Work Text:
Derek opened a can of beer, watching as Avery slept on the mattress after spending the entire night studying physiotherapy. Not long ago, his progress toward walking again had been delayed once more after he slipped on the third step of the apartment hallway stairs. It had been a stupid mistake, at least from his perspective; he shouldn’t have been looking at his phone, but since it was his mother texting him at the time, he had considered it a priority.
That woman had practically raised him on her own after his father left at some point during his childhood.
But he didn’t want to think about that. He shouldn’t—at least not right now.
“Ah…” he sighed, stressed, after taking a small sip of alcohol.
Unlike other times, when a dull sense of helplessness consumed him for not being able to walk properly due to the weakening of his bones and muscles, today he felt more frustrated at the idea of being a burden to his partner.
Avery already put in so much effort to help him whenever he needed to use his wheelchair or when he had to do stretches to strengthen himself. And now that his ankles had been significantly injured, Avery was pushing himself even more just to take proper care of him.
He couldn’t help but feel pathetic. He, who had once been capable of risking his own sanity just to save his beloved and the world, now had to resign himself to being unable to do everyday things that used to be effortless. And worst of all: it was affecting other people’s mental health.
“Idiot,” he muttered to himself, feeling a headache that made it seem like his mind was throbbing with discomfort. Maybe it was anger—or maybe the beer. Even if it had a low alcohol content, it hadn’t been long since he had taken the medication prescribed to help his recovery.
“Moron…”
His hand came up to his face, his nails scraping against his forehead in frustration as he set the can down on his desk beside the minibar.
Maybe he just needed a distraction.
He turned his chair a bit too abruptly, though not enough to make himself dizzy.
Since he couldn’t work outside his home, he dedicated himself to managing and programming code for a robotics-focused company. Usually, they gave him small projects that required adjustments to existing functions, but at least the previous weekend they had assigned him something a bit more complex. And that helped keep him entertained.
Avery, on the other hand, continued working as a supermarket cashier until he was eventually promoted to manager. Of course, it was an important position and meant bringing more money home. But for Derek, it meant something else: the tan-skinned boy now had to work twice as hard, and with his accident, it felt like he was draining all of his energy.
“Is he even really living?” That question came and went, sometimes even stealing his sleep in the middle of the night. It was heartbreaking in more ways than one.
His eyes stung for a moment, as if he were about to cry.
“No, no…” he shook his head, moving the mouse toward the program icon where he ran his coding tests. He was supposed to work to distract himself, not to sit there dwelling on what he could and couldn’t do.
Avery was healthy—that was what mattered. He was healthy…
And he sacrificed himself every day to take care of him like some helpless animal.
The lips of the young man with braided hair began to tremble slightly. His eyes drifted over the glowing keys, then across the desk to the can. He stared at its colors—yellow and red—so vivid they seemed to burn into his pupils.
Sweat rolled down from his forehead to his cheeks. Suddenly, his heart began to race, and his lungs felt filled with a thick, suffocating air that burned his chest. It was almost as if the drink itself was desperately urging him to take just one more sip.
His hand trembled as it moved closer to it, his breathing growing louder, as though the burning heat inside his body was leaking out.
The yellow of the can seemed to melt, dripping down the wooden desk onto the floor in thick drops that trembled, warping and growing larger, forming a tall, almost human figure that creaked as its long, viscous limbs stretched toward him. Thick black tentacles emerged from what was supposed to be its face, extending to wrap around the neck of the “golden knight.”
“W-wait…”
The words were torn from him. The pressure around his throat increased; his body tensed, and the air that had once tormented him seemed to disappear, leaving behind a crushing pain that slowly broke him apart.
In a desperate attempt to free himself, he grabbed the tentacle, digging his nails into it, his fingers sinking into a disgusting substance that seemed to absorb him.
More tears fell, and his eyes met the king, who was drawing closer, stretching further as it loomed over him, wrapping around his body before opening what could only be described as its jaw.
Even with the little consciousness he had left, he understood what was happening, and closing his eyes, he waited to be devoured.
“Derek?”
A familiar voice called out from the darkness.
“Derek, are you okay?” the messy-haired boy said, shaking his back with some force.
Light hit his face harshly, pulling him out of the deep sleep that had consumed him.
“I… what…?”
Clumsily, he pulled himself together, lifting his face from the keyboard and looking around, noticing the number of cans scattered across the carpet and parts of the desk.
“Hey, love…” Avery said, placing a hand on his shoulder. “Do you need to talk?” he asked, looking at him with an expression full of anguish, concern—and fear.
The taller one opened his mouth, trying to find the right words to explain himself.
“I’m sorry,” he sobbed.
He couldn’t.
“I’m sorry…” he repeated.
Avery remained silent, taking in the atmosphere around them and the bright yellow of the empty beer cans.
Carefully, he crouched down a little.
“It’s okay.”
A tight embrace formed.
“I’m here,” he whispered, pressing a kiss to his head before pulling him closer against his body.
“I’m here.”