Context; Post-Peter, YN having hallucinations (author has no clue how to write them but tried using the power of research), TK x YN -ish (they are still friends here)
Warnings: Panic attacks, hallucinations, implications of abuse/trauma
We good now? Can we start the story? Okay.
"So...still avoiding your sessions, I see?"
The therapist studied you over the rim of her glasses, pen tapping once against her clipboard.
You let out a small, nervous laugh as you felt the heat in the room build up like an oven. It had been well over a month or so since you had visited your therapist. As expected, she looked at you with a skeptical eyes and a frown as she waited for you to finally speak.
âI havenât been avoiding them,â you said weakly. Unconvincing. âIâve just⊠been busy.â
Her eyebrow twitched, âBusy doing what?â
You opened your mouth, yet, you couldn't bring yourself to say anything to her.
Could you blame yourself?
It was exhausting. Having to drag yourself here every week just to sit in a chair and talk about⊠what? Feelings? Your life wasn't a grocery list. You didnât trust her. You barely knew her! And she wanted you to open everything up like it was some neat little present.
As if it worked like that...
Even though⊠yeah...you knew this was what you were supposed to do.
You took a breath through your nose. In. Out. Do that therapy coping mechanism thing. Whatever that meant nowadays.
Because it was getting bad.
TK had to drag you here because of your obvious signs of not being able to function through the day. The nights were worse. Sometimes you'd just be lying there, staring at the window like a hawk, waiting for him again. Even if he'd never show up.
But, you were never convinced.
Everyone kept saying you should leave that apartment.
Even your landlord had opinions.
âKid, that place is messinâ with your head.â
âEnd of the month, you better pack up. I donât need another freak doing weird shit in my building.â
Still, Don never actually kicked you out. Maybe he pitied you. Maybe he didnât want the paperwork. Either way, you somehow stayed longer than you expected.
There were nights when you broke down crying in that apartment. In that same stupid room. Because even if the horrid smell was gone, it still felt like Lucy. Her young and reckless energy never really left.
You remember those crazed rants she'd tell you about energy and planets and space. You thought she was just going through stuff and this was her way to cope. But, now, you really want to believe that energy shit. That some part of her lingered here. Just to feel that she never left you so suddenly.
Your therapist cut you off your stream of thoughts, âYou still live in the same apartment,â she continued. âHave you considered relocating?â
What? That's a little bit if a personal question, ain't it?
"I don't know? I really don't have anywhere else to go. That place is what I can afford." You tried to explain.
âOr,â she said in suggestion, âyouâre staying because it keeps you anchored to a past that you felt comfortable in.â
Your jaw tightened. âThatâs notâ I just donât have anywhere else to go.â
She hummed, you couldn't tell if she was affirming what you believed in but she had wrote something down on the papers laid on her lap. God, this is the worse part, when they judge you.
You looked around the room. It was all too organized and clean. Sterile. As if this lady was here to dissect you literally instead of psychologically.
âYour social life. You told me last time you only speak to one person consistently. Has that changed?â
You nodded. A lie, just so she would shut up about it. But, in reality, you had no commitment to suddenly make new friends in new places. There was always that fifty percent chance that they were a psycho too. At least that's what you thought.
âDo these new connections feel safe to you?â She continued. You shrugged to make up for your lie.
She didn't seem to like that answer because she sighed and scribbled on her fancy papers again. What else were you meant to say?
She commented quietly. âYouâre not giving me much to work with.â
Because you donât feel safe, you wanted to say. Because people lie. Because monsters can look like normal people. Hiding in plain sight. You learned that the hard way.
You stood up from the chair, "I think I'm done here." Grabbed your bag and almost walked out the door. Almost.
âThat isnât how this works, Mx. L/N,â she interrupted sharply. âYouâve already skipped multiple appointments. Healing requires your participation.â
âSo, you will not be leaving thirty minutes early.â Her pale hand gestured toward the chair like it was a command. You glanced at it. Then at her.
With a harsh huff, you sat back down with a slight bounce.
She started over. The same questions. The same phrasing. As if repetition alone would crack you open. Maybe she hoped youâd be more honest this time around.
Sometimes you were just too tired to lie.
The back-and-forth dragged on and on which felt like forever, until she finally stopped writing and looked up at you. She leaned forward slightly.
âY/N,â she said in a softer tone than she had given initially. âI want to help you. But I canât do that if I donât know whatâs going on in your head. You wonât feel better if you donât talk to me. Help me help you.â
If you had a dollar for every time someone said that, you wouldnât need therapy. Why did everyone think you were a broken vase? Why did everyone think they had to fix you? Piece by itty bitty piece.
You werenât a child. You werenât helpless.
You looked at the clock on the wall. It's been fifty minutes. That's it. You were done for today. Your therapist saw your eagerness to leave and leaned back with crossed arms.
Judgment. It was clear as day. She didnât like that you were avoiding these issues she thought you had.
This place was suffocating.
You stood up and left the room before she could say anything else. The fluorescent lights felt like they were burning into your skull and when you stepped into the hallway, the dim, dusty air felt better than whatever was in that office. You breathed it in like it was freedom.
Before leaving the building, you stopped at the restroom.
It was empty. Quiet. Too quiet. But you didnât mind. Sharing the restroom with strangers always made your skin crawl.
Then, you heard a stall door beside you open and shut. A sigh escaped you. So much for being alone.
You left the stall, and no one was there. Didn't even wash their hands. Gross.
You went to the sink anyway, scrubbing your hands under the cold water. The chill made you shiver, but not all of it was from the water.
You shut off the faucet and flicked the water from your fingers, eyes drifting around the room. What could be making you feel so off?
You haven't felt this sinceâ
"Oh, Y/N, Iâve been waiting so, so...patiently.â
Your entire body felt cold. Or maybe the room was cold. You couldn't remember.
The space felt small. The air felt heavy. Breathe. You tried to remind yourself, but it felt like cotton filled up your lungs. Your heart pounded so hard it hurt, ribs aching like it might crack open.
It couldn't be. There were no footsteps. No warning. Just him. Getting too close.
His voice slid into your ears like oil. "You thought a few walls with bars was going to keep me away?"
His tall figure only crept closer and you moved back until you inevitably hit the wall. Fuck. His shadow hovered over you, both his arms caging you in.
"Really thought you could run from me? That you could just move on? Without me? I missed you too much for that." The heat of his breath and body radiates into your skin. His suffocating scent, the imperfections of his face through his wide, sharp grin were all there. All the details you never wanted to see again.
You opened your mouth "leave me alone," was what you would've said, but only a squeak of air came out.
Peterâs smile tried to soften. Tried to look kind. Whatever that meant to him.
To you, it was worse. It was always worse. Always meant something was expected of you.
âAre you happy to see me, love?â he murmured. âYour heartâs racing⊠youâre shakingâŠâ
You hadnât noticed your breathing until your chest started to burned. Inhaling came too fast, too shallow, like your chest had forgotten how to open all the way. Sweat dotted along your forehead. Your vision was filled with tears, his figure blurred at the edges.
You squeezed your eyes shut. Nails almost scratched on the walls of the restroom. He's not here.
"One. Two. Three..." You started counting in spite of you being out of breath and in tears. Your voice was shaky and vulnerable. You felt a sort of phantom touch all around you. In places too painfully familiar.
A gentle, creeping touch was on your arms, your neck, your waist. On all the places your body remembered even when your mind didnât want to.
Memories flashed through your mind. So bright and so vivid that you clutched at your hair like you could tear the memories out by the roots. Stop it from all flooding in.
It took five minutes to get yourself together.
You walked down the hall, gripping the strap of your bag like it could hold you up. Act normal. Just like nothing happened. You did, at least in the eyes of any ignorant person who glanced at you.
TK was supposed to be waiting in the parking lot, making sure you didnât skip out early. But in the moment the doors closed behind you, they werenât there.
Your heart picked up. Faster. Harder. You rushed down the stairs, eyes darting between each of the vehicles. Where the hell were they? They said they'd be right there.
What if something happened?
What if that vision wasn't for nothing?
âY/N?â The voice made you flinch. Your head snapped around. Thank fucking God.
They're okay. A quiet thought came through...
âYou said youâd be over thereââ You frowned, pointing at a part of the lot as if you were scolding them for not meeting your expectations.
âI said Iâd be around here. I never said I'd be at a specific spot.â TK's hands gestured vaguely before looking at you carefully. âAre you alright? Youâre⊠ten...fifteen minutes later than I expected.â
âIâm fine. Just had⊠more to talk about with my therapist.â A new lie.
Really on a roll with your bluffs today, huh?
You slipped into the passenger seat, hoping the action alone would end the conversation. Maybe they'd get the message that you weren't in a sharing mood at the moment.
They followed you and went to the driver's seat, but there was the largest pause between them getting in and starting the car. They clearly didnât look convinced at your excuse. Their grip on the steering wheel tightened just a little then loosened.
âSo⊠youâll actually go next week?â
You shrugged, staring out the window. âYeah. Probably.â
âProbably?â TK glanced at you then back at whatever was in front of them. âThat doesnât sound like a yes.â
âIt was a yes,â you said quickly. Too quickly. âI just...you know how it is...today was⊠a lot. Is all.â
âA lot how?â they asked, trying to sound softer through the exasperation from your stubbornness.
You forced a laugh. âTherapy stuff. You know. Feelings. Talking. The usual torture.â
They didnât laugh back.
âYou were gone longer than usual,â TK said, like they were trying to make sense of things themselves. âAnd you looked like you saw a ghost when you came out.â
âI didnât,â you replied. Great job. Now it definitely seemed like you saw something.
TK exhaled through their nose. They clearly didnât buy whatever you were saying. But, they seemed to drop it for now.
âSo youâll go next week?â they tried again.
You nodded. âYeah. I will.â
And it was the cleanest lie youâd told all day.
âAlright,â TK said. You couldn't see the emotion behind their tone. âI'm driving you again next time."
You hummed, leaned your head against the window, and watched the streets blur past.
Whether you actually agree to go next week?
A/N: First time posting a story since forever. Decided to do this while I'm hyperfixated on this fandom. I feel that YN x TK fics were too low around here so I decided to try to be the supplier. Romance will come soon maybe idk.
