Private (m) guns in my head and they won't go

[Lavi]

nightmares, ptsd, descriptions of violence, gore, war and throwing up/dry heaving probably
aka: hey, lavi is really goddamn sad and traumatized and he won't talk abt it so i gotta write it all out
at least there's some comfort in there too tho right : pepehands :

2:42 AM / 07 . 04 . 109 / sin's place​

It started by the ocean. The sand crunched beneath his boots, the stormy sky above reflecting off of the crashing waves eerily well within the chaos. A roll of thunder drew a single green eye from the waters, the redhead jumping in response at the reminder of what exactly he was missing. The thunder had matched perfectly with the sound of gunfire. And with the slump of a body, with the gurgle of blood. With a final breath.

He was seven years old once again, eye wide in horror. Too caught up in the moment to notice where the soldiers were now aiming and too distracted to notice the blood soaking through his shirt. The pain never mattered.

Sand had somehow already entered the wound, but the burn of the sea salt in the air had been enough to nearly make him collapse. Yet he merely stood there, hot tears rushing down his face as bullets flew past. He was frozen, a deer in a hunter's trap. Now, the same thunder covered his own choked sobs. It silenced the slump of his fragile form, screams ringing in his ears as everything faded to black.

The blood soaked beaches didn't return to him what felt like hours. It was supposed to be over, but the stench of corpses stood vividly in his memory. Even if he didn't have his memory, Lavi was certain it would never leave him. The tang of copper, his own blood in his mouth caused his lungs to rattle with effort. In his heart, in his mind, in all of his very being he knew this wasn't how it went. His thoughts were screaming at him to get up, to remember that giving up wasn't an option anyone had. Not in war, not even for the innocent people on the sideline.

But even at such a young age, he had always been determined.

He had sat up slowly, letting the blood pool out of the bullet wound as a small hand reached for the nearby soldiers. The scene had morphed itself, the scenery swirling around him until it was something far darker. There was silence once again, but the sand and blood remained. His lungs still fought for air, even as he forced himself to his feet. Soldiers changed, uniforms cycling through far too many familiar designs before landing on one that made his skin crawl.

The Order. Their faces slowly settled onto distinct people, reflecting back to him Reever's bloodied face. Lurching backwards, the redhead squeezed his eye shut tight before he felt the ground give out underneath him.

It was darkness once again.

When he finally awoke, he was already on the ground. Fallen over the edge, entire body shaking violently as he tried to remember how to breathe. One hand still clung to the silk sheets, the other scrambling for his eyepatch despite the onslaught of tears. The stench of blood still clung to his nostrils, a wave of nausea smacking into him as he gave up on the eyepatch and instead tried to slowly move towards the balcony.

@Sinbad

 

[Sinbad]

He was no stranger to the discord of nightmares as they were more often than not his nightly companions. He held onto a lifetime worth of terrors that found it fitting to replay whenever his eyes fell close. They were the reason why he so insistently chased after the comforts of alcohol or the warmth of someone's body. Even temporarily, they chased away the lingering memories that sat ever-present on the edge of his consciousness.

There was the frantic scream of men devoured alive by ferocious beings, dying because of the orders of an uncaring, selfish monarchy. The crack of swords meeting in the heat of combat, metal piercing flesh as fathers, husbands, brothers, and sons died in vain. A choking weight around his throat that suffocated in him in the unforgiving chill of an enslaved man's cell. The overwhelming stench of gore as corpses grew into mountains.

There was no shortage of memories to haunt him, nor was there a lack for ghosts. The weight of their lives bore upon him as heavy as the world did upon Altas's shoulders. Their misery, their regrets, their agony - he felt it all as if it was his own torment. There was no escape, not even in the confines of oblivion. Yet, he was far from the only man to be afflicted by nightmarish torture.

His sleep was by no means restful when he was jostled awake by the flight of Lavi's departure. Behind heavy lids laid the snapshots of nightmares, the blackened eyes of the devil who had held him captive for far too long. The slide of her fingers along his jaw whenever she quietly inspected the bruises her men left; the way she twisted off what remained of his nails once they were done unrooting them from their bed.

Perhaps it was mercy, then, that the resounding thud of a body hitting the floor roused him from his nightmares. But there was nothing merciful about the expression of horror that was etched across Lavi's face. His eyes, gleaming from tears threatening to spill, his hands fumbling for the eyepatch he never left without. By the time Sinbad stumbled out of bed, his feet clumsy beneath him with the heaviness of sleep, Lavi was almost to the balcony.

Without asking a word, his hand gently came to rest upon the redhead's shoulder, squeezing in futile hopes of comforting him. It remained there for support as he gently followed, helping him reach the steady bars of their porch. No unneeded questions were asked, the silence thick as Sinbad remained at his side, even as nausea gripped Lavi in revolting sickness.

 

[Lavi]

The first time he had a nightmare at Sin's house, he'd spent two and a half hours feeling exposed. It was raw, it was something that demanded only honesty. Even if his boyfriend wasn't going to press the subject, it didn't change how raw everything felt. It was deeply personal and a sight that he hid from even Bookman whenever possible. It was the one bout of emotions he was allotted, but one the exorcist had still hidden.

His shoulder ached for five hours straight that night, and then Sinbad rearranged his bedroom.

Providing him easier access to the balcony, to give him the fresh air he needed. Lavi had to bite back a swarm of emotions in the moment, but the most prevalent being love. A word he wouldn't dare to say aloud and an emotion that wasn't entirely familiar, but one he certainly felt. One that demanded recognition as he kissed him silly, as he reminded him that he didn't have to go to such efforts just for him.

Now, Lavi took a breath as he worked through the motions. His head spun somewhat as his uncovered eye fought to focus, taking in far too many details. The redhead tightened his grip on the railing, shutting his eyes once more. "I'm okay..." It was partially for Sin, but also for himself. Even as his shoulder ached and his ears still rang, there was distance.

It took another few minutes before he could stand properly, keeping the eye closed as he pulled Sin into a hug. "I'm sorry I woke you up." The apology came even as he tightened his arms around him, face pressing close into the other man's neck.

 

[Sinbad]

They were both men haunted by pasts that held on, disturbing their sleep with nightmares. Sinbad couldn't speak for the sort that terrorized Lavi, but the word was appropriate upon seeing the result one night. It was as if a live wire had been exposed within Lavi, electrifying him with each passing moment. It was hard to tell what was worse for him: the fact that he had suffered through a nightmare, or that there was another to witness him during such a private moment.

Sinbad had been careful not to ask questions, to not probe Lavi during a situation that seemed painful enough. It was a fight deciding between leaving him his privacy or offering the support he looked in desperate need of, even if he wasn't aware of it himself. In the end, he had stayed at his side with a promise to make sure that the next night such a thing happened, he would be better prepared.

That was why he had rearranged the bedroom in the first place. The bed had been rearranged so that the side Lavi preferred most sat overlooking the balcony, the rug added to ensure that he wouldn't slip on the slick tile flooring. It hadn't seen much use before, but the need for a small chair saw to its addition. Smaller touches adorned the room as well - more bookshelves with his favorite tomes, a rack on the door to hang his beloved coat in sight, a special tray on his bedside table for his hammer and earrings.

He couldn't say for sure why he went for such lengths other than the fact that he wanted to. They had known each other for five months, yet there seemed to be no end to the depths of his adoration for Lavi. Despite everything, he still cared endlessly for the redhead. His thoughts used to focus on returning home, ensuring his own survival, but now they drifted to the plans they made together, the ease he felt at his side. It wasn't the affection he sought whenever he did such things for Lavi, but the comfort of knowing that he was happy.

He rubbed Lavi's shoulder with a thumb as they leaned together on a railing, his gaze never drifting. When a hug was reached for, Sinbad provided happily. He clutched Lavi close, a hand drifted to soothingly run his fingers through his hair in an effort to comfort him. "You don't have to apologize for such a thing." He pressed a kiss to the side of his head, standing with him before gently starting to move back towards the bed to sit. "Do you want me to get you anything?"

 

[Lavi]

He never expected the warmth that spread through him at such a small, simple act of affection. A kiss to the side of his head was nothing new by any means, but the gesture was grounding all the same. It caused his grip to tighten only slightly, almost afraid of what might happen if Sin were to let go of him. It was easier to ignore the shake in his hands, how it coursed through the tension of every muscle. The ache of memory lingered, but it was easier to ignore with a newfound anchor in something as simple as touch. He was lucky, for once. Lucky to have Sinbad.

The raw tendons that had been exposed in such a moment weren't in any further danger, despite how tightly every muscle in his body wound up on itself. Lavi was safe, there would be no questions nor punishment for letting his emotions get the best of him. All that was left behind was habit to break.

Moving with him, the redhead took a small breath. In and out, as calmly as possible. He was safe. "Just... just my eyepatch."

One hand eventually moved to settle over the scar, leaning forward slightly to rest an elbow against his thigh. Another breath, in and out. The burns on his face and neck had always been the easiest to ignore, as small as they were. They had been worth it, purposeful. Getting shot by a stray bullet didn't hold the same weight to it. Not when it had nearly killed him and caused him to jump at every loud sound for three months.

"Thank you, jellybean." The words were barely a whisper, his free hand gently reaching to take Sinbad's hand in his own.

 

[Sinbad]

It wasn't as if neither of them noticed the motley collection of scars that they both had, they've had plenty of opportunities. Burns that he gingerly kissed around on his partner's face, fingers skipping past the ragged lines of claw-marks. Sinbad never asked of their histories, and Lavi offered him the same courtesy for his own. The eyepatch was a matter neither broached, a clear line in the sand that Sinbad never crossed. Even now, Lavi hid his face with a trembling palm having lost it in the scramble between the bed and the balcony.

"Give me a moment," he quietly murmured, giving Lavi's shoulder one last squeeze before rising to his feet. His fingers skim the rumpled spread of their bed for guidance in the dark as he makes his way to Lavi's bedside table. It was ironic, in a way, that he was trying so hard to help ease Lavi from his nightmares. Rarely did he process the turbulence of emotions and guilt his own terrors wrecked. It was easier to brush it under a rug, ignore its existence in favor of his persona and responsibilities. Even in the early dawn of morning following an eve of nightmares, his mask was ironclad. Even now, he kept a cool expression as he delivered Lavi his eyepatch.

There was still sleep in his eyes and adrenaline in his bones from his own rest as he dropped back to his partner's side. He paid them no heed as he pressed the eyepatch into Lavi's waiting hand. "Of course." It's easier to lace their fingers together than think of the ghosts that haunted him still. The dark hid their scars from view, yet he still laid his free hand over the skin of his wrist, his fingers curling around to feel the unsteady pulse of his own heart. In the midst of his own distraught, perhaps Lavi would not notice the fluster of his skin or how cold he still felt inside.

He pressed another distracting kiss to Lavi's temple instead, leaning close to offer what comfort he could. "Is it anything you want to talk about?" Sinbad asked simply after a fraught silence, running his thumb across the skin of Lavi's knuckles. They were both secretive men loath to speak of their troubles, yet the proposal still stood. Though his own heart was never to be aired, he's heard of the freedom conversation could grant.

 

[Lavi]

There were many secrets and stories that he was terrified of telling Sin. His list of things that no one ever knew or learned about him grew painfully long over time. Lying about a lot of it had been easier, giving stories with hints at the truth to any curious cute girl or guy that wanted his attention just to see if they knew anything more about the current mystery of the week to unravel. Disappearances, death, the drive of loss in human nature.

It was the duty of a Bookman to understand them all at an age as young as 7. He had wanted to know about the inner workings of the world, all of the beautiful secrets behind everything they saw. Instead, he was taught that war always took more than just his parents. It always took far, far more than just one kid's parents.

Gently taking the eyepatch from the other man's hand, he slipped it back on and over his eye in one swift motion. It was too familiar, a daily ritual for the past nearly fifteen years. He squeezed Sinbad's hand with both of his own, taking a shaky breath.

They didn't talk about these things. Having to tell him about any of the bad felt wrong, but there was one story Lavi could give to him. "The... scar on my shoulder. I was shot when I was 7 and I almost died." It didn't come easily, the words nearly failing him halfway through. One small piece of himself, one small story wasn't too much to give to someone else, it was just far more than he was used to.

 

[Sinbad]

They both held cards to their chest to protect secrets that they'd rather bury than reveal. For as close as they were, in reality, there were many things they didn't know about the other. It was why he could never truly accept Lavi's compliments of his heart, sweet as they were, for he wasn't aware of how stained his hands were. He has comited countless sins worthy of judgement and punishment in order to create a better world. His soul, half-rotten by the weight of his citizen's despair whom he had forsaken. In reality, the only beautiful thing about him was the mask he wore to charm others. The very same that even in the comfort of their shared privacy, he refused to allow Lavi to peek beneath.

The fact that he was growing steadily better at seeing through him was frightening.

But he held Lavi regardless, wrapping his free arm around his waist to offer that closeness neither had allowed themselves to indulge until recently. He's seen that small, almost circular scar plenty of times in the past, yet he never knew what to make of it. Shot with what he could only presume was a gun, a frightening weapon of the future that he could only hope would never be replicated in his own world.

It isn't hard to imagine why such a memory haunts him a decade later. To be faced with one's mortality is always a horrific experience, more so when one is so young. "Almost, but you're still here." He squeezed Lavi's hand likewise in hopes that the gesture would help steady his heart. There isn't much one could say to help such a quiver in his voice or the unsteadiness of his words, but the fact that Lavi trusted himself with even this small piece was touching.

 

[Lavi]

You're still here. It was something he thought about often, how his survival on that day led to the death of his heart. That was the day he was taught to strangle his fears, choke them out until they were finally silent. Instead, he spent the next 7 years just ignoring them. Ignore it, drown it out, sleep through it; anything but taking actual action.

He knew what it would do, how it would affect his heart more than anything. Lavi wanted to keep it intact despite his duty, but everyone has a breaking point. By the time he rolled around to Deak, he'd been doing it for the past 3 years. The nightmares became casual in time, always causing him to bolt awake but never anything more.

That came to change yet again in time. In being taught that there was still good in humanity, in being shown that he hadn't buried his heart quite as deep as he had thought, there was fear. Loss was a jagged and rusted blade, a threat always hanging just above their heads. Love was dangerous, Bookman had always insisted it so.

The old panda wasn't wrong.

It brought back those fears, that lack of control. His reactions became visceral, the nightmares heightened and bringing in more tactics to play than he had originally grown used to. Sin was one in the same, such an obvious weakness and yet he can't stop how quickly he moved to melt into the affections offered.

With the weight of the bags under his eye, Lavi took a breath. His tongue felt heavy, never loose at times like this. "I'm not so easily killed." There was an attempt to play it off as a joke, the smallest of fake smiles flitting across his face. It crumpled the moment he dared to meet Sin's eyes, gaze moving to the bed instead. "You should get some sleep."

 

[Sinbad]

Lavi was the type of person to cling to light-hearted humor and jokes even in these types of situations. It was a quirk about him that Sinbad had picked up over the months they spent at each other's side. When he discovered his Daemon, following the Akuma's attack; it was a self-defense mechanism that buried the difficult emotions Lavi never wanted him to perceive. It was failing him now, however, the veneer cracking beneath the weight of his gaze. The wound was too raw for such a thing to work, not when Lavi himself was offering a story close to his heart.

The smile had been nothing more than an illusion to comfort him, to distract him from the painful morsel of truth that has been put forth. Yet, it still hurt to watch it disappear. "I'll be fine, Lavi. I was bound to wake up sooner or later," Sinbad murmured softly, brushing aside the other's attempt to sway him away from the moment at hand.

He despised being incapable of doing more to help. He could tell that he was held at arm's length, the prospect of becoming completely transparent too daunting. Sinbad couldn't fault him for that either, given that they were the same in that sense. Just as love was something warm and comforting, it could be a scorching flame. There was no denying the feelings that he's cultivated for Lavi in the months that passed since their first month together, yet love was a scorching flame.

The mere thought burnt his tongue. It was a beautiful, deadly thing which he's grown weary of in the years that passed. Simultaneously it was both a comfort and a weakness, and that was frightening. The loss of love was what broke people, brought them careening downwards in the depravities of sorrow. The fact that he fell so quickly for one person was concerning in comparison, yet he couldn't bring himself to draw away from Lavi.

"Let me brew some tea for you." There wasn't much he could do, but he could attempt to soothe the turbulence that stirred Lavi's heart. They were simple comforts, though sometimes that's all that's required for the mind to be drawn away momentarily. He squeezed the hand in his grip before moving a palm to brush a curl of red locks behind an ear.

 

[Lavi]

Too often Sin tried to brush off compliments. Speaking of his heart, telling him that he could see the good in him, it rarely went too far. Moments such as these proved him right, moments where he cared so openly and easily. His boyfriend wanted to help, wanted to be there for him when he was so quick to gently brush the offer aside. The redhead wasn't used to it, to the simple kindnesses he'd forgotten humanity was capable of.

Even now, he wanted to protest. He didn't deserve all this extra effort, the guilt that came with waking him up. It was all a lot to take in. A lump formed in his throat, the burn and sting of tears threatening to form too familiar. Sin so rarely slept, not quite the nap taker that he was, and he was worried about him. All because of a stupid nightmare.

The hand tucking his hair back was almost enough to break the dam of emotions that were surging up, but he choked them back with a shaky breath. His own scarred hands reached to meet Sin's, keeping the hand at his cheek.

Coffee always cleared his head, but he knew if he requested it neither of them would ever get back to sleep. He wanted to mend the bags under his boyfriends eyes, not add to them. The very thought did nothing to help, Lavi taking another slow breath in and out. "Let me come with you?"