Chapter Text
It wasn't as bad in the earlier seasons.
When it was more playful, more distant, with nothing to worry about other than winning. But then, the need to be buddy-buddy with everyone became a forefront in everyone's minds. It started off with Soap rubbing off the snot Tissues had flung onto Trophy, before getting punched into the water by Knife, with other small instances occurring- someone brushing their shoulder against his, a pat on his back, minor gestures that anyone else wouldn't have tensed up at.
Then, Trophy started blackmailing Knife.
...Not his brightest moment, but with his elimination, he has done a lot of thinking since then. Knife had kicked him into the elimination portal, staying in the cramped hotel closet with a group of others, Trophy did not realize just how far his... Discomfort was until then. Having to push himself further into the wall to maximize the space, getting sneezed on, the room getting stuffy with each added elimination; when Trophy was finally free, he had to direct his aggression towards something, or someone, else.
Didn't everyone else get that feeling, too? When someone touches him, it feels like there's bugs crawling underneath his skin, his gut twists, his heart rate picks up- Trophy has the urge to escape, or back off, which is such a wimpy thing to do.
It was easy to forget about the... Anxiety that wells up in him when himself when he's scuffling with someone else, or when he's initiating the contact first, by his own accord. Fights tend to be quick, the touch doesn't last long (unless he was in a headlock), it provided relief when his anger had bubbled up inside of him. It made up for the lack of contact he typically got, the unwelcome contact. Luckily enough, whenever Knife did manage to get back to the hotel in-between episodes, Trophy would lead him on. Make the other man take the bait, act like he was better, that he could have easily won any challenge Knife was facing- just to have a punch land on him.
Call it a form of exposure therapy if he wanted to go into the mushy feeling stuff. Sue him. The adrenaline pumping through him was different than regular touches, no matter how heavy or light. Whenever Knife swept him off his feet, grabbed him at the collar of his shirt, knocked their foreheads together- whenever Trophy would knock Knife's teeth in, shatter a glass against his skull, put down all his weight onto the other man and beat him senseless. It was relieving. So far different than shoulder brushes, pats on the back, hand holding.
With the blackmailing long over, the competition slowing down due to MePhone's persistence towards never ending it, the fights Trophy had with Knife stopped. The bonds everyone in the hotel made, however, seemed to develop. Trophy felt more distant to everyone else as time went on.
The one downside to rooming with Tissues is how clingy he could be at times. Not that he was touchy (although he would occasionally request a hug and dear sweet Trophy, kind from the bottom of his heart, would hug him out of his own volition) but the littler things. Things that anyone else would be able to ignore. At first, handing Tissues a cup of freshly made tea was used with his entire grip on the handle, yet Tissues' fingers would brush against his. The first time it happened, Trophy had dropped the cup and flinched.
Tissues thought it was his fault at first, apologizing like he had killed someone, voice becoming watery, sniffling- dear Phone- the sniffling- and Trophy, by reflex, called him a loser before making another one. Cleaning the spill was humiliating, and Tissues had tried to brighten the mood with a joke here and there. At the time, Trophy hoped that if he scrubbed the floor hard enough, it would also wash away the tingling lingering deep in his fingers.
It wasn't that Trophy was scared of touching. He's done it plenty of times before on his own accord, he wasn't some wimp. He just... Couldn't stand touch.
So when the award started helping out in the kitchen with Tea Kettle, everyone's local mother figure, it was terrible. She wasn't malicious, if a bit overbearing at times, she helped cook and cleaned up after herself- she even tried to give out compliments, which were far and few when it came to Trophy. The first couple of times went like a breeze, if anyone could ignore Trophy measuring ingredients wrong, spilling some food occasionally, or just making a plain mistake. The kitchen tends to get heated easily, with many mouths to feed and a lot of moving bodies in only so much space. Tea Kettle could be blunt at times, which Trophy greatly appreciated, but when she was extremely passionate about something, well...
She tended to get touchy. Very touchy.
She hadn't done that the first couple of times Trophy offered his assistance. Carrying kitchen equipment, restocking anything she needed, moving onto actual cooking once Tea Kettle trusted his skills on using an oven or grill. He wasn't the best at it, but he was improving the more he tried. The others in Hotel Hoot were eating the meals he and the others cooked, and Tea Kettle seemed to brighten up with another pair of hands to help.
Trophy ran himself differently than everyone else, he had walls up for a distinct reason. Staying far away from the others as much as he possibly could, saying biting remarks to not have anyone grow close to him. It was only natural that Tea Kettle would warm up to him over time, but Trophy wasn't like Teddy. He didn't need to be coddled or fawned over like he was broken, Trophy was fine just the way he is.
Today was particularly stressful. After dinner rush was over, the dishes were all washed and tucked away, Tea Kettle gathered the group together for some congratulatory snacks. Snacks courtesy of Starfruit, with his connection to the outside world. Sweet and sugary things, contrasting Trophy's preferred snacks. He enjoyed cacao nibs, almonds, protein bars, low-fat yogurts as snacks. Not something with the same sugar content as candy, even if he did have the rare instance of craving it. Trophy hadn't been in the mood to eat either, being surrounded by food for the past three hours was enough for the day.
So when he grabbed a small piece with a spare toothpick (no way was he going to use his hands, the top was sticky and caramelized) and placed it onto a palm-sized plate to bring up to Tissues, he snatched a leftover glass bottle from the fridge, too. Banana blast, sloshy with the ice that hasn't acclimated yet, high in both protein and fiber. Making his way out of the kitchen, Trophy-
"Trophy, wait up, sweetheart, will you?" Tea Kettle called out, halting the conversation she was having with Magnet and Teddy.
The award stopped, tucking the bottle underneath an armpit as he turned around. His bomber jacket, usually on, had been tied around his waist. With how Tea Kettle seemed to be rushing after him, arms open wide, it almost looked like she was going to-
"Uh-"
Warmth. Warmth all around him. Tea Kettle was hugging him, tight, the bottle pressing into his side, grip faltering on the plate (don't make a mess don't make a mess) all Trophy could do was freeze, with one hand trapped against himself and Tea Kettle, the other busy with Tissues' promised snack. Tea Kettle didn't hug like a, well, a bro- which would be considered quick, fleeting, a clap on the back and a maximum of three seconds of hugging, she hugged like an actual loving mother. Consisting of a full-body squeeze, a hum of delight, and a sweet, sweet smile that would have made anyone else happy, too.
Trophy felt like melting into a puddle and dying on the spot. He understood now why Goo flattened himself into the ground whenever something upsetting happened.
Gut twisting, entire body lighting up with the feeling of something crawling underneath his skin, Tea Kettle's head brushing against one of his hypersensitive handles-
Trophy didn't realize he was holding his breath until Tea Kettle finally- finally pulled away with one brow raised and a quirk of her lip.
Shoot, he was supposed to reciprocate the hug, wasn't he? That was what anyone normal would have done, nobody else had issues with touching, nobody else was like him-
"You did a good job today, you know that?" Tea Kettle said, cupping Trophy's shoulder and giving a tight squeeze, as if the hug wasn't torture already.
She was looking at the award with soft, questioning eyes. Like he was a baby duckling trailing after its mother on uncertain steps, stumbling anywhere it went. God, it made Trophy want to dig himself into a ditch to die in.
He wanted out. He wanted out, now, but Tea Kettle's hand was still on his shoulder and it was akin to having tons of bricks placed onto him.
Letting out a shaky exhale, Trophy blinked rapidly. Was the room getting smaller, or was that just him?
Oh, God, he was dying, wasn't he? Is this what it felt like to actually die? He should have torn off his skin ages ago if it felt like this. He wanted out, out, out, out-
"Trophy, dear, you don't need to hole up all by yourself," Tea Kettle prattled on, thumb idly rubbing against his shoulder. "I know it's tough, with the whole jock exterior you've got going on, but we're your friends! Your family! So if you need anything, we're all here for you."
It goes in one ear and out the other.
Were the lights blurring, or was it just him? He was getting enough air, isn't he? Trophy didn't push himself too hard today, right? It had been awhile since he last fainted, and he definitely didn't want to do it again- let alone in front of everyone. The dining room was right there, he could hear them chattering amongst themselves, Teddy and Magnet were also a couple steps behind. Too many eyes. He felt like collapsing.
His breathing was funny.
He mumbled out something too low, even to himself.
It prompted Tea Kettle to hum in question, urging him to speak up.
And unfortunately, Trophy wasn't known to maintain his temper. Nor was he known for having a good tone at times, or being too blunt, or-
"Let go of me!"
And maybe he shouldn't have said it in such a scandalized way. And so loud. Eyes darting behind Tea Kettle to the people in the kitchen- head whipping around to see OJ already peeking out, the entire room quiet. Even the dining room had gone still. Trophy had a knack for always fucking things up, and this had to take the cake.
Glancing at Tea Kettle's dumbfounded face only made him feel worse.
Tearing himself away before turning around, the award sucked in deep breaths. He probably looked stupid right now, trying to force his body to breathe, using both hands to hold his plate in an attempt to stop his shaking. Tense, tense, tense- too wound up tight and feeling the anxiety burst out of him all over.
"I... I didn't mean-"
"Don't touch me," Trophy cut her off, already walking out of the room. Keeping his head down.
"Hey, hold on, what happened?" OJ held a hand out. Trophy had to stop himself from flinching, yet failed- almost knocking himself into the wall.
"It's none of your business!"
He needed to retreat to his room, give Tissues his plate, and then lock himself in the bathroom for the next couple of hours.
"It's not none of my business when you have an outburst everyone could hear-"
"Oh, an outburst?! Me, an outburst? Is that what you think this is? I'm, I-" Trophy choked up, gulping down a mouthful of air. OJ changed his direction to stand in front of Trophy, blocking his path. An idiot with a drink and a plate, stuck.
"Look, if you can't control yourself, then-"
"Control myself? Control myself?!" Trophy balked. OJ reached forward, and he- "Don't touch me! Just, stop! I'm, fuck, stop it!"
He pushes past OJ, feels grimy when he has to shove OJ's shoulder to walk past him. He can hear the questioning tones starting up in the dining room, Tea Kettle's quiet murmurings, OJ's heavy sigh as he lets him free. A dog with its tail tucked between its legs, fleeing from the scene.
Running up the stairs and almost stumbling at the last step, bracing himself against the railing- nowhere was safe, everyone would know where he escaped to. His anxiety bubbled and popped inside of him, crashed into him the same when he urgently opened the door to his shared room. At least Tissues rarely pried for questions and stayed in bed, didn't even wake from his sleep when Trophy clumsily set the plate down on the bedside table and locked himself into the adjacent bathroom with a slam.
Shoving his back into the door, not bothering to turn on the lights (Tissues' nightlight worked fine enough) Trophy untied the jacket wrapped around his waist. Too constricting. Dropping onto the floor and leaning against the only exit, Trophy shoved his hands against his face.
Breathing was still hard. Running up the stairs made it worse. His hands still shook, the feeling of another body against his rang through him like a fresh, pulsating wound. Hugs were supposed to be calming, comforting, like home, yet that couldn't be the furthest thing from Trophy's mind. Hugs were a trap, a false sense of security, an easy ticket towards Panic Town. All the bad, and none of the good.
Wrapping his arms around himself, knees coming up to his chest, Trophy tried his best to self regulate. Deep breathing was the same as frantic hyperventilating.
It feels like a long time until his breathing isn't manual anymore. Pulling himself up to stand in front of the sink with stiff knees, he splashed a handful of water against his face. Avoiding gazing into the mirror, he peers down at his hands.
How is he going to go downstairs without anyone questioning him? He doubts he would be able to brush it off. It wasn't jock-like of him to have behaved like that at all earlier, and his gut shot a pang of pain at the thought of having to face everyone afterwards.
A knock made him jump, hands skittering on the sink.
"Trophy?" Tissues mumbled out from the other side with a heavily congested sniffle, "Could I use the bathroom?"
Closing his eyes for a moment, Trophy inhaled and let out a breath before opening the door. Tissues was wrapped in a blanket trailing behind him, safe from any surprise hugs. Trophy grimaced.
"Yeah," He grumbled, walking out.
Embarrassment rang through him. Good thing he could forget what happened earlier with his banana blast smoothie.
Picking it up, the bottle was lukewarm.
Great. Just one more thing on top of an already perfect day.