Work Text:
The sensation of being burned is truly the best feeling in the world. Skin crawling, the twinges of irritation engulfing your bloodstream, dancing all over your flesh in a waltz to the rhythm of your heartbeat. A feeling that's almost liberating, sizzling and spikey pangs that whisper the emotions behind the attack, embracing you whole like it's the only thing that'll truly love you - that'll truly know you, inside and out.
Varian is familiar with this sensation - more than familiar. He is addicted to it, lapping up the prickling of the burn like a starved, crazed dog, obsessed with what it tells him, that he doesn't dare forget: that he isn't worthy, isn't deserving of the love he receives; that he isn't more than the sum of his parts. He craves the pain, he needs it more than he needs the air in his lungs, than the saliva in his mouth. He isn't who he is without the burns on his body: the ones that etch out his value, simple and plain.
The pain keeps him grounded, keeps him secure in himself. Anytime he flies too close to heaven, unstable and volatile, the hurt is the Sun that burns off his wings, allowing him to fall deeper into the safety of the dark, haunting sea; deeper into the comfort of his own self-destructive mind.
.....
Today was one of those days: those days that are too happy.
The team had just finished the Earth Trial. A monumental feat, that now left them with only three to go. Finally, after relentless struggle, they were filled with satisfaction, and held the promise of rest, up until they reached the Dark Kingdom.
The day was too happy, which left Varian feeling insecure, uneasy with the state of himself. He was starved of agony, and desperately needed nourishment.
It was in times like these that being an alchemist truly became convenient. Surrounded by bubbling concoctions and various acids gave the blue-eyed boy with a plethora of options on how to inflict his self-harm.
And so, in the ease of the night, as the cicadas buzzed around him, Varian sat at his desk in his tent, and removed his gloves.
He always enjoyed burning himself in vulnerable areas. Something about the extra hiss of his pulse-point as his skin stinged felt electrifying, like new life was being breathed into him.
Slowly dropping the green liquid onto his wrist, he lavished in the harsh pinching of his skin, in the ache that was starting to fester around his joint. He inhaled sharply as the acid intertwined itself with his veins, the colors blending together to create an shade that Varian wanted to paint himself with.
He could live in this feeling forever; this limbo between life and death, that had him confined but free, exhausted but euphoric - more than anything, it had him feeling safe.
The acid was treating him too kindly. It loved him how no-one else could, in a way no-one else could fathom. It's brilliant, eye-opening, he needs more-
"Hey Goggles, watcha doin' in here-"
Immediately, Varian's eyes snapped upward, pleading to meet the blonde's eyes, but to no avail. Hugo's gaze was already fixated on the burn making itself comfortable on Varian's skin.
"Yikes! Don't just stand there!"
Quicker than he could register, the green-eyed boy grabbed Varian's wrist to assess the damage, being careful so as not to touch his reddening flesh.
"You should really be more careful, Goggles." He reprimanded, moving out of the tent to retrieve the first-aid kit.
"I...Y-yeah."
Varian was writhing in agony, and not in the way he wanted. Hugo had interrupted his high, his only refuge from the chaos of the world. He could feel himself unravelling, anxiety spilling out. He didn't feel secure, he didn't feel safe. What would happen now? Would he hurt others, or would others hurt him? He has no right to enjoy this life he's living, no right not to hurt. He yearns for it, mind nagging for him to have it, to have that sting, that burn. He needs to be satiated, needs to-
His spiral is stopped by a sharp pang to his arm. He winced, flinching at the touch.
"Hey, ease up, we need to get you bandaged." Hugo spoke softly.
The blue-eyed boy finally focused his attention on his surroundings, noticing the cotton bud on his wrist that was likely the source of his current irritation.
What he couldn't make sense of was the other body in his tent. Why was Hugo here? As far as Varian was aware, the two of them had some sort of rivalry with each other that kept them at arms-length. So why would he be here right now? And why is he working so gently? No-one's been this kind to him before, it feels odd. It feels weird to be safe in the presence of another - when was the last time he felt this way? Indisputably comfortable in the skin he was born with, grateful to be awake in the moment?
He couldn't help but admire Hugo as he worked on his wound. Were his eyes always that pretty? Have they always had little flecks of gold in them? Doesn't the color look kind of similar to the acid Varian was just using? He felt drawn to them, almost magnetically so, feeling his obsessive nature crawl back into him. Could those eyes feel the same way his burns do? Trapped under green irises, abandoning the Sun altogether - he could imagine his life like that. What would become of him then? Would he turn into someone deserving, someone worthy of comfort? But how could he be that?
"There you go, patched up." The blonde pushed back Varian's arm, but he finds himself missing the feeling.
"Thanks."
Varian looked back up into those emerald eyes, and felt wildly unworthy of their gaze.
Would you believe me, if I told you?
He thought feverishly.
Would you believe me, if I told you that I didn't deserve this?