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distinctlywhumpthing · 2 days ago

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In League — Hollow (Nightmare pt 2)

Aftermath of August seeking comfort from Wyatt and getting the opposite. Theo fixes him up and Wyatt talks him down...

CW: Late-19th century, indentured servitude/classism, explicit language, past-noncon implied, power dynamics, dubious caretaker. Beta read by @alittlewhump!

“I-I’m sorry,” August whispered again.

It was difficult to hold Theo’s discerning gaze but the older boy kept waiting for August to meet it.

When he was recovering from the fever, if Wyatt had to leave him alone he’d say, “Theo’s just outside.” August never knew if he intended to warn or reassure. Without fail, the statement always made him nervous to even stray from the bed. A notion that paradoxically warranted a swift and immediate departure from it, lest he find himself overcome by memories of a time when such freedom wasn’t possible.

With this as his sole reference, August was uncertain how to comport himself now that they were alone together. He steeled himself and met Theo’s eyes.

“All will right. Let’s go downstairs and get you cleaned up.”

“I—But I—” His bottom lip trembled and he swallowed hard. Rather than attempt to find coherence, he turned to examine the floor for any spots that warranted scrubbing.

“August. August, it’s all right.” Theo’s hand on his shoulder stopped him dead. “Trust me, these floors have seen much worse than a few spots of blood.” Theo didn’t pull so he didn’t turn. Still as stone, malleable as clay.

Theo dropped his hand. “We can sand it out in the morning if you want.”

He looked to see if he was taunting. Theo regarded him calmly from where he knelt, backlit by the candle on the bedpost just behind his head. August nodded, accepting Theo’s hand when he offered it again and letting himself be pulled to his feet.

His heart hammered as they approached Wyatt’s bedroom door, in a rush to know what awaited inside. He had to work to keep from falling behind Noah, his body was more hesitant to find out.

The room was empty.

He knew it would be, Theo was taking him downstairs after all, but the sight still made him feel like he’d swallowed lead. A lump in his throat, a weight in his stomach. Better to know sooner if he would be turned out. He swiped away his tears when Theo wasn’t looking.

To August’s relief, they skirted the door to the parlour and went straight to the kitchen. Midge was already gone for the day, “to some semblance of civilization” as she referred to the boarding house where she rented a room.

“You mean…” He’d begun before catching himself to wait for her impatient huff, eyebrows raised in anticipation of his inquiry. “You mean you don’t have to cook or clean for yourself?”

“That’s right,” she’d said, taking her coat off the hook and replacing it with her apron. She singsonged a goodbye and August was left to imagine what that must be like. It certainly wasn’t anything he could conceive for himself.

“August?”

He jumped, recoiling so his back met the smooth wooden worktop. Feeling pinned, his heart leapt to his throat and his palms perspired. His first instinct was to try to kneel but he forced himself to stay put, gripping the counter until his knuckles turned white.

“Are you certain you’re not faint?”

August shook his head quickly, suppressing a wince he was sure Theo caught anyway. He cleared his throat. “I beg your pardon, sir. I—”

“Please.” Theo held up a hand. “Don’t call me that.”

“I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to cause any offence,” he said quickly. “Forgive me for disturbing your evening. I’ll—I can—I can clean myself up and I’ll wait or—or leave. I—”

“August, you don’t have to leave,” Theo said softly. Almost sadly, August thought, but then Theo stepped forward and August rose onto his toes to lean further away, the worktop digging into his back.

Theo raised his hands in a show of peace, slow and deliberate, as he reached around August to retrieve a clean cloth. “Come on.” He patted the counter and held out a hand. “You better sit down while I tend to that. You look peaky as hell, if you don’t mind me saying.”

“Si—” It didn’t feel right to address him by his first name. They’d hardly exchanged two words before this. “I wouldn’t wish to inconvenience you any further. I—”

“August.” Theo cut him off again, tone as gentle as his smile was sympathetic. It made August want to squirm, peel away from his attention and curl up and hide. He had no idea how to repay a smile like that. “I told Wyatt I’d take care of you.”

He didn’t want Wyatt to hear he’d been difficult or disobedient when so little was being asked of him. Especially considering what a fuss he’d just caused. He nodded jerkily reaching to take his hand. A gasp caught in his throat when Theo simply lifted him onto the counter as if he weighed nothing. His heart hammered in his chest, every fibre of his being expecting the strength to be turned against him. So easily, he was better off giving it freely and saving himself some hurt.

But Theo turned away, retrieving a small bottle with a hand-scrawled label from the high shelf beside the larder. He gave August space to settle into the unfit seat, into breathing again.

“Can I take a look?” He asked, truly waiting for an response.

August nodded, wondering if he could have said no or not yet, and what Theo might have done. If the question was only perfunctory, his answer predetermined. He flinched when Theo’s hand met his head. “Sorry,” he mumbled, curling his fingers into fists in his lap.

“It’s all right…I just need a little more light. If you could—” Theo lifted his other hand, but August jerked his head away before he made contact, the thought of fingers around his throat eclipsing all logic.

Theo held up his hands, taking a step back.

August’s chest tightened. Keats would have him on the ground. Never would have let him off his knees in the first place. This was no place for him.

“S-Sorry, I’m sorry. Forgive my thoughtlessness.” He moved to brush the hair off his forehead but his hands were shaking too much so he quickly clasped them in his lap again. “I didn’t—I don’t—”

“Keep calm, it’s all right.”

Theo tried to catch his gaze but August kept his eyes down. More insolence. He swallowed, finding a lump in his throat.

“I should have given you notice.”

“Please—” His voice broke and he furiously blinked back the tears trying to well in his eyes. “That’s not necessary. Please, I beg your pardon. I’ll stay still—” He couldn’t afford to lose his composure again. “I’ll be—I’ll be good,” he whispered, finally meeting Theo’s gaze to prove he was in earnest.

“August…” Theo tilted his head, sad expression renewed. There was something so kind about it, tender almost like that smile before.

He shook his head, dropping his chin to hide the tears building again, faster now than he could blink them away, a few catching in his eyelashes. “Please.”

“All right, all right,” Theo conceded. Sooner than August would have thought his inclination given how intense he found his gaze.

Against his protest, Theo made his every move known before he made it. As embarrassing as it was, it allowed August to restrain himself. Still as stone, soft as clay. He was just out of practice.

Once Theo determined he wasn’t bleeding anymore, August was released.

“Here.” Theo handed him another cloth to clean his hands.

“Thank you.”

Theo turned to lean against the counter beside him and August took the opportunity away from observation to survey his borrowed clothing. Fortunately, he had managed not to get blood all over them. His hair must have stopped it from spreading. He’d worry about what that meant later.

“Think you could eat something?” Theo asked, looking to the larder.

August couldn’t feel anything in his stomach besides the cold dread of anticipation.

Theo swiftly took his silence as an answer, saving him from having to deny the generosity. “At least a few sips of water.” It was more direct than a suggestion but one August would have agreed to anyway.

“Thank you.” His hands shook as he accepted one of the simple copper cups that hung on pegs above the sink. He willed them steady before bringing it to his lips.

Theo was pointedly not watching him again, though he was clearly poised to intervene if needed. August wasn’t sure if he should be further ashamed or comforted by this.

“There’s things he should tell you,” Theo said, breaking the silence. He turned his cup round and round in his hands.

August set his down, not wanting to waste focus trying to hold it level.

Theo opened his mouth once, twice. A third time without saying anything. He had a dash of crimson in his short stubble and a scar on the right side of his chin.

Another minute passed. He sighed. “You’ll understand in due course,” he said, draining his cup and placing it soundlessly into the sink before turning to August. “I know you’re still afraid but he didn’t mean it, I swear.”

August searched his face and, for once, found his dark eyes welcoming instead of probing.

“He’ll tell you himself and he won’t send you away. We’ll never send you away, August.”

He looked away. Theo’s tone, sad and knowing, brought tears to his eyes.

Theo’s focus shifted a fraction of a second before August sensed for himself that someone stood behind him. His heart leapt to his throat, forgotten knot cinching tighter in his chest. Theo didn’t hide his inspection of Wyatt. August watched his face for tells until it became too uncomfortable to have his back to Wyatt for so long.

He turned to face the room, chancing a glance toward the door. Wyatt leaned against the frame with his arms crossed, shirt sleeves rolled to the elbow like he just came from working on the books. The only departure from habitude was the fastened top button of his shirt.

August glanced back at Theo who nodded. He was already leaving, pulling his cigarette case and matchbook from his pocket, taking steps toward the door to the side alley. August’s fear doubled down. He’d been ill at ease and mistrusting in Theo’s care but now wished he would stay. Theo gave August one last reassuring smile, tilting his chin toward Wyatt as if to encourage him further, and left.

They sat in fraught silence long enough that August was certain Wyatt could hear his heart for how heavily and loudly it was beating. He gripped the edge of the countertop lest he topple off from the force of it. He began to think he was meant to break the silence first but then Wyatt moved. August watched his legs, feet stopping in front of him.

His breath audibly caught in his throat when Wyatt reached for him. Thumb and forefinger resting on either cheekbone, the rest of his fingers curled under his chin. Wyatt tilted his head to one side, other hand probing gently at the tender spot. A whimper stole its way out of his chest.

“Shh,” Wyatt soothed.

Warmth spread from Wyatt’s fingertips through August’s head, down the back of his neck, his spine. It only compounded the feeling of unsteadiness, heightened the sensation that he was nothing but a shell around his pounding heart.

“Hmm.” Wyatt clicked his tongue in disapproval and August felt even more hollow. “This will be quite a bruise in the morning. Does it hurt?”

His reaction was too slow. He was entirely governed by the metronome of fear beating within him. He shook his head. “N-n-no, sir,” he added to make up for the belated response.

“August, look at me.”

He could only make it to Wyatt’s cheek, his temple, his ear.

“Are you all right?”

“Of course, sir.” Now he’d answered too fast.

Wyatt sighed, thumb brushing the hair off August’s forehead. His hand settled against August’s jaw, holding his cheek ever so gently, as though he too believed August a delicate husk. “Please, August. It was a mistake. I’m so sorry.”

Shame welled up hot in his face, building tears behind his eyes, threatening to spill over. He tried to hold them at bay but he was already holding himself upright, holding himself together, holding himself accountable. “Please, I beg your forgiveness for my mistake. I’m sorry. Sir, I—”

“August, please—” “Sir—” They spoke over one another.

August bit his lips together.

Wyatt sighed.

“I’m sorry, August. Please—”

“What did I do wrong?” He blurted, blinking through tears, desperate enough to search Wyatt’s eyes for an answer.

“Nothing. Not a thing.”

He shook his head, swallowing the lump in his throat. “Tell me and I’ll never do it again.”

“The fault is entirely mine.”

“I—I don’t understand, sir,” he confessed, lowering his gaze as his cheeks burned anew.

Wyatt lifted his chin but August couldn’t meet his eyes anymore. “I shouldn’t have put you in such a position. The blame rests solely with me.”

He looked but he couldn’t see it. His tears started to fall in earnest. He couldn’t find the trick, the trap door, the secret answer. Keats could fool him morning, noon, and night, too.

“Make me understand if I can’t be taught.”

Wyatt sighed, carefully taking August’s face in both hands. “It is not for you to understand. It’s for me to atone.”

August shook his head, hiccuping a sob. He’d make the same mistake again if he wasn’t corrected. He’d make a million mistakes and then he couldn’t possibly stay here. He reached up to grip Wyatt’s wrists. A part of him wondered what Theo had spoken of but he dared not risk crossing information.

“Please, sir,” he pressed, desperation plain in his tone. “If I know, I can be better.”

“No.”

He flinched, more at the shift in Wyatt’s face, than the sharpness of his tone. Wyatt’s eyes were normally an infinite blue, like the midsummer sky, but the wind had changed, the sky obstructed by clouds, nearly threatening darkness. Only Fionn had been so practised at shutting him out. He let his hands fall to his lap.

From the beginning, he had no place here.

Wyatt dropped his hands as well, bringing them up to rake through his hair. He took two steps back and turned around. His fingers curled into fists at the back of his head. He pulled in a deep breath, so long his back arched infinitesimally to accommodate it. His exhale was nearly silent but just as slow, only punctuated by him turning back around.

August fought shy of looking into his eyes, hoping he might remember them as they were before. He held his breath as Wyatt approached him again.

“I know I broke that promise…” Wyatt kept his voice low, parsing the words carefully. “I truly never intended for you to get hurt. You must know that.”

He didn’t know anything.

“Please, August. Forgive me for hurting you, for frightening you so.”

He didn’t feel anything. Even his heart was finally quiet as though he were truly empty.

“I’m so sorry.” Wyatt stooped to catch his gaze but he couldn’t look him in the eye. Wyatt’s thumb brushed his cheek, swiping at the tears he hadn’t noticed falling. “Please, August.”

Wyatt took his hands, fingers warm against his skin, still trying to meet his eyes. “Come back to me, lamb.” He lay August’s hands on either side of his chest. August could feel his heartbeat under his palm, strong, steady. “I’m safe. I’m yours.”

Wyatt granted him seconds, even minutes. He wasn’t sure what changed, what Wyatt saw or didn’t see in his face. Perhaps he simply gave up waiting. He pulled August against him, wrapping him up in his arms. So tight, August could feel his pulse in his cheek, resting against the back of his hand pressed between them.

“I promise to account for everything soon. Please, believe how sorry I am.”

His heart sank heavily, as though it were leaden instead of just a tired husk. He wanted to pull away from this closeness, this false comfort. There was only comfort in knowing, only safety in understanding his place.

Instead, he leaned into the embrace and let his fingers take hold of Wyatt’s shirt. His only choice was to accept what was granted. Perhaps if he did it well enough, one day it would be a place to belong.

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