All about control

salt in the wound (january)

The drive home is quiet. Theo is sitting in his own passenger seat, Liam is the one behind the wheel this time. It's not the first time he's driven Theo, but it's certainly the first time he's done so in the state he's in. The rage is coming off of him in waves, it fills the silence of the truck along with Theo's labored breathing.

He was fine to drive, really. He's driven in worse conditions, but Liam wasn't listening. In fact, Liam hasn't said a word to him since he was dragged out of the warehouse and told to go home. His eyes never stray from the road, hands gripped on the wheel in an unrelenting way. Theo's eyes trace the bend of his fingers, the way his knuckles have gone white from the pressure. He feels sick knowing he's the one that caused this.

When they make it to Theo's apartment, because that was the only place Liam was ever going to go, he manages to slide out of the passenger seat on shaking legs that somehow carry him up the stairs and to his door. Liam wordlessly unlocks it with his spare key, leaving it open behind him as he makes a beeline for the bathroom. Theo doesn't need words to know that he's supposed to follow him.

He closes the door behind him with his free hand, his other still wrapped around his stomach, trying to hide the worst of his injury that hasn't seemed to fully heal yet. He feels like he's floating as he makes it to the doorway of his bathroom. Liam is rummaging through his cabinets, pulling out washcloths and hydrogen peroxide, his eyes still avoiding Theo.

Finally, he sets everything on the sink and looks to Theo, face blank.

"Sit."

Theo knows better than to protest, shuffling to sit on the toilet next to the sink, hiding a grimace at the sharp feeling that shoots through his abdomen as he does so. He refuses to show weakness, especially right now.

Liam grabs a washcloth, dumping some of the liquid on it before bringing it to Theo's cheek. He tries not to react, tries not to flinch, though he thinks his efforts were useless when Liam pauses and lowers his hand, a frown on his face.

"I'm not going to hurt you." His voice is soft, a hint of hurt laced in his words. Theo feels sick again.

Theo nods, shaky voice tumbling through his lips. "No, I know."

Liam gives a short nod, bringing his hand up again, slower this time. The smell is overwhelming, reminding him of nights where he did this alone, pausing to leave the room for fresh air. His body aches with the memories as Liam brings a shaky hand to hold his chin as he wipes away blood with the other one.

"Liam-"

"Don't." His voice is hard, leaving no room for argument.

Liam's hands are still gentle, though, rubbing soft circles into his cheek to rid the sticky texture that seems to be stuck to every part of him, something that seems to follow him around, something that seems like it's going to follow him forever. He thinks he might be doomed to spend the rest of his life in dimly lit bathrooms, peroxide burning his nose as he tries his damndest to rid the evidence of his weakness.

Distantly, selfishly, he wishes he won't be doing it alone. He wishes he could be doing it like this, Liam's gentle hands touching his face, keeping him together when he can't do it himself.

At some point Liam finishes, tossing the now red washcloth into the sink without looking, picking up another one as he gestures for Theo to stand.

"I can take care of myself, Liam, it's just blood."

Liam's eyes are sharp when they meet his, jaw set, hand clenched around the washcloth in a deathgrip.

"Stand up, shirt off, no talking."