Melodramatic Metathesiophobe

Homesick

The walk home carved that pit right back. The further he got from Mikey's house, the more his body sagged. Time never seemed to pass at Mikey's. He thought maybe if he just stayed there forever then the full moon would never come. Of course it wasn't true, but his imagination was one of the only things keeping him sane.

He pulled his door open, sighing into the emptiness, closing and locking the door behind him. The plan was isolation. Solitude. He didn't at all want to risk someone finding out about him. He didn't at all want someone to catch him in the middle of change, if change were to occur.

He didn't want to hurt anyone.

Itching his chest, he pushed his jeans off, tossing them along with his jacket into the pile slowly growing in his laundry room. Just another thing he needed to do but kept avoiding.

Then it was back to the couch. The sun had started to set, dipping below the horizon, and Ray just really didn't want tomorrow to arrive. Unless he magically grew the ability to stop a planet from rotating, though, he didn't think he had much luck.

The realization that he'd fallen asleep didn't even set in until the sun was stabbing back through his eyelids and he found himself curled in a little ball, wrapped in blankets. He didn't remember going to his bed. He didn't remember much at all. His brain was foggy. And the nausea wasn't helping.

He crawled from bed, tail dragging behind him as he trudged to the bathroom, sinking to the floor before the porcelain and chucking his guts at it. He'd become so desensitized to throwing up at this point that it should have been concerning, but he just didn't know what to do about it anymore. It wasn't like there was some miracle cure he could use and it would just go away. He'd tried ginger tea and he'd tried antacids and he tried just straight up not eating, but none of it worked. It all just left him tired and more discouraged than before. There was a certain homesickness that dwelled in the back of his mind, though it didn't seem to make sense-- he was home, he was in his own house. He shouldn't have been homesick. But he was, and it only took a bit more thinking to realize why.

It wasn't homesickness for a place, but for feeling. He missed feeling okay. He missed being healthy and energetic and full of life. He didn't want to feel sick and tired and hurt anymore. He was homesick for general stability. And the fact that he was longing deeply for something that simple... well it hurt him more inside than it should have.

He pulled away from the toilet sadly, getting to his wobbly legs, washing his mouth out in the sink. Bile was a taste he was familiar with but that didn't mean he liked it. At all. Quite the opposite. Then it was a debate about where to go from there. He felt hot, his skin itchy and prickly, his muscles sore. Maybe a bath... a cold bath...

It wasn't long before he was stripping, making a pile of his clothes and starting the water, watching it pour from the faucet. He sat on the closed toilet to wait and really tried to ignore how much disdain he held for how he looked. He never thought he looked good anyway, but it was worse now. Keeping up general hygiene was never a problem for him. It was a habit, but even then, he never really shaved anything other than his face unless it was very necessary--there was just never a reason to. There was never a need to shave anything else because it never got unruly. But now he just felt scraggly. All the hair that was already present had grown, as if a few years had passed in the span of weeks, and he really contemplated whether or not he should shave. Was it worth it with the full moon coming...?

The answer ended up being no. He slid into the water with a soft sound of relief and knew immediately that he just wanted to soak. The cold water cut through the heat of his skin and dulled it, calming the fire, making everything just slightly better. It was like lemonade on a hot day. Just what he needed. It was calm, quiet, and he took his time, eyes closed as he rested.

When the water began to get lukewarm, he sighed tiredly and rose, shivering as he reached to grab a towel, enveloping himself. It was like his body couldn't decide whether it should be hot or cold, and was instead going for both. A fever and chills at the same time. It made his stomach roll, his head aching dully as he walked, tempted to collapse to bed, but he didn't. He had to prepare. He didn't want to think about it, he really didn't, but he had to prepare.

Picking out clothes he didn't mind ruining was much easier than he thought. He had a slightly small grey shirt--though he could have sworn it wasn't always that small--and loose black shorts that he didn't quite think he'd miss. There was a passing thought that he'd probably have to modify some of his clothes to account for his tail, but he really tried not to linger on it. His tail was the worst of all the changes, so much different than his normal body; so much harder to hide. Covering his ears with his hair was easy. Keeping his mouth shut to hide his teeth was simple. Excusing his scruff as the start of a beard didn't even require talking. Hiding his tail was much more of an effort. He had to tuck it away and most of his pants didn't have ample room, not to mention how uncomfortable it was to keep the new skin under tight fabric. He relished in the time spent alone where he could let it out, but he also missed human contact. He missed Mikey... he missed Gerard... he missed the band...

He trudged to the kitchen and looked around, trying to decide what--if anything--he'd eat. Beginning with water was easy enough and he downed two glasses before realizing he'd poured one, then looked around, wandering, checking the fridge twice and standing in the doorway of his pantry for much longer than he usually did. He was hungry, oh lord, so hungry, but he just didn't know what would satisfy. He wasn't in the mood to play twenty questions with his stomach and sandwiches were simple, so he just pulled one together, toasting it slightly and digging in. The ham tasted far better than he expected it would. Far better than it usually did...

Then it was to the couch. He sank to the soft cushions, pulling two blankets over himself, then lying restless for who knows how long. He surely didn't, but it felt like forever. Just endless tossing and turning, throwing blankets off and pulling them back on, opening and closing his eyes, thinking and losing himself in silence. It was torture. He thought maybe he would have been to sleep in moments, what with his exhaustion and soreness and heat, but he didn't get a wink. He couldn't. He wished Mikey were there... his lap was the most comfortable pillow Ray had ever known... and to feel him play with his hair...

He whimpered softly aloud and nuzzled the couch, sniffling, looking at the door as if watching it for long enough meant that Mikey would just randomly appear.

Oh, how he wished that were true.

//Author's Notes\\

At this point I'm just teasing you guys and holding the full moon chapter back :) Don't worry, it's coming soon!!

Hopefully it's worth the wait :')

~XO, Vacant.~