Adult Content Warning
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Summary
“Just hit me or something.” The words crack like a glowstick.
Something glows in Robby. Neon sludge threatening to bubble up and seep from his lips. Hit him? He’d considered it. Often. He’d feel better. Probably. But only if his fist hurt. Only if his own knuckles were battered as a result. Only if the pain was brutal enough to cross the threshold from mental to physical and leave them both maimed. He thought about what the aftermath of that would be. The shadows would be left with a very sad dance floor.
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Healing is not linear, repair isn't simple, and Robby can't decide whether to drift in it or drown in it.