FNF Soft Oneshots/Writing Dumps

Dump #1 || A Memory ||

On the first night of December, Pico N. Grounds lay beside his sleeping lover, Benjamin Fairest, under a tattered but comforting blanket. The winds increased in speed and lowered in temperature in preparation for the upcoming winter season. All the boys had for shelter was an abandoned shed they found close by after jumping off the Fairest's limo merely two weeks ago. The lack of insulation only served as an insult to literal injury.

Pico held his lover tightly in his arms and slowly stroked his light blue hair. He himself may have been used to such beatings in the past, but he knew that Benjamin wasn't so experienced. And while the initial shock of the harsh landing had long since passed, their battered and bruised bodies still had a long way to go on the road to recovery.

"Poor baby," Pico thought to himself, "We were just lucky to at least cross the bridge and land on a hill when we jumped off... But even then, the rocks cut him up pretty good... But his whore of a mother would have probably done worse..."

As Pico closed his eyes, his thoughts began to drift. Eventually, a memory comes for a visit in his mind.

A few years prior, Pico had endured a similarly brutal beating. Not by jumping off an ever-accelerating vehicle but rather from the furious blows of the fists of a long-time nemesis who followed him to a faraway city. It was only by luck that a supernatural graffiti artist and occultist named Herra, who would become his now late wife, would witness the crime and lend her aid.

He remembered the cold, clammy, brick room he woke up in that fateful day. He remembered when Herra tended to his wounds and made a genuine attempt to ease both his physical and emotional pain. He remembered how she kept by his side when everyone he knew had deemed him a heinous criminal. He remembered when Herra first gave him the black face mask he now forever cherishes when she invited him to make a beautiful mural together. He remembered their feelings growing for each other as each passing day of healing went by. He even remembered the very day they confessed their swelling feelings and soon found their lips meeting for the first time.

But Herra is gone now, as she had been for the past two months. No one was there to tend to him. No one was there to guide him. No one was there to comfort him in his time of anguish. That was when he realized, as he gently pulled himself closer to Benjamin, that very responsibility was passed on to him. The well-being of a new lover is in his own hands now. It was now his turn to cherish and tend to a wounded soul, even if he is, at this time, suffering from such wounds himself.