Note: Takes place right before Trust, a crossover between Simon/Oliver and Marcus/Luca
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Broken
That's the best word Oliver could seem to come up with to describe himself. Even after he was home, he was safe, he was confident Simon wasn’t leaving him, he couldn’t stop himself from cracking and crumbling into a million pieces, unable to let himself surface.
He felt like he was drowning, falling into depths he couldn’t even see, unable to reach out and grasp hold of anything for support. He could barely close his eyes without seeing him, seeing sir.
He felt sick whenever they tried to get him to take the medicine, images burned into his mind of men holding him down and forcing him to take pills, keeping him docile when Cedric wanted to bring him out for some fun. They made him barely cogerient, and by the time they put him back in the dark room he didn’t even remember leaving in the first place. Maybe it was better that way, though. Maybe it was best if he didn’t remember what happened outside that room.
He clung to Simon whenever he could, glued to his side in fear of being pulled away. He never, never wanted to be pulled away like that again. He didn’t even care if Simon hurt him again. As long as he didn’t have to go back.
Simon seemed to accept it, and seemed to be comfortable with Oliver becoming his shadow again after that night they confronted in the hallway. Everyone in the house seemed to come to a silent agreement that they wouldn’t talk about Simon's outburst, or anything spoken that night, and Oliver was completely ok with that.
“Peach or lemon?” Simon asked softly, metal spoon clinking against the mug on the counter.
Oliver stood by his side, a thin finger hooked on Simon's shirt as they stood in the kitchen. It was early, Oliver had woken up with nightmares again. Simon had brought him downstairs as quietly as he could, murmuring reassurances and moving to make him something that would calm him down.
“Lemon.” He replied softly, resting his head against the other's shoulder. Simon hummed in acknowledgment, grabbing the box and rummaging through it for the right kind, and Oliver couldn’t help but notice his hands shaking.
“I’ll take care of it.” Marie offered softly, moving to take the mug from Simons shaking hands. Oliver hadn’t even noticed her in the kitchen, flinching a little at the sudden voice beside them.
Simon didn’t even argue, letting her pry the mug away from him. He was tired too, and they all knew it. Oliver felt guilt twist inside him at the thought, knowing he was the cause.
Simon muttered his thanks, guiding Oliver to sit at the table with him, resting his forehead on his arms crossed on the table. Oliver watched him intently, fingers tapping at his leg nervously. Simon was spending all his time taking care of him, staying up when he couldn’t sleep, there when he woke up yelling. He was always there, and Oliver was starting to wonder if that was a good thing.
He reached a hand out hesitantly, setting it on Simon's arm. He startled a little, blinking as he looked up, worried.
“Sorry- did you need something, Ollie?”
Oliver retracted his hand immediately, face falling. He felt like he was shriveling up, cracked pieces falling from where he’d clumsily tried to put them back together.
“I..no..no sorry, was trying to..nevermind, sorry.”
He was trying to be comforting.
Instead he just bothered Simon more. Maybe it would be best if he just didn’t try at all.
If Simon noticed anything wrong he didn’t mention it, dropping his head back down in his arms. Oliver bit his lip, resolving to leave him alone. He needed the rest and the break from taking care of him.
“Here you go, Oliver.” Marie said kindly, setting the finished mug in front of him. “Make sure you and Simon have something to eat later, I’m going back to bed.” He blinked, looking up at her and forcing a small smile.
“Thanks.” he murmured, picking it up and bringing it to his lips to sip at it as she ruffled his hair, making her way back towards the stairs with a yawn. It was warm, the sweet tanginess of lemon flavor being the first thing to hit him. The second thing to hit him almost made him gag.
Oliver froze, stomach twisting as the taste hit him, disgust and terror seizing him and making him go still.
Honey.
She’d put honey in it.
Simon knew not to put honey in it, he knew- but Simon hadn’t made it. Marie did. Marie didn’t know.
His hands shook slightly as his eyes went blank, breaths coming in quiet, pained gasps.
He wasn’t with sir, he tried reminding himself, failing. He could almost still feel the hand on the back of his neck, sliding across his throat and up to tilt his chin, delicate china forced to his lips. He could feel the hand on his leg, the collar tightened around his throat, the pleased hum right next to his ear.
He wanted nothing more than to hurl the mug across the room, watch it shatter against the wall. He wanted it as far away from him as possible, wanted to disobey, to say no.
He knew he couldn’t, though. He couldn’t force himself to throw the mug even if it was what he wanted most in this god forsaken world. He couldn’t, he couldn’t, unable to even bring it away from his lips or even make a sound, Simon falling asleep next to him, oblivious.
There was only one thing he coulddo in that moment, and that was obey.
So he drank the whole thing.
He drank it silently, tears running down his face as he tried to hold back sobs, using two hands to make sure he didn’t drop the mug as it shook in his hands. He drank the entire fucking thing, and then stumbled to the bathroom to throw it all up.
---
Simon groaned, looking up from where he’d dozed off at the table. How long had he been asleep? It was lighter outside, sunlight illuminating the kitchen through the blinds on the windows.
The first thing he noticed was that Oliver was gone. His brain seemed to be processing everything too slowly, it taking a second to even register that the younger boy wasn’t next to him.
He stood quickly, blinking away the remaining sleep and scanning the room. Oliver’s mug of tea was at the table where he’d been sitting, empty. The kitchen was quiet, no sign of him anywhere. Simon was moving past the counter to check the living room when he spotted the small, plastic container of honey next to the box of tea packets, and his heart sank.
“Ollie?”
He went straight to the bathroom, testing the handle and thankfully finding it unlocked. He gently pushed the door open, being met with exactly what he was expecting. Oliver was hunched over, shaking with sobs as he pressed his forehead against the edge of the bathtub.
He felt guilty as he moved to crouch beside him, setting a hand carefully on his back. He should have been paying attention, he let Marie make the tea without it even crossing his mind to let her know.
Oliver flinched away, curling in on himself at the touch and close to hyperventilating.
“Hey, it's me.” Simon soothed. “I’m so sorry, Oliver. I was tired and got careless-”
“I,I,I’m sorry.” Oliver choked out, surprising Simon. “M,Msorry for waking you up, I, I’m sorry..”
Simon blinked, brow furrowing in confusion. He grabbed a washcloth and wet it in the sink, wiping the sweat from his forehead and setting it around the back of his neck to soothe him.
“Ollie, you didn’t do anything wrong- here, let's get you to the couch.”
Oliver braced himself against the side of the tub and tried to stand but Simon didn’t let him, knowing better than to let him try to walk and end up passing out after working himself up this bad. He picked him up as carefully as he could, the boy light enough to be carried with ease even in Simon’s tired state.
“N,No-” He protested weakly, shaking his head even as his eyes struggled to stay open. “You..you were asleep, didn’t mean to, to wake you up..mfine..”
Simon sighed, holding him close as he walked to the living room. There were two new rescues curled up on the armchair together, sound asleep. Mia and Marie had picked them up over an hour away, something about the police being involved. He couldn’t imagine how, the two looking so young.
“You didn’t wake me up, I did on my own. Didn’t even hear you until I went looking.” Simon reassured. He grabbed a water bottle, sitting down on the couch and offering it to him. “Drink some, you’ll feel better. Promise.”
Oliver took the water without question, shakily opening it and lifting it to his lips, drinking desperately. He looked pale, and Simon didn’t have to think hard about it to guess he’d gotten sick. He finally handed it back once it was half empty, and Simon set it aside.
“Look, if you’re worried about me getting sleep, we can go right back to sleep here.”
He laid down on his back, settling Oliver on top of him as he pulled a large blanket over the both of them. He rubbed circles against his back comfortingly, coaxing him to relax, head resting by his collarbone.
“Just let yourself calm down, ok? You’re right here, you’re safe.”
The last thing Simon needed was Oliver working himself up over him of all things. He didn’t deserve that kind of guilt for being taken care of.
“You deserve to feel safe, Oliver.” He hummed, staring up at the ceiling. “You deserve to be taken care of. You’re not a burden to take care of.”
He wasn’t sure if the words meant anything, but he needed to say them. He needed Oliver to know he wasn’t a burden.
“I’m ok, Oliver. I get tired sometimes, but that's not your fault. None of this is your fault.”
He ran his fingers through Oliver’s hair, feeling tears soaking through his shirt but not commenting on it. He was very, very familiar with the kind of guilt weighing down on you when you felt weak, when you felt like you were just dragging people down. The kind of guilt that made you suffer in silence, a scream for help never being allowed to reach your lips as you try to make yourself as unnoticeable as possible.
Oliver was the last person on earth who deserved that.
Simon pressed a kiss to his dark hair, repeating it over and over.
“You deserve to feel loved,”
After months of darkness and pain and fear, that's all he deserved
“You deserve to feel safe and protected,”
After he failed Oliver again and again and again, Simon owed that to him
“You aren’t bothering me,”
Never. He’d go to the moon and back for him
“I love you so, so much, Ollie, and you deserve every bit of it.”
Every single bit, and he meant it with everything he had
We found out like two days ago but I didn’t tell Val until today with a surprise treat lol
Image description: [ a young Black girl with an Afro puff pulled into a high ponytail smiles at the camera. She is wearing a blue tie dye shirt and holding a white cake with blue frosting and red writing that says, we got the house!] end image description.
You know, executive dysfunction sucks ass. But sometimes the worst aspect of my ADHD isn't being unable to do something I want to, it's having to do something I really don't want to.
Like, I know I'm gonna beat myself up for it later and probably feel really sick, but I have to eat like five of those donuts or I'm going to explode.
Or I know my finances are kinda tight at the moment, but I have to buy that stupid little in-app game boost or my brain will never stop thinking about it.
Sometimes I can stop myself, but it's such an awful feeling whether I do it or I don't that a lot of the time I just give in. Or my brain won't even let me think about it, and it'll be done by the time I even realize what happened.
Am I not in charge of myself? Not capable of making and enacting my own decisions? Not capable of having my own will? Whose will is this, then? Can I get a refund this one is too weak
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I didn’t have to eat my bagel in the bathroom last night!
One of the drag artists smoked weed out of an apple pipe in her performance so I figured if they could do that I could finish my bagel on the dance floor and I did and it was glorious
Sunday: roasted cod with spinach, red pesto, sun-blushed tomatoes and peppers, eat-alls and brand spanking new spuds. 0/10 for presentation, I know. 7/10 for taste.
