“i wouldn’t say that.”

      ❝okay. okay. uh---            do we actually       know each other?❞

          “well, i ain’t stupid or nearly           as drunk as ya were.”

      ❝W A I T--       so you knew what       you were doing?❞

          “yeeeep. y’patched me up after a           fight, we fooled around, then fell           asleep.”

      ❝riiiight.       of course we did.       how do you remember this?❞

          “oh, jesus christ, calm the fuck           down. y’lasted like, five minutes.”

      ❝five minutes?       that's it...damn.❞

          “… ya didn’t strike me as a top, y’know.”

                ❝----o h g o d       please stop talking.❞

           “yep, i wouldn’t.”

           ❝---oh god,       please tell me we didn't--                      you know...❞

          the abuse in general was not new to donovan, as           a result of his big mouth. did he care for liam? yes.           did he love him? quite possibly. but there was still           the matter of the physical, emotional, and mental           beat downs he was on the receiving end of. they           were exhausting and clearly painful. but he endured           them. he did it for liam. he did it because deep down,           donovan wanted to stay.                     he was like a goddamn rag doll, moving wherever liam                     dragged him to. the hits wouldn’t have been nearly as                     bad if liam hadn’t chosen to wear his rings. some days                     he’d take them off. other days were like this one.           shockingly enough, he didn’t try to move away when he           made contact with the floor. the only thing he did was           start begging. begging for liam to stop because he could           be better, liam, please. he spoke between hits, the best           he could, spitting blood out onto the floor as shaky hands           gripping the fabric of his boyfriend’s shirt.

          he had every right to break right then. if it wasn’t           the contact he made with the wall, then it was the           look in liam’s eyes. the look on his face. the pure,           unadulterated rage. it put the fear of god into           donovan’s heart. he blinked away tears, but it was           also an attempt to push away the pain. he couldn’t           imagine how liam’s opponents felt. not until then.                he almost tightened his grip on liam’s arm, but the                pain was too much for him to really focus on anything                else. his hand fell back to his side, gripping the nearest                thing.                                 ”s-stop, liam—”           the impact of his punch caused him to hiss through his           teeth, tasting blood after a few moments. he already           wanted to just collapse, to just slip away.

      bending down, the man took a hold of the younger’s collar,       yanking him up to get a better view of his face. his back       straightened slightly, pulling the free hand back once more       & allowing it to land across the opposing cheek, only to       repeat once the action had been carried out. surely donovan       would learn eventually. & if he had to throw a few punches       to show him the way, so be it.

          all he could hear was the pounding of his heart,           his face flushed. god, he was scared, he was so           scared. no matter how many times he apologized,           he knew liam would never be satisfied until he           released all of his anger. and the thought was           terrifying.                he wanted to move away again, but the hand on                his throat stopped him entirely. he had one hand                on the wall behind him still, eyes locking with the                older male’s.                      “don’t—”           he choked out, swallowing the best that           he could. his hand grabbed liam’s arm, nails digging           into his skin until he was drawing blood.

           he growled. his free hand rose,            a closed fist landing quickly against            donovan’s jawline. he did not want            to repeat himself.

          had he been thinking, donovan would have never           put his hands on liam. no, he knew what liam could           do, he’d seen him fight. and there was no doubt in           his mind that liam would treat him the way he treated           anyone who stepped into the ring with him. if donovan           was lucky, he’d walk away with a few cracked ribs and           a busted lip.                     he took a step back out of habit, a hand on the wall                     behind him. it did no good to back himself into a corner,                     but he had nowhere else to go.                                  “no— i’m sorry.”           it was weak.                       quiet.           he was scared.

                ❝do it again.                 i insist.                 i dare you.❞

          a lump forms in donovan’s throat and all he           wants is for it to go away. he can’t show that           he’s already upset, not right now. maybe when           he leaves or at least goes upstairs he’ll let go.           but not now. now he needs to show liam that he’s           not afraid. that his words don’t hurt.                      “fine— fine, i’ll fuckin’ go. you’re not worth my                     fucking time, anyway. you never were.”           but the push. the push just pisses him off and he           pushes the other in return, jaw clenched. what a           fucking mistake.

          there will come a time in donovan’s life when           he will leave the other. pack his belongings           and just leave, never to look back or regret           a goddamn thing. but that time doesn’t           appear to be in the near future. and he stays           rooted to the spot, eyes fixated on the man in           front of him.                      “yeah, you. it’s always fuckin’ something with                     you. i mean, honestly, if all i do is make excuses,                     then why are you still here? should i help you to                     the fuckin’ door?”

      & without thinking, his hands move to push       the younger back—closer to the door.

     ”I don’t fuckin’ care,      as long as you’re gone.”

      ❝Excellent.❞

     ”Good choice, sweetheart.”

      ❝Yeah. I'll be going out that door.       If that's all right with you, of course.❞

     ”That’s a good answer.”

      ❝Right. Yeah. Well, I'll go ahead and just leave you be--       so I don't get my head smashed and such.❞