There were certain things that Foggy had promised he would never do again.
There were a few, actually, but most of them were promises made to himself, like 'never drinking that again' and 'never leaving the assignment to the last minute'.
This one wasn't like that. This one had come on the heels of tearful confessions late at night, in the wake of stitches and blood and horror.
Despite the cold, he strips off his clothing, until his thigh is bare and he can see the old marks, pale marks on pale skin.
He huddled under the blankets, trying to warm up. But his fingers stroked them, feeling the texture of them, the slight hardness of otherwise too soft skin.
Too soft. It was an old thought that he usually managed to deflect, to embrace. Soft was cuddly, soft was yielding and thus flexible. Soft was approachable. Soft was non-threatening and soft could conceal a tungsten core.
After the fight they'd had, it didn't feel good. He had yielded because he was scared. To make things easy and not risk being pushed away, not so soon after knowing what that felt like.
His gaze went to the bedside table. His toiletries were there, his toothbrush, his comb, his shaving kit.
His shaving kit.
It had never been something he let himself have back home. It was just easier to not have the temptation in the house during dark times.
It was right there. He knew it was there. He knew he would feel relief, that he'd feel a little less awful. For a bit.
He took a deep breath and turned to face the other way.
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CW: Non-explicit talk of previous self harm
Date: 2019-01-09 11:45 am (UTC)There were a few, actually, but most of them were promises made to himself, like 'never drinking that again' and 'never leaving the assignment to the last minute'.
This one wasn't like that. This one had come on the heels of tearful confessions late at night, in the wake of stitches and blood and horror.
Despite the cold, he strips off his clothing, until his thigh is bare and he can see the old marks, pale marks on pale skin.
He huddled under the blankets, trying to warm up. But his fingers stroked them, feeling the texture of them, the slight hardness of otherwise too soft skin.
Too soft. It was an old thought that he usually managed to deflect, to embrace. Soft was cuddly, soft was yielding and thus flexible. Soft was approachable. Soft was non-threatening and soft could conceal a tungsten core.
After the fight they'd had, it didn't feel good. He had yielded because he was scared. To make things easy and not risk being pushed away, not so soon after knowing what that felt like.
His gaze went to the bedside table. His toiletries were there, his toothbrush, his comb, his shaving kit.
His shaving kit.
It had never been something he let himself have back home. It was just easier to not have the temptation in the house during dark times.
It was right there. He knew it was there. He knew he would feel relief, that he'd feel a little less awful. For a bit.
He took a deep breath and turned to face the other way.
Not tonight.