starter for @blckhook ! 💙
the first time it happens, saint is scared. he’s not really close to anyone in his faction. the place where he’s supposed to feel the safest he doesn’t. he’s so tired, but the thoughts in the back of his mind crowd his head space and the pressure he’s beginning to feel against his temples keeps him up, tossing and turning. he’s had to kill here. he’s had to train to be a deadly weapon here. he’s been put into dangerous situations that he doesn’t even want to dwell upon, frightened that the possible paths that his thought process will take him on will scar him even further. saint can’t even take thinking about having more blood on his hands. another life lost. another breath stolen just so his own lungs can take another. it’s sick. it makes him sick.
the first time he shows up to hook’s room, the saffron faction, he’s quietly choking on every inhale, tears staining the flushed hue of his cheeks. he doesn’t want to be here anymore. saint wants to go home, and he hated home. he hated way his mom treated him. the way she looked at him with a mixture of disappointment and pity. but he’d rather deal with that than this suffocating feeling that threatens to black out his vision and swallow him whole.
fingers anchor into the comforter and tug, soft, trying to get the other’s attention between even quieter hiccups. “hook- hook, can i sleep with you?” this place may torment him without even trying, but he always feels calmer by the older’s side. he rests easy. hook looks scary, but he’s so much the opposite. maybe that’s what’s so disarming. maybe that’s what drew saint to him within the two weeks the younger has been with the collective. he’s just so scared. he needs someone to hold onto or he’s afraid he might go crazy.