Work Text:
Tacenda
/tuh-SEN-duh/
noun
things better left unsaid; matters that are too delicate, private, or painful to discuss
“at the family dinner, tacenda hovered in the air as everyone struggled to avoid sensitive topics”
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“Harv? I’m back!” Mitch called out, shutting the large wooden door behind him. The house was large and quiet, a thin layer of dust covering every surface in the main entrance. He knew he would need to clean it at some point, but it was easier to focus on rooms that they actually used. Quick footsteps grew closer, their echoes heard before the actual sound.
His brother rounded the corner, a large smile plastered on his face. It wasn’t something Mitch saw often, despite his best efforts, and the sight of it warmed his heart.
“Sam taught me how to play a game – ‘hide and seek’! We’re playing right now, he’s hiding. Will you help me look?” Harvey’s eyes shone, the blue one bright enough that Mitch could easily differentiate it from the brown. He had always assumed that was a metaphor, but maybe he was wrong. Or maybe it was just the sun.
It was a nice day outside, and he was a little upset that he had spent most of it working indoors. He was just glad someone was with them in the house now – that way Harvey could stay home or go outside if he wanted, instead of having to go with Mitch to his job. Sam didn’t ask for any payment (it was enough that Mitch even let the guy stay with them, a decision he still questioned), so it had been a good couple of weeks. He had been hesitant at first; his first encounter with the human boy had been… odd, to say the least. Harvey was old enough to handle himself if something went really wrong, though, and Sam had shown no ill intent. It also helped that one of Mitch’s classmates, Azrael, already knew the boy – not well, but he had met him during his studies of the human world.
“Yeah? I can help with that, just let me take my shoes off first.” He said, already undoing the straps on his boots. They were a gift from Azrael, made of fake leather, if Mitch was remembering correctly. Black and dusty, they were missing the usual sparkle that was a trademark of clothing from his world.
Human fashion was limited to what materials were available and could be held together by a thin string. His world had no such problems – there were many families born with magic more suited towards binding and retrieving or creating materials. Still, he found he often preferred human clothing. The things his family bought, forced him to wear, really, were too eccentric. Sure, they were symbols of high class, but spider silk was too thin, and hoya leaves made his skin itch.
A portrait hung on the wall directly facing the entrance, down a hallway he never bothered to use. It was dusty and dull, and the only reason he kept it there was in worries that his father may return without notice, as he often does. He knew the man would be outraged to see it in such poor conditions, but Mitch could never bring himself to get close enough to clean it.
For a moment, he felt as though he had locked eyes with the man in the portrait. His skin was far lighter than Mitch’s, but his hair was the same deep brown. His eyes were two toned as well, a similarity shared between all the men in their family. His smile was wide, but it held no warmth. Mitch often wondered if that was another similarity between them.
Despite being the same color, their eyes were quite different. Mitch looked more like his mother in that regard – his eyes were downturned and wide, his eyelashes so thick that Sam had thought he was wearing makeup when they first met. The boy’s clothing was very simple too – fancy, yes, but uncomfortable, and nothing close to what he himself would choose to wear. His father, on the other hand, was always adorned in feathers of all colors. It was the pinnacle of fashion in this area, but if Sam’s reaction to the man said anything, that was not true of all worlds. That knowledge brought Mitch a small bit of joy, the idea that elsewhere his highly respected father would look like a fool.
He shook his head and turned to face his brother, remembering himself. “Let’s go find this bastard.” Mitch said with a smile.
“Sam said that’s a bad word.” Harvey pointed out, raising an eyebrow. Mitch just shrugged.
“Then you probably shouldn’t repeat it.”
Harvey giggled and held out his hand, urging Mitch to take it and follow his lead. His brother stared at the upturned palm, the symbol of an eye ingrained into his skin.
Mitch’s own skin started to itch, and suddenly the illusion covering his neck didn’t feel like enough. He needed something more – needed to make something that would cover the horrid mark forever. His eyes once more met the portrait, this time locked onto the similar marking on the man’s forehead.
He was glad his little brother didn’t feel the need to cover his skin in the way Mitch did. Still, he did not want to touch it, could not look at it. So he just ruffled the boy’s hair and started walking, pulling his own shoulder length hair out of its ponytail. The ends were coarse, a side effect of the bleach he had paid Azrael to get him. They had similar, less damaging ways to color hair here, of course, but he had wanted to use bleach. Something about it felt different, maybe more rebellious.
“We should split up, right? We’ll find him faster that way.”
“Yeah, yeah! Good idea. I’ll start down here, you check upstairs!”
“You got it, Harv.”
The upstairs were where most of the bedrooms were located, including his own. He didn’t doubt Sam would be easy to find – he was playing the game with a ten year old, after all. Plus, most of the doors were locked, and he knew better than to enter them.
Mitch wasn’t sure why, but he did really like Sam. He also felt bad for the guy, being stuck in an unfamiliar place. He had agreed to help the boy find a way home, though he wasn’t sure why. He didn’t owe him a favor or anything – if anything, Sam owed him – but when he had first tried to leave, something had stopped him. Mitch didn’t consider himself a bad person, and he tried to give people a little help when he could afford it. They were never blatant favors or gifts, just small things. He knew damn well that helping this boy would take up too much of his time, effort, and resources, but he did it anyway.
Sam had proven himself to be a good guy, at least, as much as you can with only two weeks. He had spent the first day they knew each other in shock (and a medical facility), but over time, they came to a sort of understanding. They seemed to know things about each other, and maybe it was because they shared some similarities.
That couldn’t be it, though, because Sam radiated a warmth that the house had lacked for far too long. Visually and metaphorically. His hair was a nice orange, and his skin was always a little red. He did a lot of work outside, he had told Mitch once, something to do with building. His voice wasn’t sharp like Mitch’s, nor were his words as blunt. Sometimes he wondered if the boy had worked with kids before, but maybe he was just a natural. Kind people must be, after all, they seem to understand everyone a little better than most.
Since meeting the boy, Mitch had talked to the people in his hometown more. It wasn’t intentional, but Sam had a tendency to greet everyone they passed. Surprisingly, he had seemed a little caught off guard when they continued speaking to him, and he always continued walking until he registered they were speaking to him. It was a little amusing.
Overall, Mitch had come to trust the boy. It was nice having someone his age with him. Michelle, his best friend, was great. But she couldn’t sit in silence, and always had a way of making Mitch feel better, but not quite understood. And she couldn’t always be at his house – she had her own family to go home to. He was grateful for her though, they had been close since their first years of schooling.
A sudden scream caused Mitch to start paying attention. He had been wandering lazily around the upstairs before, but now he was running to the room at the end of the hallway. He knew exactly what the sound was, and where it was coming from.
His bedroom, of course. Has Mitch ever mentioned that he has amazing luck?
The door swung open, and he made a beeline for the source of the prolonged shrieking. It wasn’t coming from Sam, or anyone else, but a book.
“Mitch!” Sam yelled, his hands covering his ears as he stared at the book. It had fallen onto the ground – Mitch assumed the other boy had bumped into the shelf it rested on.
He was able to shut it just as the screaming dissolved into loud sobs, but the damage was done.
“I’m sorry. It was an accident, I would never try to–”
“It’s fine, Sam.” His voice was tight. Mitch wasn’t angry, not at Sam. His cheeks were flushed red, humiliation and fear twisting together in his stomach.
The book was sort of equivalent to what Sam had described as a diary. They had first come across one when Mitch was showing the boy around a library. These books were kept as records, and ones used by famous people or historic figures could be found almost anywhere. Instead of being written in, the owner infused their own emotions into the pages. It was not often meant for reminiscing, more of a way to rid oneself of feelings that were too heavy.
“...Are you okay?” The boy asked softly, and Mitch thought he might throw up. He sat on his bed, his eyes far away. He wished this was one of those times where they would just understand each other, where no words were needed and they could just go about their lives. Perhaps it was – maybe Sam knew exactly what was going on. If that was the case, Mitch wished they were more similar. For the first time, he wanted Sam to be a little colder, to care a little less. So he just nodded.
Sam’s eyes were lidded, and Mitch couldn’t tell if they were full of pity or concern. Either one was bad. He slowly sat down next to the brown haired boy, close enough that Mitch could feel the boy’s warmth radiating off of him, mixing and melting into his own skin. He wondered if Sam could feel something similar, if every bad feeling became tangible if one was close enough. Maybe things would be easier that way – no one would be stuck in their own unbearable pain.
“Do you want to talk about it..?” His voice was awkward, and while it was a sincere offer, he knew the answer already. Mitch didn’t bother responding, and Sam just sighed.
Slowly, hesitantly, he pulled Mitch’s head onto his shoulder. He tensed at the feeling, but did not complain. With anyone else, he would have. The only exception was his brother – but that didn’t count. He would do anything for that boy.
Maybe feelings really did become tangible. As he sat there with Sam, he felt lighter. The nausea faded, and while it was still there, it was no longer unbearable. They didn’t speak, but Sam still seemed to know. It was a nice feeling, knowing there was someone who could understand you so easily.
It was horrifying too, being known. Having someone who knew too much, who could read you so easily that you could never truly lie to them. Understanding that person too, and seeing every time they were dishonest, or having to deal with the fact that they really did care.
For now, those thoughts were all better left unspoken.