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it happened again.
pin went off the handle again.
her rage dripping like molten. it overflowed and engulfed her, made her head buzz like a hive. sticky and never quite cleared, always lingering at the back of her throat. sickly sweet.
pounding her fists into herself turned into shattering and then something soft hissing as it tore apart.
her bed was laid bare with fat shards of glass, cozy feathers. she was stripping one of its fibers when a hand caught her elbow.
pin burst into tears. coiny took her hands in his.
with a familiar grace he peeled her fingers free of the iron fists she had trapped them in. he swiped scarlet drops off of her knuckles with a thumb, pressed his weight into her.
their mattress squeaked as they stood, pin fixed awkwardly against it like she had wings weighed with glue. he engulfs her with his warmth, the full weight of his body, and the ticking of her pulse slows.
she cries some more. coiny sat them on the floor. he was smiling as he talked her down to meek hiccups and watery eyes. it was a song and dance they’d heard many times before.
something itched in pin’s fingers, something foul behind her eyes. why did coiny spend all this on her?
“i hate you,” she said.
she didn’t mean it. she bit her tongue.
“you didn’t mean that,” coiny says. she knows it’s true.
his copper outline is washed away by another onslaught of tears.
why, oh why was she so fragile? never steady and compliant like him? she’d always make the hairline fractures into smashed splinters at the end of the day. this happened so much.
he sat across from her, patient. she didn’t move, knew that she needed it but just couldn’t bear to burden him any more—
and then he was caught in her gaze and she tapped her knee twice, frantic, and coiny sunk into her space again.
“i’m terrible to you,” she said, long after the tears had faded and her voice was hoarse. coiny was still nestled into her. “why do you let me be so terrible?”
coiny tried to soothe her, but she retaliated with a sharp, animalistic grunt.
“no— no, i’m.. i’m always so.. terrified you’ll realize how selfish i am,”
“and i’ll never get to help you. like you help me.”
she trailed off after that, and couldn’t meet his eyes. pin couldn’t believe she was so useless as to complain about her problems, and expect coiny to fix them. as always.
her arms were limp in his, gentle and pliable. and she wasn’t surprised coiny said nothing at all.
he worked his thumb into her tense palm until she relaxed. he sliced his own finger pulling the glass out of her knuckle. he pressed down when an ugly red drop formed atop.
finally he spoke, tender and gentle. she had to focus to hear him over the sound of her own pulse.
“you’ve never been selfish, pin, and i hate how you think that you are.” he smoothed his hand down over hers, slotting then together. “i can just— see the worst happening in your brain. you think so much of everyone else’s opinions— of my opinions. and if i just let it happen, then it’d never stop… bugging me.”
“you can leave at any time,” she protested.
“why would i?” he scoffed. he scoffed— pin’s lips quirked at the haughty sound and he smiled. “you’re just— so amazing when you’re not in your head all the time. and you trust me, and you care for me in your own way, and—… i’d be a terrible person for letting you go this alone.
“so just let me help?”
pin didn’t feel for words in the moment. but something slotted in her mind, sent a wave up to signal her stupid buzzing bee-brain to calm down.
something choked up past her mouth—
she laughed, and cried, and squeezed his hands and pulled him closer, and said a million thank yous with everything but words.
they’d clean up the broken lamp and find new pillows.
pin would finally wash her hands and find them clean.
she would be okay.