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Resentful.
If there were any words to describe Rocket, many would describe him as Angry. Resentful. Cruel.
Just someone who couldn’t hold onto anything, not even himself.
And here he was, proving them right. Letting out soft sobs in someone else’s arms, arms that didn’t belong to him. Rough hands that weren’t his held his face, and he strains himself to crack his eyes open, and blurringly seeing the expression that belonged to someone else. The other gives a ginger smile, to which Rocket cracks out another sob.
“Skate, —”
Rocket's breath catches in his throat, and another sob escapes his lips, slipping out before he knows it. His cry is raw and ragged, and his head regrettably nestles deeper into Skateboard’s top. Skateboard winces at the dull sharp pain of unkempt horns that roughly pierce his stomach. He sucks in air sharply between his fangs, gently moving positions.
There is so much blood.
Skateboard gingerly takes Rocket's wrist again, attempting to still his own hand as he unsteadily dabs the flowing scarlet that pours from the jagged wound with a damp paper towel. Rocket stiffens up at the notice of his partner’s own breaths falling unevenly, and he can already feel the guilt forming in his gut, Guilt that he knows that is going to do it’s very best to claw through his insides, and eat at him until he’s nothing.
“Hey, it’s gonna be okay,” Skateboard gently consoles, focusing his attention on the wounded wrist. He tosses the blood-caked paper towel behind him without thinking, quickly getting a fresh one from the box next to him on the blanket, trying to ignore how the blood pooled down to the blankets. But as his trembles grew, and each towel turned a splotchy red, Skateboard couldn’t exactly sugarcoat the situation. This was really bad .
Rocket winced as the other brought the injured flesh closer to his face, watching as his boyfriend’s face morphs into a slight grimace at the sight — or perhaps at the stench of the blood. Skateboard squinted his eyes as he inspected the damage, no matter how much his mind pleaded at him to look away from the horrific sight. The gash was deep, and the cuts seemed to go down in neat lines, showing proof of how purposeful this must have been.
As Skateboard leaned in closer, he felt his breath catch in his throat as he caught a glint of something unsettling. Little white splotches dotted themselves into the torn flesh, making his stomach churn with worry.
He was terrified for Rocket.
Everything just happened so so fast.
The sheer terror that washed over him as he stepped into the bathroom was like nothing he had ever experienced before. The nightmarish scene that seemed to unfold right in front of Skateboard was nothing less than horrifying. Rocket– who was vulnerable and shaking like a leaf, was swiftly dragging a sharp box cutter blade against his pale flesh, his prosthetic fingers on the other hand curling around the edge of metal. He recalls how hard his heart plummeted straight down into his stomach seeing the sight.
Rocket’s eyes flew to the door, his expression fearful upon realizing he was caught. Panic flashed across his face instantly, as he feebly attempted to give an excuse that seemed to only come out in incoherent stutters, as his hands in a panicked frenzy dropped the box cutter and darted upwards to his horns, which were rough and unkempt, evidence of neglect that forced them to grow in such painful lengths. He roughly tugged on them in panic, Skateboard watching as Rocket’s chest did not seem to rise and fall evenly, his breathing coming out in mere sputters and gasps.
Rocket clenched his jaw, internally cursing himself. It took him so incredibly long to separate himself from his old title, from being “The blackrock solider’s uncontrollable son.” Anger flashed across his face momentarily, feeling hot tears drip down his cheeks.
He’s an embarrassment. He knows that in the deep rooted part of Skateboard’s simple minded brain he's embarrassed to be with Rocket. He can recall the look on his friends faces when they came out, Rocket can feel every single glare that’s shot his way, the confused whispers when the two hold hands or talk after a match from Skateboard’s friends. He can feel the shame bubble up from his chest, his breath starting to quicken again.
“ Wait– him? Are you serious?” He hears a demon snort in disbelief. “I’d be careful around that guy, y’know?”
What is he, A wild animal? Is that how others deem him?
Is that how Skateboard deems him? He must, surely after this encounter.
Lost within his thoughts, Rocket was abruptly pulled back into the present as calloused fingers tapped his cheek gently— but insistent. The unexpected touch made Rocket moderately jolt, before he blinked away blurry tears with a small hiccup. Skateboard’s hands fell from his face to hold his hands. He brushed his fingers over Rocket’s slightly mangled hand, feeling the rough patches of skin underneath his fingertips. He flashed the demon a smile before craning his body to the bandages he kept close. Rocket’s head fell heavy, and he let out a shuddering breath before lowering it.
“I’m sorry.”
Skateboard pauses, his hands barely hovering over Rocket’s wrist with the gauze. He blinks, pressing his lips together. “Huh?”
Rocket lets out a huff of annoyance, gritting his teeth. “ I said i’m sorry.”
“Nono— I heard you. But for what?” Skateboard picks up the limp arm, delicately wrapping it securely with the bandage.
Is Skateboard serious?
“You shouldn’t have to be doing this. I could be doing all this on my own.”
“Yeah, but would you be doing this on your own?” to which Skateboard hummed at the silence that followed, as if he knows he won. He finished wrapping the wound, noting the disheveled placements of the bandages. “I’m sure Sword could get Medkit to..do a better job at this.”
And Rocket nearly chokes.
“You’re funny if you think Sword knows anything about this, let alone that grump.”
Skateboard snickered at the comment, but his face was etched with exhaustion. He peered at the scarlet soaked box-cutter on the carpet floor, the blood staining the beige. His smile faltered. “That looked really bad Y’know. Like..deep.”
Rocket snorts. “Yeah, no shit.”
“Don’t give me sass. I was just saying.”
Rocket doesn’t respond, But he swiftly rotates his wrist, inspecting the messily done care.
“This kinda burns.”
“Yeah. I bet it does. I don’t have anything to..like properly clean it right now.”
Rocket only hums, letting himself finally fall against the blankets. He nestles himself deep into the comforter, being mindful of where to place his arm. Skateboard plunges in a much more dramatic manner, exhaling before he flips to face his boyfriend.
“You wanna talk about it?”
Rocket’s eyes flutter shut, shaking his head as if even thinking about it was too much to bear in that moment. “No..not really.”
Skateboard gives a hum of acknowledgement, taking Rocket’s hand again. He’s surprised the demon lets him.
“That’s okay.”
Rocket mindfully glances to the blade that’s idle on the carpet, before snapping his attention back to Skateboard. He allows his body to shuffle closer to the other, letting Skateboard’s legs cage him in an embrace.
They both inwardly decided to unpack the situation tomorrow. That was okay.
Rocket’s eyes stay shut, and he allows himself to be lulled by Skateboards heartbeat and slow— now relaxed heartbeat. He teeters on the edge of sleep, letting out soft breaths in content.
“Thank you, Skate,” Is the last thing he manages, letting sleep drift him away, feeling Skateboard subtly pull him closer.