Chapter Text
My head is clearer than it’s been in weeks - and I’m looking to change that.
I sit at a small table at the bar, a drink in my hands, and I stare down into the depths of my glass with tired eyes. Everything has felt so . . . chaotic. My mind can barely begin to place some of the things that have happened in the last few days, even. It was like a . . . chattering had taken over my head. Like I was going through motions that I didn’t mean. But right now, I feel the most like myself. Which is an advantage . . . and a disadvantage.
I don’t want to feel the marks upon my body so coherently.
I raise my drink and tip it back into my mouth, swallowing the mix of orange juice and vodka before nearly dropping the empty glass on the table, followed by my arms, then my head.
“Hey, hey . . . ? Are you alright?”
I lift my head the mere inches it takes to see who’s talking to me, and I’m stunned to see it’s a familiar looking man. Long black hair, red highlights, one earring. But something about him feels . . . different to the other men that I’d seen before. They had all looked the same, but something about this guy feels more normal. Safer, maybe; right. I’m tempted to run from him screaming, wondering if it’s a trick of my imagination, but . . .
No, this isn’t the same guy. I just know it .
A small part of my mind chatters away in panic. I ignore it.
“Yeah?” I ask, a little more gruff than I mean. “What is it?”
“Ah- I’m sorry to interrupt,” he shakes his head, “But my friends and I - we’re sitting at the other end of the bar, and I noticed you over here sitting by yourself,” he cocks his head to one side, his long earring brushing his shoulder. “You seem distressed. Are you okay?”
Strange. I can feel myself flushing, and I unfold my arms and look down into my lap. I must look like a wreck. My mind had cleared up when I was in the hospital, but even though I had clothes to change into and a way to escape, I probably still didn’t look the best.
“I’m . . .” I try to decide how to describe myself to this stranger, but he interrupts me.
“No - you don’t have to say anything,” he shakes his head again. “It’s just- it looks like you’ve been crying a little bit, that’s all. You don’t need to explain yourself - and if you want me to leave, I will. I’m just sitting over there,” he points to a corner of the bar with four other boys seated, and they all give me a variation of a wave. I turn back to the man in front of me, and he tucks his messy hair back behind his ear. “I just thought I’d come check on you, because you were sitting alone, and you looked upset.”
Did I? Was I really that obvious? I look him over, considering. He’s dressed pretty plainly, and he doesn’t . . . talk like the others ones had. Not like the pilot. Not like the officer. Definitely not like the doctor. So . . . why did he feel different? I’m not sure.
On a whim, I decide to trust him.
***
“I- hmm,” he mulls over what I’d told him as we stand outside of the bar in the rain. “So, let me get this straight: over the last few weeks, you’ve been having these . . . strange encounters with these odd men. And all of them are men that look just like me. Is that what I’m getting right?”
“Yeah,” I admit. “That doctor told me I was just having manic episodes and prescribed me medication, but to be honest, my head is still foggy from time to time. I don’t know what to make of it.”
“And all of this started after your parents . . .?”
“Rejected me, yeah,” I look down at the ground and rub the back of my neck. “That’s the . . . even less than savory part. I haven’t heard from them since.”
He lets out a heavy sigh. I’m surprised he’s even entertaining what I told him - I wouldn’t believe me if I hadn’t gone through it myself. But instead of judging me, he simply answers, “That is quite the story. And you think this doctor may yet still be following you?”
“I think so,” I say. “He seemed pretty obsessive to me. The officer, too.”
“I see,” he thinks it over. “. . . how about- I’ll tell you what,” he gives me a smile. “How about for tonight, I pretend to be your . . . boyfriend, and . . . if he comes up to us, then I’ll help scare him away?”
I raise my brows at him. The fact that he seemed to believe me makes me all the more curious - and relieved. I won’t have to continue to go through this alone. Thank goodness .
“If you’d rather I leave, I-”
“No, no!” I shake my head. “Please, stay. I . . . you’re a lot more reassuring than those other dudes. I just . . .” I look to the side. “I just don’t want it to be awkward for you .”
“No, no, it’s quite fine,” he smiles at me, and I find myself smiling up at him in turn. He’s about a head taller than me, but I don’t mind - if anything, it’s kind of attractive. A feeling of safety washes over me, knowing that he’ll be by my side for the night. I feel a few tears well up in my eyes, and I reach up to brush them away.
“Are you okay?” he asks as I master myself again. “Do you . . . do you want a hug?”
“. . . actually, that’d be pretty good right now,” I admit. He smiles and wraps his arms around me, and I return the hug. His embrace is . . . warm. Not intense or scary, like the others’ were. Just reassuring. Safe.
We spend the evening window shopping and getting a meal at a cafe. It’s a relief to have something low-pressure to do; we chat idly, and the flow of conversation isn’t as stilted as I thought it would be, despite the once or twice I spit out something I don’t mean. There’s an instance of “caviar pizza” at the cafe that makes me both blush and immediately take it back, but that’s thankfully met with a laugh.
“Sorry,” I whisper. “Comes with the . . . mania.”
“That’s perfectly alright,” he says, though he adds, “That doesn’t seem to be the classic ‘mania’ I’ve heard of, though.”
“Neither have I, but . . . I mean, we don’t know a lot about mental health, do we?” I shrug. I feel so tired, talking like this, but this man - Vox Akuma, he said his name was - seems interested in me. Not just because he’s helping me . . . there’s a look in his eyes that I catch, and I end up asking, “What is it? Is there something on my face?”
“I . . . no, nothing,” He blushes and looks down at the table with a slight smile. “I will admit, I’m not typically interested in men . . . but you are quite cute.”
I feel my face burn. “Oh,” I say in a tiny voice.
“I’m sorry,” he starts, “If that’s too much-”
“No,” I breathe out, staring at him with . . . some feeling rising in my chest that I can’t place. On instinct, I raise my hand and put it gently over the top of his on the table. “It’s fine. I . . . think you’re quite cute, too.”
He looks back up at him, his smiling growing. Warm. Reassuring.
Our hands stay against each other until we leave the cafe.
***
“Well, here’s my home,” Vox says as he unlocks the door to his apartment and leads me inside. It’s a nice space - a couch in front of a TV, a small kitchen off to the side, and a door leading to what I assume is the bedroom in the back. He turns to me as he shows it all off, gesturing slightly as he does. I smile as he does. After a moment, he goes, “I can help make up the couch, if you want to stay the night. And I’ll leave the keys right here on the counter so you know you can leave anytime.”
“No, it’s fine . . . th-this place feels safe,” I say with a smile. I can’t help but feel tears rise to my eyes; I look away and sniffle, trying to blot the tears away before he can really see them. “Ah . . . sorry. Stupid emotions.”
“Hey, hey . . .” he steps up to me, brow worried. “Are you okay?”
“. . . it’s just been a long couple of weeks, and I’m finally safe, ” I sob. I cover my face and try to turn away from him, but his hands come steady to my shoulders. Still, I hunch them and try to make myself smaller, as if I could hide how embarrassing it is to cry in front of a man like him. Somebody so much . . . more than I was.
“Shh, it’s okay,” He whispers, rubbing up and down my arms. “Would you like another hug?”
“. . . yeah,” I admit through tears. I let him pull me into his arms. I bury my face in his chest and hold him around the waist, weeping. He gently shushes me, keeping a close hold around me, one of his hands even coming up to brush my hair back. Eventually I feel him pull me forward, and I allow him to shift the two of us until we’re lying on his couch, me against his chest. I can feel myself turn redder at that and try to hide my face further.
“Hey, it’s alright . . .” I feel him kiss the top of my head. “It’s all going to be okay.”
“Why . . . why don’t I believe that?” I whimper. He reaches down and finally takes my chin, getting me to look up at him.
“Trust me,” he says gently. “It’ll all be okay. Don’t be afraid. The world is full of hope.”
I sniffle and hold onto him a little tighter. I try, for a little while, to believe him.
By morning, we’re together.