sorry can't save me now ] ky & asher

I've been called an idiot most of my life. Harsh and accusing, followed by the crack of a palm against my cheek. Soft and loving, lilted like the lips curving into a smile pressed to the top of my head. I'm not sensitive by any stretch of the imagination but there was something about the insult that never sat right with me.

I got good grades in school, hell I'd beat the shit outta past me for being a damn nerd. I've just got a different way of understanding things, my heads too loud all of time to pick up on whispers. If you're not brave enough to scream it at me, I don't give a shit what you've got to say. If there's anything I can't stand it's a fucking coward.

"'Course you're special, Ky." Thought I made that obvious. Why else would I be throwing rocks at his window in the freezing cold? People really like to assume the worst of me. "You and Cedric are the only two people I'd admit to liking." I'm tempted to reach out and pinch his nose, like I would to make Ced's face scrunch up and burst into those peals of precious laughter.

I don't wanna cross any boundaries, though. I'm not the best at picking up on caution tape. It's far too much fun to risk my toes stepping over bright-red lines. Ky certainly isn't my nephew so I imagine I can't get away with half as much teasing. It's strange, though, that I'm not even willing to try. I'd hate to shatter this soft little moment we're having.

I'm hanging on his every word, far too invested in a conversation about a fuckin' cake 'til - "And I'm not going to judge you if you only like vanilla," - he loses me completely. The words have shadows and I get the distinct impression we're having two separate conversations here. It's those whispers I was talking about.

It's not unexpected - I've always known Ky was a bit of a coward.

"Ky." He's rambling, accelerating into a nose-dive so I try to interrupt it, "Ky!" I don't want him to think I'm pissed, so I scowl at the recipe card instead of him. 'Cause I'm not upset, I'm really not it's more - "Can you just say what you mean?"

I bite my tongue after it slips out. Fuck, that sounded too aggressive. Well, I'm already in the deep end, might as well enjoy the way I drown. "Because we're not talking about a fucking birthday cake anymore."

I've been called an idiot all my life, but turns out I'm really not.

"Oh." I want to tell him he looks stupid with flour on his cheeks but for the first time in my life I think someone's knocked the breath out of me. I waste a lot of time pretending I'm too bold for regrets yet here I am wishing I'd have held my tongue for once in my fucking life.

The question doesn't make me uncomfortable, per say, just unearths a couple demons I'm desperate to ignore. I've never known beautiful love. The kind you read about in storybooks, tied up in silk and happy endings. It's poisonous and all consuming. It's hands wrapped around your throat hard enough to bruise all while insisting the touch is earned.

I've been told that's not real love, but that's just because people don't want to admit how toxic it can be. Careers marry out of logic, their love is as practical as it is sterile. God forbid real feelings get involved so everything goes even more to shit. Poppy raked herself over the coals for nearly a decade, ruining more than just herself as she tried to meet a broken man at rock bottom.

But I know she loves him, with such absolution it's almost beautiful. Doesn't make me feel any better about it.

Frankly, I'd rather ignore it exists at all. We're in dangerous territory here, there's far too much vulnerability leaking into my expression when I meet Ky's gaze. It's heavy and I feel like there's a right answer to this question but I've got no idea what it is. I chew on my lip for a while, aware of how uncomfortable this silence is.

And it's all me. I'm making this weird.

Fuck.

"I mean I've found both attractive before." There's no shortage of beautiful people in training centers, it was more about this ethereal strength and the way they held themselves than what pronouns they used. "But dating them has never been something I thought about," How'm I supposed to sum up years of childhood trauma in a couple of sentences without sounding like a pussy?

"I think I'd just end up hurt. I don't like hurting." Oh I sound so soft saying that. God dammit.

I feel like a fucking child, ducking my head because I don't want to see his reaction. He's looking for another way to relate to me and I wish I could give him more. I wish I was just a normal guy who could get butterflies in his stomach when he sees a cute person walking down the street. But they've always felt more like rusty nails.

"Your analogy was stupid, though." I push up off the counter and start throwing ingredients in the bowl haphazardly, focused on the task at hand rather than the ringing in my ears. "What if I decided I liked a random flavor, like mint? It woulda fallen apart in seconds."

I laugh because I don't know what else to do.

"I bet you're a hopeless romantic, what with how poetic you were trying to be." I'm desperate to shrug off this spotlight.

This conversation has gone soft as marshmallow fluff, too sweet as it sticks to the back of my throat. I'm scowling into the mixing bowl, shoulders hunched up over my ears. Sometimes I can feel myself shutting down, my brain goes full of static and all of a sudden the only thought I can stand is that of shoving a knife through my ear. If only to stop the buzzing.

I tense when he corrects my pour, but manage to stop myself from pulling away. "Think I'm done." I set the bowl down on the counter with too much force, quick to clench my fists and shove them in my pockets. It was stupid to expect I was back to normal, stupid to coax all these innocent questions from someone who has always been a little too curious for my liking.

I'm not my father, but sometimes I worry I understand him just a little too well. Fear demands respect, respect earns safety. Then they'll never know how fragile we are. Ky might as well be scrawling fairy tails within the margins of a tragedy, I envy the way he envies love. Or maybe I'm just bitter, making men into monsters because I need to justify how frightening this feels.

Do I want love? I don't know. I don't want to know. Ignorance is the only mercy I can hope for. Don't fall and you'll never have to bandage bloodied knees. "Ky." My voice has gone scratchy, almost too low to hear. This is a secret, not one I want to share but one I trust him to keep safe regardless. It's unsettling how well that thought sits with me.

"Love doesn't make me feel safe. It isn't something I yearn for. It's a fucking nightmare full of all these bad memories, it's-" My tongue spirals out of control so I bite through the skin to keep it in place, gazing into his eyes and begging him to understand what I mean.

And, oh, he burns so fucking bright with hope I bet he won't. That this will keep fucking hurting. "I don't think I need it to be happy. I have you, I have my sister-"

And my knuckles are white around his wrist so I let it fall to my side instead, the oven's ire making this room feel smaller than it should. With any luck, Ky didn't expect a boy who disappeared for months on end to be anything but broken. I taste as bitter as they tar they used to put me back together.

"I sound pathetic." The words drip with venom and I fight the urge to sink my teeth into my forearm and let it kill me slowly. "And yeah, I am. But that's how it is."

It's not that I hate myself, I simply know exactly what I'm worth.