Work Text:
You held him. You held him because she was a bitch and because he was crying and because you knew you could never hold him like she did, or like he wanted her to at least. You held him because he was tiny and broken but somehow he was still beautiful. Because it was a miracle he was still alive after letting his feelings for her fill him up, replace every part of his body, until he was nothing without her, and then she tore herself out of him until he was destroyed. You held him because she laughed as she did it.
And as you held him, you pressed a gentle kiss to the top of his hair, and stroked it, and rocked him back and forth. Held him tighter. Tried not to let the feelings for him that you had bottled up inside you escape through your eyes, drip down your nose, soak his hair. You had to be strong because he wasn’t right now. Because she took his strength away only after she force-fed it to him, building him up in the most painful ways possible only to have the sick joy of knocking him down at the high. You had to be strong because if you weren’t, he wouldn’t come to you. He wouldn’t let you hold him. You wouldn’t be able to save him.
You loved it all. You loved his fingers, tangled in your shirt, gripping like it was his lifeline. His head, tucked under your chin, bowed so that you wouldn’t see his tears (though you could feel them, wet against your neck). His knees, pulled up to his chest, where his heart was shattered into a million shards, almost irreparable. Almost.
You could puzzle it back together, with time. You’d done it before. Many times, in fact. You knew it well; you’d almost memorized how each piece fit with the others. But you still couldn’t fix it any faster. And each time, she destroyed your hard work with increasing ecstasy. It made you sick. It made you sick to see him like this.
Maybe this time you could protect him. Maybe he wouldn’t get pulled back into her web this time, get tangled in its silky snares, get bitten. Maybe this time he would stay in your arms until he stopped shaking, stopped sobbing, stopped loving her. He would stay in your arms, clinging to you for a different reason. Clinging to you because you made him feel safe, made him feel warm, made him feel happy. He would stay and you would finally tell him you love him. He might even say it back.
Hold him tighter, give his hair another gentle kiss. He’s stopped trembling. He’s sniffling. When he looks up at you, you use your thumb to rub the tears from under his chocolate eyes. You pet his hair. He attempts a faltering smile, and you smile gently back even though it breaks your heart because you can tell, he’s still crying inside even if the tears won’t come any more. He leans into you again, pulls your arms around him tighter, starts playing with your fingers.
Maybe this time, after you put his heart back together, he won’t go back to her. Maybe this time he’ll stay. Maybe he can mend your heart, because seeing him like this breaks it every time.