We have this little Pikachu candle sitting on our kitchen windowsill, and it is missing its ears. Though, in all seriousness, this was so influenced by Chuck Palahniuk's Lullaby, it's not even funny.
Summary victorxderek . Imagine.
Rating PG13 (I guess? I've had complaints about the "PG rating," so let's go with this...)
Warning(s) Um, sad...? I don't know... maybe some OOCness...?
Disclaimer Don't own, not affiliated with. ♥ Mister Palahniuk, I am so sorry for bastardizing your "-aphobic" and "-aholic" ideas.
Imagine having the job of telling someone their loved ones are dead. This child isn't going to have a mother. These kids are going to grow up never knowing their father. Your sister's never coming back. Bye-bye, grandpa. Adios, uncle. Sayanora, sweetheart.
Derek may be haunted by nightmares of the G.U.I.L.T. outbreaks in the nighttime, but that doesn't mean he gets an excuse to get away from these regular memories that haunt him in the daytime.
Quiet-aphobic, he turns the volume of his headphones up to try and drown out the sound of the wailing children and heartbroken parents. Noise-aholic, he tells Victor to talk to him. Devoid-aphobic, he doesn't tell Victor that he's distracting him from crying eyes and pained expressions. Emotion-aholic, he subconsciously replaces those wailing children and heartbroken parents and crying eyes and pained expressions with faces and voices he knows.
Imagine being the person who Derek loves, who he comes crawling to, glasses-shielded eyes confused and slick with tears. The person whose shirts he buries his face into, crying and sobbing about how it's his fault, all his fault; they're never coming back and it's all his fault, all his fault. Washing those shirts free of salty residue and thinking of how Derek shakes and quivers in your arms when he breaks down like this.
Victor is the person who is there for Derek; stomach twisting and telling him to stop it, some small, hidden portion of his heart telling him to keep holding the man he loves and keep fighting away these demons that plague him. Please don't leave me, Victor. Please don't tell them how bad I screwed up. Please tell me it's not my fault. Please tell them I did all I could. Please, please, please.
Noise-aphobic, Victor buries his head in the crook of Derek's neck in an attempt to block out his pleadings. Quiet-aholic, he bruises Derek's lips with his own in an attempt to stifle his crying. Emotion-aphobic, he clings to Derek's body and his warmth, letting his cold front down. Devoid-aholic, he listens to Derek's endless breaths about how it's all his fault; they're never coming back and it's all his fault, all his fault.
Imagine being this, their secret between the sheets, their unspoken words and thoughts in the last dredges of dawn and twilight.