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David sat on the couch with a glass of water, gazing out the window as raindrops trickled down. Although his attention seemed fixed on the rain, his mind wandered elsewhere, causing everything around him to blur.
It was nighttime, with only a faint light casting shadows in the Campbell household's living room. David had never sat alone here like this in the middle of the night; it felt unfamiliar, out of place.
Usually, he would be upstairs sleeping next to Exer, either dreaming strangely or waking up with no recollection of dreams at all. He wished for those nights again—the ones where he could waste away in dreams of nonsense. He realized he had taken them for granted, now longing for at least one dreamless night.
He felt exhausted.
His eyelids drooped, urging his body to surrender to sleep, yet he resisted. He didn't want to sleep anymore.
Because compared to being awake, his dreams were far worse.
David could still remember having nightmares as a child, but they never felt as vividly real as they did now. Perhaps because in his youth, his nightmares were infused with elements of fantasy, like a dark wizard casting a scary spell over him, whereas now they were haunting recollections of recent events.
Initially, he didn't experience them right away; instead, he sought solace in sleep, using it as an escape from the physical and emotional pain he endured.
But eventually, life decided he no longer deserved peaceful rest either, instead subjecting him to relentless torment, forcing him to relive his worst day at night.
The cold splash on his hand snapped him out of his internal turmoil, prompting him to hastily set the glass of water down on the small table as his trembling hand made it difficult to hold.
It was then he noticed the dampness on his cheeks, tears silently streaming down from his eyes. Normally, he would have wiped them away instantly, but he was alone. No eyes were upon him. This solitude was the only silver lining the night offered him these days—a veil of loneliness that allowed him to shed tears without feeling like a burden.
He reclined into the couch, closing his eyes and clasping his hands together tightly to prevent them from trembling.
He felt so tired.
He wanted to sleep.
He didn’t want to sleep.
He felt so helpless.
More tears slipped from his clenched eyes as he brought a hand to his mouth, attempting to stifle the sobs that involuntarily escaped his body. His other hand clutched his shirt just above his pounding heart, as he struggled to push away the memories of his most recent nightmare.
The image of his father standing over him, his grip tight in his hair as he shouted—
Instantly, he curled into himself, drawing his feet up onto the couch, burying his head between his knees. His hands moved to grip his legs, unconsciously scratching up and down in an effort to banish the haunting memories.
Little lady—
No son of mine will be a homo—
I’m afraid you won’t have a father anymore—
Pack up your stuff and leave —
The words lingered in his mind like a broken melody, an unwelcome refrain refusing to fade.
In this position, he couldn't suppress the sobs reverberating through the silent room, but he was certain both Exer and Harry were both asleep, it being the dead of night, so he let himself cry.
He couldn't stifle his cries even if he tried, the sobs wrenching from his body, desperate to escape, his weary frame too drained to resist.
So exhausted .
All he wanted was to sleep and forget, to erase that one day from his memory forever.
His father's words rang true each time he labeled David as pathetic; here he was, shedding tears like a child while the world was asleep, unable to move on from something so stupid.
Why couldn't he move on?
His life wasn't bad. He had wonderful friends, a supportive mother and sister, and even an amazing boyfriend whose father accepted and encouraged them both. So why did it matter so much that his own father despised him? That his father no longer considered him a son because he was disgus—
His fingernails dug into his bare legs, the pain serving as a welcome distraction from the relentless assault of insults in his mind.
He was utterly exhausted.
So, so exhausted.
He longed for sleep desperately, but fear gripped him tightly.
Why couldn't he just forget?
Panic surged through him, his stomach churning with nausea, the sensation of impending sickness overwhelming him. His breaths became irregular as he struggled for air.
All he wanted was sleep.
Why couldn't he just sleep?
David's sobs mixed with gasps for breath, his frustration mounting, the stinging sensation from his relentless scratching no longer providing relief. His hands searched frantically for something else to grasp onto, tugging at his shirt, darting to his face to wipe away tears mingled with sweat.
He tried to calm his breathing, to alleviate the nausea, as he lied down on his side, curling into the couch. His hands clenched tightly onto the cushion as dizziness washed over him, unsure if it was due to lack of air or sheer exhaustion.
He started pleading in his mind, unaware of what he was begging for or why. Just pleading. Endless pleading for some form of help to come to his aid.
Then, as if his silent prayers had been answered, the sound of footsteps descending the stairs echoed into the room. But rather than calming David's nerves, his body tensed up. Exer shouldn't have to see him like this; he had been through enough, and David didn't want him to know how much he was struggling.
That David, instead of sleeping like a normal person, was pathetically crying on his couch.
He squeezed his eyes shut tightly, preparing himself for his boyfriend's soft voice, trying to steady his breathing despite feeling as though all the air had been sucked out of the room.
However, what he didn't expect was hearing Harry's quiet voice calling out his name in question.
Instantly, his body reacted, sitting up quicker than he thought possible and opening his eyes abruptly, flinching slightly at the sight of the adult figure.
"Harry?" he gasped out, his voice cracking.
"Hey kid, are you alright? Why are you up?" Harry must not have noticed the tears glistening in the dim light, but David wiped them away nonetheless.
His attempt to act composed was shattered the moment David tried to speak, a breathless sob escaping his lips instead.
His trembling hand instinctively shot up to cover his mouth, as if the sob hadn't already reached Harry's ears.
He wanted to apologize, to tell Harry to go back to sleep and not to worry, but Harry was already on his way towards him, and now that he was sitting on his knees before David, he could see the concern in his eyes.
"Hey, shh, it's alright," he whispered reassuringly, though David noticed the slight hesitation before Harry placed a hand on his knee. "I'm here, I'm right here," he continued.
"I— I can't—" David tried to convey, attempting to express himself, abandoning any pretense of being okay while struggling to articulate to Harry that he couldn't breathe.
In the recesses of his mind, he chastised himself for appearing so pathetic, clutching at his neck while tears streamed down his face, his eyes silently pleading for help. His father would have—
But Harry wasn't his father, and he would never berate David for crying like a child. Instead, Harry brought a hand and placed it gently on David's chest, instructing him to mimic his breathing.
David focused on Harry's gaze as he attempted to follow Harry's guidance, slowly inhaling through his nose, waiting for Harry to stop counting, and then exhaling slowly through his mouth, moving Harry's hand on his chest accordingly.
Harry continued to guide him through the process, offering soft words of encouragement and reassurance along the way. "You're doing so well," he affirmed, his touch comforting both David's knee and chest as David's breathing gradually steadied breathe by breathe.
"Just a few more, okay?" Harry asked, to which David nodded in response, feeling the sensations slowly returning to his body and no longer experiencing dizziness or the imminent threat of passing out, though the exhaustion remained, a stark reminder of his sleep deprivation.
Harry smiled at him, nodding as he slowly withdrew his hand from David's chest. "You're alright, that's it," he reassured. David closed his eyes for a moment, utilizing the breathing technique once more, really feeling the air entering and leaving his lungs.
But when he opened his eyes while exhaling slowly, he noticed that Harry's gaze had shifted away from him, his eyes downturned and widened. Initially confused, David soon realized what had caught Harry's attention, almost forgetting the painful sting until he felt Harry's gaze on his legs.
Though it couldn't have been that bad, probably just some irritated scratches.
David couldn't comprehend why Harry appeared so troubled. "What are these? Lucy didn’t do these, did she?" David's eyes widened at the anxious tone, startled that Harry was concerned Lucy might have caused the marks, rather than himself.
He was tempted to affirm that yes, Lucy was responsible, but then Harry's worried gaze returned to his eyes, causing David to swallow nervously.
Harry seemed genuinely concerned, and David knew it wouldn't be right to blame the innocent cat that had always shown kindness to him. Harry shouldn't have to worry that Lucy might suddenly turn aggressive, as she once did with Jackson.
Yet, admitting that he had been the one that caused the marks himself? That his own nails had scratched his skin? David couldn't bring himself to consider that as an option, his mind scrambling for any alternative explanation.
"Uhh," David's mouth opened and closed, unsure of what to say. He quickly averted Harry's worried gaze, fixing his eyes on his hands, which began fidgeting nervously.
However, his hands froze when he noticed the redness, the dried blood visible under his fingernails. It wasn't much, but it was still noticeable enough in the dim light for Harry to see.
He was about to hurriedly hide his hands, but it was too late as Harry gently gripped both of them, having already caught David's glance. David’s heart sank when he looked back at Harry. He saw the softening of Harry's eyes, the somber realization drawing on his face as he examined David's hands.
They remained in that position for a moment, David struggling to hold back tears while waiting for Harry to say something, anything.
But, when a tear rolled down his face and landed on his hand, Harry wiped it away and shifted his eyes back up at David's face.
David sighed in relief when Harry offered a small reassuring smile, indicating that he wasn't angry. "I'll be right back with a first aid kit, okay? These aren't too bad, but they should still be cleaned." David simply stared at Harry, his mind struggling to process everything. What did he mean? They were just scratches?
Harry lingered, uncertainty evident in his eyes. "David? Are you okay if I leave you for a few minutes to get it?" Why did he sound like David was on the brink of falling apart if left alone? Did he look that bad?
David nodded, still unable to find his voice. "Okay, try to use the breathing technique in the meantime. I'll be right back," Harry said, giving David's hands a gentle squeeze before standing up and walking to the kitchen, where David knew the first aid kit was located, down to the specific cabinet.
He listened to the sound of running water from the sink, Harry's footsteps in the kitchen, and the soft raindrops hitting the window behind him, his gaze lingering on the spot where Harry had disappeared.
He wanted to inspect his legs, to see the damage that left dried blood underneath his fingernails, but instead, he closed his tired eyes and leaned back into the couch, trying to ignore the increasing stinging sensation in his legs.
He continued to breathe deeply, following Harry's instructions to count and then breathe out slowly.
Pathetic .
He clenched his eyes shut, attempting to suppress the tremble in his lips and prevent a lump from forming in his throat. He had already cried enough—
Which was pathetic enough already.
His eyes shot open, and he sat upright, gripping the pyjama shorts he was wearing tightly.
What was wrong with him?
His thoughts were interrupted when he caught a glimpse of Harry entering the room again with a bowl of water in one hand and the first aid kit in the other. His eyes followed Harry as he activated the overhead light with his elbow on his way to David, who winced slightly at the sudden brightness.
Harry placed the bowl with a washcloth and the first aid kit on the ground before kneeling before David once more, inspecting the scratches now that there was more light. His slight frown only heightened David's curiosity about their appearance.
But something held him back.
"Does it hurt much?" Harry quietly asked as he returned his gaze to David's own. His frown deepened when his eyes landed on David's face, and David could only imagine how terrible he must have looked in the brighter lighting, eyes red and swollen from crying, a still-wet face from tears, and likely a blotchy, red complexion.
And he knew his hair must have been disheveled after waking up from a nightmare, during which he often found himself gripping his hair while gasping for breath.
Yeah, he must not have looked good.
David softly shook his head in response to Harry's question, pushing away the image of himself that had formed in his mind
Harry seemed to be lost in thought as he remained motionless, simply gazing at David instead of moving to clean the scratches on his skin.
Then, Harry placed a hand on David's knee once again, rubbing it affectionately before asking, "Do you want me to get Exer?"
That caught David off guard, his eyes widening ever so slightly, unsure of what Harry was implying. Did Harry want to sleep? Did he want Exer to handle this instead?
"What?" David croaked out, swallowing around the lump in his throat, his eyes avoiding Harry's, not wanting to meet his gaze anymore, fearing he was being a massive burden. "You don't have to do this if you don't want to. You can go back to sleep," he winced at how broken his voice sounded, how pathe —
"What?" Harry sounded genuinely confused, causing David to return his gaze to him. He saw the moment a sense of understanding entered Harry's eyes, and he immediately shifted his hand from David's knee to his shoulder, squeezing it reassuringly. "No, David, no, that's not what I meant."
"I just thought maybe you'd want Exer by your side while I do this. I'm not going anywhere," Harry said, smiling as he rubbed David's arm up and down.
"I'm not going anywhere."
The words echoed in David's mind, and he couldn't prevent new tears from welling up in his eyes.
He hated himself for it, despised how he was falling apart. He raised his hands and placed them in front of his eyes in a feeble attempt to hide the fresh tears streaming down his face. "I'm sorry," he whispered, a sob accompanying the apology.
Suddenly, he felt strong arms enveloping his body, guiding him towards the warmth of the person embracing him. His body stilled, his eyes opening and peeking between his fingers to see the soft red of Harry's robe, the soft material brushing against David's cheek.
"Is this okay?" Harry asked, and in response, David's body slowly relaxed, leaning into the embrace and burying his head into Harry's chest.
The arms tightened around him, moving up and down his back as David let out his sobs, unable to hold himself together, finding comfort in a way he had never experienced with his own father.
The subtle scent of Harry, the warmth of his body holding him close, and the soothing voice reassuring him that it was okay, encouraging him to let it all out—it was so overwhelming.
He had been doing so well at pretending until now, officially breaking down.
In the last few weeks, he had smiled, laughed, and gone to school as if nothing was wrong, trying to prove to everyone that nothing had ever happened and that he was okay.
But the sleepless nights had finally caught up with him as tears continued to stream down his face, sobs muffled by Harry's chest.
He was so tired..
"I'm so tired," he managed to say between sobs, shifting his head enough that his face wasn't completely buried in Harry's chest but still pressed against it.
"But I can't sleep," he admitted, too exhausted to care who he was confessing to, deep down knowing he never would have said such things to Harry if he were in his right mind. But he was tired, and Harry was there, holding him tightly and encouraging him.
A hand found its way to his head, gently stroking his hair. The contrast between Harry's gentle touch and the forceful grip his father had used caused another loud sob to escape his body.
"I can't forget," he repeated, over and over again until he was too drained to say anything more, simply sobbing onto Harry's shoulder, which was becoming damp from his tears.
Harry continued to hold him close, gently swaying them in comfort while whispering soothing words, his fingers tenderly caressing David's hair. "I know, it's okay," his voice was so calming, "You're gonna be okay," and the certainty in his tone made David want to believe it.
"Everything will be okay," he repeated softly as David's sobs gradually turned into slow breaths, the last few tears rolling down his face silently.
David's eyes slowly began to close, whether it was due to the soft caresses of Harry’s hands or sheer exhaustion, he couldn't tell.
He focused on the rhythm of Harry's heartbeat, the sound of his voice and the rain hitting against the window fading into the background.
He wanted to reciprocate the embrace, to wipe away the tears and snot, aware of both sticking to his face and staining Harry's robe. He wanted to do many things, but he didn’t have any energy left in his body to move.
All he could do was continue to listen to the sound of Harry's heartbeat as his mind started to drift into unconsciousness.
He tried to resist the sleep, trying to fight against it, but it became increasingly difficult when he faintly sensed their position had shifted. The arms were still wrapped around him, but now he was more lying down on Harry's chest rather than slumped against it.
"It's okay, I'm right here," was the last thing he heard before sleep overcame him.
And for the first time in a long while, he wasn't faced with the haunting scene of his father towering above him. Instead, there was just darkness, a dream filled with nothingness, just peaceful sleep.
He woke up once or twice, once to the sensation of being lifted by a pair of strong arms, but before he could open his eyes and question what was happening, a soft voice lulled him back to sleep.
The other time, he felt a gentle touch on his leg, soft fingertips grazing his sensitive skin until he noticed an unfamiliar sensation—the pain suspiciously subsiding—before sleep tugged him back into unconsciousness.
The next day was filled with serious discussions, with David listening to the advice Harry gave regarding therapy, with his mother and Exer by his side offering their support. He assured him that talking about nightmares and feelings could help alleviate them.
When David quietly confessed that he felt uncomfortable sharing his nightmares with them, Harry understood. He suggested that speaking to a therapist could be beneficial, as they could offer an outside perspective and professional advice.
Harry reassured David that he didn't have to rush into it, but if he was open to the idea, he would gladly assist him in finding a suitable therapist.
"I know it's scary, but it can really help you," Harry said with a warm, encouraging smile. "And it doesn't make you weak. In my eyes, it makes you very brave."
"Brave?" David had asked.
Harry gave a nod. "Talking about feelings is something many people struggle with. By taking that step, you're moving in the right direction. It's a big step, and it takes someone strong to take it."
David considered this notion of strength. It wasn't something he saw in himself, but the confidence in Harry's eyes made him smile and promise that he would try.
And he would.
The relief felt by everyone was palpable, and it made David realize that ignoring his problems was never the solution; it only made things worse for those around him.
Admitting he wasn't okay was the first step toward finding a solution, toward beginning his journey of recovery.