Chapter Text
“Ya saw what, darlin’?” Brutal’s eyes blew wide, vibrant sapphire hues falling darker with curiosity. There he glanced into Percy’s soft gaze, and Brutal couldn’t determine if he felt dread, or if his heart skipped multiple beats when Percy’s eyes, so formally warm, flashed with the dreadful undertones of demanding icicles. Slowly, with an undetermined, strong arm, Brutal peeled Percy’s soft back from the lime floor beneath him.
Although Brutal felt chills run down every ball of his spine, he couldn’t stand seeing fear flash across Percy’s boyish features. Even though Brutal felt terror barrel into the center of his steel chest, he still had the decency to reassure the boy shaking like the frailest leaf positioned on an equally fragile tree.
“When I touched your… your hand,” Percy whispered, but his features visibly tensed because the words leaving his lips were legitimately ludicrous. Percy couldn’t believe the structure, the volume that his voice brought; he was sure it was, on some level, a misunderstanding. The plushness of Percy’s pink lips twitched with diffidence, and Percy couldn’t explain himself without his words scrambling across the mile.
“You saw what?” Brutal repeated, his dehydrated eyelashes lapping at the glassy, marbled complexion of blue eyes. Shock kept Brutal’s composure; adrenaline held him together like a hot glue gun based between a child’s fidgety knuckles. Brutal’s fingers curled around Percy’s soft arm, but he didn’t dare dig into the porcelain complexion of the brunette’s hairless skin. The blond prayed Percy’s exhausted brain was hungry for a warm, weightless mattress, rather than soughting after Brutal’s, apparently, long awaited demise.
“You died,”
Brutal swallowed. His pulse felt heavy in his throat; the mile already felt notoriously thick because of the souls it ruptured beneath its demeaning grasp, but it felt unusually cramped. Brutal’s chest twisted tightly, and he struggled to suck in a breath to feed his pink lungs. “How did I die?”
“I… I don’t know. I don’t know—I, I think it was…” Percy stumbled anxiously over his words. Percy felt like he was still laying against the hard floor; Brutal’s deep gaze was at least a hundred miles away. His body was empty, and Percy’s skeleton ghosted against his skin; he was suddenly aware of every joint in his frame. If Brutal’s grip hadn’t been so demanding, so utterly comforting, Percy’s back would’ve collided with the floor long before now. “I don’t wanna think about it, Brutus,” he hiccuped. “Don’t make me think ‘bout it.”
Brutal wished he could’ve been mad. He wished he could feel another emotion other than pain and confusion—but how was he to ask a man—no, a boy, of the most traumatic thing he’s ever laid his eyes on? They all seemed to forget that Percy was still young. He was still a nïave kid who didn’t know a scratch about the real world; Brutal wasn’t sure if he should’ve been jealous of Percy’s wealth, or if he should be thankful that he wasn’t as sheltered as the brunette who clung to him just like a child would.
The image of someone’s soul leaving their body was traumatic enough for a /man/ witnessing, so Brutal couldn’t imagine what it had been doing to Percy.
So despite the fact that Brutal was crumbling inside like a pile of white, sparkling sand, his arms instinctively danced around Percy’s unimaginably small waist. Brutal’s heavy biceps influenced Percy’s chest against the lower half of his stomach.
Brutal held the smaller man as Percy’s spine trembled with a set of quiet, distressed sobs. Brutal was glad that Percy hadn’t struggled to move; the blond felt like the soles of his feet were mounted to the floor. Brutal was convinced that even moving, perhaps just the slightest, would destroy the vinyl beneath the structure of his shoes. Brutal warily rested his chin over Percy’s thick, gelled hair, and listened as the poor kid struggled to gulp down breaths of smooth air.
“You ain’t lying to me, are ya?” Brutal’s voice broke the long, five minutes of silence, which were only conjoined to Percy’s occasional hiccup. The words burned Brutal’s chest like the worst case of heartburn, but he doubted that Percy lacked enough human in him to humour Brutal in such a cruel way. When Percy’s gaze only reflected in shiny, salty tears, Brutal knew for certain that every word which left Percy’s glittering lips held nothing but honesty.
Maybe the old Percy lacked humanity in him, but something was different. Brutal felt foolish for letting his guard down so easily, but he didn’t have the heart to disprove everything Percy murmured when the small boy was just about as red as the ripest tomato. “I ain’t lying,” Percy promised. Brutal should have expected a sharpened gaze from Percy, but if Brutal had been that shallow, then he would’ve been wrong.
Percy’s eyelashes were damp from the aftermath of shimmering tears. His green irises were ripe like dew glittering across the fresh, morning lawn during the early morning. Brutal shouldn’t have been comforted by Percy’s forgiving eyes, but he was. Brutal’s chest felt claustrophobic, his heart quickened; Brutal could taste his pulse thick against his taste buds.
He felt guilty that Percy’s fragile state made Brutal’s fingers twitch with warmth. Brutal wanted to hug him tight and never let him go. He felt like a child positioned in the middle of a toy store. His prized teddy was sitting on one of the porcelain shelves with a glimmer of hope banded across its button shaped eyes. For a moment, Brutal was nervous, because Percy’s eyes brought him back to the same, awkward moments in highschool when he was still chained up behind the wall of a wooden closet.
Every boy who looked at him was suddenly a prize he yearned to obtain. Brutal knew it wasn’t conventional. He knew it was wrong. But the innocence that flashed behind their confused minds was ultimately precious. Percy held that same look. He was sweet in his own, bratty way, and Brutal felt equally as dirty for seeing past Percy’s defensive demeanor.
“Okay,” Brutal sighed. He squeezed either side of Percy’s soft arms, and eventually, Brutal found the courage to sweep his palms against Percy’s waist one last time in a final attempt at contentedness—for the both of them. Brutal knew that Percy was fully capable of lying, but the way Percy tremored couldn’t have been replicated. Other than the small “okay” of reassurance, Brutal was speechless. When Percy brushed his porcelain, blush stained face against Brutal’s work uniform, Brutal felt the boy’s cheekbone dig into the tattered beat of his heart.
When Brutal assumed Percy was sober enough to stand on his own, he gingerly parted ways from the smaller boy. Brutal worried that, if somebody noticed their sudden spur of affection, it would only influence the influx of teases and insults. Percy’s soft face relaxed, however, and Brutal wondered if the boy was comforted by his embrace, or if Percy was just using anything right now as his personal stuffed companion.
He could easily understand why Percy wrapped his arms tight around Brutal’s back; Brutal even, somehow, recognized why Percy struggled succumbing to the accepting palm of mother nature’s ultimate curse: sympathy. Brutal didn’t know what Percy’s emerald eyes witnessed that day, but he wasn’t sure if he wanted to. Percy couldn’t even look him in the eyes anymore without his gaze beading with confused tears.
The night was young, but the moon’s pale glow cascaded against Percy’s stained cheeks, and it highlighted the softest attributes of the boy. He looked young and almost starstruck, but Brutal wasn’t sure if it was because he was traumatized or rather if Percy shared the same affection as Brutal did. It made no sense, though, because Percy was so keen on convincing him that he would never swing that way.
“Do ya want another magazine?” Brutal proposed. He felt flustered for offering the same prize as if Percy was somehow as stupid as a five year old who lost their favourite toy race car. He wondered if Percy would even take him up on the offer after seeing something so tragic, but Brutal knew he said the right words when Percy’s entire face lit up brighter than a Christmas tree. Percy’s arms tightened around the arch of Brutal’s back, and he gave the man a particularly sweet embrace, which was what cloaked itself as a surprise.
Brutal wished he knew more about Percy Wetmore. He wanted to recognize what Percy’s favourite foods were, what colours spoke to him the most; he wanted to know where Percy hoped to achieve one day once he finally broke away from his extravagantly described mansion. Brutal ran his strong fingers through Percy’s hair, and his knuckles grazed the back of the boy’s neck, which was peppered with ebony baby hairs.
“Do ya really want to?” Percy asked, then his formally excited eyes kissed sad, green hues, and darkened to emerald skepticism. “You ain’t gonna go broke or nothin’?”
Brutal snorted. Percy’s innocence was, admittedly, insulting, but it was endearing in a way, because he certainly wasn’t intending for it to sound so offensive. It made Brutal’s heart burn; all he could think about was landing a tender kiss against Percy’s lips. He wondered if the kid tasted as rich as his expressive vocabulary.
But he couldn’t. Brutal hesitantly tucked a soft hair behind Percy’s ear, but he suddenly regretted it when he watched the brunette tuck his head lower. Percy may have relaxed once he realized the benevolence paired with Brutal’s docile touch, but the blond’s heart still ached the same.
“I’ll be okay,” Brutal promised. Percy’s eyes reluctantly tore from Brutal’s jaw.
“Can we just get outta here? Wild Bill keeps looking at me funny.” Percy choked. Brutal already tugged his heavy keys from the large pocket of his work slacks.
“O’ course, hun’. We ain’t gotta stay here a minute longer.”