Work Text:
The same as everyday.
Wake up.
Coffee.
Ramen.
Coffee.
Watch the games.
Coffee.
Write.
Sleep.
It was all the same.
As were the memories.
Hands that weren’t his. Pleads and cries. Pain in the legs and lower body. Touches in places he never wanted, by someone he hated.
The feeling of being ripped apart from the inside out.
Ego hated it. He felt his leg bouncing as he sipped his coffee. Anri had come down with a cold so he had the Blue Lock office to himself. Of course, this meant he was a little bit behind schedule, but today was more relaxed than the others, just a training day for the bottom ladder of teams.
His finger tips rubbed over the bumpy cover of his black notebook. Only about 50 pages in a hard back. All filled with just thousands of scribbled letters and words, painful memories from long ago. Days of starvation and bruises. Cuts and broken bones from ‘falling down the stairs.’
No matter how high his grades were, no matter how much he tried, no matter how may goals he got, his father never put the door back on the hinges, never talked to him for anything more than getting him another beer. His father loved him.
Yeah right. Ego could feel his grip on the book tighten. He knew he was just lying to himself after so many years of trying to rationalize it. All the times his father touched him in the worst places, telling him that’s love. The feeling of teeth and nails, ripping apart the insides.
He heard the strain of the cardboard that built the hard cover under his fingers. He breathed shakily, unable to form any thoughts besides that terribly intrusive pain. 30 years on this planet since he was birthed and 12 years as an adult, and he still had barely any proper coping mechanisms besides playing soccer until he couldn’t feel his limbs anymore, or staying up until exhaustion took him.
“Ugh…” Ego pinched his nose, glasses falling down to the tip of his nose. He tilted his head back, eyes closed with the blue light lightly filtering through his pale eyelids.
He really hated those memories of calloused hands all over his skin, but it was far too late now. He didn’t even feel sick at the thought anymore. All he wanted was to feel safe in his own body again.
But that wasn’t his luck. Even now at 30, he felt like his skin was holding him down with the cellular memory. It was like a horrible thought of something that someone wanted to forget, but their brain just kept replaying it over and over again.
The raven looked down at the black book, then his coffee. He could just drink more coffee and stay awake working for hours and hours… that’d make the pain go away.
He slid his book into the desk’s rolling drawer and shut it, raising the coffee to his lips.
Opening the file cabinet, he came to a very clear conclusion.
He’d be working all day, and all night.
… and maybe the next day too.