Work Text:
He was always asked why he had so many tattoos. Around his neck, chest. Around his arms and legs.
His answer was always the same.
"I just like them"
And while the sentence wasn't a lie it was only a tiny part of the truth.
Underneath the black ink old scars were hidden. Some long, some old. Some long and some short. Each one of them had a different story. Each one carried a different feeling that he felt at the time.
Ederson didn't have a good life back then, he really didn't.
As a child his parents weren't there for him and as a teenager people were quick to spit in his face for making a simple mistake.
He may seem like a rock now but that's only a mask. A mask that was gently sculpted with knives, blades, razors, in some cases even hands over the years and years and years..
It took awhile before the burning fire of hatred was stomped on enough till it had gone out.
It took awhile before the hands around his throat, choking him, were cut off, allowing him to inhale freely yet again.
Though even now the fire is trying to set again. Even now, the fingers are grazing his neck.
But Ederson isn't how he was back then.
Now instead of trying to put out the fire barefoot, he wears shoes. Instead of holding the wrists to let him go, he pulls away.
Ederson knows what happened to him. He knows who gave him shoes, he knows who cut off the hands.
He knows.
And it wasn't his parents. Wasn't his friends, because he didn't have any. It wasn't anyone he had even known.
It was a man he today calls his father. His coach. The one that had pulled him out of the hell hole and held him close, whispering that it was all going to be okay.
They say give a man a fish and he's full for a day, but teach a man to fish and he's full for a lifetime.
Pep offered comfort, but he offered solutions.
So today he wears a mask.
Today he wears shoes. And today he carries himself tall and quick.
The fact he likes his tattoos, or tattoos in general, isn't a lie.
Because those tattoos were his protection. His symbol of 'I'm free'. His way of saying that he has learned.
His way of saying you can't hurt me anymore. His way of saying I can't hurt myself anymore.
And he wears them proudly.
But.
Again
When he's asked
"Why do you have so many tattoos?"
The answer is always "I just like them."
Because, below the surface, lies the truth that only Ederson will know.