Alright! And here's Homesick!
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Homesick
Characters; Garvin. Rest of GRAIN mentioned. Aries, Devery, and Fintan are mentioned too.
Word Count; 1,665.
TWs; Swearing, self-hatred, self-worth issues, dissociation, internalized ableism, panic attacks, autistic shutdown/meltdown, depression in general, messy writing/ending. Technically some mentions of some other stuff like cigarettes, a slight very implied implication of wanting to self-harm, and just… Really small things. Everything is kind of vague here. As per usual. So, uh. That might be all I need to warn about.
Notes; Takes place like, at least a year or two after the first time Garvin ever dyed his hair. Other than that, uh… I know I said Midas— But, technically, this is actually Amoris being very blurry with Garvin at first and then Amoris being very blurry with Midas. Caelum is eventually Aries’ constellation nickname, by the way. Anyway, uh. The trigger for all of this was a… Nightmare? Dream? Depends who you ask? About Fintan. So… Yeah. When I say that the Midas Sidesystem is pretty much all dependent on Fintan for any sort of validation, about anything, including life and happiness and... Just about everything, I mean that. Very seriously. A lot of them are on the younger end, and a lot of them just... They can't fathom Fintan being bad, or wrong, or... Any of that sort of thing. Anyways, uh. Enjoy the short story!
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He stared up at the ceiling, trying to ignore the way his eyes seemed to water each time he blinked, trying to ignore the way his limbs felt heavy, the way he’d been staring at the ceiling for what must’ve been hours at this point. It didn’t feel like a bad day though. It didn’t. Even with the ache in his chest making it hard to breathe. It didn’t feel like a bad day. The usual pain he felt didn’t even seem all that bad at the moment. He felt fine. Other than the ache in his chest that he’d woken up with, he felt fine. And yet… He was still laying in bed, staring at the ceiling.
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The others were already awake, up and moving. And seeing how he’d been awake to watch each of them get up, seeing how he’d already missed breakfast– They were probably trying to figure out what was going on with him this time around. He needed to get up. He was probably worrying them. He didn’t want to worry them, at least not more than he did on a good day. More than that though, he wanted to get up. He didn’t want to be laying around all day, doing nothing, feeling his throat close up every time he even thought of saying… Anything. Getting up seemed like too much though. Moving to lay on his side instead of his back seemed like too much. Fucking everything felt like too much.
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He blinked, and then felt as something wet slipped down from one of his eyes onto the pillow beneath his head. He didn’t know what was wrong. He didn’t. He felt fine, it didn’t feel like a bad day. His throat felt tight, he tried to breathe, it seemed off. He didn’t know what was wrong. It didn’t seem fair that he didn’t. He felt his breathing hitch, felt the way his throat tightened to stop whatever sound he would’ve made otherwise, and he forced himself to turn. Forced himself to roll onto his side and curl, his heart pounding in his ears as his chest ached for no damn reason.
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He wanted to get up, to leave the room and act like he was fine. Because he was. He was fine. Nothing was wrong. Everything was going fine. Everything had been going fine for– For so fucking long now. It wasn’t fair. It didn’t make sense. He’d been doing so good recently. He could’ve sworn he’d had plans for the day even. Something with Caelum or Levy maybe, he wasn’t sure. Whatever it’d been, he didn’t want to get a text or call checking on him, he didn’t want either of them showing up to check on him. He didn’t want to be curled in bed all day either.
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Maybe he was getting sick… That would be better than anything else that could be going on. Or at least better than not knowing what was going on. Like some stupid fucking idiot– He took a breath, forced himself to sit up for what was probably the first time since he woke up, and tried to convince himself to get up to go find someone for once. Like he was supposed to do.
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He did manage to get himself up, a hand on the nightstand beside the bed helping more than he wanted to admit at the moment. He didn’t move from it for a second, just trying to focus on breathing past the ache in his chest and the usual soreness that he was starting to think he’d never get rid of. He shifted, trying to make sure his legs would support him if he stepped away from the stand. He still wasn’t sure why he’d stopped keeping a lighter and pack on the nightstand. He shouldn’t have, given how often he seemed to need them just to fucking walk. He took another breath, and pushed himself into walking away from the nightstand.
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His legs were about as shaky as he expected them to be, but he at least managed to stay standing. Which was good enough for him. He didn’t feel like making the others worry by falling on the floor. He didn’t feel like having one, probably more, of them come in to check on him either. He still was supposed to be going to find one of them though…
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He didn’t. Instead, he ended up in the bathroom, only vaguely aware that he’d made his way there at all. He wasn’t even sure why he’d gone into the bathroom when he realized he had. He held the counter as he closed the door behind him anyways, and then ran a hand through his hair, forcing himself not to grab at it. It seemed longer than it was supposed to be. He blinked at the mirror, staring as his breath caught in his throat, as the ache in his chest squeezed him.
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A labret piercing stared back. A spider bite piercing didn’t. He bit his tongue, leaned against the counter to look closer. To make sure he still had it. To make sure it at least wasn’t closed. To see if he’d just missed it. His sight had never been the best, after all. Instead, he caught sight of color on his hands out of the corner of his eyes as he was leaning over. So he looked down at his hands, searching for the black vines that covered his knuckles. He found them, luckily. But they weren’t alone anymore, flowers lining them. Blocking them in some places. He couldn’t remember getting them. He wasn’t supposed to have them. They weren’t supposed to be there.
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His grip on the counter tightened, his eyes stung, and the ache in his chest threatened to put him on the ground. He couldn’t look away from the flowers blocking the vines on his hands. He couldn’t breathe past the missing spider bite piercing, not very well at least. Each breath felt shaky, too fast, too shallow. Too sharp. Just. Not. Right.
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The ache in his chest did lower him onto the ground. Either that or it was the shakiness in his legs. Or the way he was breathing. He wasn’t sure. He wasn’t. He squeezed his eyes closed so he wasn’t looking at the flowers tainting his vines, bit down on his tongue to try and keep from crying. He still couldn’t feel the spider bite pushing into his lips. He was supposed to have it. He wasn’t supposed to stop wearing it. It’d close up. It’d close up and he’d have to get it again.
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He checked his hands again, just in case the flowers had been a trick of the light. Just in case it was his sight being as bad as it always was. The bright pink and purple flowers were still staring at him when he checked though. His eyes burned, and he barely heard the high-pitched whine he made as a tear landed in the middle of one of the flowers. He blinked at it as his vision blurred more with the falling tears.
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Seconds later, he was going through the drawers, pulling things out and looking, searching, for something— Anything that could get rid of the flowers that weren’t supposed to be there, blocking his vines. Blocking Sparky’s vines. His shoulders hitched with his breath as he let out a strained whine again, his forehead falling against the door to the cabinet under the sink. He pulled his head back from it, stared, thought about going back to looking, and then hit his head against the cabinet instead. It hurt, and panic bubbled for a second, but he was already panicking and he was tired and he deserved it. Sparky’s tattoos were ruined. Tainted.
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He kept his forehead leaned against the cabinet, his hands still feeling through the drawers when he heard a knock on the door. It made him jump, knocking him back. He stared at the bathroom door, hoping that it was Fin and that the vines weren’t ruined. That the spider bite hadn’t been taken away from him. That he still loved him. Instead, a voice he didn’t even recognize spoke through the door.
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“Claddagh?”
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Something else was almost said, maybe, but before whoever it was could continue— He was whimpering, strained and high-pitched. It wasn’t Sparky and that was all that mattered. It wasn’t Fin. He wanted Sparky. Not whoever the person behind the door was. He wanted Sparky. He realized he’d been moving backward when he felt his back hit the wall of a tub, still staring at a blurry door.
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It opened, and he thought that maybe he saw the person’s mouth moving but he couldn’t tell. He didn’t care either. He just pushed himself against the wall of the tub behind him, his chest aching as tears continued to fall from his eyes, as he continued to shake and struggle to breathe. Either way, the person was only getting closer. He caught sight of the person’s amber eyes, and whined again. He wanted Sparky.
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So he said that, pushing through the way his throat threatened to choke him, voice just as desperate as he felt. “I wan’ Sparky—” The person paused. He didn’t. As if the quiet, desperate admission had broken a dam, he continued. Louder. Even as he sobbed and choked on his words. “I- I wan’ Spark— Plea- Please, where— I- I wan’ Sparky- He- Please- I wan’ ‘im— He still- Please—”
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He couldn’t see if the person was moving again, or hear if they were either. He couldn’t hear past his own sobbing pleas, couldn’t see past the blurry tears blocking his vision. He could feel the way his own hands were grabbing at his hair, and he could almost hear Sparky’s voice in his ear each time he pulled at it. It wasn’t anywhere near close enough though. So he kept pleading as he sobbed, hoping that somehow, it would work.