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Chance stared lethargically into the mirror. He watched his fists turn red from the way he clenched the arms of his sunglasses, holding them tight to his face.
God, he hated those things.
Although, not enough to take them off and reveal something worse underneath.
For the rest of his life?
He swallowed sharply and exhaled quickly, trying to expel all his thoughts.
He never took off his sunglasses. Shedletsky often joked that they were glued to his face. As if they were imprisoned there.
His eyes. Or rather, the horrible awful and disfigured thing sitting in place of his eye.
Chance tried not to dwell on the misfortunes associated with his eye and his old friend, however the constant reminder etched into his face made it quite hard sometimes.
Usually, he hung around others when he felt this way. When he was tired and upset but also fueled by an inexplicably persistent anger towards his face.
Anger towards his arrogance and naivety. How gullible and trusting he was of a clearly ill-intended man. It was only his own fault.
Although Elliot understood. He would sit with Chance for as long as he needed to. On some occasions, he’d be drowning for so long that they would lay together, plastered over the couches until they’d both fall asleep.
They would spread out in the main cabin and make use of all the random throw pillows and blankets scattered around. Chance would let Elliot do the talking and remain stationary, trying to soak up his presence.
It was all he could ask for. A support system that didn’t feel like one. Just someone to keep him afloat without all the overly coddling behaviour.
Talking to and being around others made him feel better. It kept the scar over his eye numb and the insistent thoughts at bay.
However, today was just a particularly bad day.
He didn’t want to be around other people. He didn’t want to socialize and be perceived by others. He couldn't even be bothered to try and reach out. No matter how many times he had promised to always make his feelings known, he’d rather put another hole in his eye than talk to someone.
The thought of being with another person he trusts after what had happened before was too much for him at the moment.
He sighed shakily and slumped into the bathroom wall, leaning on the ceramic tiles for comfort. The cold and smooth surface did little to ease him.
He slowly slid down the wall until slipping slightly and stumbling to the ground. A large crash was heard, or more of a smack as his head made contact with the equally tiled floor.
Chance didn’t even groan. Not a noise of discomfort left his body as it shucked onto the ground. He couldn’t be bothered.
If Newton’s Second Law of Inertia was a person, it would be Chance.
He laid there for what felt like minutes and hours and days until he heard a loud sound outside the door. Shortly after, three persistent and steady knocks rang out.
“Chance bud, alright in there?”
Shedletsky’s voice was muffled by the door. Or maybe by his head. Concussion? He had hit something, right?
After a beat passed, Chance heard the familiar jingle of the door knob as it was turned and twisted in an attempt to open.
Chance was upset and honestly a little annoyed by the ringing noise. He groggily rolled onto his stomach and weakly pushed himself up. Awful idea, but at least he was vertical.
He blinked a few times and mustered up the ability to form a complete, coherent, and dismissive response.
“All good, Sheddy.”
Terrible. He surely paused a little too long before trying to remember Shed's name. However bad it may have been, it wasn’t really Chance’s day to begin with.
As his consciousness began to integrate back into the real world, he heard something concerning.
A raspy and insistent plea.
“Chance, please unlock the door.”
He felt his brain pause for a moment. While he had certainly heard Shed serious before, now he sounded genuinely desperate. Similar to how he gets when someone is downed during a round.
Chance remembered that this wasn’t the first time Shedletsky had encountered one of his moods.
Rarely, when Chance was afraid of bothering Elliot, he would knock lightly on the workshop door. Not very hard and with enough hesitance to retreat if he chickened out. However, his weak knock would always be met by a shout permitting him to come inside. Everytime without fail, either Shedletsky or Builderman would call him in, as if they grew a sense for it.
Chance would waltz in like all is fine and then simply lay around wherever he deemed fit. Sometimes, Builderman would ask Chance if he was alright, questioning his feelings and trying to logically sort him out.
Shed would just laugh and join him on the couch or the bed or the floor. He would boast about the unusual situation and bring an easy comfort with his unwavering presence.
No matter how light hearted he may have acted, Shed’s occasional glances and quick pats to his arm or wrist revealed his worry. He would feel near the pulse points to ensure Chance was alright.
It made Chance feel good though. Someone really cared if he lived or died. It made his chest warm and brought his attention away from his old mistakes.
However, at the moment, he didn’t feel very warm. He was tired in a gross way and he could hear his heart beat pulsating in his head. His vision was cloudy and the coldness of his feet felt numb.
He was vulnerable and someone was offering to help him. Someone he could trust.
Someone he could trust?
Chance learned the weight of that word. The heavy boulders that rested upon each letter, pressing it down and embedding it into the ground. Like Sisyphus, he begrudgingly pushed the immense weight of it all, lest he passed his trust to someone who let it crush him.
Each day he resents the decisions he made. More or so, the things he let get done to himself.
He couldn’t let it happen again; he didn’t have very many eyes left.
“Chance, move away from the door. I’m taking it down.”
Holy shit. He forgot how incredibly proactive Shedletsky was. Particularly when another person was in danger.
Adrenaline must have pushed him forward as Chance scrambled up quickly to unlock the door, fumbling with his fingers as he did so.
Shedletsky opened the door swiftly, being mindful to not smack Chance in the face.
“Hey Sheddy, I’m all good here. Little fall but we alright, yea?”
Shedletsky’s face said it all. The confused glance morphing into one of masked fear and concern as he looked over Chance’s appearance. Like the caring person he was, he fixed his face almost instantly.
“Yeah bud, just fine, let me help you up!” He ushered Chance and guided his arms up, his legs following shortly after.
“Alright Chance bud, not gonna lie here, you’re lookin rough. Something go on that I should know about?” His tone was breezy and easy going, like they were talking about his day.
Chance didn’t want to tell Shed what happened. It’s not like he was embarrassed, however, he very much was and did not want to go into the specifics of this occurrence. They had a round this morning so it was going to be incredibly easy to point blame there.
“I fell on the floor.” Chance said almost immediately. Holy, he was doing awful. He doesn’t even know why he said that.
Shedletsky nodded as he slung Chance’s arm over his shoulder and clutched his waist to his side.
“That all?” Shed questioned him smoothly.
Chance blinked again, and nodded, this time really confusedly. Of course that was all. Weirdly enough, he was actually truthful in contrast to the dumb lie he was going to tell earlier. As if Shed didn’t hear the loud smack of Chance’s skull on the tile floor.
“Alright, that's good.” Shedletsky hardly sounded fazed and simply continued walking them in the dark towards what Chance could only presume to be Builderman’s cabin.
Or was it Shed’s cabin? The Shed-Builds Cabin? They were both there all the time. Some pretty good friends.
And what the hell was good about his fall? Was Shed just trying to be nonchalant?
Thinking too much made his brain throb. Chance let himself be ushered through the door and guided onto the bed as someone started prodding and touching his head.
He winced as unusually gloveless hands felt the base and sides of his skull. A brightly irritating orange hat came into view. Builds was a doctor too? Who knew.
“I didn’t see him hit his head during the round.” Builderman remarked as he continued his examination.
“Not during the round.” Shed replied calmly as if that explained anything.
Weirdly enough, Builderman simply nodded and removed his hands from Chance’s head, his touch lingering a second longer than it should’ve.
He stood from his crouched position and pat Shedletsky on the shoulder. “Mild concussion probably.”
“Probably?” Shed spat out immediately. Was he mad? He rarely ever fought with Builds.
“He’s fine, no wounds or nothin’.” He assured Shed and rubbed circles into his shoulder blade.
Chance felt like an idiot. He stared confusedly at the scene.
Shed’s expression was uncharacteristically worried. He was protective of course, but not usually this uneasy. Chance must’ve really looked awful.
“Feeling alright?” Shedletsky asked as he bent down to eye level.
Chance shrugged. He slowly moved his arms backwards and gently laid himself down.
This is it. This is when everyone starts scrambling and fussing over him, trying to diagnose and cure and fix whatever he is.
However, instead he just felt a heavy weight next to him.
Shedletsky followed shortly after, coming over to lay right beside Chance, shoulders brushing.
“Christ, look at you two,” Builderman joked with a light smile, causing Shed to break into a laugh.
Maybe they weren’t going to be weird to him. Chance forgot that these were people he trusted, and unconditionally at that.
Each time he was down or Elliot was injured or someone needed more support, they were there. He had proper support and still has it.
It was strange to see people just.. caring about him. He wasn’t offering anything in return and honestly, he wasn't even that great last round. Shed and Builds knew they weren't going to get anything out of helping him.
But they still did.
“Didn’t have a great day,” Chance said plainly with a groan.
“Happens to the best of us,” Shed patted his head lightly, watching for any wincing, before running his fingers through Chance’s hair.
“Something we can help with?” Builderman asked sensibly.
“Nah, this is fine.” He felt oddly at peace surrounded by old guys who didn’t really care if Chance was feeling great or awful. They were just there.
His eyes didn’t ache as bad. His shades didn’t feel plastered to his face. Everything was present and okay at the moment.
“You know you don’t gotta come here every time, but try to be with someone when you're feeling like shit, yeah?” Shed bumped Chance’s shoulder with his own.
“Like our dearest pizza delivery boy,” he said with a laugh.
“Stay outta it,” Chance shoved Shedletsky back with little power to it. Shed only chuckled again.
Maybe he would go to Elliot. Or maybe he’d stay with Builds and Shed.
Chance smiled warmly as he thought of the new people he surrounded himself with. Ones who would not hurt him. Ones he could trust.