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With that simple, sweet gesture, the dam broke. More tears streaked down Cyrus' face. His breaths were broken by soft sobs.
He couldn’t bear to look Marcus in the eyes, even more so than before. What the hell was he even crying over? And what was it going to fix?
His body was crying, but he felt so oddly disconnected and out of it still. Disconnected to the crying, his lover's touch, the space around him… It was unusual, but not all unfamiliar.
Marcus never gave up his comforting actions, continuing to hum and rock gently as he scooped up Cyrus into his arms and into his lap, sitting on the couch in a comfortable position for them both.
He hushed Cyrus gently a few times, though made no effort to actually stop the tears. Cyrus needed the release. Crying did wonders for the jumbled and blocked emotions. Or at least they did for Marcus. He waited patiently for the other to calm, closing his eyes and letting the other cry on him.
After a few minutes, the heavy sobbing dissolved into soft sniffling against Marcus' body.
Cyrus laid his arm around the other's waist, still trying to feel something. He felt absolutely drained mentally, but it was still hard to verbalize.
"Why do you… why even bother with me? I don't deserve…" he murmured, most of his words lost where his face met Marcus' chest.
"Don't." Marcus growled, his voice steeling to a warning edge. "You deserve it all, Cyrus. Don't you ever tell yourself that you don't deserve this or you aren't worth it because you are. We both risked our lives to get out of our situations and be here. Let yourself finally fucking live for once and be selfish about it." He growled, though his voice held a caring tone that couldn't be ignored. His hold around Cyrus tightened just a little bit and he fell silent to collect his emotions and chase away the want to cry.
"Fuck, Cy. Who cares what we do or don't deserve?! We fought for this! Shouldn't you deserve it after everything?"
Cyrus' whimpering faded away at Marcus' sharp words. His hands tightened on the other’s shirt, and he let out a shaky breath.
"You're right…" he whispered, "It's just hard to shake the feeling, when… when I was made to feel like I was being kept alive as a tool… like I didn't even deserve to eat or have a roof over my head…"
He paused and took a breath, trying to stave off more tears.
"Being loved and supported, even at my worst was never on the table."
“I know… I know it is baby… it’s going to take time to unlearn those things. But I’m not going to let you tell yourself those things because you’re not a tool. You’re Cyrus. You’re a human…” he murmured, his voice considerably softer than before.
Marcus understood where Cyrus was coming from. He understood what it felt like to be used like an object rather than a human. But Cyrus’s was a different pain, one that Marcus wasn’t even sure he could remedy or soothe. He sure as hell was going to try.
“You better get used to it because I’m loving you no matter what.” He huffed, wiping away the tears that stained Cyrus’s cheeks. “You’re stuck with me.”
Cyrus let out what sounded like a combination between a laugh and a sob.
"Thank you… thank you so much…" he whispered.
Part of him wanted to disappear. He should be humiliated at his reaction to all this. But Marcus made him feel not nearly as bad about it.
"I… I'm… having a lot of trouble…" Cyrus started.
"With um, yknow, with taking care of myself and all that… I don't- I dunno, I'm sorry… I just…"
Marcus hushed him with a few more soft kisses to the tear streaks on his cheeks. "It's okay, it's okay, Cy my love. Don't apologize." He moved his hand to Cyrus's hair, stroking it soothingly. "It's hard to take care of yourself. I can help you do it until you feel better, okay? It takes time. I know what it's like. You don't have to do it alone, let me help you, okay?" More kisses were peppered across his face, this time in a more teasing way to try and lift Cyrus's spirits a little. "I love you so much, alright? I'm going to take care of you for the rest of our lives."
"You're a fucking blessing," Cyrus whispered through the tears, "I couldn't make it through this without you. A-and I'd do the same for you in a heartbeat."
He was trembling, trying to hold back further crying, but it was difficult. He was feeling a lot. Sad for sure. Distraught, scared, even. But also overwhelmed with love.
“I know you would, Cyrus. You’re so good to me. You’re a blessing too, you know. My handsome blessing” he cooed softly, nuzzling into Cyrus gently. “I love you, Cy. So much.” Now he was tearing up, overwhelmed with his own emotions as he held his partner closer and closed his eyes.
Cyrus fell silent, taking in the feeling of being held rather than being hurt.
His crying had mostly stopped, and he was exhausted, but at least grateful to have Marcus there to support him.
Marcus peeked down at his lover, smiling softly at the face he’d come to adore and love. Cyrus had done so much for him… Marcus was going to try his best to reciprocate that. He hummed softly, pressing a kiss to the top of the others head.
“Why don’t you rest and get some sleep, Cy? You look tired. We can eat in a little bit.”
"Okay," Cyrus softly agreed, shifting into a more comfortable position on the couch, "I am pretty tired. I've been really tired in general lately…"
As he moved, a stitch of pain went down his side. He winced a bit, but the pain died down again pretty quickly. He was definitely doing better in that regard.
“Sleep my love. I need to make sure the stove is off and everything before I join you but I’ll join you. A rest sounds good, and you need it more than I do.” He murmured, running his fingers through his hair. His eyebrows furrowed at the wince.
“Are you alright, Cy? Would you like some pain killers?” He asked gently, fussing over his companion as he looked over him.
"Thanks, love, but I think I'm alright. It was just a little twinge, and it's gone now. I moved a little strangely, is all," Cyrus replied, "I've definitely been doing a lot better with the pain at least."
He gave a slight smile in reply.
"I guess I'll move to the bedroom, and I'll see you shortly?"
He slowly got up, using the sofa to support himself. Cyrus was still sort of on crutches, at least when it came to going out in public or going longer distances. However, he was able to hobble back and forth between rooms in the apartment at least. That's usually what hurt the most, but even that he could push through.
“I’m happy to hear that… pain is no good.” Marcus rumbled in reply, his lips turning up into a smile. “But yes, go ahead and move to the bedroom. I’ll be right in, my love.” He hurried over to Cyrus to steal away a quick kiss, smiling nice more at him before he returned to the stove.
“I love you~”
"I love you too," Cyrus replied, giving one last glance over his shoulder as he headed to the bedroom.
It was pleasantly dark in there. The curtains were closed, but let in what little daylight remained- just enough so he could see the entirety of the room.
Cyrus laid down in the bed, careful to avoid aggravating any of his injuries.
Marcus smiled brighter at the response, humming warmly. He tried to clean up as quickly as he could, putting away the stuff into the cupboard and fridge. He wiped down the counters before he washed his… er… hand and wandered into their shared bedroom, smiling gently at the sight of Cyrus laying down.
"Comfortable?" He asked gently, giggling softly as he climbed into the bed, humming happily.
"Yeah, as much as I can be right now," Cyrus replied, giving a halfhearted smile.
He scooted a little closer to Marcus, then cuddled into him.
Marcus let Cyrus settle against him before he himself relaxed into a comfortable position around Cyrus. He wrapped his arms the other and pulled him as close as he dared with the injuries and tilted his head to kiss the other’s head.
“Rest, dear, it’s good for you.” He cooed, eyes half lidded as he watched his lover’s face.
"I feel like that's all I've been doing," Cyrus chuckled, "but you're right. I probably need it, even now."
He practically melted into his lover's touch and made a happy sound when the other kissed his head.
"How have you been doing, my love? Are you faring okay with everything that's going on?"
“Regardless it is good for you. You do need it now more than ever. You’re still recovering and your body is using a lot of energy to heal itself.” His voice was amused but soft and motherly.
He took a moment to think over his own issues and injuries, clacking his teeth together a few times before he finally found the words to reply.
“I’ve been alright… it’s really hard using only one hand though… I still haven’t picked up my violin yet. I’m too scared that I won’t be able to do anything with it.”
"True, true," Cyrus sighed.
He rested a hand on Marcus' knee.
"The wounds there are still healing. It'd probably be painful now anyway. I'm sure you'll figure it out. That's your bow hand, after all. And if it takes more than just picking the violin back up, I promise I'll be here to help any way I can. I know it means a lot to you."
Marcus refused to let himself tear up, feeling a headache start to form from the pressure building up behind his eyes. “It does…” he swore his voice could be louder than a whisper; it was just hard to speak right now. “You know, that was the only thing I could ever really do for just me. I started playing when I was like twelve. I picked all my classes myself, paid for the violin myself too. Took me half the year to save up for my own and I used a school rental for a long time. Dad never knew I played or even took the class. He didn’t care much. Only paid for school so he wouldn’t get in trouble with the district. I kept up those classes clear until I quit high school. It was the only class I ever went to really. Never missed a day.” A soft and choked laugh fell from his lips. “I bullied the kids in my classes into staying quiet about it because I was supposed to be this big scary gang kid and no way in hell was I going to let it slip that Lighter, the gang kid, played violin and enjoyed classical music. They would have beat me up.”
He flexed the remaining fingers on his damaged hand, almost enjoying the pain that shot along his arm. He was sure there was going to be some bad nerve damage there for the rest of his life.
“My violin is the only part of my personality that is truly me. Everything else has been taught to me by Marx. In a way I don’t exist without him but I’m scared to face that. So I cling to the only part of me that I know is me…” Marcus gently touched his face; it was wet. He hadn’t realized he had started crying. At least these tears were calm and gentle and not the ugly, hot sobs that tore through his chest with every breath.
“Sorry to get emotional and sentimental on you…” he murmured, wiping off his face. “I wonder if I could get a glove or something with fake fingers or a bar that would strap to my bow… the two fingers I’m missing are important for tone and control. Especially my pinky… that’s for weight. I need like a replacement for that.”
Cyrus gave him a sad smile.
"Don't be sorry. You feel strongly about this. It's such a part of you. You have every right to get emotional," he soothed, "And I hope now you'll be able to find more of yourself- you know, now that you're free to be who you want."
He held the wrist of Marcus' injured hand gently and pressed a kiss to the back of iI.
"As far as the whole playing violin thing goes, I'm sure someone out there has been in the same predicament as you before, injuring a hand and having to learn how to adjust. You could probably find some stories and pick up a tip or two from them. Yeah, it’s going to suck getting back into it and not being able to pick up where you left off, but I think you want this enough."
Marcus returned the smile with one of his own. His chest fluttered with the gentle kiss and he couldn’t help the small giggle that left his mouth. “Thank you, Cyrus. I hope I can find myself too.”
He drew closer to steal away a gentle kiss after the words settled into his brain. Cyrus was just as loving and kind as he ever was. Even now, when he was struggling so much he offered Marcus some comfort.
“You’re right. I do want it enough. And I’m going to try so hard for it.” He stole away a longer kiss, smiling. Once he pulled away he stared at Cyrus, his eyes glassy from the tears that had fallen earlier.
“Fuck… you know I love you more than anything right? Like I’m so fucking in love with you…”
Cyrus squeezed his eyes shut.
"I-I know. I'm super in love with you too. You've changed my life, sure, but I enjoy being with you so, so much. You make me incredibly happy just by existing."
He let out a content sigh.
"Trust me, when I feel more up to it, I'm going to treat you like a king, my love."
Marcus grinned brightly and pushed his face into Cyrus’s neck. “For now I get to treat you like a long. Like my king and my love. You deserve it all.” He purred happily, kissing the other’s neck gently. “I love you so much.” His praise continued in nearly incomprehensible words for a few more minutes before he lifted his head and grinned.
Cyrus almost let a protest escape his mouth. He sure didn't feel like he deserved that kind of treatment, but refusing it would probably just upset Marcus. Instead, he gave the other his thanks, for while he felt undeserving, he most certainly was grateful.
But after that, he just wanted to change the subject to anything but himself.
"So, have you considered what you're going to do? Like, I think I will eventually start looking for work, once I'm healed enough. I don't know what I'll do. I finished high school, but I'm still only going to be able to get entry level stuff because I have no experience."
“A little…” The thought had crossed his mind many times. What was he going to do? Was he going to end up going back to school? Was he going to end up working some minimum wage job and do that till the day he died?
“I’m not sure what I’m going to do Cy… I hardly have any highschool. No experience other than gang stuff, and I’m really not qualified to work with others and that kind of stuff… I’m a little scared of the idea of going into society. I’m not a good person either, Cyrus. I was an arsonist and who knows what kind of stuff I burned along with those houses Marx made me burn. Might end up in prison if that gets out…”