panacea | skeppy x bbh

                                    

                                          
𝘢/𝘯: 𝘪 𝘵𝘳𝘪𝘦𝘥 𝘵𝘰 𝘸𝘳𝘪𝘵𝘦 𝘢𝘯𝘺𝘵𝘩𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘣𝘶𝘵 𝘢𝘯𝘨𝘴𝘵 𝘪 𝘳𝘦𝘢𝘭𝘭𝘺 𝘥𝘪𝘥 𝘣𝘶𝘵 𝘪𝘵'𝘴 𝘭𝘪𝘬𝘦 𝘪 𝘭𝘪𝘵𝘦𝘳𝘢𝘭𝘭𝘺 𝘤𝘢𝘯𝘯𝘰𝘵 𝘥𝘰 𝘢𝘯𝘺𝘵𝘩𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘦𝘭𝘴𝘦 <\3 
                          
𝘳𝘦𝘢𝘭𝘭𝘺 𝘤𝘳𝘶𝘴𝘩𝘦𝘥 𝘵𝘰𝘥𝘢𝘺, 𝘪 𝘩𝘰𝘱𝘦 𝘢𝘯𝘺𝘰𝘯𝘦 𝘦𝘭𝘴𝘦 𝘸𝘩𝘰 𝘴𝘦𝘦𝘴 𝘵𝘩𝘪𝘴 𝘯 𝘪𝘴 𝘧𝘦𝘦𝘭𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘢 𝘭𝘪𝘵𝘵𝘭𝘦 𝘴𝘩𝘪𝘵 𝘬𝘯𝘰𝘸𝘴 𝘵𝘩𝘢𝘵 𝘵𝘩𝘦𝘺 𝘢𝘳𝘦𝘯'𝘵 𝘢𝘭𝘰𝘯𝘦!! 𝘸𝘦 𝘭𝘰𝘷𝘦 𝘶 :)
                          
𝘪𝘯𝘴𝘱𝘪𝘳𝘦𝘥 𝘣𝘺 𝘥𝘰𝘤𝘵𝘰𝘳 𝘣𝘺 𝘫𝘢𝘤𝘬 𝘴𝘵𝘢𝘶𝘣𝘦𝘳//𝘱𝘢𝘯𝘢𝘤𝘦𝘢 𝘪𝘴 𝘢𝘯 𝘢𝘭𝘤𝘩𝘦𝘮𝘪𝘤𝘢𝘭 𝘵𝘦𝘳𝘮 𝘧𝘰𝘳 𝘢 𝘤𝘶𝘳𝘦-𝘢𝘭𝘭
                          
                                   -
                          
love - they say - is, above all else, supposed to be kind. something to be cherished, however constant or fleeting it may be. zak was sure of one thing though.
                          
love was not supposed to hurt.
                          
he can feel it, inside the very centre of his soul. it writhes and wrenches and fucking hell, it hurts. not a minor pain either, the kind that swallows you whole until it's all you can think about. until it is you; and zak was a big fan of staying himself, thank you very much.
                          
it was bearable, in the beginning. a slight burn in one's abdomen when darryl speaks is hardly even noticeable. not worth an extra thought. unimportant. it's when the pain starts to bleed into his mien that he begins to worry.
                          
the hurt seeps into his bloodstream and slowly turns him rotten, til he's all but a walking corpse. it drains his face of all colour until he resembles a ghost in pallor and turns the bags under his eyes a sickly black. it makes his fingers tremble and shake, and his body decay.  one well-meant ruffle of his hair or squeeze of his hand from darryl, fucking darryl of all people, makes his head swim until he just physically can't be around the poor man any longer.
                          
the worst bit of all is the wounded puppy-eyes that are shot his way every time zak flinches at the older's touch or cuts him off mid-sentence because he knows a petname is coming and he doesn't want to throw up into the grass. their friendship used to be so casual, so easy; but how do you explain to the person you love the most in the whole goddamn universe that 'i'm really sorry but you can't act the same way that you used to around me because i'm so in love with you that i might pass out'. you don't. you can't.
                          
it's autumn, and the leaves are fading to rust, when darryl finally notices.
                          
he takes zak aside, ever-so-gently guiding his leaden body to sanctuary, and sits them both down on the plush chairs in the older's recording room. zak is too busy desperately trying to avoid the pitying gaze of his friend for fear of turning to stone or some other disastrous calamity, that he doesn't notice the warm hand on his thigh. the whispered words of comfort, asking, pleading for him to just say if he's sick. telling him that it'll all be okay, which is such a stupid notion that zak actually laughs aloud.
                          
but the laughter stops abruptly when he finally clocks their proximity. he can feel darryl's breath, feather-light on his cheek and the doe-eyes staring into his soul. the expression directed at him is quizzical and, oh god, he's biting gently down on his cherryed bottom lip as he studies zak like a masterpiece and it's all. too. much.
                          
so he runs.
                          
pushes darryl aside and wrenches the door open and runs. and doesn't stop running until he's home and safe and isn't in danger of doing something he'd probably regret. not that he hasn't replayed the event over and over again in his head until he's sick with wants and 'what if's'.