Archive of Our Own

A silence had settled over the room. Not a peaceful one. Where it was simply night, and the creatures of day went to rest. Nor was it an anxious one. Silence settling into the stomach and ripping away at the gut, filling the room with a tension. No, it was neither of those, it something different. Quite different.

It was a hollowed silence. Where emptiness ripped at the sound. Not one that could be filled up once again, one that was just left to be empty and aching. Begging for something to fill the atmosphere once more. Hoping for something, or well, someone to speak. Fill the blackhole until even it collapsed on itself, producing something unkown. Because at least then, it wouldn't be a void.

But does it even matter? Specifying a silence won't change the fact there is no sound. No pretty voice to be heard in the stagnant air. Chance knew there wasn't a point categorizing it. At the end of the day, there was still no voice breaking through the emptiness. Only him, laying in a bed that barely provided them a wink of sleep.

Covers laid disturbed over their body. Signs of how they kept turning through the empty night. He didn't care to fix it. Only feeling the wrinkles and crumples in the fabric, hoping to ignore the feeling and settle into another dreamless sleep. But it seems there would be no rest again, a pattern of the night. Stitched into the days Chance spent in that cage.

Turning his gaze to those wooden walls. Sometimes he liked to pretend he could see through the logs. As if maybe, they could peer inside his room. See the sleeping form of the handsome man, so close to Chance, yet seperated by logs and a mental distance. One that they forced themself to swallow, making sure their tablets were that shape. While he had no clue of the ordeal.

Was it pathetic to admit he had forced himself to memorize that room? Yes, it was. Incredibly pathetic, actually. But they didn't truly care. Only tracing the floor in their restless mind, remembering footsteps from before. Hearing a recorder of that man's voice, so hauntingly beautiful it kept invading their thoughts. Staking a claim in Chance's brain, almost etching the name on those wrinkles.

How the room held a scent, one he couldn't describe. But they knew it well. It was comfortable and warm. Inviting to someone like them. Shocking the man by how fast he was let in, being able to step into his room. The man who was so nice, and kind. Someone like him was able to step in that room. Even if he shouldn't have had the grace to see such a place.

Elliot.

Such a kind soul, almost too kind. It's why he laid here, on his bed. Being pathetic over a man that shouldn't have to deal with their shit. Maybe his heart was simply too trusting, too open, and too kind. To let someone like Chance inside. Where a kind and handsome man stood now, surely he'd be stained by Chance's dirty hands.

There is no way to save the man if he let's Chance come in. And maybe there was a way. But they knew damn well, there truly wasn't. They'd turn a clean heart into a corrupted one, full of inky blackness. For that is simply his nature, corrupting other creature's. Imposing their own stains and spreading it more. Etching darkness in those around.

The last time he had crawled in another heart's. He had corrupted the man, getting a punishment that twisted his stomach. A sword straight to his guts, one that burned as the other only twisted the blade. Scoffing, as Chance reached a trembling hand up. Only to see the other turn away, form retreating away from the shaking man that was left there. Until they had died, getting sent to this Hell.

It was a fate they were deserving of. Always, they managed to stain everyone else. Corruption spread through their laughs, spores of their cruelty spreading to anyone who dared to open their heart to him. He was stained, and he never went down alone. Even if it meant he got a broken leg while falling. He clinged onto that person's heart, and only let go once they pushed him off.

There was no point in this, none at all. But their heart, it burned inside. Deep and aching, a horrible pain. Chance just wanted it to stop. It was selfish to say, but all he wished for was his feelings to be accepted. For them to be pulled into Elliot's arms after a round. Soft kisses planted on their lips, and a love they both shared. Something that wasn't horrible, or stained by Chance.

He would corrupt Elliot if they kissed. They would turn his soul rotten and black. Turn it into an infection, turning the flesh into dying tissue. Necrosis setting it, until it had to be amputated. Or until they had to be cut off, stabbed in the stomach. All of it just to kill the infection that was surely going to spread further and further.

His fingers were black. Stained and inky, one that would surely infect such a pure man like Elliot. Octopus ink that couldn't be washed out. But not because of defense, they wished it could be only in that situation. No, simply because of trust and love. But is it even love? He is selfish, he will stain Elliot.

...

He only curled in on himself, trying to maybe get away from all of this. Glancing over to those walls that seperated the two. Sometimes he wished he could take a hammer, and smash the logs. To be able to gaze at the one man so tender to him. But it seems he would not get his dreams. Well, not unless they actually got up.

Sinking deeper into the mattress, Chance only stared. Letting insomnia take it's reigns. Not caring of how tired they would be in a round. Only able to look at that wall. Imagining a kind and tender man. Even he himself had no clue of what he could possibly be thinking. And they were inside their own mind.

Maybe about how they ached for Elliot, their hands that were stained still reaching to corrupt. Or how they had an inherrent need to destroy things. Even if he knows he shouldn't. Touching a pretty flower, when you know you'll rip off the petals. It was a cruel thing to do. Especially with how preventable the thing was. Simply, keep your hands away.

But nothing in them could ever follow such simple instructions. As they decided to finally do something. He shot up, leaving the covers and bed a mess. With wrinkled sheets touching the floor, and blankets scattered around the tiny mattress. Dipping off of the bed frame, only showing his hurried exit.

The log door creaked open, they tried to not make it so loud. Aware of how this was the time everyone was able to rest. With light footsteps, and mapping out the floor. Very slowly, they got over to Elliot's room. Wary to not step on any loud floorboards, or to trip and fall over. Even if it was a very short distance, the doors seemed so...far. Breathing in, Chance only forced himself to do it.

Standing in front of the door. With his fist raised, obvious he was about to knock.Then, he stopped. Body pausing as his thoughts finally ran through. Chance only stared at the wooden door. Tracing the grains of wood, and just what exactly laid behind the door. With a frown, Chance turned around. Walking back, not caring of how the floorboards creaked underfoot.

Through it all, only one thing had truly stuck in his brain. In the blizzard of his thoughts that were in his mind. They just knew they couldn't.

But a part of Chance had wished that they were more selfish. To knock on the door, and feel Elliot's warm arms wrap around the man. For him to be able to hold something in his heart.