Enough for Travis to get his free hand to hold onto one of Sweets', kissing one of the many rings he had gifted him the past year and then held it up so his partner can cradle his cheek. Finally. Some damn peace.
"Thanks for being here, angel." He murmurs, letting his head rest against the wall so he can make use of the quiet room and try to get those missing senses of clarity back. His usual internal speech of he's safe. He's not alone. He has someone who loves him. He's okay. He's safe. Circles through his head. It will until he thinks he can get up and leave the safety of the closed space, and he knows the beautiful clingy man underneath him will stay with him for as long as it takes.
He'll take care of the books later.
