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Amazing, Chips and Akira are besties now. And Akira will be so damn happy, like, they have such a soft spot for kids, they just really don't know how to act around them, so Chips is great, lmao - All of that is literally so amazing, and when I tell you that Nico will utilize throwing around playful insults to fluster Garvin the second they figure this fact out- The two are gonna end up having a flirt war XD And Akira will try to laugh it off anytime Garvin flusters them, only to fail miserably. Like, they'll probably try to join the flirt war only to die the second Garvin seriously flirts with them- And Revan getting worried and flustered is actually so cute. Though, if he wants to avoid getting flustered I recommend avoiding calling Ingall a pet name, like, ever I mean, Kira will get flustered for sure, but they also recover relatively quickly Gall will be acting like a child who's first crush just gave them flowers and chocolate for the first time for an hour at least. Alsoooo, pro tip for Gall's partners: flustering his is the easiest way to actually get him to smile. He doesn't smile much, but when he's flustered, you're definitely getting a lovestruck grin :) - Pfft, welp, I don't know what to tell you then, um, maybe they have Velcro skates? Lmaooo |
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Love that- Akira and Chips being besties is amazing. Akira will probably get along with one of the middles that act as a protector in the Tombs subsystems too, honestly. Just- Akira knows how to handle the younger protectors and Chips and like, no other child. Admittedly, other than the younger protectors and Chips, most of the younger headmates tend to be pretty scared that vary from semi-verbal to non-verbal. Very much they tend to be the ones that aren't as good at masking, like, at all. - Garvin literally doesn't get flustered by compliments or nice pet names. He'll get confused, maybe. But he's more likely to just laugh it off and start to try and fluster the other. When he doesn't, it's likely because he got triggered. Flirting is a very slippery slope with him and nice, sweet, honeyed words are much more likely to go downhill than playful insults.
Nico and Garvin having flirt wars would be adorable, especially for once they realize they never actually did anything. The amount of confusion. Garvin is a pro at flirting. He's immediately knocking Akira out of the war each and every time. The first time Revan calls Ingall dear or love, Ingall gets so flustered that Revan gets flustered and it just turns into a vicious cycle of being flustered XD Will admit, Garvin definitely ends up depending on being flirty before the whole talk about consent and boundaries whenever anyone starts to question if he understands those topics or not. Literally, one of his partners would ask if something is fine to do and in order to hide how uncomfortable he is, he'll flirt. - Haha, nah- Garvin will just struggle with the shoelaces. He'll get it at some point, just prepare for a bad knot lol - Also, the hair dyeing is almost at 8,000 words. It's getting closer to being done though. It should be done tonight. Not sure when it'll get posted though. |
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I more or less just finished writing the hair dyeing short novel and it- It's 10,790 words. I will post it later. It is very long. Formatting it is going to take a long time. |
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I love that so much And, yeah, I'd for sure say Ingall will be the best with the nonverbal/low verbal littles. He's very good with tiny humans, and he actually has experience with nonverbal communication thanks to Maya (like, to the point where they mostly stopped using the note pad around each other and just used body language). Fun fact, he's much better at reading body language than tone. He cannot, for the life of him, figure out tone, but body language is okay, really just thanks to May :) - I love all of that, lmao I'm just imagining Akira joining in the flirt war, being immediately killed by Garvin, recovering, and then immediately dying again while Nico loses it XD Stopppp, they're too cute, my heart can't handle the two awkward childrennn Pfft, everyone trying to have a serious talk only for Garvin to murder them with flirting XD Also, fun little thing, I had my AP psychology exam today and there was someone name Gavin in one of the problem, and the amount of times I wrote Garvin instead of Gavin, I swear, the person who grade my stuff is probably gonna be so confused, lmaooo - Well, at least it's kinda tied? Lol - Oh, wow, well, I look forward to it! :D |
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For some reason I decided I needed to actually map out the system. Well. At least on some level. I won't be adding all the fragments because of just how many there are and all but yeah- Since a lot of them don't actually have names, I'm going with the names they eventually choose/have. - Ingall being the best with nonverbal/low verbal littles makes a lot of sense and is adorable. Ingall in general is probably pretty calming too so Ingall becomes the best person for the low energy, low verbal littles meanwhile Nico is probably great with the high energy, very verbal kids. Akira is good solely with the younger protectors and Chips. Revan is at least okay at dealing with each type of kid. - Garvin ends up winning flirt wars, like, most of the time. He has a lot of experience at flirting and he will use tons of different tactics. Revan and Ingall accidentally flustering each other happens way too often. Like. Revan doesn't use pet names often but somehow it seems like those two flustering each other happens way too much. Yesss- Garvin senses the conversation starting to dip into serious territory and uncomfortable questions and just immediately starts to flirt and make moves in order to try and not have to answer anything. The fact that it was a psychology exam makes this even better, if I'm being honest. - Haha, yeah. I should have my post up by Monday at the latest lol - Hopefully it isn't too bad haha- I have a second surprise for after I get both up too lmao But actually- I need to check real quick- Garvin is very mean to himself and deals with a ton of internalized ableism. There is a term he would certainly use to describe himself in a downward spiral in place of idiot but I want to make sure it's alright with you if it is used first. |
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Ooo, fun :) - For sure. Nico would probably generally be alright with most of the littles and middles, the main thing for them is mostly just remembering who's alright with touch and who's not, but the more vocal ones are definitely easier, lol - Ohhh yeah, Nico will do great for a while before eventually just caving and asking for cuddles most of the time XD They're too adorable :') And I can totally see them just getting flustered by each other without even meaning to, like, they'll probably end up just hanging out together in a relatively quiet environment eventually and I feel like just accidentally catching each other staring or making eye contact or even just, like, smiling at each other on occasion only for them both to immediately melt is gonna happen a decent amount, precioussss More fun little tidbits about Ingall, speaking of, he's really bad at expressing his affection at all, so he just kinda ends up watching and admiring his partners from a distance a lot without even realizing what he's doing. It's literally just him finding them so cute/pretty that he actually can't look away :D Honestly, that might manage to drag Nico out of disassociation, and then we'd have the two idiots that need to hear the talk the most engaging in a flirt war to ignore their problems XD Trueeee - Alright! Take your time, lol - Yep, that's totally fine with me! :) |
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Somewhat. So far I've done the smallest subsystem. Which is Chips'. They have 15 total. That's the smallest. Yep. 15. This is going to take a while - Oh for sure. Most of the less verbal littles aren't okay with touch anyways, so that should help Nico out. And the less verbal littles that are okay with touch tend to seek it out on their own. So that'll probably help too. - Garvin could keep going for as long as needed to win. Though- The more they flirt, the more suggestive his flirting would get. Oh that for sure happens all the time- Revan and Ingall are pros at accidentally flustering each other lmao Oh that is adorable. Revan is pretty similar, though he either doesn't look at them at all or he just cannot stop staring. Nico gets dragged out of dissociation as Garvin gets dragged into dissociation lmao The flirting he'd do at those times would be highly suggestive in nature. Garvin hears uncomfortable questions like what to do if someone is doing something he doesn't like/want and basically immediately starts being super suggestive with his flirting while starting to dissociate. - Great, great- I'll probably get both parts up sometime tonight haha |
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Part 1
Prompt; No prompt, just the first time Garvin dyes his hair, haha.
Characters; Garvin, Nico, Akira, and Ingall. Revan, Phlox Aqua, Jinx, Navis, Spade, and Flood are mentioned.
Word Count; 10,790 total. This part has 5,267.
TWs; Depression, like, wow. So much depression. Suicidal thoughts. Suicidal ideation. Self worth issues. Dissociation. Self hatred. Implied/referenced self harm. Swearing. Implied child abuse. Past child abuse. Past verbal abuse. Past emotional abuse. Past suicide attempt. Internalized ableism. Ableist language (thoughts but still). One time use of the R word (I am neurodivergent please do not come at me, again, it is but thought). Trauma. Oh, and messy writing? Definitely messy ending.
Notes; Why did they leave the apartment? I have no idea. Maybe to try and figure out what to do because nothing they’d been trying was working. This is such a terrible time for him. Man. Can’t wait for the eventual DNA test arc that would cause this. No clue if that arc actually happens or not but it should. It’s so necessary for the eventual healing. Does it take him back like, five hundred steps first? Yeah. But it’s so necessary for his healing. Recovery isn’t linear, after all. Sometimes it’s small steps forwards, then one of the deepest valleys anyone has ever seen, and then even smaller and slower steps forward. Do not let the TWs trick you, this has a… I wouldn’t say a happy ending. But uh. Happier ending than my other writings, at least?
*~*~*~*
There wasn’t anyone in the apartment. For the first time in weeks, everyone had left to… Go do something. He wasn’t sure what. He didn’t care what. He hadn’t been listening. Maybe they didn’t tell him. Either way, everyone had left, though he wasn’t sure how long they’d been gone or how long they would be gone. So by all means, for now, the apartment didn’t hold a single soul. He certainly didn’t count, laying on the couch and staring at the cushions like he had been for weeks now. Well, for most of them, anyway. Every now and then he had ended up on the floor instead, pushing himself off the couch in the dead of night when he decided he didn’t deserve the soft cushions either. And then he’d stay there until morning, or whatever time it was when the others woke up. While the others had given up on trying to get him to sleep on a bed, they hadn’t given up on him sleeping on the couch yet. He wished they would already. The sounds of messages still being sent to his phone every so often didn’t make it seem likely to happen any time soon. He hadn’t even looked at the damn thing for weeks either, he wasn’t starting now. He wasn’t sure why they were still sending him shit over it.
-
He forced his arms to push against the cushions he was staring at and ended up on the floor again, moving his gaze up to the ceiling. He was tired. He wished he could just fall asleep and not deal with waking back up. Or at least sleep until he was able to deal with it. He guessed that wasn’t really a choice though. The closest he could get was death. Which— He would have laughed if he had the energy. If he actually cared enough. He wished he could just die. But he wasn’t really living anyways. Was death even possible for him? He wasn’t living. He wasn’t real. He didn’t even exist. Not in any way that mattered. Not in any way that would ever matter.
-
For the first time in weeks, he pushed himself to sit up. He wasn’t sure why. He forced his eyes away from the ceiling as he did, blinking away at the spots betraying how little he’d eaten recently. How little he’d done anything to take care of himself. Not that it mattered. It didn’t. It couldn’t and it never would and—
-
He blinked back a dry burning in his eyes and forced himself to stand up. He still wasn’t sure why. Maybe he was getting restless. Maybe he could only hate himself on the couch for so long before he had to go and hate himself somewhere else. Maybe he was going to leave. Slip away now that everyone had left the apartment and wouldn’t be able to stop him… He’d never understand why they always tried to stop him in the first place. They were going to get sick and tired of him at some point.
-
Maybe they already had. Maybe that’s what they were out doing. Trying to figure out a way to get rid of him. Maybe they didn’t trust he’d leave if they just told him to. Maybe they thought he would just stay laying on the couch instead of listening. He wasn’t sure if they were right to think that or not. He’d never been good at listening. Really, it was no wonder everyone had always ended up throwing him out.
-
He found himself in the bathroom instead of outside though. Which helped a bit to figure out what he was doing. He opened the first drawer under the sink and began looking through it. Aquila had taken his swiss knife as soon as they’d found him in the alleyway after he’d ran, what he’d just learned fresh and only just starting to sink in. He hadn’t seen it since. He doubted he’d find it in a bathroom drawer, but there were other blades he could find instead.
-
The first drawer didn’t have any, so he opened the next one. He’d find something somewhere. There were plenty of hiding places for shit like razor blades in here. And as much as he hated thinking about it, the others would never get rid of all of them. Even if they were worried about each other. Every single fucking one of them probably had one still hidden somewhere. He didn’t trust any of them to not be doing that sort of shit. Even if he hated the idea of them doing it… At least it meant he’d find something.
-
They were definitely going to throw him out after this, weren’t they? Really, how shitty was he? Being glad the people he cared about were probably fucking cutting themselves was a line he never thought he’d ever even have. Much less one he’d cross just because it meant he could find whatever the fuck they were using and do it himself. He hoped they kicked him out after this. They didn’t deserve him ruining their lives with his shit. They shouldn’t have to deal with him. He wasn’t worth it. He wasn’t worth a damn thing.
-
The second and third drawer he looked through were both lacking in blades. He considered going to the kitchen to look for something in there, just for a moment. Before he managed to remember Lacerta complaining about them having moved all of them. Just in case, they’d said. He hated that they were right to do it. So he turned his attention to the fourth drawer and started looking through it.
-
Maybe they were hiding them in the shower though. Or on a shelf. Or in the bedroom, in a nightstand. Maybe they were hidden somewhere in the sink cabinet instead of the drawers. There were a lot of places to hide blades. Too many, in his opinion. Not that his opinion really mattered. It didn’t change anything. He was almost willing to give up either way though, to just make his way back to the couch. Or the floor in front of it. Or to even just lay down on the bathroom floor where he was. To just let himself rot. He wasn’t even sure how far he’d been planning to go with it. Maybe he was going to take another shot at slicing his arms deep enough it’d kill him. It hadn’t worked the last however many times but, well…
-
He closed the fourth drawer after finding nothing yet again. For a moment, he leaned back, glancing towards the bathroom door, towards where he knew the couch was, and then glanced towards the floor he sat on instead. Trying to decide if going to the couch or just using the floor here would be better. He did neither, looking back at what was in front of him and opening the cabinet directly under the sink.
-
A box of purple hair dye was the first thing he saw. He stared at it for a moment before everything caught back up to him and he managed to remember that Aquila dyed their hair purple and the color wasn’t just their natural hair color. And that, yeah, they’d probably be dyeing their hair again soon, based on the usual amount of time between each touch up.
-
He kept staring at it. He shouldn’t be. It’d be better to just close the cabinet. Go back to the couch or lay on the floor or at least go back to looking for a sharp enough blade to actually do something. He shouldn’t— He shouldn’t be staring at hair dye. It wasn’t his. It didn’t have some special fucking meaning to him. Not like it did for Aquila. It wasn’t his. Nothing here was his. Nothing here would ever be his. Or anywhere fucking else for that matter.
-
But he couldn’t move his gaze away from it. Couldn’t get past the stinging in his eyes that didn’t have any right to be there—
-
It reminded him of Phlox. It reminded him of their bright purple eyes that he’d never been able to look at for long, their bright purple eyes that coined the first word in their nickname in the crew. It reminded him of how they’d ruffle his hair, trying to convince him that he should dye it, just so they’d have some small thing that’d link them together. It reminded him of the way they’d drag him behind them only to end up shoving him ahead, trying to show him everything, trying to get him to feel as safe on the water as they did. It’d never worked as well as he wished it would’ve, he’d never learned how to swim. He still didn’t know how to swim. He didn’t think he deserved to learn how to swim at this point. Just like how he didn’t deserve getting to remember Phlox Aqua.
-
He closed the cabinet and stood quickly. It didn’t seem near quick enough, not with the spots clouding his vision. Not with the way it seemed he couldn’t quite breathe. It hurt, more than he was willing to admit, more than he thought it should. His head was pounding behind his eyes and his chest was tight and he couldn’t figure out why. He should’ve gone back to the couch. Should’ve just laid on the floor here in the bathroom. He still could, it wasn’t— It wasn’t like he couldn’t.
-
His eyes caught himself in the mirror and he nearly flinched, gritting his teeth. There wasn’t anything wrong though. He’d never had issues with how he looked before. Not any like he had now, at least, staring at what was supposed to be his reflection. Staring at what couldn’t be his because nothing was his and even if it was, it wasn’t. Not really. Not the dull gray eyes staring back at him. Not the slightly crooked, hooked nose, the same one he’d liked before, now just an annoying reminder of how much had never been his. Not the way everything seemed sunken again now, though that’d never been something he’d liked, letting him know how little he had, how little he was worth in the world. Not the hands holding the sink like a lifetime, not the vines on the knuckles that hadn’t even been his idea to get. He couldn’t remember getting them, couldn’t remember whose idea they’d been. He somehow doubted they’d been his, like everything else at this point.
-
Not the ginger hair he kept finding himself staring at, the mess of curls he’d only just been learning to look after. That he’d stopped looking after weeks ago. They weren’t his. The dye wasn’t his, it wouldn’t make the hair he was staring at his. Even if it somehow did, the dye wasn’t his. It was Aquila’s. It wasn’t his. He didn’t even deserve it. Not when it’d remind him of Phlox. He didn’t deserve remembering them. Not when they’d cared about him before. He wasn’t even wearing the trench coat that was supposed to be his. He didn’t know if he should anymore. He didn’t think he deserved to. Not when he knew the last name that could’ve been his. It wasn’t. He knew it wasn’t. But that also meant accepting the name he’d been using wasn’t even his either. It’d never been his. Nothing was and nothing could or would be his and he’d never be able to change that—
-
The box of hair dye was open on the counter. He couldn’t remember pulling it out. He stared at it. He needed to just put it back. It wasn’t his. Aquila needed it. It wasn’t his.
-
He couldn’t think past the way Phlox had tried convincing him to dye his hair purple, as if his hair being the same color as their eyes would somehow make them related. He couldn’t think past the way Jinx’s hair was purple. Couldn’t think past the way he missed wearing the trench coat they gave him, missed having the patch on the back of it. Couldn’t think past how there was purple hair dye on the counter.
-
He’d never even dyed his hair before. He’d seen Aquila do it often enough though. It wasn’t a good idea. It wasn’t his. He’d already given all of them plenty of reasons to hate him, he didn’t need to add another. But they hadn’t thrown him out yet. They should’ve. They would at some point. There was no way they wouldn’t someday. They’d probably make him leave as soon as they got back, as soon as they saw him if he used— If he used Akira’s hair dye. It wasn’t his. He shouldn’t even be thinking about it. Why was he thinking about it? He should be looking for a blade still. He didn’t even deserve to dye his hair. It wouldn’t matter if he did, it wouldn’t change anything. It’d only make them kick him out sooner. It’d only make them realize how little they should want him around.
-
A too sharp breath forced his focus to the fact that he’d taken everything out of the box. That he was already shaking one of the bottles, gloves on and the lid off the other bottle. He stared for a moment, trying to figure out when he’d done it, trying not to get distracted by the slight staining on the gloves that was somehow already there.
-
He considered throwing the bottle. Considered punching the mirror and leaving himself so no one would have to tell him to leave. He doubted— He doubted Nico or— Or Ingall would ever tell him to leave. Even if they hated him, even if they couldn’t stand him. Maybe they already did. Maybe they’d get back to find him gone and only be upset that he ruined the bathroom mirror. Only be upset that he’d opened— Not even used, only opened— Akira’s hair dye.
-
He didn’t throw the bottle. He didn’t shatter the mirror. It’d be a waste of money if he didn’t use the bottle now. It’d be a waste of money either way. He forced his grip to tighten, just for a moment, just to convince himself that he was the one holding the hair dye bottle in his hand. Punching the mirror was an even worse idea than throwing the bottle in his hand, would be an even worse waste of money. He closed his eyes, just for a second, just to try and get rid of the pressure behind them. It didn’t work. It never had before.
-
When he opened his eyes, there was dye in his hair and dried tears he somehow hadn’t noticed earlier on his face. He wasn’t sure when he’d started putting dye in, he wasn’t sure when he’d started crying. He wasn’t sure when he’d stopped crying either. Just about the only thing he was sure about was that it was far too late to not use the hair dye now. He’d already put some in, it didn’t matter now. They’d all know now, they’d know he’d used at least whatever he’d already put in and he had the sinking feeling that they’d only hate him more if he stopped now. They’d kick him out either way. Akira would kick him out either way now. Scream at him to leave, that they’d been wrong to think anyone could ever want him around, that they’d been wrong to have ever even tried to care about him and—
-
This time, he heard the choked, strangled cry that forced him to hold onto the edge of the sink. It’d stain, ruined by him like he did everything else. No fucking wonder, right? He should’ve seen it coming. Should’ve known. Done better. Something. Damn anything to stop from messing shit up like he always did.
-
He stood there for a moment, one hand clenched around the edge of the sink counter, the other still holding the bottle, resting on the counter instead of holding him up using it. He could feel the tears in his eyes now, and he tried to blink them back. He shouldn’t be crying. He didn’t know why he was crying. He didn’t deserve to be crying. Nothing had even happened. They hadn’t thrown him out yet, they weren’t even here to do so yet. He wouldn’t deserve to cry when they did either. But nothing had happened. There was no reason to cry. He shouldn’t be crying.
-
The slightest of burning feelings at his head reminded him that there was dye in it and that he hadn’t even finished using it either. It seemed wrong to not use all of it now that he was using any of it. No one else was here to use it. He wasn’t supposed to be using it. It wasn’t his. But he was using it. So he forced his focus away from the fact that he was still crying, tears slowly making their way down, over the dried paths from a time he couldn’t even remember, and he let go of the counter. It took a moment longer for him to put more of the dye into his gloved hand.
-
It took even longer for him to start applying it to his hair again after that, like his hands didn’t quite want to listen to him yet. Not with the blurriness of his vision. The dye was probably going to be blotchy. They’d likely be upset about that too. Not only was he using Akira’s hair dye but he was using it to do a shit job at it too. Maybe they’d get rid of him just because of that. He’d given all of them more than enough reasons already. Maybe that’d just be the final fucking straw. There was always a final straw somewhere. There would always be a final straw.
-
He missed Phlox. He missed Jinx. And he missed Navis. And Spade. And Flood. And he missed being called Chips. And he missed the damn ship. He missed worrying about falling over the edge and drowning. He missed learning to sew with Flood. He missed Spade teaching him how to cheat at cards. He missed Navis teaching him how to play music and telling him about the stars. He missed Jinx telling him stories, missed her threatening anyone that messed with him and the rest of the crew. He missed Phlox ruffling his hair and giving him small trinkets they’d either stolen or found while away from the ship just because they thought he’d like to have them. There was a lot he missed. A lot that he could never get back. No matter how much he wished he could.
-
He bit at his lip, pausing and glancing at the mirror when something moved. The sight of the spider bite piercing almost surprised him, having to take a moment to remember that he’d gotten it years ago. It wasn’t new. The labret piercing was. He couldn’t remember when he’d gotten it but he hadn’t had it before. He took a breath. Maybe it’d been a recent impulsive decision. It wouldn’t have been the first. Or the last. He moved his eyes up to watch himself as he dyed his hair. He wasn’t crying as much now, at least. He used his tongue to mess with the piercing he’d half forgotten about. Maybe he had run out of all the energy he could use for crying. He’d rather not be crying when the others got back, he’d rather the numb despair he’d been dealing with recently. It was easier to deal with, it wasn’t as annoying. It’d make the hatred and anger and having to leave easier to deal with too.
-
He put more dye on his free hand before setting down the bottle so he could use both, and took a second to look at the smear on the gloves from the color. He wasn’t sure how he felt, about the dye, about the labret, about pretty much everything at the moment. He was tired, and his head was still pounding behind his eyes. But he definitely didn’t think he felt as bad as he had earlier. At the very least, the color was nice to look at on the gloves, its shade reminded him of Jinx’s hair.
-
He started raking it through his hair again, trying to remember just how Aquila— How Akira— always went about it. He grimaced, slightly, for a short moment, pausing what he was doing. Then he took another breath, shook his head, and focused back on dyeing his hair. It was easy enough to do, to get lost in the motions of.
-
He tilted his head, just enough to look for any hair he was missing in the mirror. The curls might’ve made that a bit harder, but the work around to just smooth more dye over anywhere that felt dry wasn’t. It was really all he could do to keep his focus from drifting away. To things he didn’t want to be thinking about at all. He’d thought about it plenty recently. He didn’t need to think about it more. It wouldn’t help to think about it more.
-
It was easy to get lost in the motions of applying the hair dye though. Easy enough that it was the only reason he even knew how to apply it in the first place. Easy enough that he’d gotten distracted by it just while watching Aquila— Watching Akira— dye their hair before. He huffed to himself for a second, eyes narrowing as if he were trying to figure out something. He blinked and focused back on the mirror again. He moved some of his hair around to try and get a better look at it, picking up the bottle sitting on the counter and putting more dye onto his hair.
-
His eyes caught sight of the stain the bottle left behind on the counter where it’d been sitting. He stared at it for a second before setting the bottle down again and going back to combing the dye through his hair. He didn’t look away from where he knew the stain was under the bottle. At least something was leaving a stain, proof that it’d been there. He almost wanted to move the bottle and put it somewhere else. The others wouldn’t be too happy about it. They wouldn’t be happy about most of this.
-
He shouldn’t be thinking about that either though. It was too late to go back and change anything. He couldn’t turn back time. It wouldn’t help anything to think about it, about what they’d do, what would happen. There had to be something better to think about instead. Something that wouldn’t make him feel worse than he already did.
-
He almost wished he was wearing his trench coat. The weight of it had always been comforting. He wasn’t sure why he wasn’t wearing it. He didn’t feel sure about a lot of things at the moment though, so maybe that had something to do with it. At least his coat couldn’t get stained with dye if he wasn’t wearing it, it already had too many other stains on it anyways, he’d rather not have any more added to it if he could avoid it. Which… Probably wasn’t possible, if he was being honest. Especially now that it was beyond likely he’d end up kicked out.
-
He wasn’t going to think about that though. He forced his eyes back to the mirror, tried to ignore his splitting headache and the dread still sitting in his empty stomach and instead tried to focus on the hair dye— Akira’s hair dye, it wasn’t his— he was still putting through his hair. He took a deep breath, ignored the way his lungs ached with it, and gritted his teeth. It didn’t matter. If they hadn’t wanted it stolen, then it shouldn’t have been where he could steal it. They’d stolen worse.
-
He’d stolen worse. He’d stolen way worse. All of them were going to make him leave anyway. What did it matter? It didn’t. It didn’t fucking matter. Nothing here fuckkng mattered.
-
The bottle was out of hair dye. Had he used too much? It looked like there was a lot in his hair. Was it even possible to use too much hair dye when dyeing hair? He wasn’t sure. How was he supposed to know? He’d never dyed his hair before. He’d probably never dye it again after this. Not like he’d be able to once he got kicked out and he wasn’t going to steal something he didn’t need. Or buy something he didn’t need. Either way, he didn’t think the bottle running out really mattered. He hadn’t been about to throw the bottle away unless it was empty anyways. It’d be a waste. It already had been wasted. But not using all of it seemed like a bigger waste.
- He picked up the empty bottle and threw it away, the gloves following soon after. What was he supposed to do next? He knew he was supposed to wait at least a bit before rinsing it. How long was he supposed to wait though? How was he even supposed to keep track of the damn time? There wasn’t a clock in the bathroom. Leaving to go look for one seemed like too much though. It wasn’t like he even knew how long he was supposed to wait, so knowing the time wouldn’t be all that helpful anyways. He almost wanted to just lay down, but he wasn’t sure if he’d be able to convince himself to get back up. He didn’t want to ruin the dye he had in his hair either, not more than he’d already managed to at least.
-
It wasn’t— He was ruining things with the others— Shut up— It wasn’t like he hadn’t already ruined things with the others— Shut it— He’d already ruined everything, but now he was just making it worse— He shouldn’t be thinking about it— There was no way they were going to want to keep him around— Shut— They’d— They were going to- He’d be thrown out again— Stop thinking— He’d deserve it but— Stop thinking, stop thinking, stop— They were going to hate him— They probably already did— Why wouldn’t they? He’d given them plenty of reasons and— Oh, stars, no— The whole hair dyeing would only be the last nail in the coffin— No, no, no, no, no— Ingall would hate the stains and Revan could barely stand him anyway and he’d stolen Akira’s hair dye, it wasn’t his, and— Shut up— And Nico— Shut up, shut up, shut up— Nico would hate him for ever making them think they could somehow worry about him and—
-
He was sitting on the lid of the toilet, palms of hands that could never belong to him pressed into eyes that were much the same, headache back full force. He wasn’t sure when he’d sat down. The palms felt wet, almost. Like he’d been trying to stop himself from crying again. He didn’t move them. Not with the headache that was threatening to tear through his skull. Instead, he pushed them further and tried to ignore the lump in his throat.
-
They’d been right about him. Everyone had been right about him. Had always been right about him. He couldn’t even be bothered to listen to who were supposed to be his partners. Couldn’t be bothered to learn from his mistakes. Couldn’t be bothered to stop making them deal with his stupid fucking head. Couldn’t be bothered to not use their fucking hair dye. It wasn’t that hard, it shouldn’t be that hard to just ignore Akira’s hair dye. So of course they’d all been right about him. He wasn’t someone who people cared about. He’d never been someone that people could actually care about or want around. Or think about, or tolerate. Let alone fucking keep around. He never would be someone like that either, would he? He’d always find a way to fucking ruin it for himself, he’d always find a way to push people past how much of him they were willing to put up with.
-
He couldn’t even blame any of them. No one should’ve ever had to deal with him. No one should still be having to deal with him. Not when he still couldn’t ever seem to just fucking learn. Couldn’t ever listen, or shut up, or pay attention, or do the shit he was supposed to, or just be good. In any damn way. He wasn’t a child anymore, hadn’t been one for years. He should’ve learned something by now. He shouldn’t be making the same mistakes. How the fuck had he thought he’d ever have a chance at someone wanting him?
-
He gritted his teeth and took a breath… He still had to rinse the dye out. It had probably been long enough. And if it hadn’t then… Oh well. He’d deal with it. It didn’t really matter either way. He shouldn’t have dyed his hair to begin with. It wasn’t his dye, and it wasn’t even really his hair. He pushed the palms at his eyes for another second, in a last ditch effort at getting rid of the headache still digging behind them. It didn’t help, it never really seemed to though. He wasn’t sure why he still tried.
-
So he pulled away and blinked a few times at the change in pressure, the change in lighting, and… Sat there. His foot started to tap at the ground. The water wasn’t even on yet. He huffed at himself and forced himself to stand. And did nothing but look around the bathroom as if he could find a way out of having to turn anything on in order to rinse the dye. There wasn’t any other way to rinse it though. Which was fucking obvious. Why would there be a different way to rinse it? He bit at his tongue to keep himself from huffing again. His foot was still tapping against the tiled floor. The only real choice for rinsing the hair dye was the shower. He was too tall for the sink, and that idea just seemed even worse than the shower anyway. Not that the shower seemed like a good idea either.
-
It probably was a good idea though. He wasn’t sure when he’d last taken a shower. Even if this one would just be to rinse hair dye, it’d be something. Which was better than nothing. Except he really didn’t want to be having to hear running water at the moment.
-
Which was just fucking stupid. There was no reason for him to be so… He wasn’t even sure. He didn’t know how he felt. Just… Bad. Because of water. That wasn’t even on yet. He was so fucking dumb as shit. He had to turn the water on and rinse the dye either way. It didn’t matter how he felt. It didn’t. It really fucking didn’t. It never had before and it didn’t now. It was just water. It wasn’t even water, it was just the thought of water. Because he still hadn’t even turned the water on yet. He needed to do that. He needed to just get over himself and turn it on.
-
He forced his feet to move, forced himself over to the shower so he’d just turn on the damned water already. Getting himself to grab the knob to the cold water was easier once he’d started moving. |
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Part 2
Prompt; No prompt, just the first time Garvin dyes his hair, haha.
Characters; Garvin, Nico, Akira, and Ingall. Revan, Phlox Aqua, Jinx, Navis, Spade, and Flood are mentioned.
Word Count; 10,790 total. This part has 5,523.
TWs; Depression, like, wow. So much depression. Suicidal thoughts. Suicidal ideation. Self worth issues. Dissociation. Self hatred. Implied/referenced self harm. Swearing. Implied child abuse. Past child abuse. Past verbal abuse. Past emotional abuse. Past suicide attempt. Internalized ableism. Ableist language (thoughts but still). One time use of the R word (I am neurodivergent please do not come at me, again, it is but thought). Trauma. Oh, and messy writing? Definitely messy ending.
Notes; Why did they leave the apartment? I have no idea. Maybe to try and figure out what to do because nothing they’d been trying was working. This is such a terrible time for him. Man. Can’t wait for the eventual DNA test arc that would cause this. No clue if that arc actually happens or not but it should. It’s so necessary for the eventual healing. Does it take him back like, five hundred steps first? Yeah. But it’s so necessary for his healing. Recovery isn’t linear, after all. Sometimes it’s small steps forwards, then one of the deepest valleys anyone has ever seen, and then even smaller and slower steps forward. Do not let the TWs trick you, this has a… I wouldn’t say a happy ending. But uh. Happier ending than my other writings, at least?
*~*~*~*
“Garvy, we’re back!”
-
He jumped back at Nico’s forcefully cheery voice, never getting to turn the knob as he let go and looked back towards the still open door of the bathroom. He stayed still, watching and almost hoping that they wouldn’t notice that he wasn’t on the couch anymore. That he wasn’t on the floor either. Almost hoping that if they did then they wouldn’t look for him, just assume he had left and finally be able to admit how much they had wanted him to, how long they’d been waiting for him to.
-
“…Garvin?”
-
His heart lurched at the sound of Akira’s voice and for a moment he forgot how to breathe, cringing at the name that wasn’t really his. But then he was standing and closing the bathroom door as quietly as he could. He stood staring for a second before locking it too. He’d used their hair dye. He’d be kicked out. The second they saw him, they’d kick him out.
-
He took a step back away from the door. He shouldn’t have used their hair dye. He shouldn’t be locking the door to try and keep them from seeing it. To try and keep them from hating him. From throwing him out. It’d happen no matter what. It was going to happen no matter what.
-
He grabbed the edge of the counter to keep himself standing, staring at the door with vision that was quickly getting blurry. It seemed wrong. Knees wanting to give out and tears prickling at the thought of them telling him to leave. It didn’t seem fair. He’d deserve that. He shouldn’t be having such a damn hard time breathing over it. He deserved to get kicked out. If he were being honest with himself, he probably deserved worse.
-
What if they did worse? He’d given them all plenty of reasons before this. And now he’d used Akira’s hair dye. Akira. Who dyed their hair to honor someone they’d lost. Someone that was dead. Getting told to leave was going to be the fucking least of it, wasn’t it?
-
There was a soft knock at the door and, “Vinny? Are you in there?”
-
He blinked, heaving a shaky breath at Nico’s voice. They’d hate him too. She’d see the dyed hair and know, just like he did. They’d see the dyed hair and if he didn’t already hate him, then they would.
-
“Did you find him, Nico?”
-
The sound of Akira approaching and asking a question made his heart drop into his stomach as he took another step away from the door. And while he could hear Nico answering them, he couldn’t get past the hammering in his chest to know what was said. It didn’t matter in the long run either. They’d hate him. They’d all fucking hate him. They probably already did. He’d only given them another reason to kick him out by doing this, given them another reason to hate him, another reason to want him gone, another reason to give up and snap and just tell him to leave like they’d probably wanted to for years. They’d probably give him a damn good beating before kicking him out too. For wasting their time, for making them think he could ever actually be good, for every single fucking thing he’d ever done wrong. For every single fucking thing he’d ever done to make them hate him. And there was probably plenty.
-
He ended up on the ground, legs deciding that they didn’t want to work at the same time as the shitty fucking lungs in charge of his breathing. He pushed himself against the short wall of the shower, and tried to force his breath to come back. He deserved whatever they all decided to do. There was no reason for him to be freaking the fuck out over something he deserved. If he hadn’t wanted to be kicked out, if he hadn’t wanted to deserve them beating him into the damn ground before kicking him out, then he shouldn’t have done anything to make them do all that to him.
-
“Vinny? Can you open the door please?”
-
He cringed, that was- That was Nico again. Worried and strained. As if that wouldn’t change, as if they wouldn’t hate him the moment the door opened and they saw him. It’d be best to just open the door. It’d be best to just accept what was going to happen and open the door. They’d all be more upset if they had to break it down or find some other way in just because he was- Because he was what? Scared? There wasn’t anything to be scared of. He was being stupid. He was being so fucking stupid. There was no reason to be scared. He wasn’t even sure if he was scared. Which was dumb as shit. More than if he was scared. How the fuck could he not know? That wasn’t something people didn’t know. That wasn’t something people couldn’t tell.
-
Someone was still talking, probably- Probably Nico. He couldn’t quite- He couldn’t get himself to really hear what was being said. He couldn’t make the words make sense. He couldn’t even get his breathing to work right. He couldn’t get his brain to work right. He wanted to throw something, he wanted to scream. Scream and cry and kick like he was some stupid fucking child throwing a damn fit. He never listened, never fucking learned. He couldn’t even throw the dumb ass fit, he couldn’t get his voice to work. Even if he could, he couldn’t breathe enough to actually scream. It was stupid. Pathetic. He shouldn’t be struggling to breathe, he shouldn’t be struggling to do anything. It shouldn’t be this damn hard to get his voice to just fucking work. What he needed was a damn smoke.
-
The sound of a loud, harsh bang against the door caught his attention enough for him to hear someone yell, “Garvin! Open the door!”
-
He felt himself push up further against the wall of the shower, a too sharp gasp of breath finally finding its way to his lungs. Because that- That was Akira again. And that had to be anger. Which meant they knew. They somehow already knew. Or maybe the final straw was just him locking the door. Not letting them in. Which meant they’d be even more pissed when they did know. When they saw that he’d used their hair dye. They’d be fucking furious. They’d definitely beat his ass before kicking him out. They’d probably have to be pulled off of him so that the others could kick him out. Maybe no one would pull them away. Maybe the others would know he deserved it. Maybe they’d cheer it on or join in or- Or something. He didn’t know what. All he fucking knew was Akira was still banging on the door and screaming at him to open it and they must’ve already been pissed. They must’ve already been in a bad mood and he’d just had to go and ruin everything again and again and again and again and—
-
He managed to let out a small, choked sounding whine, which was how he realized he was full on crying again. His legs were pulled up to his chest, his arms wrapped around them as if to keep them there. He would’ve rathered have stayed quiet. Would have rathered not making a dumb ass noise like it could make them decide not to kick him out or hurt him. It never fucking did. If anything it only ever made things worse. He already didn’t know how bad it was going to be. He’d made it worse though. Maybe they’d just fucking kill him, just go ahead and beat him to death. No one would care. No one would cry or notice. No one would even remember after a damn day. Probably less, honestly. They could kill him. They could. And it wouldn’t even fucking matter.
-
He almost wished they would. It’d be better than the damned streets. It’d be better than the fake, non-fucking-existent life he’d already gone through. That he’d still been going through. That he would never stop going through until he was fully and completely fucking dead.
-
“Garvin, it’s Ingall, can I come in?”
-
The sound of- Of Ingall’s voice was what made him realize that Akira had stopped the loud fucking knocking. That they had stopped a while ago. That it was likely they weren’t even near the door anymore. Were they trying to find a different way in? Would they find one? He knew they could just break it down. Why weren’t they just breaking it down? That’d be easier for them. Why were they looking for another way in? Why was- Why was Ingall trying to ask him if they were looking for another way in? He wasn’t even sure if he was able to answer, his voice still wasn’t working. He was still trying to get his breathing back under control.
-
It didn’t make sense. There was no reason for him to be crying, there was no reason for him to be having trouble breathing. There was no reason for his legs not to be working. There was no reason for- For Ingall to sound as worried, as damn calm as he did. It didn’t make sense. Not when Apus- Not when Ingall could just use his ability to get him to open the door instead of asking him to open it.
-
“Garvin? I’m going to open the door and come in. It’s just me. If you want me to leave, then I will. Alright?”
-
He pushed himself back against the wall of the shower some more, trying to breathe well enough to do something. There wasn’t really anything to do though. He was stuck and there wasn’t any way out and the moment the door opened, if they didn’t already, they would all hate him. It didn’t matter if- If Ingall said no one else was going to come into the bathroom, they’d see him and what he did and they’d force their way in anyway. Force their way through and- And do something. Kill him or beat him and kick him out or- Or something. And he’d fucking deserve it.
-
He tried to ignore the way he was shaking, the way he was acting like a damn, fucking retard. Tried to ignore the tears still running down his face for no fucking reason. Tried to ignore or accept that there wasn’t anything he could even do. There were too many ways that- That Ingall could get in using. A lock wasn’t going to keep him out. A lock wasn’t going to keep him safe. It never had before. Of course it still wouldn’t now. He shouldn’t have even tried it. He’d known it wasn’t going to work. He should’ve known it wasn’t going to work. Why hadn’t he known it wasn’t going to work? He should’ve. He should’ve known. He fucking should’ve known.
-
“I’m going to pick the lock so I can get in now, okay?”
-
He pulled his legs closer to his chest, leaned his forehead against his knees, and tried to get his breathing to calm down. To work. To listen to him. Tried to get himself to calm down enough to listen to what he was trying to do. Tried to accept that it all was… That it was over. That he’d either die here or he’d be thrown out and die out on the streets like he’d always thought he would, always knew he would. Someday, somewhere, somehow. That, no matter what, there was nothing he could do to change it. He’d probably laugh if he’d had the breath to do so. But he still couldn’t breathe, so he couldn’t even if he’d wanted to.
-
“Garvin, I’m opening the door now and coming in, okay? Again, if you want me to leave, I will.”
-
He was so.. Tired. Like he’d run out of energy, of tears and fear and time. The pounding in his head seemed to have gotten worse too, it didn’t help him with anything else. He still couldn’t get his voice to work, couldn’t quite get his breathing to make sense. But he was tired and the sound of the door opening made him cringe. He tried to ignore it, he tried to just accept what was going to happen.
-
The door closed, softly, only loud enough that he could hear as it was closed, in time with a voice whispering, as if not really for his ears, “Oh..”
-
He didn’t look up, but whether that was because he didn’t want to see the hatred when it came or because he was just too tired to look up, he wasn’t sure. Either way, nothing seemed to happen for a moment. He didn’t try to explain himself, didn’t try to do anything but stay still for once in his worthless life. Anything he could do was only more likely to make things worse. And he wasn’t even sure if he could speak again yet anyway. Which was stupid and dumb and he should be able to speak.
-
Him letting out a still too shaky breath seemed to break the silence enough to get Ingall moving again. At least, if the sound of too soft footsteps were anything to go off of. They didn’t last long anyway, and when they stopped, he didn’t look up, didn’t do anything more than tense and wait and try to steady his breathing.
-
“Okay.. Vin, hey, you’re okay. Alright? You’re okay. It’s just me, it’s Ingall.” His voice was soft. Far softer than he deserved. Far softer than he’d been expecting. Where was the hate? The screaming and yelling and demands for him to leave? The insults and the sharp truths?
-
Somehow, he still managed to cringe at the nickname of the name that wasn’t his. Hadn’t actually ever been his. Silence stretched on. He couldn’t get himself to look up. He still couldn’t quite find his voice. His throat felt too tight. He was tired and tense and his head wouldn’t stop pounding behind his eyes. Wouldn’t stop screaming at him to- To do something. Anything that would fix this. But there wasn’t anything he could do and he was tired. He didn’t want to deal with it. Any of it.
-
Ingall was the one to break the silence again, voice still too soft, too caring. As if he deserved the kindness in it. “Can… Can you tell me what happened?”
-
He bit his lip, felt the spider bite piercing rub against his upper lip, and heard someone answer, muffled and slow. Mumbling. It took him a moment to realize it was him. It didn’t sound like him. “Used ‘quil… Akira’s…‘air dye..”
-
Silence picked back up, he couldn’t look up. He couldn’t bring himself to. He didn’t know what he would find. He didn’t know if he had the energy to figure out whatever he found there meant. Voices were already hard enough. He wanted to go to sleep. Wanted to not have to wake up. He didn’t want to be dealing with this. Even if Ingall somehow didn’t hate him the rest of them would or they already did. Akira would hate him most. He’d used their hair dye, they’d hate him even if Revan didn’t.
-
When Ingall spoke again, the words were still too soft, worried and caring in a way he could never deserve. “Are- Are you hurt anywhere?”
-
He wished he was. He deserved to be. There wasn’t much else to it. But either way, he wasn’t hurt. For whatever reason, he wasn’t hurt. He was fine. He was stupid and terrible and he deserved to be hurt. But he wasn’t. So he forced himself to shake his head, listening as what was supposed to be his voice spoke up, hoarse either from crying, disuse, or something else. “..No, ‘fraid not…”
-
“Good. I don’t want you to be hurt. None of us want you to be hurt.”
-
He looked up at that, utterly confused, only to find Ingall sitting across from him, close enough to touch but hands kept firmly away, gaze nowhere near him. He stared, trying to figure out if Ingall actually believed that. Trying to ignore the way his throat seemed to be closing again, trying to ignore the way his shoulders were starting to hunch, trying to ignore the way he couldn’t figure it out.
-
Ingall looked over at him, eyes glancing up at his hair. He cringed, waiting for a sudden snap or even any sign of one. None came, and Ingall looked back towards him before speaking. “We should rinse it, shouldn’t we?”
-
He blinked for a moment before he realized that Ingall meant the dye. Trying to ignore the way Ingall included himself in it. And trying to ignore how he was having to be helped at doing something he shouldn’t have even done. He nodded, slowly, taking the moment to make sure his voice was still working. “I… Yeah. We prob‘ly should..”
-
He watched as Ingall nodded, watched as he stood and glanced towards the door. That was all he was willing to watch though, so he found himself leaning his forehead against his knees again. He should be standing with Ingall. He wasn’t sure if his legs would let him yet. He was just… Tired. Beyond tired for some reason he didn’t even know. He felt like he should know, like that was something that anyone else would know. How did someone not know why they’re tired? It didn’t make sense. Somehow, it only seemed to make him feel more tired to try and figure it out.
-
He closed his eyes instead, just to wait for Ingall to be done staring at the door or whatever it was he was doing. He didn’t know. He couldn’t see if he wasn’t looking, and he wasn’t. He’d just get up whenever he had to. He didn’t want to yet. The energy wasn’t there and the usually dull, ignorable pain in his joints seemed like it was trying to get his attention. So, yeah, he’d stand when he had to. If he didn’t have to yet, then he’d just rather not. The throbbing pain in his head that only seemed to get worse with time was enough for him at the moment.
-
The moment passed by all too quickly, he hadn’t even noticed time passed at all when Ingall spoke again, still too soft. He’d say it was too careful but he couldn’t be sure that wasn’t just Ingall. It was harder to tell with him, just because he was always careful, always sounded careful. “Vin? Are you ready to rinse the dye out?”
-
He looked up, resting his chin on his knees instead, and his eyes landed on the chair that was now in the bathroom in front of the sink, faced away from it. It hadn’t been there before, but he also wasn’t sure when or how it’d gotten there. So he ignored it and instead glanced over at Ingall standing between the chair and the door, at the gloves on his hands, and forced himself to nod. To let go of his legs and start using the short wall behind him to push up. His legs felt just as shaky as he'd expected them to be, just as against the idea of standing and walking as he knew they would be. He needed a smoke. Or just… Something that would make it all easier. He caught sight of a cup on the sink counter as he stood that, as far as he knew, hadn’t been there before either. He glanced at Ingall again, looking for some sort of answer or even just a clue to what was going on, what he was planning, without having to ask.
-
He got a faint smile in return, seeming more for his sake than anything else, but he couldn’t really be sure. Not at the moment, not with him as tired as he was. The smile didn’t last long either way, Ingall going on to speak too. “I just thought it might be easier if you sit down.”
-
That… Didn’t help much to tell him what was going on, if he was being honest. But he was too tired to even try asking for anything else. He’d figure it out at some point. So he held back on running a hand through his hair or down his face and just tried to focus on getting to the chair for Ingall without falling because his legs were still being stupid as shit and weren't really wanting to be holding him up. The chair wasn’t all that far from him, at least, so he managed to get over to it and sit down easily enough.
-
He closed his eyes for a moment, listening as Ingall shifted around and spoke, voice still soft, quiet. As if knowing he couldn’t handle more than that. It still didn’t seem right, he couldn’t find it in him to care all that much though. “I’m going to turn the water on now, alright?”
-
He stayed quiet for a second, listening for the sound of running water. But the sound didn’t come and he didn’t hear the water didn’t turn on. So he hummed, not quite able to find his words but not wanting to just nod again. Another second passed before he heard the sound of the sink handle moving and running water followed. He took a breath, tried to focus on the passing seconds instead, and waited for the water to hit him. But it didn’t, and not long after it’d been turned on, the water was turned off again. He shifted, looking over towards Ingall and finding the cup that had been on the counter in one of his gloved hands instead.
-
The sight was enough for him to finally make sense of what was happening, and he turned back again. It was a smart idea, and it was something he didn’t deserve. But he wasn’t willing to argue that, not with the way he was struggling to simply not close his eyes to try and get rid of the pressure behind them. To try and get rid of some of the exhaustion that was clinging to him.
-
“Can you lean back for me? I’m going to try and make sure none of the water gets on your face.” Ingalls’ voice was still soft, careful and caring and far more than what he deserved. The whole reaction Ingall had had so far was better than he deserved. The small kindness in that alone was so much more than he deserved.
-
He leaned back like he’d been asked to regardless, closing his eyes as he did. He couldn’t find it in him to even try and get the reaction that he did deserve. He was tired. He’d take whatever kindness he was given for now. It wouldn’t last. No matter what, he knew it wouldn’t last. The others would still find out. Akira would still find out. And there wouldn’t be any kindness then.
-
A hand gently pushing his forehead back kept him from spiraling, followed shortly by water running through his hair for a moment before stopping. Again, Ingalls’ voice was soft, almost worried, and still so much kinder than he could ever deserve. “Is this alright, Vin?”
-
He didn’t try to nod, not willing to move to do so and make Ingall think he was trying to get away. He didn’t try to speak either, still not trusting his voice to truly work. Instead, he simply hummed again, trying not to cringe at the nickname of a name that had never actually belonged to him in case of it making Ingall think he was lying to him, and hoped that was enough of an answer. For a few seconds, there wasn’t any movement, and he worried he’d done something else. Something that would ruin whatever was keeping him from not being thrown out just yet. He didn’t open his eyes to look, to try and figure out if he had.
-
The moment passed on its own, and Ingall started to pour the water through his hair again. He didn’t ask about the pause. He didn’t open his eyes to look over and figure it out himself. For once in his life, he managed to just stay quiet, he managed to just stay still. As if it could somehow make up for every time he hadn’t. Or maybe he was just that tired. He didn’t know. It was either one or the other though. He’d bet on it being that he was tired.
-
The next time the water stopped, he could tell it was because the cup just didn’t have any more in it. Ingalls’ voice followed soon, still far too kind, far too soft. “I’m going to turn the water on again, okay? Just like last time.”
-
He managed to hum a bit quicker than the last time, listening for the sound of the water being turned on and focusing on his breathing, on the passing seconds when he heard the sound of running water. It was turned off again soon after. Knowing Ingall, it was turned off as soon as possible. And a few seconds after it was turned off, it was being poured down his hair again, a gloved hand still on his forehead and keeping the water from getting to his face at all.
-
The cycle continued like that for a while, with Ingall making sure to tell him before the water turned on each time and waiting until he gave some sort of reply to actually turn it on at all. With Ingall threading the water through his hair to rinse out the extra dye and asking every so often if he was alright with it, if he was okay. It was more than he deserved. It was so much more than what he deserved. He kept his eyes closed throughout, listening to the water and the questions, responding when he had to. Listening to the sounds of a conversation that he couldn’t quite make out the words of happening beyond the bathroom. It was slowly getting louder though, so it was possible he’d figure out what it was about at some point.
-
The ‘at some point’ came much sooner than he’d thought it would. It didn’t come because he could tell what was being said though. It came while Ingall ran water through his hair and spoke, voice calm and careful and still soft. But also almost gentle too, like he was teetering on a high edge. “I told Revan what happened so he’d bring me the chair and cup earlier. He ended up telling Nico too, and they brought the cup.”
-
He did open his eyes at that, chest tightening and heart sinking, trying to look at Ingall without moving, trying to figure out what all that meant. Trying to figure out if it meant that Akira knew and the conversation was about him, about what all to do with him, to decide if kicking him out was enough or not.
-
Ingalls’ voice continued, “Neither of them were… Neither of them are mad at you. Revan isn’t mad. Nico isn’t mad. Neither of them are mad. I told them to tell Akira what happened, and to talk about it with them. None of them are mad at you.”
-
He stared towards where he knew Ingall was, unable to actually see him, to even try and read his face. Breathing seemed harder, just a bit. He blinked a few times. He wanted to ask how Ingall knew Akira wouldn’t be mad. How he knew Revan and Nico weren’t mad. He couldn’t find his voice. He closed his eyes again and focused on just trying to breathe. Tried to ignore the conversation through the walls that was likely about him.
-
Ingall didn’t speak again for a while, and when he did, it wasn’t about the other three. It was with the sound of a cup being placed down and gloves being pulled off of his hands. The voice seemed to be far more gentle than it had been before. “I should be done rinsing it now, if you want to dry it off and look?”
-
He took a breath and forced himself to open his eyes. It was better to get it over with, wasn’t it? To just dry it off, look at it, and then face the storm that was undoubtedly waiting for him outside the bathroom. He looked over at the towel Ingall was offering him, and took another breath.
-
Then, he looked at Ingall and forced his voice to work enough to ask. “Wha’ ‘bout you?” The look of confusion was enough to get him to take the towel before continuing. “…Are ya mad, Ingall?”
-
Ingall stared at him for a moment before saying anything, and his voice somehow seemed even softer when he did. “I’m not mad at you.”
-
The words seemed heavy, for some reason. He couldn’t figure out why though. He looked at him for a bit longer, taking as deep a breath he could without it making his lungs ache… And dried his hair off with the towel he’d been handed. He’d figure out if that was true later. Either that or it just wouldn’t matter because he’d be kicked out by the others, or at least by Akira. Though, frankly, he wasn’t even sure what to expect at this point. Regardless, drying his hair with the towel didn’t take long, and when it was dry, he forced himself to turn and look at the mirror.
-
He took another deep breath at the color. Which wasn’t really all that purple. It was more violet, if anything. Or magenta. Either way, it wasn’t like Akira’s or Jinx’s. It was closer to the color Aqua had always tried to get him to do but it still didn’t seem quite right to say he’d somehow managed to dye it phlox purple. It almost hurt, knowing it wasn’t quite right with any of them. It hurt more that he actually kind of liked it, that it somehow managed to feel more like him than the ginger hair had in years.
-
He bit his lip, leaned back, and forced himself to stand up, using the counter for support in case his legs decided they still didn’t like him enough to work like they were supposed to. He glanced at the mirror again, and then looked at Ingall, trying to figure out how to… Do or say anything, really. There was a lot he probably should be saying or doing. There was a lot that he wanted to say, that he wanted to do. But when he finally managed to speak, it wasn’t anywhere near as much as he owed, it was small and it was awkward, but it was all he could think to say, “I… Thanks, Polaris.”
-
Ingalls’ small smile at his words made it seem worth it though, it made whatever happened next seem worth it too, and when Gall spoke, the words seemed genuine, seemed sincere to where they were almost too much, “Of course, Vinny, any time.”
-
He paused, if only for a moment, glancing towards the door, and then tried to give a small smile of his own. “I, uh… ‘Spose I should face alla ‘em, huh?”
-
“None of us are mad at you.” Crescents’ voice was still calm, still soft. There was something under it he couldn’t get to though too. He didn’t try to.
-
No, instead he just slowly nodded and tried to believe it. He looked at the door, listened to the conversation he still couldn’t quite make out, and looked back at Apus. “Yer sure none o’ ‘em are mad?”
-
The responding sigh almost didn’t seem like it was directed at him. “They aren’t mad at you. I promise.”
-
He took a deep breath, tried to ignore the way his chest tightened, and nodded again. He almost didn’t want to go out there. He didn’t want to see what he’d find. He didn’t want to face the pity he’d been dealing with for weeks. He’d almost prefer them hating him. Still, he had to. He knew he had to. There was no way out of it. He couldn’t hide in the bathroom from them all forever, after all. So he tried to grin, and he tried to keep his voice light, “Right, well… If ya promise..”
-
It wasn’t nearly as hard to walk out as he’d expected, with Angel trailing right behind him carefully and the nearby conversation quieting as the bathroom door opened and closed again. The hardest part was the walking itself, with his joints basically screaming at him and having to stay close to the wall for in case he needed support. When he got to where the other three were though, he leaned in the doorway and tried not to panic.
-
It turned out, none of them were mad at him. |
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There we go. Both parts. The formatting took forever. |
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Fall 
Night Weather: 
Hurricane Moon: 
