inspired by that one meme but a very pg version: dove helps will get dressed & sees his scars
INBOX PROMPTS ╱ 𝑎𝑙𝑤𝑎𝑦𝑠 𝑎𝑐𝑐𝑒𝑝𝑡𝑖𝑛𝑔.
It was ritualistic humiliation, he was certain of it.
Worse of all, her empathy for him, which was probably a necessity in her field, drove him up the wall. He kept it mostly to himself, knowing it would have been harsh and inappropriate for him to mention it. In the end, he doesn’t dislike her, and Dove is not worthy of his ill-fitting cruelty or misguided shame.
When he raises his arm too high, it pulls at the healing skin. Some days, he can manage, but he has hardly slept because of the nightmares. He finally succumbed to the annoying limitations of his wounded body, calling down the hall for Dove’s assistance if she was free. Most things he tried to do for himself, but here and there, it proved unnecessarily difficult. He tended to resort to her as a last measure. He tries to avoid it, but it cannot be helped with the state he is in.
“Could you help me?” He holds in one hand a plain t-shirt, his second arm wrapping around himself, bandage gone and scar on display for all to see. It was closed, but the edges were inflamed and sore, the wrong sorts of materials irritating it, which is why he opted for the light-fitted shirt. He stands there, rolling on the balls of his sock-clad feet, feeling like a fish that had been gutted & put back together again. “Please.”
