Work Text:
It hurt. It really hurt.
In his father’s lap, he pressed his cheek onto his chest. Through his skin, he feels it raise up and down within a stable rhythm. It was like the beats and vibration of a song. His mind was trying to somehow connect it to a song he knew, and if he couldn’t, he would make his own.
Focusing on it made the pain go away for a little while. He shut his eyes. He held his father’s hand, clutched it tightly, and let out a shaky breath. The pain didn’t stop. It felt like burning inside of his veins that slowly traveled up his mind to overtake his whole consciousness and sole existence. It felt like roots that were gradually planted one by one within his skin and muscles, where each of them would impale into each bone within his body and break it until he couldn’t move anymore. Until he was forced to lay down on his side in the middle of the room filled with machines and medicine and watch as his heart beat went slower and slower each passing second.
The pain made his body slightly shake. He didn’t know if his father noticed it, or even dared to say anything at all if he did. He bit the walls of his mouth to stop a pained grunt or even a scream to erupt out of him.
How much longer? How much more? How much longer did he have to endure until he can sleep again?
Then suddenly the lilac ink seemed as if it twisted and it sent springs and thunders of agony through his body. He pressed himself harder against his father’s chest, his vision beginning to fade away. He could hear his father say, “ You’re doing this for me. You’re doing this for everyone around you. You’re doing this for the good of the world.”
He wasn’t aware that doing good for the world was this painful. It made him afraid to think that he wouldn’t have gone through this at all if he knew what it took to do so. He wanted to leave. He wanted to scream. He wanted to cry and he wanted to sleep. It’s true that he was laying down against his father’s chest, but it didn’t feel like the home he used to know.
It was almost as if his father knew what he was thinking. “Let the bad thoughts go away.” I’m going to try to let the bad thoughts go away. “ They’re here to distract you from your purpose.” They’re just trying to distract me from my purpose.
He tried to make a song in his head. After all, his father always said to embrace the pain. His father told him that pain is the greatest source of art that needed to be embraced. It made him tougher, and stronger.
He wanted someone to break him. He wanted someone to hug him then stab a blade through his chest. He wanted to feel it pierce through him like a bullet then let it fall to the ground. He wanted to see a smile across the face, and he wanted to press his hand against his wounded chest, then he would touch it and feel the crimson run down across his hand. Maybe then he’ll feel something. Maybe then he’ll feel something that he can think about at night, pondering about if he deserved it or not.
Nico had always said that he was losing himself. That he was fading and disappearing into pure mist, leaving the empty vessel that is his body filled with a replica of what once was. But he didn’t understand. This is what he was made to do. This is what he was born to do.
Just don’t leave him. Just don’t leave him alone.
Despite not saying so, he wanted another someone to touch his hand and tell him that they love him. He wanted to feel like he was worth something. He wanted someone to care for him and make him feel like all his efforts trying to put a smile across everyone’s faces did not go to waste. Even if this were the lengths he would go for just to feel the very ounce of emotion.
At least then his father would love him. He hoped the others would too. He just hoped the whole world would.
His father’s hand reached for his hair and pushed it to the side.