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As much as Darius had told him it would be okay to take their sparring sessions lightly, he had almost regained his old strength back. His moves were as swift as ever, enough that he was now close to beating Darius. Just a few more steps and…
Gash.
He felt time stop as a single drop of blood trailed down his cheek, the red trail it left making the injury look far worse than it had been. Most of it was dry, thanks to the swirl of wind caused by the movement, other than the droplet.
He raised his hand towards the cut, feeling the warmth of the bead on his usually gloved finger, unfamiliar with the sensation as he tried hopelessly to hide the damage.
Darius immediately lowered his purple weapon, abandoning his abomination form to rush toward him.
"I— I'm so sorry Hunter, Titan—. I should have gone easier on you, I…" he rambled as he caressed the boy's cheek, carefully examining the wound.
There was a shadow of guilt flooding his gaze, slowing each of his movements.
"It's okay, I guess. I mean, I've- I've had much worse, you know. No worries, I promise. But maybe… Would it be fine if we cut short the training session?"
He had never asked for that before.
But Darius had never done that before, either.
And Darius had never felt so guilty about something in his life.
"Sure, just… Do you want me to clean that up for—"
Hunter left before he could even finish.
As much as Darius wants to run after him, caress him forever, he figured out it would probably be better to give him a little time to himself.
~(X)~
Inside, Hunter's mind felt foggy like it hadn't in a while.
It feels foggy when he went to the bathroom for a band-aid, as he grabs some paper and dampens it enough that it removes the stain from his cheek.
The wound is mostly closed by then, only a tiny scar that won't last for more than a week, unlike any other he has ever had.
He has had so many.
He doesn't remember much about them, oddly.
His mind feels so, so foggy as he makes a run for his bedroom, closing his door behind him frantically. For a second, he leaves it open just enough for Flapjack to come inside, before he remembers.
Even with the memory of his friend’ life slowly fading away before his eyes, far more vivid than he feels comfortable with, the part of his brain that feels all fuzzy and confused begs him to take care of Flap, to hide him for the Titan’s sake, to—
It still feels foggy by the time Darius knocks on his door softly to call him for dinner. How much time had gone by?
"Little prince?"
He feels himself react to the name.
"Dinner is ready, if you want to come before it gets cold."
Dinner. Warm.
"I'm coming."
They sit in unusually awkward silence. Instead of it being filled with their usual rambling, Darius only speaks a few sentences, before going quiet for a few moments and starting again.
"I really don't know how to say how sorry I am about earlier. Are you alright?" he asks, knowing the more he delays it the worse it will be.
Hunter looks up, a soft smile forming on his lips.
"Everything’s fine. No hard feelings."
He felt fine. The blurriness in his mind almost felt familiar, as if it had been there before for so long, so why worry?
He still didn’t know why every muscle in his body feels so tense.
His body feels almost like a vessel and nothing more, and his vision feels as if he were watching a show on Darius’ crystal ball.
Suddenly, a thought invaded him.
I don’t want to watch a show with him.
That was… odd to say the least. In all his time living there, he had never had an objection to watching a show together, even if it was one of those boring fashion contests Darius loved. Every weekend afternoon, they would sit together, grab a blanket and sometimes even fall asleep-
I don’t want to fall asleep here.
Not next to him. Not anywhere near him.
“Hey, are you alright?” Darius asked.
Asked… again? He wasn’t entirely sure. Hunter looked around, trying to hide the franticness of the urge he felt to ensure his surroundings in vain.
Everything felt weird. How long had he spent at the table? He tried to recall, again fruitlessly, what had just happened.
He remembered patching himself up in the bathroom, grabbing a bandaid and the cool touch of a damp towel against his skin.
Against his skin. Against his cheek.
A cool touch.
The swish of a purple, abomination goo blade.
A green goo blade.
Against my cheek.
Darius pushed his chair a few inches back, just enough that it would allow him to stand up and get a little closer.
He’s getting closer.
Hunter raises one of his hands to cover his face instinctively.
The other, the other covers his injured cheek.
“DON’T TOUCH ME!” he cries as he stands up. “Don’t— I don’t— No, no, NO!” he says between unfinished, shallow breaths as Darius steps back.
From a safe distance, Darius tried to think quickly, trying to remember everything, anything out of the countless books he read about how to help him. His… son?
Hunter, now clutching his head with both hands, keeps muttering broken sentences under his breath.
Darius wondered if he was still worthy of calling the kid his son.
The least he could do was try to solve this mess.
The mess he caused. He took a deep breath, hoping it would help in the slightest.
“Hunter? I need you to breathe with me. Slow, take in as much air as you can, okay?”
He tries to lean in to touch his shoulder reassuringly.
Only for Hunter to flinch and step back.
For a brief second, Darius feels his heart shrink, before trying again.
“Hunter, breathe with me,” he says, hoping the worry in his voice won’t come out as a threat.
Suddenly, Hunter freezes.
At least he’s not hyperventilating anymore, Darius thought.
And then, Hunter drops to his knee.
Stern and formal, all traces of his former panic gone. His posture straightens, and his sniffles turn into nothing but a rhythmic breathing.
“Yes, sir,” he answers in a tone Darius hasn’t heard in a while, one he wished he would never have to hear again.
“Yes, sir,” Hunter repeats, awaiting for confirmation, in his old Golden Guard intonation.
Inside, every single part of his body trembles in silence, afraid to drop the kneel even as his calves feel like giving out from the lack of practice.
Inside, his mind, his limbs, everything feels numb, and he hears nothing but a tiny voice repeating itself over and over.
Don’t fail again.
Don’t fail again
Don’t fail again.
Don’t fail again, or you know what comes next, the swish of the blade resounding in his ears.
He is no longer at the Deamonne house, ruining yet another attempt at dinner while his brain keeps insisting on not trusting Darius ever again.
He is no longer at the backyard, hearing the air around the titandamn weapon.
Suddenly, a green heart is pulsating erratically above his head as he awaits for what feels like forever.
He is back sweating in his full armor, awaiting for the order to remove his mask, absolutely terrified of breaking his poker face when that happens.
Worst of all, he is suddenly back at the castle, knowing the gash in his cheek is nothing compared to what is coming next.
“Hunter,” his uncle’s voice says, as stern as ever.
He feels his former sweat go cold washing over him in dread, knowing the feeling very well, right before his mind goes blank.
~(X)~
“Hunter?” he heard a voice call as if from afar.
As his senses returned, he stood up in fear, remembering everything.
Instead of the greenish tinge of the throne room, his eyes were met with a dazing purple.
There was one place, and one place only, that he knew could be that purple.
No sickening heartbeat, no cold stone floors, or echoes of anyone’s breath traveling through the room.
Only the softness of the rug under him. The very purple rug.
His brain finally clicked.
He was in Darius’ living room, with the man himself sitting on the couch next to him, looking… almost afraid? to touch him.
Slowly, he began uncurling, unclenching his fists and jaw. When had he even gone from his chair to this spot on the carpet? He could feel his stiff muscles slowly relaxing out of exhaustion, practically giving out.
Suddenly, he felt the warm touch of a hand on his shoulder, surprising him. For a split second, he was torn between quickly squirming away or letting himself melt under the touch. His mind itself was torn between launching him at Darius’ arms and allowing him to exist inside their comfort, or having him flee at any costs.
The indecision was beginning to act up on him, making his breath slowly faster with every air intake that went by.
In the meanwhile, he stood, frozen under Darius’ soft hold on his shoulder.
One hand on his shoulder, getting colder by the second, capable of oozing that horrendous goo at any given moment—
No, no, NO! his mind began screaming, begging him to flee, to hide, to save himself. His voice, hoarse from yelling, had gone from terrified screams to barely anything louder than distressed whines, more air than sound actually escaping him.
Darius had never been more scared. He knew Hunter well enough to know he practically survived off physical affection. And now, seeing him squirm away from his touch as if his hand burned, he couldn’t help but feel his heart wrench as a new wave of tears began appearing in the boy’s eyes.
That fearful stare pierced through him, burning itself into Darius’ memory.
The kid —because that was what Hunter looked like and was— was the definition of scared.
And Darius didn’t know what to do. He didn’t want to keep making him retreat away or hide or try to wrap himself around his own arms in a futile attempt to create a shield.
The worst part was that he was guilty of starting it.
If he had simply been careful enough to move a few inches away, maybe Hunter wouldn’t be reliving the life Darius had sworn to never make him go back to.
All the effort he had put into building even the slightest hints of trust, all the boundaries he had encouraged Hunter to set, and all the times he had mentally scolded himself for not stepping in earlier.
All of that thrown away because of a stupid sparring session.
He just hoped it would be salvageable in some form or way. He didn’t even care if Hunter never wanted to look him in the face again, as long as he could help him out of the hell he was undergoing.
As long as he was alright.
He had to try again.
He kneeled, leveling himself with Hunter.
“Little prince? Darius called softly, hoping with all his might he would recognize the nickname. He tapped the boy’s arm softly, making sure to stay as far as he could from his shoulders and face.
Even if his whimpering had not completely disappeared, Hunter’s breathing appeared to level at the touch.
”Oh, thank the Titan”.
“Little prince, I’m… I can’t apologize enough for what happened earlier. I know you are strong, stronger than me in many ways, but you are still a child. I should have taken it slowly, shouldn’t have gone so overboard, Titan, the sole thought of using the goo blade for casual sparring feels stupid to consider.” He ventured to put his entire hand on Hunter’s reassuringly.
“You are so strong, insist on projecting so much confidence it’s easy to forget how young you are, and I’m sorry I failed at that again. Back in the Coven, it was a massive surprise for me the first time I saw you without the mask. All the coven heads were always speculating on how old you were, and their bets changed, turned more confusing with every achievement you made. No one even considered that the Golden Guard could be a kid, not with that level of power. None of the bets ever got close in the slightest to your real age.”
“I understand if you need some space for a while, or if you would prefer to stay somewhere else. I’m sure Camila or Eda would be more than happy to take you in if you need to,” he added as he scratched the back of his head, making sure his movements were slow so as not to trigger Hunter again. His breathing finally looked deeper, more stable, and his stare was finally moving somewhere else that wasn’t completely lost in nowhere.
“However, if you stay, and even if you don’t, I want you to know that I would never purposefully hurt you, no matter how strong you might be or how angry I might feel. And, I also want you to know I can’t even begin to say how sorry I am for hurting you, now and in the past.”
Darius waited for a few seconds before asking him the question.
“Would you like a hug?”
Hunter could only nod softly, to which Darius responded by leaning in in an equally soft manner.
“Ouch!” Hunter squeaked. Darius turned quickly to examine his cut.
“Don’t worry, it’s just the salt of your tears that’s settling and making it sting.”
When had he even begun crying?
Darius looked around, trying to find some paper, spare cloth, or anything he could use to dry Hunter’s face, not wanting to leave him. Not after noticing the slight pressure the boy’s hands were putting on his arm, as if trying to make him stay forever. Instead, he resorted to using the edge of his shirt. Easing Hunter’s pain came before any fancy shirt he could ever own. Besides, he could always wash it later.
After a few minutes of hugging, which had turned into Darius almost cradling Hunter on his lap, Hunter finally spoke.
“Can I— Is it fine if I stay?”