.jpg)
"Of course you could. That's why 'entry-level jobs' exist. You don't just pull experience out of thin air. I'm going to be in the same boat as you," Cyrus reassured him.
He drifted off into thought.
"I've always wondered if I could go to college. Even if it means starting a bit late."
Marcus hummed happily, kissing Cyrus’s face softly. “College could be a lot of fun. Even starting late wouldn’t be too bad. A lot of people start late. What would you study?”
Cyrus tilted his head a bit.
"I'm not completely sure," he replied, "I'm a humanities kind of guy, I think. So like sociology or psych or something. But I'd definitely have to look into it more first."
He smiled to himself, but the smile fell.
"That's a lot of money, though. Not sure I could afford it."
“Don’t they have like scholarships and stuff? I didn’t pay much attention to stuff like that in highschool but I think there’s money aids and stuff.” Marcus commented. He chewed on the inside of his lip, sighing deeply.
“Psych sounds fun. I don’t want to learn all the reasons I’m traumatized though. I think I know what caused mine.” He huffed softly, shivering.
"Yeah, but it's easiest to get scholarships fresh out of high school. I could probably take out loans, but- I dunno, it kind of seems like a pipe dream. It's funny how many kids get to take going to college for granted, then spend the whole damn time partying."
He shrugged.
"I don't know, I'd just like to do what I can to help other people with their trauma, and understand human behavior."
Marcus nodded gently, he understood that. Everything felt like a pipe dream once you’ve lived the life they had both gone through. You miss a lot of opportunities when you join a gang - willingly or otherwise.
“It feels far away…” he commented, tilting his head. “Though I wouldn’t say it’s impossible. And as for helping others, I’d think you’d be good at that. You’ve done a lot for me already and you haven’t gone through any schooling for psychology or otherwise.”
(Sorry, I've been really busy lately. It's been a lot to say the least.)
Cyrus nodded to himself.
"It'd be pretty cool, honestly. If I can't, there's plenty of other things I can do, I'm sure," Cyrus replied, "And I'm looking forward to it either way, as long as it's with you."
He shifted a bit.
"If I'm being honest, I'm already getting really antsy staying in bed so long."
(You’re okay! I completely understand! There’s a lot going on right now in the world and that doesn’t even account for personal things! Take your time, do what you need to rest and get things done.)
“You’ll do good things, regardless if I’m here or not, but I’m glad you feel that way. I’m excited to do it all with you… I love you lots.” Marcus smiled softly to himself. It would be wonderful to go along with life with Cyrus by his side. He was so excited for it he could hardly wait for their current situation to be over.
“I know, but you can’t move or get up quite yet. You have to rest and heal.” Marcus gave Cyrus’s hand a squeeze, flashing him a sad smile. “The second you’re better enough we can go for a walk.”
"I mean, I have crutches. I could maybe move around a little bit," Cyrus replied, "I wouldn't full-on go for a walk, but we could go sit outside or something, I think."
He frowned a bit in return.
"I don't know… I just-"
This house is making me feel closed in… But we can't go back to his place. What if Marx comes back?
"What do you think?"
Marcus hummed in response, his eyebrows furrowing. Of course he was feeling stir-crazy himself but he wasn’t sure what they could do. There was still the matter of Marx and so Marcus didn’t think that Cyrus would want to go too far out.
“Sitting outside would be good! You could still rest and get out of the house for a bit. I think getting out is good for health too, right?” At least for Marcus he felt it was a relief to get to go outside. He felt it on those days Marx let him leave after weeks on end of torture and abuse. It was what he assumed freedom would feel like.
Cyrus nodded.
"Okay, that sounds good," he said, "I'm feeling really closed in…"
He dug his fingertips into the sheets.
"How're you doing this morning?"
“We’ll go outside then. It’ll help you a lot.” Marcus pressed a soft kiss to Cyrus’s cheek, hoping the action would help ease a little stress.
“Me? I’m alright. Sore from sleeping weird but that’s my fault.” He joked, laughing stiffly. “I’m still tense from… well, everything but I’ll be alright.”
"Okay," Cyrus replied softly.
He sat up towards the edge of the bed. God, everything hurt. Cyrus let out a soft groan of frustration.
"Alright, I think I'm good to go. I'm pretty sore myself, though, so it might take a minute to get up."
(Man, I feel like if Marcus wasn't able to stay with him, Cyrus would've just completely spiraled. And part of me is like "he should leave him alone for a bit bc we love making our characters suffer." But also… they don't deserve this.)
“Go slow, I don’t want you to hurt yourself, okay?” He murmured, sitting up along with Cyrus and watching him with weary eyes. Marcus didn’t want Cyrus to get hurt anymore. He’d try his best to make sure it didn’t happen again.
“Do you need any help? I can be a support if you need it.”
(Yesss the draaama! But also, same! XD they so don’t deserve it, but the angst is so satisfying)
"Yeah, I'll be okay," Cyrus promised, "If you'd grab those crutches from the closet, that'd be great."
He shot a grateful smile at Marcus.
"I really appreciate you taking such good care of me."
(Also should we write any interaction between Marx and Nina? I thought it could maybe be interesting, but it could also be left implied.)
(Ooo! That would be super interesting!! I’m up for it!)
Marcus nodded his understanding. He hopped up and hurried to grab the crutches, examining them as he turned to face Cyrus.
“I’m going to take the best care of you. I’m so in love with you there’s no way I could ever leave you be.” He replied with a small chuckle. “Here,” he offered the crutches to his love, his eyes sparkling at the grateful smile tossed towards him.
Cyrus sighed and cast a much more easy smile as he took the crutches and moved himself up to Marcus' level.
"Yeah, this'll work," he confirmed, shifting most of his weight to the uninjured leg.
He hobbled forward, a little pained, but steady enough.
"Let's go?" he suggested, "We can get breakfast and sit on the porch, maybe."
Marcus remained close by as Cyrus shifted onto the crutches.
“That sounds so nice… breakfast on the porch.” He let out a soft sigh at the thought of it. A quiet morning with his lover, eating breakfast on the porch and enjoying the small moment of silence and joy they could share.
“I’d love that.”
"Great. We have a lot of easy stuff, like cereal, frozen waffles, that sort of thing. I don't really care what. Whatever you're in the mood for. I really just want coffee and a little something on my stomach," Cyrus replied, "I'll go ahead and sit outside, if that's okay with you?"
“Go on ahead, I’ll make waffles probably. I love waffles and it’s been a long time since I’ve had them last it feels like.” Marcus replied with a soft giggle, kissing Cyrus’s cheek quickly. “Be safe about getting out there, okay? Don’t push yourself, got it?”
"Of course," Cyrus promised, "I'm just going to sit down."
Cyrus pushed ahead a bit, leaving the bedroom. He smiled over at Marcus. Yet, deep down he was suddenly feeling anxious again outside the sanctuary of his bedroom. This house was tainted beyond remedy in his eyes.
Marcus returned the soft smile with one of his own, waving goodbye to Cyrus.
“I’ll be right out.” He hummed, turning into the kitchen to start their breakfast.
"Thanks, love," Cyrus called after.
He passed by the kitchen, trying to look away. No matter how hard he tried, he could still see the blood on the floor. He clenched his fists over the crutches until his knuckles turned white as he moved away, as fast as he was able in his current state. He opened the door and sat in one of the rocking chairs outside, trying to calm himself again. His heart was racing.
Cyrus dug his fingertips into his leg, trying to ground himself somehow, but it was more difficult than he anticipated.
“Anything for you, love.”
Marcus hummed happily as he moved to the freezer. He looked around as his hands reached for the frozen waffles. It was amazing that Nina had been able to clean up so well. It almost made him sick to think that there used to be so much gore…
He couldn’t imagine how Cyrus felt…
Those thoughts were pushed out of his mind as he went about to cook their breakfast.
Cyrus rocked the chair gently in an effort to calm himself, using his leg to give it some momentum.
He was alright, for now. Marcus was here. Nothing bad was going to happen…
Yet a weight sat in his chest, and he couldn't seem to shake it off.
I need to hold up for Marcus… just a little longer…
It took Marcus only a small moment to cook and ready the food. He searched the cupboards until he found some syrup and decided to carry it out instead of use it right away. A soggy waffle wasn’t a good one.
He made his way out to the porch carefully, biting his lip as he focused on not spilling or dropping anything.
“Cy? I have your food…”
Cyrus took a few moments to process that Marcus was there and had said anything.
When he finally noticed, he turned to his boyfriend, putting a smile on his face.
"Thanks, love," he said softly.
He brought the rocking chair to a stop so he could steadily take his plate.
"Here, sit next to me."
He gestured at the other chair, which was separated from the one he sat in by a little wicker coffee table.
“Is everything alright? Are you hurting?” He asked gently, setting his plate and the syrup down on the table between the chairs. “Is something wrong, baby?” He asked softly, choosing to lean towards Cyrus and press a warm, wet kiss to his cheek.
Marcus took the seat that had been pointed out, looking Cyrus up and down. There was concern written in his eyes that Marcus couldn’t hide. He had noticed the anxious rocking, the fearful look in his lovers eyes.
"I'm okay, all things considered," Cyrus replied, "Just lost in thought. Not necessarily bad thoughts, either."
The fact he had to specify… it felt wrong.
Cyrus poured a little syrup over his waffles and brought the plate to his lap.