Oc Oneshots

Where It Hurts

CW: Chapter includes -- non-graphic descirptions of throwing up, chronic pain, and general thoughts of inadequecy from the MMC. 

FYI: This chapter takes place FOUR years after the events of THIMH, so, spoilers.

-------------------------------------

Marley knew the taste of iron well. He knew how it lingered on the back of his tongue after he bit it, how it coated his throat when he coughed too hard. But hunched over the bathroom toilet, emptying nothing but blood and bile from his stomach, it was easy to say that he and the taste were far from friends.

It was bitter, burning as it mixed with the acid rising up his oesophagus. Each time he tried to swallow it down, his stomach convulsed, and every blink only seemed to invite more tears to blur his vision. It was infuriating.

He wanted to go back to bed. He wanted Emrys.

Emrys was asleep—or he had been when Marley left. If he had noticed Marley slipping out, he would have said something or followed. But he hadn't.

The pain swelled under Marley's skin, and he gagged again. Tears fell alongside his insides into the toilet bowl. If he closed his eyes, he felt his skin tearing, ripping around the holes that seemed to bare his very soul to the freezing air. So he kept them open, staring blankly at the toilet lid, arms trembling.

A pressure at his back made him shiver.

It was moments like these when the deep hopelessness hit hardest—the despair of knowing that no matter how hard he tried to bury it, this cursed condition would always resurface.

Painfully. Never a subtle reminder.

He rested his cheek on his forearm after another round of heaving, his vision streaked and blurred as he stared blearily at the porcelain. There was nothing left in him.

He wanted—

"'S okay, baby. I've got you," a voice said softly, breaking through Marley's haze. Emrys was kneeling on the tiled floor next to him.

"Hmrrh...?" Marley tried to speak, but all that came out was a slur. How long had he been there? A wave of vertigo spun his head as he attempted to turn it.

Emrys cradled his lower back, his hands making small, aborted movements, like he was unsure of what to do. There was a cup of water on the counter. Emrys was offering words of comfort, but they were muffled. Marley's head was swimming. He wanted to cry.

"'Mrys..." His voice cracked, barely a sound, as he leaned back into the pressure of Emrys's hand against his spine. The warmth was a comfort, though it did little for the pain. He wanted—

Emrys gathered him into his arms, and Marley sobbed weakly. "I've got you, you're okay," Emrys soothed, pressing his lips to Marley's forehead. "You're okay."

Marley wanted to melt into him, to bury himself in the safety of his arms. But he knew he couldn't—he knew he'd never get closer than the surface of Emrys's skin.

"What can I do for you, love?" Emrys's hand stroked his hair, and wasn't that nice? Marley buried his face in Emrys's neck. "Do you want the heating pad? The meds? I know they don't always help, but maybe tonight?"

Did he want that? He couldn't think—he didn't know what he wanted. He nodded anyway, the movement jerky and painful as his skull brushed against Emrys's jaw.

"Okay... okay, we can do that. I'm gonna move you, all right?" Emrys said, though he was already moving, which was fine because Marley couldn't respond with more than a weak twitch. "I've got you, come on—" Emrys's arms wrapped around Marley's waist, lifting him gently. "Let's get you back to bed. I'll take care of you."

Marley's head lolled on Emrys's shoulder, his eyes clenching shut as the motion sent another wave of vertigo crashing through him. Fortunately, the bedroom was close. Unfortunately, every step felt like a lifetime.

His back hit the bed before he even registered Emrys setting him down, the blankets being drawn up over him. Marley wondered, briefly, if Emrys was angry with him—for waking him, for being so needy all the time. When Emrys pulled away, a distressed whimper escaped Marley's lips.

A hand pressed to his forehead. "I'll be right back, baby. The heating pad's still on the coffee table, yeah?"

Marley thought he nodded. The pad had been on the coffee table when he last saw it, and if it wasn't in the bedroom, that's where it must have been.

Emrys returned quickly, placing the heating pad over Marley's chest, right above where the worst scarring lay. When did he get back?

He heard a soft 'kchk' as Emrys plugged the heating pad into the wall and warmth spread slowly across his chest, dulling some of the pain but never quite reaching deep enough to soothe the ache underneath. Marley's breath hitched, his body trembling slightly under the weight of the blankets, but Emrys was there— He was there.

"Open your mouth, baby," Emrys whispered, his voice gentle but firm.

Marley obeyed, parting his trembling lips as Emrys carefully placed the tramadol on his tongue. The pill was bitter in his mouth, but Marley swallowed it down with the water Emrys offered, the cool liquid easing the sharp burn in his throat, though it did little for the deeper ache. Emrys must've grabbed the water when he went downstairs, always thinking ahead, always taking care of him.

Emrys sat on the edge of the bed, one hand resting on Marley's shoulder, the other gently brushing through his hair. "I'll stay right here," he murmured, his voice a soft hum against the low thrum of Marley's racing pulse. "You don't have to worry. Just breathe."

Marley took a deeper inhale, tried to ignore how it stuttered, each breath catching in his throat, each breath a shard of glass in his lungs.

He wanted to say something—to thank Emrys or maybe to apologize, but his thoughts were too muddled, too weighed down by exhaustion and pain to form coherent words. The guilt sat heavy in his chest, beneath the scars and under the pain, gnawing at him like a parasite.

"I'm sorry..." he managed to whisper, though he wasn't sure if Emrys heard it.

Emrys's hand stilled for a moment, then resumed its soft, rhythmic motion. "For what?" His voice was calm, but there was a hint of concern beneath it. "You've got nothing to be sorry for, Marley. You're okay. I'm right here."

But Marley shook his head weakly, eyes squeezing shut against the wave of dizziness that followed. He felt like a burden—always so needy, always dragging Emrys into things he could surely do without.

Emrys seemed to sense this because he leaned in, pressing a soft kiss to Marley's temple. "You don't have to be strong all the time, love," he said quietly. "It's okay to lean on me."

But Marley couldn't lean. He felt the weight of his own body sharply, felt the acute stabs of pain where the heating pad failed to reach, where the warmth didn't heal. His bones ground against one another with every breath, every small movement, and the ache beneath his skin—his cursed, torn skin—felt endless. He wanted to sink into Emrys's warmth, but the pain kept him on the surface, barely hanging on. He clung to Emrys's voice, to the soft motions of his hand, even though they couldn't reach the places that hurt the most.

"I can't—" Marley breathed, the words cutting off as his chest seized up again. He gasped for air, and the sharpness in his ribs felt like a knife twisting deeper with each ragged inhale. "I can't..."

But Emrys just pulled him closer, his arms steady around Marley's trembling frame, brushing a hand through Marley's hair. "You don't have to explain," he whispered. "You're safe. I've got you."