#ts pryce

“Roman?”

He couldn’t breathe. His vision was tunneling and he couldn’t breathe.

“Roman, are you okay? Oh God.”

Were they still touching him or was it the phantom feeling of hands ghosting his skin?

”Stop,” he rasped, almost choking on the word.

His knees buckled, and he had to catch himself on the wall next to him. Distantly he could hear whispers and he knew, he knew it wasn’t them.

Roman had managed to get away from his parents with Remus and Pryce years ago. So why was it all he could hear was their words? Their insults followed by praises followed by touching.

So much touching.

Too much touching.

“Let go!” he snapped, yanking away when he felt a more firm touch on his shoulder.

He felt them yank back, heard them stammer in worry. Fuck, he was supposed to be meeting with someone, wasn’t he? The cute boy he’d been texting lately.

Roman leaned back against the wall he’d had his hand on, shoving a hand through his hair before quickly pulling it away.

Felt too much like his dad pulling.

“I- goodness, I’m so sorry Roman, I didn’t mean to, is there anything I can do?”

Finally looking up from the ground, thought his vision was still tunneling and his breathing still erratic, Roman looked at who had touched him.

Thomas. Right, the guy he was supposed to be going on a date with today.

He forgot to ask him not to touch without warning, didn’t he?

The whispers surrounding him made his heart jump in his throat. They still sounded like his parents. Still sounded like his mom telling him he was the prettiest or his dad telling him to be still.

Shit, fuck, he needed Pryce. Or Remus. Or, fuck maybe Picani would be the best option, but he hated therapy. He hated it so much he didn’t want to think about his childhood.

Thomas continued to stare at him in worry, wringing his hands together and staying at least a foot away from him to avoid accidentally touching him.

Roman wanted to throw up. He looked so much like Pryce when their dad was about to get mad at him.

The thought made anxiety spike through him, and Roman swore that he was going to combust with addition to his current panic and the hands still roaming his body.

Fuck, he needed to get home.

“Sorry,” he forced out, and without giving Thomas the time to react he bolted away.

God, he hoped Pryce was okay. Logically, he knew he was. Their parents were rotting in jail, Remus was going to be spending the entire day with their youngest brother, Pryce was okay.

But the fear that he wasn’t was overpowering. The terrifying thought that Pryce was being punished because he was the youngest, the least athletic, the least favorite had Roman pushing to get home.

Didn’t he bring his car when he went to meet up with Thomas?

Too late to go back now.

Roman wasn’t sure how long it took him to get home, all he could focus on was the overwhelming fear for Pryce’s safety and the whispers he could still hear despite running and not being able to stop long enough to process actual people talking.

Fuck he hoped this didn’t throw him into a flashback when he finally got to his brothers.

Getting home should’ve been a relief, should’ve helped ease his anxiety and terror.

Remus’ car wasn’t in the driveway or the garage.

His hand shook when he tried to get the key in the lock. It took him five tries to get it unlocked.

He forgot about the deadbolt until he pushed the door and it still didn’t budge.

The sob he let out in response was supposed to be a groaned swear.

Three more tries to get the deadbolt undone.

When he finally got inside he rushed straight towards Pryce’s room. Just in case Remus was only leaving for a little bit to grab something for their day together.

“Roman?” Pryce asked, looking up from the notebook he’d been writing in before Roman had appeared in the doorway.

He looked fine. Was he hiding something again?

“Are you hurt?” he asked, the words rushing out of him as he looked over his little brother, wishing he could go over and check but the hands were still there.

“No, scars are healed, no scabs, no cuts,” Pryce immediately answered.

Roman must not have looked convinced because Pryce tugged off the hoodie he’d been wearing and showed off his arms.

“Shirt?” he asked, uncertain because he hated making Pryce show so much of himself, but he had to be sure.

He wouldn’t put it past his parents to go hiding the shit they did from him again.

Pryce pulled off his shirt and lifted his binder to show his rib cage. All Roman could see were the round cigarette burns. His brother then got off his bed and squirmed his binder up until it was scrunched under his armpits to show Roman the scars he had there.

All healed.

Roman’s terror for Pryce’s safety lessened just a bit. His anxiety was still bad, and he was still dealing with whispers from the past and the ghost touches, but Pryce was safe and uninjured.

“What happened?” his brother asked, pulling his binder back down and his shirt back on before he turned back to Roman, frowning in concern.

“I- Unexpected touch I’m- fuck where’s Remus. Is he okay?”

Pryce nodded, then his eyes widened.

“Did you close the door on the way in?”

Roman swore, then rushed back towards the living room, desperate to get the door closed and relocked before Remus came home.

It’d fucking suck if he accidentally triggered his brother in the midst of him trying to abate his own terror from being triggered himself.

Pryce followed him, his notebook and feather pen in hand. He plopped himself on the couch and when Roman turned from the door, he nodded towards the red recliner.

“I’m working on poetry for class, if you wanna listen to what I’ve got.”

Roman nodded, moving to sit in what Pryce kept calling the “triggered chair” despite how many times Roman told him to stop.

Being able to curl up and see the entire living room plus the front door and the hallway that lead to the back door helped to ease some of his anxiety, and hearing Pryce read to him helped quiet the whispers.