brohm {2} rathbone || cb

b r o h m

His heart does something peculiar, whenever he's frightened. Drops into the pit of his stomach and the sweat that beads upon his palms is painfully obvious with every swipe across torn jeans. He knows the stain it leaves is nothing more than an invitation for goading words and laughter that cuts into his skin like needles even though he's not sure why it does. Things hurt. That is the most sense he can make of this- of everything. Of hands upon his shoulders and smiles that seemed so inviting only hours ago.

It was stupid. He was stupid. Laughingstock- disappointment, his friends do not spit these words but they hang in the air around them. More painful than the knee forced into his stomach not a moment later. friends. He had called them that. Smiling ear to ear with some sickening happiness settled in the pit of his stomach. A happiness that he rather feels like throwing up now. And oh, he should have seen this coming. They way they had approached him, wolves bearing bloody smiles and promises that were too good to be true.

He does not talk to Fox when he gets home- body aching and chest feeling rather tight. He hides the bruises with long sleeves and oversized sweaters. He hides his shame with a coward's smile. "I had the best time!" He weaves a web of lies crafted from stardust and tears, he reinforces it with pride built upon nothing every weekend that he locks himself away within musty pages and leather binding, under the guise of causing mayhem with his peers. With someone other than a brother who he knew took pity on him.

Brohm Rathbone was a bastard and an idiot.

And he'd never forget.