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"Good morning.." Red Velvet yawns, hugging Herb from behind as he cracks an egg.
"Good morning to you too, love." The green haired man smiles, whisking the eggs in a bowl. "Tough night?"
"Mmm.. Not really, just woke myself up early to try and surprise you." The red haired man squeezes the thighs of the other in an affirming action. After all, Herb said that he was fine with anything, so surely this was fine!
Right...?
He tenses up, whisk dropping into the grey bowl. That touch was sudden, to say the least. Herb chuckles nervously, turning to say something to his boyfriend but the goofy smile of his love is not there.
Instead, there stands his past love. Instead of a cheerful grin, there is a sinister smirk. Instead of his baby blue eye and the dark glass eye, there is two cyan ones. His red and black hair turns to a green-ish white. With a crash, the bowl full of eggs falls to the ground; cracking with the orange-yellow fluid spilling. The green haired man’s pupils shrink in horror, hands instinctively curling around his fragile frame.
"Don’t touch me!" He screams, eyes forcing shut as he anticipates the worst- anything. As he anticipates a hand to slap, a rough grab on his hips, a whisper of false affirmation, anything- anything. Words sneak into his ears, like buzzing flies waiting to lay their eggs inside his ear canal until the larvae tear at his flesh. The flies will tear at his eardrums, his memories- they will grow strong from what tore him down. Because like the caterpillar that the Glyptapanteles wasp, his life is insignificant unless for a greater cause.
"Stop! Leave me be!" Herb yells, shaking his body free of the flies that have come to nest in his mind. Shaking it free of the sin, sin, sin. Shaking it free of the calm voice, "You’re such a pretty lady, you know that?" The voice only grows louder with each futile attempt to rid himself of it. The flies buzz louder, swarming his head with a blur of grey. They spin to form a pretty picture- a picture of a man with short green-ish white hair, cyan eyes with white eyelashes, and a leaf-shaped lute.
"Haven’t you done enough damage?" The screaming turns to choked sobs as his throat runs dry. Though through the flies, a metal arm reaches out. It stays still for a while as Herb inspects the specks of chipped paint, each divot in the joins. The man, too, reaches out his hands. He grasps onto the prosthetic like a lifeline- almost pulling it out of the above elbow socket. The cloud of flies clear away, the voice is gone, and a comforting silence envelops the room like a winter blanket.
"Maybe we do need to have a conversation about triggers, hm?" Red Velvet forced a weak smile, eyes crinkling.
"Mm.." The other hums, not finding the words to respond. Though the red and black haired man understands, he always understands.
"Its still just 11:30 in the morning, but I think you deserve a break. How about I lay you down on the couch, clean up this mess, and make some breakfast?" To that, the gardener nods eagerly (or, as eagerly as he can with all of his energy gone).
His head hits the soft pillow, making up for the coarseness of the thrifted couch. A blanket is draped over him, consequently attracting Chiffon (who had been a worried, barking bystander the whole time). The labrador jumps atop the resting man, finding that the blanket is also a perfect napping spot.
Red Velvet placed a wet towel over the spilled eggs, gently throwing the pieces of the bowl in a plastic bag. Believe it or not, he was not a great cook. At all. He was a veteran of the army, and was prepared to eat anything given to him (or her, at the time). Cooking really wasn’t a priority when there were corpses on the field and gunshots blaring. He shudders as the bag of bread almost falls to the floor. Chiffon perks his ears up, eyes open to ensure Red Velvet wasn’t in any danger. In reality thats why he had Chiffon, Chiffon was a trained service dog (though he’s also a giant puppy).
The toast pops out with a click, Red Velvet using his metal arm to place the near-burnt bread onto a plate. Some butter is pulled out of the fridge (mainly for himself, as Herb likes his toast plain) and the plate is placed on the table.
"Herb, breakfast is served!" The veteran calls out, attempting to look fancy as he places paper towels beside each piece of toast. Herb giggles and plops down on a chair, grabbing the least burnt-looking one. He tries to thank Velvet, though no words come out and he grumbles- pouting as he chews at a comically slow pace. "We can always have a discussion about what happened later, when you’re verbal. Now enjoy your meal and let me pamper you."
Chiffon wags his tail, licking at Herb’s ankles as a way of comfort (the same way he does to his owner).
Whether you wonder, who’s calling your name.