the dark you fear in the night // gawsten

six

trigger warnings: abuse, homophobia, homophobic slurs, mentions of blood, alcohol 

awsten: im on the subway going to brooklyn and to calm myself down from having a panic attack im listening to that playlist you made me last christmas

awsten: you in january is about us no homo tho

geoff: full homo it's about us

awsten: shit you right

awsten: the subway stopped at parkside ave hoo boy he lives four blocks from here

geoff: you can do this you are so strong and can face him

geoff: if things get rough i'll take my lunch break early and come pick you up

awsten: i don't want to inconvenience you

geoff: listen here gay friend i've already told my boss that it might happen and she understands you are not inconveniencing me 

geoff: i will fight you

awsten: take me on in a fight rat

geoff: oh i will

---

awsten walks down the long, new york roads, almost crashing into multiple people as he holds the pink sticky note in his right hand. he barely makes out his own scrawled handwriting, as he comes closer and closer to the correct street.

with every step, he feels himself shake a bit more. he tucks his hands into his jacket pocket and pulls the sweatshirt hood over his head, shielding himself from the cold, bitter december air. 

he sees the house in the distance, and he begins to breathe heavily and rapidly. someone on the street notices this and stops him, asking if he's alright. awsten can only nod in response and thanks the older woman, quickening his pace to the wooden house. 

he climbs up the steps, gripping onto the banister slightly weak from his lack of sleep. it's been at least six days since he slept.

as he reaches the door, he takes a deep breath and presses on the doorbell, listening to the small buzzing noise. he drops his hand to his side and zips up the front of his jacket, burying his hands in his pockets. 

the door opens and awsten is met with those eyes hidden behind the thick rimmed glasses that he can only remember being filled with disgust and anger. but today, they seem calm and clouded and soft. this concept is very foreign to him. 

"it's been too long," his father says with a smile. the only time he remembers his father's smile other than right now was when he shoved awsten up against a wall and spat on him and treated him like he was nothing. 

awsten swallows the lump in his throat, "y-yeah." 

"come in, let me get you something to drink, maybe something to eat, and then we can catch up?" he asks, stepping to the side. awsten cautiously walks inside and looks around the house.

it seems normal enough. a few photographs are hung on the walls, crooked and out of place furniture, like he had just moved it. and with the multiple boxes piled up in the corner of the living space, he could assume just that. 

"you can hang up your jacket on the door if you'd like," his father tells him as he walks into the kitchen. awsten keeps his jacket on, feeling like his father could do a complete 180 with his mood and that he would need to make a run for it. he looks at the photos on the walls. pictures of a woman he's never seen before, a photo or two of him from when he was a teenager, and one photo of his old childhood home. 

he wanders into the living area and looks at the mantle, looking at the small knickknacks on it. he rakes his hair out of his eyes as he looks at the small cardinal figure. he hears his father emerge from the kitchen with two glasses of red wine in his hands. he takes a seat on the recliner and awsten sits on the loveseat across from him. 

"oh, i, uh, i don't drink..." awsten mutters under his breath.

this mild inconvenience makes his father sigh quietly and put both glasses on the small table next to him. he takes one and begins to quietly sip on it, as awsten watches in a slight panic but keeping it to himself. "so, tell me about yourself now. what are you doing for a living?"

"well, i'm a receptionist at a yoga studio," he started and watched his father visibly cringe. his father was well set on the idea that being a receptionist was a woman's job, since it was what awsten's mother did for a living. he downs the rest of his drink. "i live in new york city in a small apartment by myself." 

"sounds interesting enough. anything fun happening? any girls?" he asks as he picks up the second glass and drinks it quickly.

awsten made a quick smile. his father clearly tried to block out the fact that he knew awsten was gay.

"i know you're still not on that whole gay phase. no son of mine will be a faggot." 

awsten cringed and looked up at him. he was finally ready to tell his father off. "well, i guess i've been in a phase for twenty fucking years. and i am no son of yours. you were barely there for me after i turned fifteen. you treated me like i was fucking nothing, like i was garbage. i am a faggot, i am gay. but you have no fucking right to fucking call me that word-"

his father threw the wine glass hard towards the wall behind awsten, causing him to duck down and shield himself. it was like he was fifteen all over again.

awsten's heart pounded and his vision went blurry and he wanted to just break down and cry but he wouldn't let his father see him like that anymore. not after those years of constant screaming and yelling and pushing and shoving and tears and pain. 

he would not let him break him anymore. 

awsten stood up, wiped his tearing eye and went for the door quickly. "you think you can come into my fucking house and fucking treat me like this? what the fuck have i done to you?" his father screams. 

"i accidentally told you i was gay when i was fifteen and because of that you treated me like i was fucking nothing for years. then, when i come back into your life ready to give you another fucking chance, you treat me the same fucking way. lose my fucking number, never contact me again," awsten yelled, wiping at his eyes again. he wouldn't cry in front of him, god dammit, he couldn't show how weak he was.

his father stood up roughly, causing the chair he was in to scoot backwards roughly and scratch against the wooden floor. he approached awsten, whose breath caught in his throat. 

he grabbed awsten by the neck and pressed him hard against the wall and raised his hand. he brought his fist down roughly on awsten's face, hitting him hard in the nose, and seconds later it began to drip with a crimson colored blood. he leaned forward towards awsten. he whispered quietly, "get the fuck out of my house."

awsten tried to shove him off but was just too weak, whether it be from the lack of sleep or the beating he just got, either emotional or physical. 

his father released his neck and pushed him towards the door. "good fucking riddance," awsten muttered, pressing his jacket sleeve to his nose. 

he opened the door and ran down the steps to get off of his property, before breaking down sobbing. he could keep up a front that he was strong, but it wasn't that easy. with his hand that wasn't holding his nose and stopping it from bleeding, he called geoff. 

"geoff, i need you," he quietly sobbed into the phone when geoff picked up.