trigger warning; mentions of mental illness & m*rco
L E O
I stared across the table at Atlas, pretending to listen as he rambled on, with unnecessary hand actions, about some new indie band he was in love with. From what I did pick up, they didn't sound half bad. Maybe even something I'd listen to, Oliver would like them, I was sure. I'd have to remind myself to tell him.
"The lead guitarist is a beast," Atlas continued in awe, proceeding to show everyone who was listening a video of said guitarist. I drowned him out, my whole attention on my three very silent and pale brothers.
Neither Jack or Ace would meet my eyes. Alex though? He had no issues. He stared at me unblinking, face blank, quirking his eyebrow as if to say what? I frowned. His nonchalance made my stomach fill with uneasy, it made me question myself. Maybe I was reading too much into it, maybe that look didn't pass the way my eyes had seen? Or, maybe, this was just my mind playing tricks on me for the millionth time. Who knows.
I removed my eyes from my brother, dropping them to my lap where Emilio's hand rested, tightly tangled with my own. I brushed my thumb along his knuckles, feeling the roughness of his skin beneath my fingertips.
"What'd you do to your knuckles?" I questioned him, speaking softly as not to draw attention.
He turned to me, tilting his head as he followed my eyes. "Oh," he squeezed my hand reassuringly. "Nothing really. I took up boxing and forgot to put on gloves before hitting the bag. Lemme tell you, that bitch is rough."
"Boxing?" I raised an eyebrow, deciding not to question why he wouldn't put on boxing gloves to box. "Since when do you box?"
"Whatever do you mean?" He feigned shock, as if my assumption was astonishing. "I'm athletic, amore. Of course I box."
"Box?" Enzo cut in, chuckling under his breath as he stared at Emilio with a smirk. "Can hardly call what you do boxing, Em."
Emilio rolled his eyes, glaring at his brother half heartedly. "Don't shit talk out of jealousy now, fratello."
"He's got a point," Elliot thew his pizza crust onto the plate and leaned back in his seat. Emilio looked proud for a second, that was until Elliot's stare turned sympathetic. "Enzo I mean, not you, Em. You'd be lucky if you could even bruise Ati with those things you call punches."
"Hey, why me?" Atlas looked offended. "I know my reflexes are fire and all, but don't give Milo any ideas."
We stared at him blankly. Atlas was the type to drip over air, his reflexes were nonexistent.
"I wouldn't punch you." Emilio reassured after a split second of hesitation. That was quite a promise to make. I'm not a violent person, but, sometimes, Atlas' face was very punchable.
Enzo snorted. "Wouldn't punch you and couldn't land a punch, are too very different things."
"I could punch him!"
"You just said you wouldn't punch me!" Atlas jumped from his seat and took a step back, hiding behind Luke's chair as he raised his hands defensively. "Don't punch me!"
"I'm not going to," Emilio rolled his eyes. "I just mean I could if I wanted to."
"I don't believe you, you're looking at me like you want to punch me." Atlas gripped Luke's forearm, pulling him from his chair as he used him as a human shield. "Save me, Lulu. Protect me from this animal."
"You made me drop my pizza." Luke deadpanned, staring at his fallen slice. He looked over his shoulder at his best friend, lips thinned. "I was enjoying that."
"Haven't you heard of the five second rule? The pizza is fine, Lukey." Atlas ran his eyes over Luke's face before grimacing. "Why do I feel like you want to punch me, too?"
"Who doesn't want to punch you?" Ace spoke up, staring at my friend lazily.
"Okay, okay," Elliot decided to cut in and fulfil his big brother duty. Reaching out, he gripped Atlas by the forearm and pulled him to his side. "No one punches him, alrighty? That's my job."
"You could've just left it at alrighty." Atlas grumbled, staring at his brother with a look of betrayal. "Am I really that punchable?" His question was directed to Killian. I'm not sure why he asked Killian, maybe he thought he's the only one who would answer honestly.
"No," Killian dismissed, face twisting. "Not really."
"Not really means yes." Kade translated, just incase Atlas didn't grasp that fact.
"If it helps," Ezra wiped his face with a napkin before turning to my friend. "I've never wanted to punch you."
Atlas smiled. "Thanks, Ezra. I knew I liked you."
"That's because he only needs to be around you like twice a year at most."
"Grey," Dakota scolded. "Don't be mean."
"Don't be mean?" Atlas choose this time to retaliate, turning to Grey with a face full of smugness. "Does she even know you? You're always mean."
Ignoring Dakota's stare, Grey glared at him. "And you're always rude."
"Well, you're always... you and—"
"Who wants cake?" Dad stood and clapped his hands together, effectively ending their argument with one word.
Grey long forgotten, Atlas' eyes widened as he beamed at my Dad. "Cake? We have cake? I love cake. Is it chocolate? Who am I kidding, of course it's chocolate. Le loves chocolate."
Atlas continued to ramble, that was, until Ace shoved a piece of cake into his mouth just to shut him up.
—
Emilio wouldn't let me go.
"I don't want to go," he whined, arms wrapped tightly around my torso. He buried his face in the crook of my neck, sighing softly. "I'm going to miss you."
"You'll hardly miss me. You'll see me tomorrow, Emmy." I reassured, brushing my fingers through his hair. His grip around me tightened, and I laughed softly. "Atlas is getting cranky, you'll need to let go at some point." The four of us; Emmy, Atlas, Luke and me, had been standing in the drive way for at least ten minutes now.
Atlas made a noise of disagreement, scuffing his shoes off the gravel, he corrected: "Atlas isn't getting cranky. Atlas is cranky."
We ignored him, leaving Luke to handle his temper tantrum. He did, thankfully, pulling Atlas away from us towards the car where Enzo and Elliot were waiting.
"That's a lie," he said, confusing me. As if sensing my confusion, he clarified. "I always miss you, even if I've just been with you."
Warmth filled me, and I found myself at a loss for words. I knew what he meant, of course I did. I felt it, too. I knew I'd miss him the second his arms released me. And that terrified me. Not the missing him, or loving him, or needing him. But the wanting him, all of him.
Emilio made me feel things I couldn't explain. Being with him made me want to do all the things I feared, all the things I swore I'd never do again. Intimacy, for the last two years, was far from foreign to me. But this kind of intimacy was different; I wanted it — wanted him.
It wasn't about sex. It was the intimacy of his closeness, his touch, the feel of his skin on mine. I wanted to kiss him until our lungs ached and begged for air. Until our mouths fell apart and our lips tinted purple from the bruises the weight of our love had left. And then, with our heaving chests, and flushed cheeks, and bruised lips, and mangled breaths, I wanted to hold him in my arms and watch the sky when the sun set, have him there as we watched the stars align, and keep him there, coated in the warmth of each other until the orange light rose again.
Intimacy didn't mean sex, but it terrified me just the same.
"I always miss you, too." I whispered, my voice sounding foreign to my own ears — so filled with love.
Emilio pulled back ever so slightly, keeping his arms on my waist. He stared at me fondly, grey eyes glittered with adoration. "You'll video call me tonight? My Leo withdrawals are going to drive me insane, I'll need to see your face to help me fall asleep."
A horn blared before I could muster much more than a dazed nod. "Oi, Romeo," Enzo called lazily from the car. pushing his head out of the drivers side window gap with his hands cupped around his mouth, effectively amplifying his words. "Whilst this is cute as fuck, I've got places I need to be. Kiss lover boy bye bye and get your ass in the car."
"Yeah," Elliot chimed in. "What he said."
Emilio removed one hand from me to flip them off over his shoulder. He smiled sadly at me, gently squeezing my hips. "I'm not gonna kiss you."
"Aw, what a shame." I forced a pout and teased him. "Don't wanna give your brother and El a show?"
"It's not that. I couldn't give a fuck about them, they can easily look away." he dismissed with a slight shake of the head. "I don't wanna give your Dad and the rest of them a show. Well, not for free."
I rolled my eyes, ignoring the last part of his messed up statement. "They're watching from the window aren't they?"
"Mhm," he hummed, eyes drifting behind me. "Well, all of them minus three. Callan, Kill and Lily aren't there from what I can see."
"Remind me that I only have three siblings I like after this."
"Noted, amore." Emilio smiled, looking a little disappointed. "As much as I want to kiss you, they're really ruining the mood."
I shrugged. "You'll just need to make it up to me tomorrow."
"Oh? And just how would I do that?"
His arms fell from my waist as I took a step back. Wordlessly, I shook my head at him and began walking towards the front steps. Just as my foot hit the last step, I called over my shoulder. "I'm sure you'll think of something, tesoro."
"Did I mention I'm athletic?" He called out teasingly.
My shoulders shook as I gripped the door handle and laughed. "Bye Emmy!"
—
I couldn't move.
I'd taken three steps into my bedroom and my body became ridged; numb, frozen. I hated how my mind pulled me back into my own worst nightmares the second I could feel happiness just within my reach.
With my body still like stone, my wide eyes scanned the room. I tried not to, but I couldn't help comparing the two.
It was something that bothered me; how his bedroom seemed to be a sinister replica of my own, a freakish homage. Sometimes, I wondered if Marco knew the similarities between the two. If he'd somehow seen my bedroom with his own dark, haunting eyes and simply mirrored it.
If only I knew.
I knew my thoughts were ridiculous, he'd never stepped foot in my home. I knew that. But as my eyes took everything in, every detail, every colour, every thing, my mind ran haywire with endless scenarios and what if's.
Our rooms had the same deep black walls. Mine littered with my art work, his covered in the posters of my favourite band. Our furniture was the same, the colour, the way it was placed; his bed was in the centre of the room with the headboard resting against the wall, just like mine. A bedside table at either side with small silver lamps, just like mine. He had the same exact closet, same colour, same brand. It seemed like the only difference? My sheets were blue.
But they weren't. Not today, not right now.
Why are my sheets black?
It felt like the universe was playing tricks on me. Like God, if there even is such thing, had some sick vendetta against me, allowing me to be on the brink of joy, to feel some kind of normality just to crush my dreams once more with those stupid charcoal coloured sheets.
I felt pathetic. My heart was racing, my breaths coming out in laboured pants as my hands curled into tightly bound fists, feeling my incredibly short nails puncture my skin as panic slowly consumed me. It's only bedsheets. I repeated that phrase over and over, but it didn't help. It only made those sour, pitiful feelings flourish into something devastating.
It's only bedsheets.
"Le?" A hand on my shoulder snapped me from my frozen state, jolting me into another reality, a poignant reminder of the past as I flinched from the touch. "You're okay, I'm here. Tell me what you need, I won't touch you. Just listen to my voice, don't get lost in there."
I couldn't distinguish the voice. My eyes were bound shut the second that hand fell on my shoulder, recoiling me into the disquieting state of my own mind. I couldn't breathe.
"Is he okay?" Another voice said, a quieter voice.
Someone hushed. "Give us a minute, Ez," they whispered. "I don't want to crowd him."
Silent seconds passed, the only sound to be heard was the echoed thump of my heart, mixed with the constant ring in my ears.
I can't breathe.
"Can you open your eyes for me? Please? You're safe, Leo. Open your eyes and you'll see that for yourself. You're not alone, I've got you, I'm here." They said it with a plea, yet their voice was patient, filled with care.
My heart beat tamed at the sound, but my panic was still palpable as was the ringing in my ears. Hesitantly, I opened my eyes, blinking repeatedly as everything around me blurred into one.
When my vision began to clear, Callan's blurry, worried face made my heart ache with guilt. I didn't want to have a freak out, especially not so soon. I've only been here for a few hours and I'm already deep within the clutches of panic. It's not fair for him to see me like this, it's not fair for me to feel like this.
This is my home. My room. The place that should be my sanctuary. When will it feel like that?
"You're okay," Callan soothed, hands twitching by his sides as if he was struggling not to reach out and grab me. Part of me wanted that; to be wrapped in the safety I knew his arms would provide. But the other part, the larger more terrified part, knew that it would only make my terror sky rocket.
"Callan," I heard someone say, followed by their footsteps as they entered the room. It took a few moments for me to realise that it was Charlie. I didn't look at him, at either of them, too ashamed to meet their eyes. Charlie was closer now. "Why don't you go get him some water? I'll stay with him."
"No," Callan dismissed without hesitation, voice soft but I could hear his determination. He wanted to stay with me, help me. "You can get him water. I'm not going anywhere unless he wants me to leave." He paused for a moment, his body turning back to my own. "Do you want me to leave?" He whispered. I couldn't hear any judgement or disappointment, his voice was tender and curious, waiting for my approval or reluctance.
I shook my head no.
"I'm staying, Char." Callan's voice grew quieter, his body turning away from mine once more as he turned his attention to my therapist. Without meaning to, my eyes fell back to the black sheets and my lips trembled as a sob festered at the back of my throat. "You won't always be here," I vaguely heard Cal say. "I need to know how to help him without you. He needs to be able to lean on us too."
Charlie hummed in acknowledgment. I knew he was listening to my brother, but I also knew he was watching me. I glanced at him from the corner of my eye, seeing his gaze stuck on the bedsheets before his honey eyes drifted to mine.
"I'll change them," he told me softly, knowing what caused my panic attack without me even having to say.
"Change what?" Cal looked confused, his eyes gliding between Charlie and me. Needing something — anything — to distract my sight, I buried my face in the front of Callan's sweater, needing him to hide me from the monsters he couldn't see. "I've got you," his arms wrapped around me in an instant as he rested his chin on the top of my head.
"Black sheets," I croaked out, feeling brave enough to tell him now that he couldn't see my face.
Callan didn't understand, I knew he wouldn't. But then, after a few seconds, his body tensed, which only confused me. "Oh," he breathed out, as if he realised the amount of power that one colour had to suffocate me. "I'm sorry, Leo. Alex and Kill got your room ready for you. I didn't, they didn't, we..." his voice drifted off into a broken breath, the sound showing how much he was annoyed with himself. "I'm so sorry."
"What's going on?" Dad entered the room now, voice alarmed. He didn't waste a second, crossing the room as he pulled me from Callan's arms into his own.
Safe.
I didn't say anything to him, pressing myself deeper into his embrace instead. My head felt fuzzy, their exchange of words jumbling in my mind as the fatigue of my panic attack set in. I didn't need to listen to know what they were saying, the way Dad's arms tightened around me as he shifted my view away from the bed said enough itself.
"Why don't we go for a nap in my room?" Dad rubbed his hand around my back in soft circles. "I don't know 'bout you, but I'm in the midst of a pizza coma right now."
I shook my head. I wouldn't be able to sleep, not right now. If I slept, my unconscious mind would fall into darker nightmares — darker memories.
"No?" Dad hummed. "Okay then, what about some hot cocoa and a movie?"
I shook my head again, swallowing past the lump in my throat to find the words I needed to say. "I..." my words broke off as my voice cracked. I cleared my throat, inhaling a heavy, ragged breath. "I want to change it."
"I'll change the bed, Le." Callan offered, misunderstanding my words.
"No." Even though my voice was merely a whisper, I managed to force a bite into my tone. "I want to change it all."
"Okay," I felt Dad shrug. He put his arms on my shoulders, pushing me back slightly to meet his eyes. The reassurance and understanding on his face nearly made my knees buckle. "You want to change it, we'll change it."
—
It was an hour later and the walls were bare.
My siblings, as well as Ryan, Charlie and Dakota, had all gathered in my bedroom to help. They seemed excited at the thought of getting their hands dirty. A paint party was how Kade described it, strutting into my room with a handful of paintbrushes like Ty from extreme makeover: home edition.
"So," Kaden tapped his finger against his chin, staring at the bare black walls with a thoughtful expression. "What colour are you thinking?"
I pondered over his question for a moment, my eyes drifting around my newly arranged bedroom. We hadn't gotten very far, but on the plus side, my bed had been stripped, thanks to Dad and Ryan, there was no black sheet in sight. I was pretty sure they were planning some kind of bonfire to rid of every dark sheet we owned.
"Anything bright," I eventually answered, moving my eyes from the bed to stare at the bare black walls.
Years worth of art work had been removed, sitting in a messy pile at the corner of my room like trash; as if I hadn't put everything I felt — everything I thought I'd never be able to say — into each stroke of pencil or brush. I suppose it's a good thing; getting rid of it all. I didn't need anymore reminders of the past — reminders of him.
"What will I do with these?" Killian asked, as if reading my mind. He crouched down and lifted my art work from the floor, shuffling through the pages as he examined every picture thoroughly with an awestruck expression.
I pulled my eyes away, pretending to be busy as I reached for the paintbrushes, my throat bobbing as I swallowed thickly, "Throw them out."
"What?" I felt his eyes on my face, not needing to turn to him to see the dumbfounded expression he'd be sporting. I wasn't stupid, I knew my paintings were good, maybe even more than good, but the feelings they gave me were a stark comparison. "You can't get rid of these, Le. They're incredible."
I shrugged, feeling no need to say anything else.
At my lack of care, he made a noise of disagreement. "Leo —"
"Killian, enough." Grey said sternly, shaking his head at our brother to stop him from saying anything more on the matter.
"Here," Alex reached out and took the paintings from Killian's hands, giving him a look that made it clear to me he wouldn't get rid of them. "I'll deal with these."
"What about blue?" Callan's question pulled my attention from our brothers to him. I shook my head, blue wasn't right. He read another text on his phone before saying, "Green?" Black, purple, red, green. I shook my head harder, not green, definitely not green. He pursed his lips, eyes back on his phone again as he typed rapidly. "What about grey?"
My ears perked up at that. Something about my expression must've given my answer away, because Cal smiled at me. "Grey it is then."
"Do they have like a gunmetal grey?"
"They should do," he nodded, reaching up to ruffle my hair before texting again. "I'll ask Sof to send me pics of the colour sheet for grey. Do you want any posters or anything? I can ask Aaron to stop at the store before they head back."
"No," I said almost instantly. "No posters."
Kade scrunched his nose at that. "So... just plain grey? What about that band you like? Get a few of their posters to break it up a bit."
I shook my head again, hoping the movement would distract him from the way my hands trembled. "No," I choked out, voice cracking. "I don't want that."
It seemed like everyone stared at me then, some more discreet than others. I cleared my throat and scratched my neck nervously, hoping they'd turn away before their eyes burned into me.
"I've got an idea," Lily saved me from the rising atmosphere aa she took a hold of my wrist, ignoring the curious eyes of our siblings as she pulled both me and Kota from the room.
—
"You like making photo albums, don't you?" Lily asked Dakota as the three of us entered her room. "I seen the big book thing you gave Grey for his birthday."
"Scrap book," Dakota clarified with a nod, taking a seat on my sisters desk chair. She kicked her feet, spinning in two circles before continuing. "I love making them. Why'd you ask?"
"Well," Lily glanced at me as I leaned back on her bed, resting my shoulders against the headboard as I waited for her to share her ideas.
She sat down beside me. "I was thinking, if it's okay with you, Le, that maybe Kota could help us print out photos for your walls? Ones of all of us, of you and Milo, and Ati, and Luke. And if you have any with your other friends, we could add them too. Pretty much just a wall full of everyone that makes you happy?"
I smiled, Kota did too.
"I could print them in Zac's office right now if that's what you want, Leo?" Dakota offered.
"You wouldn't mind?"
"Wouldn't offer if I did," she rolled her eyes and stood from the spinning seat, smiling with excitement as she skipped to the door. "I'll go print whatever family pictures are saved on your Dad's laptop. Send me all the ones with your friends and Emilio."
"Thanks, Kota!" Lily and I said in unison as she left, doing that creepy twin thing Kade and Kill had mastered yet was a rarity for us.
"Creepy." We both said again, breaking into a fit of laughter as we lay back on the bed and stared at the ceiling until our eyes welled.
When our laughter died down, I turned to face my sister. "I really love your idea, Lil. Pictures of us, of everyone... it's much better than plain grey."
She shrugged, lips curving upward. "Screw Kaden. Plain grey would've been cute if that's what you wanted. I think Alex would agree with me, too. It's very much his taste; very minimalistic and clean."
"I don't think my room would ever meet his standard of clean," I laughed. "He spent thirty minutes complaining to me about where I keep my socks. My socks, Lil. My socks in my room."
"He also hates that your sweaters are in a drawer rather than hung in the closet."
"Don't even get me started with that." I groaned, covering my face with one of her pillows. He'd already spent a further ten minutes complaining about that after the whole sock scenario. "He called shotgun on arranging my clothes whenever we finish painting. I didn't even know you could call shotgun for that."
"On the plus side, that means you don't have to do it." That was the silver lining I suppose. "You hate folding your clothes just as much as I do."
"True." I normally just stuffed everything in my dresser and threw whatever I couldn't squeeze into the drawers in the bottom of my wardrobe.
"You know," Lily paused, looking hesitant. She withdrew her eyes from mine, picking at the hangnail on her thumb; an anxious trait we shared. "It's been a while since we've had a sleepover," she swallowed audibly. "And... you really shouldn't sleep in your room later with all the paint fumes..."
I could tell she didn't want to ask me outright, hinting just to make the burn of rejection hurt less if I refused. I smiled at her reassuringly, nudging my shoulder against hers.
"You're right," I hummed. "Would it be okay if I slept in here? We could binge watch that new show you were telling me about and you could paint my nails? You know... just like old times?"
"Yes, yes, yes!" she beamed at me, her excitement lighting up the room like a Christmas tree. She pressed her check against my shoulder. "I would really like that."
"Yeah, me too."
I nudged her head and wrapped my arm around her, pulling her into my chest as I rested my chin on her messy curls. I blew one of the stray curls away from my face and laughed, brushing my fingers through the tangled mess. "Wash your hair before bed and I'll dry it for you, try and tame the mane and all that shit."
"Did you just insult me?"
"With hair like that? Yes, Lil. Yes, I did."
She pulled away from me and sat up, purposely whacking her birds nest against my face as she stared at me incredulously. "Sorry, Mr: I have no hair to brush. You don't understand the struggle of knots, Le. They're painful."
"They wouldn't be painful if you, you know, actually made an effort to brush them before they got so bad."
She scrunched her nose, clearly hating the suggestion. "You sound like Grey."
"Did you just insult me?"
—
END OF CHAPTER
next chapter will follow on from this one, some sibling bonding, plus lilo and jeo scenes : )
thoughts?
4700 words