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Every year Sebastian would steal some salves from the hospital wing - neither of them trusted any of the professors enough to visit - and in the safety of the Undercroft they would work to heal each other’s wounds from over the summer. It was solemn. Routine. It made the world feel safe again.
Ominis would shed his clothes completely. Every year the damage was worse and Sebastian was glad Ominis couldn’t see his involuntary cringe of disgust - not at Ominis, but at the fact his best friend had once again been through too much.
Sebastian would rub the salve into the new scars Ominis had acquired and sometimes Ominis would describe what his family had done over the summer, voice breaking as he recounted the torture he had endured. But sometimes he would just sob quietly into his arms, taking deep shuddering breaths, barely able to mask the way his body felt like flinching away, as if Sebastian’s gentle touch was too much, too foreign to comprehend.
Then Sebastian would roll up his sleeves. They’d sit cross legged, knees touching, and Ominis would run his fingers over the scars littering the insides of Sebastian’s arms. “I’m glad you’re here,” Ominis would whisper, pressing a kiss to each of his wrists. And Sebastian would relay his summer, tears flowing uncontrollably, as Ominis gently rubbed the salve into the new scars.
Sebastian was always searching for the face of disgust. Waiting for Ominis to pull away. Tell him he was too much. He never did. Never would.
Afterward, they would curl up on the couch together. Ominis, being a generally touchy person with people he trusted, would all but lie on top of Sebastian. Sebastian would always complain and tease, but he secretly felt so much comfort in the boy curled up on him, weighing him down. Ominis was his therapy. His rock. His common sense. The one who would keep him firmly tethered to reality so he would never fall too far.