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Titch doesn't know what to do anymore.
He's just tired. Of everything, of the farm, of the pitying neighbours, of the ever-growing list of plans.
He stabs the ground with his pitchfork. He wants to lie down in bed and cry, until he can't anymore. It’s very rare that he even wants to process his emotions at all. He can’t do that though. He has to do extra work around the farm because he had spent farming time planning his father’s funeral and attending it.
It had been Titch who did all of the planning. His shitty brother, James, hadn't done a single thing. Instead, he was playing football with his mates in the yard like always. Yet, if father could see them from his grave, he would still love James all the same.
That wouldn’t be the case for Titch. If he did the exact things that James did, he would have been rejected. Thrown out of the family. He had to earn his love. He had to prove he was worth adopting. He’d done everything he was asked without hesitation. He worked himself to exhaustion. He's doing that right now isn't he?
Titch stares out at the vast farm. It spans kilometres, as far as the eye can see. He can't see anyone. He is alone at last, away from everything. He always wanted to be alone when he was little, intentionally not talking to the kids at the orphanage. Currently, it's suffocating him with a realization.
He earned his father's love, but he’s gone now. James hates his guts. No one loves him. Not his family, not his neighbours. Not even himself.
He's so fucking lonely.
Tears prick his eyes. He can barely see the ground, but continues to remove the weeds. There's so many. Those weeds grew quicker since the last time he pulled them out. It’d been a week since that? He doesn’t remember. How long will this take? He wants to get it done by midnight, but it was already the evening.
He's choking on his spit and tears. He has to keep moving. He has to. He doesn't know how long it's been, but he keeps working. He can't ruin the multi-generational dream with his feelings. That would be stupid.
Before Titch could think, it's completely dark out. Has he been working that long? Nothing has been finished yet! The weeds never seemed to end.
A comforting hand lands on his shoulders. It's his head assistant, Derek. "Titch, I'm going home now. It is ten pm," Really? He can't feel time moving. Now that he thinks about it, he can’t feel at all.
"Okay," He replies. He doesn't dare to look him in his soft eyes and continues to stare at the ground.
Derek notices this avoidance. "Are you okay?" He questions gently.
It's just a simple question, but it makes Titch finally let himself cry. He really isn’t okay. He hasn’t been okay in weeks. He tries to hide his sobs, but it's obvious now. "No..." He barely makes out.
Derek pulls him into an embrace. "You need a break. At least until tomorrow, love."
"But what about-" He cries out.
"That can be tomorrow's problem. I'm always here for you," He gives a comforting smile. "I can walk you over to your house. Is that good?"
Titch merely nods. He takes his hand and leads him to his "home". It doesn't feel like one. Not since he died. Derek opens the door with the key he gave him for emergencies only. Derek would absolutely consider this an emergency. He wouldn't. Emergencies were kidnapping, or theft, not emotional break downs. Everything was going to be fine in the end.
They're met with a mess. Titch hadn't had any time to clean the house and it shows. Empty bottles of alcohol are sprawled across the floor. Everything is out of order. He’s embarrassed. The Titch Derek knows is organized, composed, and not an absolute mess.
Derek drags them into Titch's bedroom. He gently lays him down on his bed, caressing his jaw lovingly. He mutters something, but the shorter man filters it out. Titch wants to keep him this close forever. He reluctantly lets go. Derek turns to leave with a subtle smile. "Please... stay," Titch begs with all he can muster. "It's too quiet."
The taller man moves closer to his bed side. Titch pulls him down in a kiss as an act of desperation to keep him there. To his surprise, Derek recuperates it with the same amount of desperation. It’s sweet. It’s messy. It’s everything he wants in a kiss.
"We can't do this, boss," Derek reminds him, of not only his position, but of what he can’t have.
"Please. Only for a night," His aware of how foolish he sounds right now, but he can't help it. He grabs by the waist as he fidgets with his belt. He needs to be closer. He makes him feel something again. He needs him.
Derek steps back, panicking. "I'm sorry." He murmurs. It’s so sincere, lacing with empathy, but it didn’t hurt him any less. He shakes his head. He continues to further himself away, "I can't do this. I can't risk this, Titch,"
Titch can't bring himself to say anything.
"I'm so sorry. It's just-" The assistant cuts himself off. His pretty soft eyes start to fill with tears. He rushes to the door. Derek is about to leave. "I love you," Before the short farmer had any time to react, the other closed the door behind them.
Titch stares at the door. He doesn’t know what to say or do anymore. The only person he thought loved him just rejected him. He feels worthless. He truly is unlovable. He lies down on his back, and cries ‘til morning.