AN: im so so sorry for the huge lack of updates, high school has been stressful, not to mention dysphoria and dysmorphia and self-degradation and all that lovely shit.
title is from 'trauma' by NF, it's the song playing on the playlist i was listening to while titling this, yw
sorry it's short, but i really need papa puffy and awesamdad content okay? im fucking lonely.
TW: Mentions of trauma??
"And I know that I shouldn't be so sensitive, I know I shouldn't be so clingy, and I know I shouldn't still care about him after what he's done. But I do. I do still care, and I am too sensitive, and I am too clingy, and I know he doesn't owe me anything, but I'm not asking for much." Tommy inhales sharply, a shaky, tear-stained sound. "I'm always here, I always was here for him, so why can't he be here for me once in my fucking life?"
He takes another trembling breath, swiping a hand across his nose. "I just—I just want—" He breaks off, head sliding into his hands as tears start to spill from his eyelids. "I just want—"
A choked sob interrupts his words, and the blond shudders as he silently cries, lanky frame looking so small and fragile in his current position. He sniffs, rubbing furiously at his red eyes. "I'm sorry, I don't know—"
He breaks off into sobs again, this time into a warm shoulder as gentle arms wrap around him. "I don't—I don't want—I just—"
A soft voice shushes him, rocking the two of them. Puffy sighs quietly, pressing a hand against her s̶o̶n̶ patient's golden locks, humming a soothing melody as he cries into her shirt. A few minutes later, Tommy's tears gradually stop, and once he's sufficiently calmed down, he pushes his way out of her embrace, slumping back down against his chair.
Puffy wants to reach out and grab him again, but fights back the urge, shifting into her own seat. She picks up her notepad, keeping her gaze locked on it but still paying attention to the boy before her, not wanting to make him uncomfortable with any kind of staring. Sketching out random doodles in the margins, she waits patiently for him to start.
Eventually, Tommy exhales heavily, and when she looks back up, his upper body is slumped over his frame, as if the mere energy required to keep his posture straight is too great for him to bother. "...'M sorry." He mumbles, eyes boring holes into his shoes.
"What do you mean?" Puffy asks calmly, setting down her stationery and taking a sip of the still-hot coffee sitting on the small table to her right, knowing full well what he's apologizing for.
Tommy clears his throat, shifting a little. "For, you know, crying an' shit."
"Tommy, you don't have to apologize for expressing your emotions." The therapist sets down her mug, leaning forwards.
"But..."
"In fact, I'm proud of you for not bottling up or neglecting your feelings."
"R-really?" He looks up at her, blue eyes shining, though still dull and tears-stained, brighter than she remembers seeing them.
Puffy smiles warmly. "I'm very proud of you."
Tommy looks down at his hands, lip trembling. A sudden choked noise escapes his throat, and this time he hardly hesitates to sink into his m̶o̶t̶h̶e̶r̶ therapist's open arms as a fresh round of tears slide down his face.
Staring out the window, she spots a familiar green-tinged figure waiting patiently outside for the boy, and Puffy smiles. She smiles because while Tommy may not be fully healed yet, while his blood family may not want to be near him, while his trauma may not have fully disappeared yet, she knows he has time to mend his broken relationships, has time to recover, has time to build up a new persona.
She smiles because she knows the war-torn child crying in her arms has a chance. A chance at a new life, with new people to hold him up and love him.
YOU ARE READING
what tragedies befall us
Fanficdsmp oneshots (mostly sbi). prepare for a lot of angst and a lot of heartbreak. (i will write angst, spain with the 's', angst, the occasional fluff)