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writetomyheart2023-07-18 08:46 pm
alchemicink) wrote in writetomyheart2023-07-18 08:46 pm
Entry tags:
[Team four] etched
For once in my life I wrote a standalone angstshipping thing that's not part of my neverending wip 😂 anyway, content warnings for mentions of Malik's scars and chronic pain. (Less serious content warning: it gets really sappy)
YGO, 730 words, g-rated (or maybe t-rated?)
"Go back to sleep, baby," Malik murmurs as soon as he realizes he woke Ryou up with his tossing and turning.
"... 'm already awake" is his partner's semi-coherent groggy response, words almost swallowed up in the darkness of their bedroom.
Malik ignores it, hoping Ryou will drift back off to sleep if he doesn't keep talking to him. They've both got work in the morning, and at least one of them should get a good night of rest.
Malik knows it's not going to be himself.
The scars on his back ache and burn, skin feeling twisted and stretched with any movement. It gets like this sometimes, like his body can never forget the way the hot knife sliced into his back all those years ago. Carving him up like a piece of meat instead of a person.
Malik sits up in bed, the sensation of wearing his tank top suddenly too unbearable to tolerate. He strips it off, tossing it somewhere to the floor where one of them will probably trip over it later. He leans forward, resting his arms on his knees as he stretches, looking for relief.
"Malik."
Ryou's voice cuts through the silence, this time sounding much more awake than before. The sheets rustle as he sits up too, and even though it's too dark to see right now, Malik can already imagine the frown on his face, framed by his messy locks of hair.
"Can I touch?" he asks quietly. "If that's what you need."
This pain happens often enough that they have a routine for when it's not so bad that he can't tolerate touch at all. Though it doesn't always completely chase away Malik's physical aches, it helps sooth the turmoil in his mind.
"Yeah," he answers, and then waits.
Ryou always eases into it with the unscarred skin of his shoulders first, massaging the muscles until they start to relax again. His fingers are never anything other than unnaturally cold – Ryou always runs cold, even in the summer – but Malik likes the shock of the sensation, completely opposite of the memory of burning metal digging deep.
Ryou continues his careful massage across his back, chasing away the tension and aches while Malik focuses on steady breathing. For a while, he can pretend that the whole universe is just Ryou and himself, in this little quiet safe bubble. Nothing bad can get inside this space. The pain ebbs away into something more dull and bearable.
When Ryou is done, he leans forward and presses his forehead to the back of Malik's shoulder and murmurs a half-whispered "I love you."
Malik doesn't speak because any words he wants to say right now feel lodged in his throat, like the feelings he has for Ryou are too big to be contained by mere syllables and sounds.
Ryou, who loves him so much even on these difficult nights. Despite his flaws. Because of his flaws.
Ryou, who understands what it's like to be treated like a possession to be thrown away when its purpose has been fulfilled.
Ryou, who knows what it feels like to have scars intentionally etched into your skin against your will.
Malik reaches out in the dark to touch the nearest part of Ryou – his knee – and gives it a light squeeze, to acknowledge the words he can't find right now. Ryou exhales the quietest laugh, and Malik knows he understands the message.
They sit like that for a little longer, seconds ticking into minutes and more as Ryou's soft fingertips lightly trace his own designs across Malik's skin instead. Curlicues and flowers and snowflakes. All meaningless and beautiful.
"We should probably get back to sleep," Malik finally says, once it feels like calm has enveloped them both in its embrace again.
They settle back into the covers, shifting around until they're comfortably cuddled beneath the sheets. Ryou drifts off again quickly, light snores filling the room, but Malik remains awake a bit longer.
His mind wanders, not back to old memories of tombs and knives and screams, but towards the coming morning instead. He thinks about what he should make Ryou for breakfast, and whether he should bike to work or walk, and if he has time to pick up a new game from Yugi's shop.
So many possibilities, and none etched in anything.
He falls back asleep in no time.
Scytale is up next!
YGO, 730 words, g-rated (or maybe t-rated?)
"Go back to sleep, baby," Malik murmurs as soon as he realizes he woke Ryou up with his tossing and turning.
"... 'm already awake" is his partner's semi-coherent groggy response, words almost swallowed up in the darkness of their bedroom.
Malik ignores it, hoping Ryou will drift back off to sleep if he doesn't keep talking to him. They've both got work in the morning, and at least one of them should get a good night of rest.
Malik knows it's not going to be himself.
The scars on his back ache and burn, skin feeling twisted and stretched with any movement. It gets like this sometimes, like his body can never forget the way the hot knife sliced into his back all those years ago. Carving him up like a piece of meat instead of a person.
Malik sits up in bed, the sensation of wearing his tank top suddenly too unbearable to tolerate. He strips it off, tossing it somewhere to the floor where one of them will probably trip over it later. He leans forward, resting his arms on his knees as he stretches, looking for relief.
"Malik."
Ryou's voice cuts through the silence, this time sounding much more awake than before. The sheets rustle as he sits up too, and even though it's too dark to see right now, Malik can already imagine the frown on his face, framed by his messy locks of hair.
"Can I touch?" he asks quietly. "If that's what you need."
This pain happens often enough that they have a routine for when it's not so bad that he can't tolerate touch at all. Though it doesn't always completely chase away Malik's physical aches, it helps sooth the turmoil in his mind.
"Yeah," he answers, and then waits.
Ryou always eases into it with the unscarred skin of his shoulders first, massaging the muscles until they start to relax again. His fingers are never anything other than unnaturally cold – Ryou always runs cold, even in the summer – but Malik likes the shock of the sensation, completely opposite of the memory of burning metal digging deep.
Ryou continues his careful massage across his back, chasing away the tension and aches while Malik focuses on steady breathing. For a while, he can pretend that the whole universe is just Ryou and himself, in this little quiet safe bubble. Nothing bad can get inside this space. The pain ebbs away into something more dull and bearable.
When Ryou is done, he leans forward and presses his forehead to the back of Malik's shoulder and murmurs a half-whispered "I love you."
Malik doesn't speak because any words he wants to say right now feel lodged in his throat, like the feelings he has for Ryou are too big to be contained by mere syllables and sounds.
Ryou, who loves him so much even on these difficult nights. Despite his flaws. Because of his flaws.
Ryou, who understands what it's like to be treated like a possession to be thrown away when its purpose has been fulfilled.
Ryou, who knows what it feels like to have scars intentionally etched into your skin against your will.
Malik reaches out in the dark to touch the nearest part of Ryou – his knee – and gives it a light squeeze, to acknowledge the words he can't find right now. Ryou exhales the quietest laugh, and Malik knows he understands the message.
They sit like that for a little longer, seconds ticking into minutes and more as Ryou's soft fingertips lightly trace his own designs across Malik's skin instead. Curlicues and flowers and snowflakes. All meaningless and beautiful.
"We should probably get back to sleep," Malik finally says, once it feels like calm has enveloped them both in its embrace again.
They settle back into the covers, shifting around until they're comfortably cuddled beneath the sheets. Ryou drifts off again quickly, light snores filling the room, but Malik remains awake a bit longer.
His mind wanders, not back to old memories of tombs and knives and screams, but towards the coming morning instead. He thinks about what he should make Ryou for breakfast, and whether he should bike to work or walk, and if he has time to pick up a new game from Yugi's shop.
So many possibilities, and none etched in anything.
He falls back asleep in no time.
Scytale is up next!