Solangelo TWO shots

Boys Don't Cry

Trigger Warning: misogyny, internalized misogyny, emotional repression, emotional abuse, emotional distancing, homophobia, use of the f-slur (once), implied death <3

Uncle Rick won't give Will any spicy trauma so I WILL MUAHAHAHAHA
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The air was getting thinner. The room was getting smaller. His clothes were too tight, especially the collar of his orange t-shirt. The plastic gloves rubbed uncomfortably against his wrists.

Will fled from the area and into one of the examination rooms, where he quickly removed the bloody blue latex from his hands and disposed of them properly into the sanitary waste basket.

His breaths became shorter and closer together, making it hard to breathe. He ran his hands through his hair. Fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck...

He tugged lightly at the blond strands between his fingers to ground himself. He paced around the room, full of nervous energy, until his shortness of breath made him too dizzy to stand any longer. He pressed his back against a wall and fell to the floor. The pain of his weight falling shot up from his tail bone, bringing him back from his thoughts and into the real world.

Dead. Dead dead dead.

Will balled up a fist and brought it to his mouth, biting on his knuckles. Dead dead dead dead. He took a shaky breath. Dead dead dead.

He felt an all-familiar stinging in his eyes, a sensation that tickled his nose, a feeling coming from his chest.

"Don't cry, Solace. Don't cry. You don't need to cry. Boys don't cry. Boys don't cry. Boys don't cry."

~~~~~

"Boys don't cry! Come on, Solace! Stop being a wuss and get up!"

Will was six again, sitting on the pavement next to the soccer fields at school. He wiped his nose on his sleeve. "I'm no wuss!"

"Prove it, boy. Get back on the field and keep playing. Failing is not an excuse to be acting like a sissy!"

~~~~~

"Failing is not an excuse..." Will took another shaky breath and tried to shove the feeling down. Down, down, down.

~~~~~

Will was eight years old when he scooped an injured bird into his freckled hands. He pitied the fragile thing, knocked out of its nest by the careless boys playing their careless sports.

"Stay away! It's hurt!" He yelled at a neighborhood boy who came closer to retrieve his baseball. "You hurt it!"

"I didn't do nothin'!" The boy objected.

"You hurt it!" Will cried, holding the bird closer to him. "Its wing is broken and it's your fault!"

"His mother needs to tell her kid that he doesn't have to be that sensitive!" A man, likely one of the kids' fathers, guffawed. "It'll make the boy weak! No respectable person would pity him when he grows up...if he grows up!"

"Yeah, and if grows up, he'll grow up to be a bigger wimp than he is now!" His teacher commented. He crouched over to where Will was cowering. "Where is your mommy, hmm? Is she going to pick you up?"

Will sniffed. "She's working, sir. She'll probably be late again."

"And your daddy?"