A drop here, a drop there (a one-shots/snippet book)

And the rain washed it all away (Welcome to Night Vale)

The living room was a mess. Take out boxes -most of which was pizza from Big Rico's- were left as small towers on the center table, old clothes and pillows from the couch were scattered in random places, and empty beer bottles littered the floor, emitting the faint scent of alcohol in the air.

Carlos felt his face crumple. Drink to forget, a Night Vale tradition. And Cecil, undoubtedly, had been trying to forget how much pain Carlos had been dealing him. He'll... Carlos swallowed, he'll clean it all up later. He had Cecil to take care of first.

And his boyfriend must've been tired from the emotionally charged day, with the adrenaline from the dragon attack, the sadness at leaving town, and the relief and happiness at having him home. This left him blinking groggily and Carlos had to make sure he didn't stumble on the way up the stairs.

The bedroom was at least clean of any bottles of alcohol, and Carlos gently led Cecil to the adjacent bathroom. Carlos gave him a squeeze, before pulling away, and Cecil slowly, reluctantly, removed his arm to let him.

"S-sorry..." The radio host murmured softly, but Carlos leaned in to kiss him, a soft sweet press of lips. He didn't want to Cecil to think that his touch was bothering him. Out of all the people Carlos met in his life, aside from close family, Cecil was the only one whose touch he was most comfortable with.

Cecil... he was different. Cecil, who  fell in love at first sight and created an ideal image of Perfect Carlos in his head. And upon learning otherwise, came upon to accept him for who he was–an imperfect human being that made mistakes and had to learn how to live a life with a significant other. Instead of leaving in his disillusionment, disappointed and angry, he instead gently ran his fingers through Carlos' curls and crooned in his velvety voice, "perfectly imperfect Carlos."

He was understanding of Carlos' flaws, even when Carlos didn't want to be touched at times or had to take a few minutes until his heart stopped racing and his lungs started working and his mind properly dealt and adjusted when Night Vale was being so particularly confusing and overwhelming-

So Carlos kissed him, because he didn't need to apologize.

His boyfriend sighed faintly, eyes fluttering close, and Carlos let him lean on the sink as he turned on the shower. Steam soon filled the air and fogged the glass doors of the shower, as water cascaded down the floor and through the drain. Turning, Carlos started to remove Cecil's clothes, slowly exposing more and more skin.

And a stab of pain hit through Carlos' chest, staying there as more and more bruises and injuries were exposed at the absence of clothing. His eyes ran over each one, at the parallel scratches across Cecil's chest as if he barely managed to back away enough from a swipe of claws, at the half-healed bruises and smaller scratches peppering around it, on his torso, shoulders, arms, and neck. He lightly, oh so lightly, ran his fingers over a faint blue-black spot on Cecil's left shoulder, feeling his boyfriend shiver at his touch, and slowly trailed it downwards, past a gash -now clotted-  on the forearm, to his hand.

As if a man holding something precious and fragile, he raised it to look at the bruised knuckles, flecks of dark red clotting visible where skin had broke. Carlos' lips pursed.

Despite their good intentions for the mayor, whoever had bought Lot 37 evidently wasn't careful in keeping Cecil's body in good condition. Most of the wounds were centered on the torso, with only a few around the arms, as if the controller didn't let Cecil defend his core parts. Those claw marks... if they had been any deeper...

Cecil had been hurt. Very badly. And not just physically, Carlos thought as he gently rubbed his thumbs along the back of Cecil's hands. People generally didn't like having their will taken from them suddenly and without their knowledge. It must've been... horrifying for Cecil.