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Insanity doesn’t feel so far away. Perhaps it’s the cold. The insanity’s not pleasant like a siren’s song, ironic as that is, but there’s a sound in his head that doesn’t seem to want to leave him alone. Forceps on his arms, it follows him into the boy’s locker room.
There’s blood dripping down his calf. Does it stain the flooring enough to scare someone? Or is the nasty appearance of his calf enough? It’s an unfitting, unsettling image, at least in regards to their perception of him. But Flash Sentry just considers it a physicalisation.
“You really expect me to let you go home with that?”
“It’s fine, Timber, I’m okay,” he says, shoving his basketball jersey into his sports bag. Barely any wind blows through the open windows but a harsh sting zaps across all his cuts.
He’ll deal with it in the shower at home. Maybe.
Sweat stains the back of his shirt while he throws everything into his bag. Timber Spruce stays silent behind him but he knows he’s gonna address the elephant in the room. It’s what he does.
“You call wincing every time you walk fine?”
“I’m not wincing every time I’m walking.”
A hiss escapes him before he even processes the step he takes.
“Sure.”
Flash wishes he can just fade away. Wanting Timber to fade away is the first thought that passes his head but before his mind starts properly processing it, the former shoves it out of the way. A part of him begs to reach out, especially now that he looks and Timber isn’t crossing his arms like he expected him to, but Flash clenches his fist and slings his bag over his shoulder.
“Flash, don’t ignore me,” he says and it takes the strength of a storm to help him walk away from Timber. He’s glowing, an attractive warm craving to bleed into him. Flash doesn’t want it.
He doesn’t want it.
Timber tries to grab Flash’s arm but just misses it.
Flash wants to say, it’s not your fault, it never was, but that requires an explanation of what he means. Dried tears in his eyes act like crust in the corner of his eyes and he’s sane enough to know he should avoid a car accident.
An explanation will take hours. He’ll miss some things, spend ten plus minutes contemplating whether it’s safe for him to say one particular line, maybe even surrender an hour to his anguish. He doesn’t even know why he feels like crying, it’s not like he’s a victim anymore.
A mirror of what Timber probably felt yesterday mimics itself in Flash’s body like it’s a yearly calendar reminder. His heart’s sprinting, maybe to get away from the situation or to somewhere that doesn’t stress him out. Flash hopes Timber was able to breathe, he doesn’t think he would’ve if he saw something like that.
The one thing Flash doesn’t want to recreate is the fear in Timber’s eyes. He can wish to hurt himself all he wants but he isn’t mentally capable of remembering that at all.
Flash can wipe the pooling blood off his thigh now at least so he doesn’t make everyone think a murder’s occurred. Yet any blood on his hands will remind him of yesterday and he doesn’t want to find out if the cuts will torture his broken blood vessels, make his hand jerk hard enough to get blood on his knuckles in particular. Then it’ll really feel like a trauma flashback.
Flash rarely ever got injuries so it will probably hurt more for him. Other guys will probably brush it off.
There wasn’t even that much blood yesterday anyway. His knuckles ached, sure, and yeah, there are some bruises forming along his otherwise clear skin, another person’s blood disgustingly watery and marking out the patterns of his skin, but it doesn’t matter how much it hurt him. He scared everyone else.
Including him.
“Flash—”
“Timber, I’m fine! Just, go home, please,” Flash says, holding his voice down so it’s not loud but the feeling detours to his eyes, forming tears. “I’ll be okay.” The words are carved out of his chest.
He furrowed his brows and thrust open the door, flinching at the sound it makes when it hits the wall it’s connected to. Timber’s body probably jumped at that.
His brain stopped in its tracks when he laid eyes on Timber. He was surprised he hadn’t been dumped with freezing water judging by how he felt.
Flash doesn’t question why the lights look broken when he makes his way through Canterlot High School. His footsteps piss him off. He stops and hears nothing but the silence the school carried. Like how everyone else was when he stopped punch—
Blood trickles down his wound and fuck, it hurts. Splinters must live in the ripped skin too honestly. Rainbow was fuming at something, or someone, he couldn’t bring himself to see and perhaps he would’ve brushed it off if the foul didn’t heat Flash’s blood up too.
Soarin only confirmed that for him with, “do you need a moment to cool down?” For some reason, it doesn’t matter how softly people talk to him, he can’t hear anything else.
Stealing a glance at Timber and Twilight from the bleachers did nothing to ease his mood like it would have normally. Granted, they both looked horrified.
Flash winces now that he’s out of Timber’s sight. He continues, attempting the breathing exercises regardless if it doesn’t work while he’s walking. His Dad’s voice even centres itself in his head to help but it just evokes other memories that he proved false yesterday.
“Y’know, you’re good at controlling your anger, baby,” Blaze Sentry had said years ago. A gentle forehead kiss on his tiny forehead accompanies the words.
A tear runs. Why isn’t any of the regular stuff working? Fuck, fuck.
He reaches CHS’ entrance and pushes the door open, softer this time but it’s probably the wind’s strength against his. He bites back his regret as the breeze also hits his bare arms and bare legs from the knees down.
Squeezing his eyes and sighing through his nose, he adjusts the bag on his shoulder, walking down the steps with pain mocking each move.
A hand grasps his wrist.
Flash loves and hates how he knew who it was through the texture of the hand – rough and worn, strong and still so fucking warm. He doesn’t have it in him to snatch his hand back.
He doesn’t want to.
Turning back, tired eyes meet Timber’s firm ones. It’s jarring, but Flash can see the strain, the warm, softest eyes behind these ones. He’s trying for him. One word spins around his head. The hand tightens around his wrist.
A first aid kit holds Timber’s other hand. Of course.
“You’re not going anywhere.”
“Timber—”
“I said – ” Timber tugs at his wrist, pulling Flash closer to him and oh. He’s also looking up at Timber, just a little bit. Timber is taller than him. Just like he’s always said, trying to measure their height difference while Flash dodges him, not wanting to admit it.
Somehow his one inch on Flash makes him feel safer and cared for than jealous.
It just makes what they called you even more true.
“ – You’re not going anywhere. Sit.” He gestures at the steps behind him with his chin.
“But—”
“Sit.”
Flash does what he’s told. Timber doesn’t tug him to make him move faster, he lets him go when he sees Flash complying.
Flash could’ve run off.
He doesn’t. God, without Timber’s warmth, he’s sick, he’s a mess. But with his warmth, he’s still a mess, he’s sniffly and his throat’s clogged.
Yanking his leg up aids Timber while he opens the kit. Flash’s bag slips off his shoulder and he sighs, hands in his lap, avoiding Timber’s gaze.
The tearing of a wipe packet strings words from his throat. “It’s—”
“Flash,” Timber starts, voice tender. A whiplash but also the aftermath, a hand steadying his head and an ice pack to his nape. Timber’s eye façade collapses and Flash releases some tears at how slightly red his eyes look now.
“You always take care of me,” he says. Flash already knows the next words. He bites his lip enough to whiten the skin. “Let me take care of you for once.”
He’s pleading. The glossiness leaves his eyes in a blink. How Flash wishes he can do that. Timber shifts closer, leans closer and his thumb tucks under his waterline, removing irritating wet trails. His palm does the same to the same cheek like he remembers Flash hates the feel of tears on his skin. Of course, he does.
Flash exhales like he’s singing an eight-octave vocal run. Looks into Timber’s pretty, pretty green eyes.
He’s still crying. His voice might not even work anymore.
“Okay.” It’s hoarse.
Timber presses his lips together. “You know you can share anything with me.” He doesn’t need a right? Flash knows.
Flash knows enough to connect his lips with Timber’s.
So he can share his sobs with him.