Work Text:
She had been unfair, she knew it, but in her defense, without even knowing it, he’d caught her at one of the most vulnerable moments of her life. She then made him read out his own words to her, words that may have seemed simple or predictable to some, but she knew writing and reading them had been an emotional struggle for him, had taken more guts than the average person could muster. It had melted her, moved her and made him irresistible.
Then… after… she told him it was a one-off and his eyes told her he was crushed. He accepted it though, and let her be… mostly. He wasn’t ready for her and she for him.
And then… then… if he had only given her time, only hadn’t been a stupid, stupid man – she still didn’t understand where it had come from – but regardless it made it easy for her to choose herself, to push him away, when underneath she never wanted to push him too far.
Because that day… that one time months ago, she’d discovered something that was now permanently etched in the back of her eyelids every night as she fell asleep, it threatened to give her an ulcer whenever she noticed him scratching his chest, and she desperately wanted to ask him about it but didn’t dare for fear she’d end up doing exactly what she did the last time he admitted his vulnerability to her.
She knew he had a sensitivity to impure metals. It wasn’t just his lips, it was his skin. It was the reason the toughest, gruffest man in football had no tattoos. It was the reason he had always appreciated when she had worn her 22K gold jewellery and not her costume variations. So, she knew his secret. He wasn’t going to risk daily discomfort to make himself look tougher. Hell, not having tattoos was probably one of the reasons he had acted tougher from the very start.
But that day… when they had devoured each other, when she had gorged herself after her drought of him, for a little while, it was peaceful, and she’d wrapped herself around him contentedly as he drifted off in bliss. She had not. She took him all in, as if it was her last chance, desperately in love but desperately in need of being on her own to figure herself out. He could be her comfort but also, he could hurt her too much, distract her from her own issues and give her highs and lows that she couldn’t afford at this point in her life, no matter how exciting or adored he made her feel.
But to see him sleeping? Oh, this was everything to her. She could let her extra secret guard down as she watched him, in his truly unguarded moment as well. She wiped a tear away and ate up his calm face devoid of stress, the beautiful curve of his lips, his firm physique. Her fingers twined in some of his chest hair and saw his hand rise to join hers as he slept … but no. It didn’t. It stopped at his other pec, the one over his heart and he began to scratch. He did so for quite some time and with increased vigour but didn’t wake, and then he stopped and his hand slipped back to its previous position.
Her curiosity piqued, she carefully shifted for a closer look at the patch of skin that had bothered him under his body’s thick mane. She didn’t want to disturb him, she knew this little moment of heaven couldn't last once he woke up. She needed to be truthful and bring them back to reality.
Her fingers were gentle, not wanting to aggravate whatever might be there, combing delicately through the dense curls until she saw some cursive writing, then more … and recognized her name!
Keeley
Red. Over his heart.
But wait. Even under all his fur, it wasn’t hard to recognize that it was her handwriting!
She held in a sob. She moved away, swiftly but carefully, before her tears fell on his chest and her heavy breathing tickled him enough to wake him.
He’d gotten a tattoo of her name over his heart to privately express his love for her.
He’d gotten a tattoo of her name over his heart in her own handwriting to keep her near.
He’d gotten a tattoo of her name over his heart in her own handwriting to inflict pain on himself every day. To remind him he’d hurt her. To punish himself for it.
This is why they couldn’t yet be together. It was too intense. Too extreme. They were too much for each other.
She collected herself and started to get dressed before he woke. She returned to snuggle for a bit and steeled her nerves to start the conversation she knew they needed or else she’d have been trapped by his love just as he already was by hers. That talk was delayed by the doorbell.
Maybe, maybe someday he would help himself, would channel his passion in a healthy way, would stop hating himself for every mistake he felt he ever made. She wanted to help him, but he hadn’t let her. Not really. And besides, she couldn’t do it alone. He needed the kind of help she wasn’t qualified to give.
Now when she saw him, it didn’t matter what was going on, she knew he kept her with him, had literally imprinted her on his heart. She knew it meant he thought he’d never get her back. She knew it meant he wouldn’t ever love another. She knew it meant he wanted the heart that loved her to also always hurt for her.
She wanted to smack him for being so stupid, so devoted, so over-the-top, but she wasn’t supposed to know! This wasn’t emotional manipulation, some ultimatum, some overtly melodramatic declaration of love. She literally had to dig through his hair as he slept to discover his private vow to her. He kept the depth of his love and pain to himself.
And today? Today she learned he was seeing Dr. Sharon. Today, she knew he was doing the work. She could no longer blame his unexplored troubles anymore. Today, she knew he was the one making himself better and she… she wasn’t. She couldn't yet face what he decided he could even though she needed it too.
Someday though… someday, she’d unravel her own mental messes. And until then? She took a deep breath, straightened her shoulders, and walked into the tattoo parlour, his letter in her hand.