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A lonely tear slid down a cheek ravaged by time, getting lost in the hair growing neatly on Israel Hand’s face. Not a sound came from the man as he sat, barricaded in a supply closet, teeth sunk into the back of his hand. If he moved even an inch, he’d break. If he breathed, he’d break.
Izzy Hands was made of molten glass, waiting to settle. Fragile, cheeks burning, the darkness around him pressing down on his chest. It was good, the horrible heat. The way sweat trickled down his back, pressed between layers of leather and cloth.
He almost wished Edward had hit him. At least that would have left a mark. At least he would have had something to look at in the mirror when he managed to drag himself back to his chambers.
“Nope”, Edward had laughed, as if it wasn’t the most devastating blow he could deliver to Israel, along with a crinkle of his nose. “Not my thing- though Izzy looks like he enjoyed it.”
It was the booze, Izzy told himself as his breath got stuck in his throat. It was the booze, it was the booze that had made Edward back him into a wall and kiss him. It was the booze that Edward reeked of, and it was the booze that had made his entire being *shudder* when the other man’s lips breezed over his.
A whimper escaped Israel as he lowered himself to his knees. The walls were closing in on him, and it was oddly comforting to think of the room collapsing in on him and burying him alive. Oddly comforting, thinking of his body lying broken amongst the splinters. It was the booze, he just needed to keep saying that. He licked his lips, running his tongue over the raw, cracked bits of skin that Edward must have felt when he kissed him. It was the booze that was making him worried about whether Edward enjoyed the kiss or not.
He wasn’t sure what was worse. The look on Edward’s face after he’d pulled away, the looks on the other men in the kitchen, or his own whimpering, cowering form. ‘Nope’, Edward had laughed, and now Izzy was collapsed in on himself like a puppet with broken strings, trying to figure out why it felt so wrong. So, so wrong. To be pushed away by Edward.
‘Please,’ he mouthed. He rocked back and forth, trying to lean into the violent shivers wrecking his body. ‘Please’. He wasn’t sure what he was asking for anymore.
Perhaps, it was to have been born pretty. Like Edward. With eyes that shone and a smile that quirked upwards. Perhaps for Edward to have been a girl. With wild hair and a deep voice, rough hands and a knack for ordering him around. ‘Please’, he pleaded, trying to get the tears to stop. They’d spilled over his cheeks, it was too late to pull them back in.
‘Ay Hands,’ a voice called from outside, pounding on the door. Fuck. Shit. Fuck. “Been in there for a while mate, you conscious?”
Israel opened his mouth to respond, but all that came was a drawn out whimper. He licked his lips. “I-” he choked. He choked. A fresh wave of tears spilled over his cheeks. Fuck. Shit.
The doorknob rattled, and before Izzy could make a move to wipe the tears off his face, the old wood creaked and moaned as someone-, Israel couldn’t tell who, wrenched it open. Fuck. Desperately, Izzy pulled a bucket closer, forcing himself to lean over it.
“Izzy mate-”
Izzy shook his head, pressing his forehead against the edge of the bucket. “D-damn weather,” he shuddered, heaving. Or pretending to heave anyway.
From somewhere above him came a meaty hand slamming down on his back. “Ay storm’s almost through, hang in there-”
That was- oddly nice. Izzy blinked, cracking an eye open to see their cook reaching above his head to grab a sack of oranges. “Dizzy Izzy,” the cook cackled, and Israel coughed. “Has a good sound to it, eh Hands?”
The man took one look at Izzy and then gave him a solid, somewhat telling nod. It was with the look on his face that Israel understood all at once the cook hadn’t bought his shoddy acting. “Please-” he choked, and the cook shook his head. “What kind of pirate gets seasick, Hands?” the cook said loudly **for the sake of the other pirates who’d gathered behind him to catch a glimpse of the first mate. Well. It was better for them to believe he’d been throwing up than crying.
Izzy blinked at the cook’s sneaky thumbs up, followed by the door slamming shut. Maybe the man was okay. Maybe-
The door shutting was followed by the tattle-tale turn of the lock in place. Israel had just enough time to panic before the key to the tiny closet slid underneath the door. Oh. *Oh*.
Israel uncurled himself from his spot, reaching over and grabbing the key. The door could be opened from the inside, but with the key in his hand, it remained virtually impenetrable from the outside. Unless someone decided to break down the door, but he doubted anyone cared enough for that.
In that moment, despite the skeleton of a rat underneath his foot and the various jars of pickling fish around him, the little cupboard was-. Safe. It was safe. He could stay in there for the rest of his life if he wanted.
Taking a deep breath, Israel leaned up against the wall, stretching his limbs. Fuck. His head was spinning. His vision swam in tears. But the horrible spiked thing in his stomach had disappeared. He could feel it digging his claws into him whenever he thought of Edward, but for now- for now. For now, he could take a full breath.
He did so. Carefully.
Maybe the cook was okay.