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Alan hadn't exactly been dealt the best hand in life. Growing up, he got into more than his share of scrapes, earning scars from some of them. He supposed this was to be expected, given his circumstances, so he never really paid them any mind. That is, until the night he committed the greatest atrocity—he had taken a life. With his bare hands, no less. Though he was unscathed, he could never see his scars in the same indifferent light again. Now all he could do was swallow his horror and disgust and carry on with his day. Sometimes literally, as bile would often threaten to climb up his throat.
Being the captain of Vagastrom did have some of its perks, though. None of his dorm mates really gave much thought to his scars. Although, some of them were fascinated by them, much to his dismay. Was this really all they saw? Just battle scars? Trophies of a life hard-lived? The thought churned his stomach, bile rising as he clenched his fists, the jagged lines on his knuckles mocking him. They didn’t understand—how could they? These weren’t badges of honor. They were brands, seared into his skin by the worst thing he’d ever done.
Part of him wanted them to at least see what it was like. To have their hands sullied by blood and dirt. To see the look of utter disbelief and betrayal upon their victim’s face. To have that feel as if that blood permanently caked onto their hands. To have those images burned into their retinas. But he still knew that no matter how much anger simmered inside him—at his dorm mates for their casual fascination or, more often, at himself—he couldn’t wish the same fate upon them. The thought of any of them committing an act as vile as murder made his chest tighten. He couldn’t bear the idea of them waking up to bloodied hands, unable to scrub the memory clean, condemned to carry the unbearable weight of their own guilt if they survived jail time. The scars might heal, but the rot inside never did. And the intrusive thoughts of wanting them to experience that just cemented that for him SO firmly.
And then you came into the picture. Little did Alan expect that things would take a massive turn after meeting you. He would sometimes catch you watching him absently stare at his hands. At first you would look away, and quite frankly, he wished it would stay that way. You having that level of fear of him would make things a lot easier for him, but his own desire to have you around told him otherwise. Why did you have to get so comfortable around him? Why did he let himself get so… attached to you? And why do you look at his hands with concern? He’s the last person who needs, or rather, deserves any semblance of concern, let alone from you. Your neck is constantly on the line even without the curse, so why spend any thought on him?
“...Lan.”
“Alan?”
“Earth to Alan?”
Your voice snapped him out of his thoughts. That’s right… You were supposed to be reviewing documents with him. He looked at your pile of unfinished documents and noticed the difference between yours and his own. How long was he spacing out?
“Is... Is everything okay?” You asked. There you go again, showing him undeserved worry.
“Yeah…” he replied. “Just a little spaced out.”
You stared at him uncomprehendingly before ultimately deciding to take a small break. It’s not like staring at his hands while a stack of documents would accomplish anything, so he agreed. But what you said next really took him aback.
“Can I see your hands please?”
“Um… Okay?”
He held out his hands toward you, although not without hesitation. His fingers suddenly felt a lot heavier than normal. Immediately your fingers traced over the lines over his scars and his breath hitched. In any normal circumstance, he’d melt into your soft, warm hands without any hesitation. They were a balm to his larger, more calloused ones, but right now all he wanted to do was pull away from you. You were the last person who deserves to have their own hands sullied by his. As if the blood from his own hands would stain your own. Of course, this was cruel for him as well, since your kindness and gentle hands were a reminder of everything he craved. But he didn’t deserve this from you. And you didn’t deserve the sins seeping from his hands onto your own. As if your own curse wasn’t enough. Why do you have to dirty your own hands willingly? His thoughts drifted to the times he absent-mindedly patted your head, and he sensed the bile burning in his chest again.
You must have sensed Alan was starting to pull away, so you tighten your grip slightly.
“Please give me a moment,” you said, the lines of concern becoming more pronounced. Alan didn’t like where this was going. At least, that’s what he told himself.
You reached for a pen and started to scribble something on his hands where his scars were. “What are you doing?” he muttered, his brow furrowing slightly.
He watched as the pen rather clumsily glided across his hands. But the strokes still had purpose behind them, and even he could tell that much. He was too entranced to say anything as he watched the small, intricate shapes materialize. You soon stopped once you covered all the scars you could see on his hands. His hands and his chest suddenly felt lighter, much to his own shock.
“Why did you do that…?” Alan muttered.
“I don’t know what you’ve been through exactly,” You replied. “But I can’t just sit idly by while you’re suffering!”
“You-”
“You may see yourself as a monster, but I know that’s not true.” It didn’t look like you were going to back down. He let you carry on knowing you had a lot more to say. A lot more lies. But he couldn’t help but feel comforted.
“Even if the rumours are true, that you killed someone, it’s clear that you regret doing it. So much so that it’s going to consume you. I don’t know the full backstory behind these scars, but I don’t want you to look at them with so much disgust.”
It looks like you were holding back tears at this point. But still you kept going.
“These are the same hands that saved me and Sho from Takeru. I like how they feel when you pat my head. They helped me to stay grounded while I was spiralling in my own thoughts. So please…”
The words seem to have gotten stuck in your throat.
“You shouldn’t feel sad for me,” Alan finally said, unable to look you in the eye. “I don’t deserve it.”
But you were more stubborn than he expected. You shook your head, the tears in your eyes threatening to spill over. “Don't say that,” you said. Your voice was trembling, but it was steady enough to carry the weight of your words. “You think you’re beyond saving, that you don’t deserve kindness, but that’s not your choice to make. You mean something to me, to Sho, to everyone who’s still here because of you.”
Alan’s throat tightened as he looked away, his jaw clenching. He wanted to argue, to throw your words back at you, but he couldn’t. The tears that welled in your eyes only seemed to fuel your resolve.
“Stop it,” he muttered, his voice cracking. “Stop making me out to be someone I’m not. I don’t want you to…” He trailed off, his hands clenched into fists at his sides. “I don’t want you to look at me like that. Like… Like I’m worth something.”
You reached out, your fingers brushing against his hand, tentative yet firm.”'But you are worth something. You just can’t see it right now. I know you’ve made mistakes—ones I can’t begin to imagine—but you’re still here, trying. That’s more than a lot of people can say.”
He flinched at your touch but didn’t pull away this time. His heart ached, torn between the comfort of your words and the crushing weight of his guilt. “You don’t know what I’ve done,” he whispered, his voice barely audible.
“I don’t need to know everything,” you replied, your hand wrapping gently around his own. “I just need to know who you are now. And right now, you’re someone who’s hurting, someone who’s trying to carry the weight of the world alone. You don’t have to do that anymore.”
For a moment, the room was silent, save for the sound of his ragged breathing. The warmth of your hand seeped into his, a reminder of something he thought he’d lost long ago. He hated himself for craving it, for letting your words sink in even just a little.
“I…” His voice faltered. He didn’t know what to say. Alan had heard of the phrase "kill them with kindness,' but right now he thinks you might quite literally do that to him.
“You’re not alone, Alan,” you said softly, your tears finally spilling over. “And no matter how much you push me away, I’m not going to leave you behind.”
He closed his eyes, swallowing the lump in his throat. Maybe he didn’t deserve this. But for the first time, he wasn’t sure if he wanted to fight it anymore. Right now he let himself succumb to the warmth of your embrace. That's all he needed at the moment.