These Stories Are Reasonable

Fucking Up (OneShot)

Part of the cool timeline ofc

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"Hold still," Gray hummed softly, between two fingers, he held a cotton ball, soaked in rubbing alcohol. Soon the clean white became a sullied pink with fresh blood. Some was Wolf's blood, and some was not.

Wolf's eyes were downcast, anywhere but on Gray's. The pair had been resting in silence since Wolf came in, banged up and quiet. It wasn't like Gray minded having to patch him up, though lately he'd known about the other's desperate attempts to stop chasing the thrill. The smaller boy had never asked such a thing of Wolf, nor had they quite spoke of it in detail. It was odd how hard he'd been trying lately, for someone who didn't even know that he was doing it.

To Gray, this was another Tuesday, to Wolf it was end of the world.

Another moment passed.

Then the other spoke, "Are you mad at me?" He asked, linking his fingers together anxiously. There was a bloodstain on his knee from where he'd driven said knee directly into some Yeo-Il boy's face. It was a weird question, one that he felt as if he'd never said before, seeing as how Wolf Keum rarely cares about other's opinions.

"No," He continued softy, a guiding hand tilted the other's jaw upwards as he studied the full extent of Wolf's injuries, "I think you took to dodging well," Gray added, running a fingertip along the taller's jawline.

Wolf could hardly hold it in any longer, "Why aren't you mad at me?" He near-demanded, Gray had all manner of reasons to be angry about this. 

"I don't understand the question-"

"You understand!" He interjected, finally looking up at the other who'd been tending him ever-so-carefully, "You should be mad at me!" Wolf reached across the table for his glasses, tearing himself away from the other's hands, which had been removed so that Gray could do his work. Smaller hands clamped together, waiting a moment, halted from their tender work.

"Why?"

"I fucked up," In his hand, he nearly broke the glasses he always took such care to keep whole. "Again," He grumbled, ducking away from Gray's hands. All Wolf's life he'd been violet, sporadic, at school and at home all the same. It's hard to be loving when you were never shown love. It's hard to empathetic and kind when the topics are completely and utterly foreign. For the first time in his life, Wolf Keum was being shown love, real love, and understanding.

Everyday, he'd go home to Gray's house, which wasn't a battlefield, which didn't involve screaming matches in the living room, nor thrown knives or shattered wineglasses in the kitchen. Gray's humble apartment didn't involve thrown punches in the dining room, or screams nightly from the bedroom.

Gray's home was quiet, not in emptiness, but in peace.

For a great deal of many days, Wolf was certain he'd ruin this peace, and that Gray would scream at him, or maybe smash another pot over his head. But, he never did. Even when Wolf teased him, even when he infringed upon his studying space and interrupted his reading, even when he asked to spoon, even when he cried and showed weakness, Gray never screamed at him.

Then, Gray became this... piece, filling a spot in Wolf's chest that had always been empty. Fulfilling this longing wholly, rather than half-ly like adrenaline did. Ramming his fist into someone's face had always brought a momentary high, a momentary escape from the truth. Which was, the moment he went home, there'd be an entirely different fight happening, one he could do nothing about.

All his life he'd been a caged animal, thrown into the ring, nobody really caring about his health, only the results of their sick dog fight.

Gray cared.