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Martin laid on his bed (well, if you even call it a bed) and stared at the ceiling. The little glow in the dark shapes were shining down at him, emitting the only light in the darken room, albeit a bit dimmer as they were well over five years old at this point. He tried hard not to replay the conversation that he had with one of the flatmates as it wasn't anything, right? It was just a little argument; he always managed to make rent, even if he sometimes was a few days late. It wasn't his fault that his 'man with a van' side gig wasn't doing as well as he'd wanted it to.
Right? It wasn't, right? Course, if it was his fault, then why was he trying to stop himself from having a full blown panic attack at 3:00am.
Ah, Martin, you know damn well that it is, in fact, your fault that you haven't done many moving jobs over the past month. You just don't care. You should just give up. You pathetic loser. No one likes you; your flatmates were right to tear you down as you've been late with the rent for the past months. You're letting kids cover you because you can't even provide for yourself. You're weak. Your flatmates were right, Martin. You know I'm telling the truth because I am you, Martin.
Martin cursed himself for thinking this way; he hated it when he got dragged into this irrational, illogical dumps in which he just hated himself. Hated himself for who he let himself become. Hated himself for the choices that he made. Hated himself so irrationally that he'd-. No.
This, this time was different. He wouldn't hurt himself intentionally this time. Sure, he could hide the scars, the dried blood from his flatmates, from Douglas, and from Carolyn...but it was impossible to hide it from Arthur. Arthur was, well, he was Arthur. For as dumb as people (namely his biological father) thought he was, the young man was really, incredibly kind. He was, honestly, the most important and great thing that has happened to Martin, save for, being able to be a captain and fly.
Martin forced himself up and reached underneath his bed. After some blind grabbing, he managed to grab the box that he was looking for; it had been a present from Arthur a few months ago when they first started dating. Martin bit back tears that he wanted to desperately to cry out and just be consumed by, but he could do this, he could go without crying. Inside the box was a hooded sweatshirt that was two times too big on Martin, but fit Arthur perfectly.
Martin put on the hoodie, remembering fondly what Arthur had told him when he gave Martin the box. Now, Skip, whenever you want to hurt yourself and I'm not around, I want you to put this hoodie on and think of me hugging you. Think of me holding you; I'll never let you walk down that path alone again, Skip. You're too important to me for me to let you go through that alone. I have so many hoodies and now you can have one of mine.
Almost if on cue, Martin's phone rang.
"Hello, Arthur." Martin said, still trying to choke back his sobs.
"Skip, if you need to cry or vent or do whatever, I'll be on the phone with you as long as you need to be. As long as you're wearing your hoodie, I'll be there. I'll always be there for you, Skip."
That was all it took for Martin to come undone and sob into the phone, hugging himself while wearing Arthur's hoodie. "Arthur, I-I don't deserve you, I-I don't deserve this."
"Yes you do, Skip. You deserve to be happy."
Whatever it was going to take, no matter what, Martin knew that he'd have Arthur. Loving, protective, kind, sweet, cuddly, Arthur.