Boiling Point
Characters; Revan and Garvin (Someone is co-fronting/blurry/switched in varying degrees for the argument though exactly who is hard to say given that I didn’t write it from Garvin’s POV— But!!!! Ridley’s the one there by the end of the argument and the one there after too, so I do know that, at least). Rest of GRAIN are mentioned/there in varying degrees. There’s some other really vague mentionings too, I think.
Word Count; 3,508.
TWs; Swearing, arguing/yelling, self-hatred, self worth issues, depression in general, victim-blaming, dissociation, suicidal ideation, ‘mild’ flashbacks, internalized ableism, panic/anxiety attacks, injury, blood, implied child abuse, implied physical child abuse, implied child sexual abuse/rape, implied past dehumanization, self-harm, suicide attempt, and messy ending/writing. There might be more, but I’m not too sure.
Notes; Probably the best place to mention that this is taking place way before ‘Homesick’ and ‘Smile For The Camera!’ and ‘Price Of Love’. Which is also the, um, official order of those three. ‘Homesick’ then ‘Smile For The Camera!’ and then ‘Price Of Love’. So. Yeah! Anyways. For some more information on the switches here— Garvin and someone else were blurred during most of the argument, during the very last bit of the argument though, Ridley starts getting closer to the front though they’re all still very blurry. The door slamming is what ends the blurriness though and kind of, like, solidifies Ridley as the one fronting. Fun fact, Ridley was the one fronting when they got kicked out by Rudy. All that said— Be careful with this one! It gets heavy.
*~*~*~*
Revan could concede that the dinner the night before hadn’t gone… Exactly how anyone had wanted it to go. But, truthfully, it’d gone better than he’d expected it to go, given the time of year it was. The colder seasons had never been kind to his family, so it really hadn’t gone all that terribly, all things considered. Nowhere near as bad as it once would’ve been, at the very least.
-
Put simply, Garvin missing breakfast had been decidedly because of pain. Akira and Nico had checked on him after breakfast and even he had told them that was why. So everyone had gotten on with their day, some with more hesitation than others. Ingall had left to run errands, Akira and Nico had gone to go do… Something. Revan wasn’t actually sure. It almost made him proud that he could stay home alone with Garvin while he was struggling in any kind of way. It was a lot of progress from them avoiding each other on bad days because of the arguments they seemed destined to have otherwise. Those had gotten rare too, and even when they did fight, it was nowhere near as bad anymore.
-
Either way, Revan had settled at a counter with his laptop, intent on doing some extra work in order to smooth anything over with his mother. If only because he didn’t want to lose all the progress he’d made with her recently. He didn’t get further than signing into it before he heard the bedroom door open and close. Which meant that Garvin was up, and by the sounds of it– Not using the cane they’d managed to convince him to use. He doubted it’d be all that helpful on a bad pain day anyway though, so… Maybe he was using it.
-
He stayed where he was for the moment, turning his attention back to his laptop. Chances were that Garvin either felt well enough to get some food now, or at least well enough to force himself to get some, or he was up so he could use the bathroom. Or, best case scenario, he was up so he could take some pain medication. Whatever it was, he didn’t think Garvin would want to be checked on. Either it’d be too loud for the headache he’d surely have or, more likely given that it was Garvin, it’d seem like too much care. So he focused on the screen of his laptop.
-
Up until he saw Garvin out of the corner of his eyes, not using the cane and wearing his old trench coat and a pair of boots, heading towards the front door. That made him look up and over, hand on the top of his laptop and ready to close it. He was met by the tombstone patch on the back of the coat. The idea that Garvin had lied wasn’t hard to believe, even if he’d rather that not be the case. So he took a breath and tried to keep his voice level, “And, uh– Where are you off to, Garvin?”
-
“Wha’s it matter ta you, Raven?”
-
The response came too quick, too soaked in venom for a bad pain day. For how rare arguments were between them now. It made Revan nervous. Even the nickname used made him nervous. Raven wasn’t used often, not anymore. Not since the arguments had started dropping off. It made him bite at his tongue for a second, trying to keep himself from making anything worse. The last thing anyone needed was an argument, was steps backward in their progress. There wasn’t anything he could say that wouldn’t risk it. Worse would be to not say anything though. “I… Thought it was a bad pain day?”
-
That seemed to slow Garvin’s response down, venom still dripped when he answered though. “Yeah, well. Not now. So. If tha’s all… I’ll be goin’.”
-
He’d said the wrong thing. He bit at his tongue, scraped his teeth against it for a second. “Well, I mean, that still doesn’t tell me where you're going.”
-
Garvin glanced over his back then, eyes far too sharp, far too distant for Revan’s liking. “What, am I ‘sposed ta tell ya where ‘m at all the fuckin’ time now?”
-
He took a breath, tried to think before speaking. Tried to think quick enough that Garvin wasn’t going to leave as he did. “Well, no, but— You’re wearing your old trench coat.”
-
“Oh, m’bad, didn’t realize y’were gon’ pick wha’ ‘m wearin’ ev’ry day now. When we g’see ya mom ain’t ‘nough fer ya an’more?”
-
That made him pause for a second, if only because of how unexpected it’d been. He couldn’t keep the exasperated confusion out of his voice when he spoke. “Is that what this is about? Seriously?”
-
Garvin was looking at the door again, the trench coat shifted. “Dunno wha’ yer talkin’ ‘bout, ‘m not the one ove’reactin’ ‘bout sumone tryna leave, so.”
-
If Revan was being honest, he thought his frustration at that was justified, given… Everything. “Overreacting? All I did was ask you where you were going! You missed breakfast, you told Akira and Nico that you were having a bad pain day, and now you’re in your old trench coat trying to go— Who knows where!? Not me, because you won’t tell me!”
-
He hadn’t really been finished speaking when Garvin shot out, “Wha’s it ta you an’ways, Row, thought ya didn’ give a shit? Fuck off.”
-
That seemed like a low blow, he’d gotten so much better about telling all of them that he cared. About trying to make sure they all knew he cared, at the very least. “Seriously? You know that I care—”
-
“Oh, yeah? Do I? Jus’ cut the fuckin’ bullshit already.” Disbelief clung to Garvin’s tone, it made Revan’s skin crawl. “You carin’? Well— Tha’s jus’ rich. A real good fuckin’ joke. ‘Ow’s ‘bout ya shut the fuck up though, huh?”
-
He was getting tired of the venom in Garvin’s voice, of Garvin not believing him when he did say he cared. “You have to be— Really?! I’m dating you!”
-
Garvin looked over again, turning to him with still too sharp, still too distant eyes that were looking past him instead of at him and sarcasm coating his tone, “Well, gee, ‘course ya care then! Guess tha’ means we’re all wrong ‘bout— Fuck— ev’ryone! Right? Wha’ ‘bout the fuckin’ ass that dated Pavo, huh? He care? Wha’ ‘bout the one tha’ dated Apus? Or tha’ dated ‘quila? Since datin’ sumone’s all ya gotta do ta care, right!?”
-
Revan tried not to ball his hands into fists, gritting his teeth for a moment. “That’s not what I—” He tried to take a breath, it didn’t feel like he got any air in. Anger bubbled instead, it was easier than figuring out how to talk to him. “I can’t with you!”
-
“Oh, yeah? Can’t what? Gotta use y’words, ‘certa!” Garvin was grinning, sharp-toothed and venomous. That was somehow more frustrating than anything else had been.
-
His voice was starting to raise more, staring at the grin on Garvin’s face, at the hand he had on the wall. “I can’t deal with you! Is me being concerned about your wellbeing, about you, really that hard for you to believe?! Is anyone being concerned about you just—”
-
The interruption hadn’t been expected, the biting tone, the anger and desperation, the way Garvin practically screamed it. “Stop— Fuckin’ lyin’ ta me! Shut the fuck up! Y’don’t give a shit! Y’aren’t fuckin’ concerned o’ whateva the fuck— You aren’t! Stop sayin’ tha’ y’are! I don’ wanna hear it!”
-
It felt like they were going around in circles, Revan was tired of it. “Stop telling me that I’m lying when I say that I care about you! Believe it or not, I do!”
-
“Oh, an’ wha’ happened ta not bein’ able ta deal wit me, hm!? Thought ya couldn’t stand me jus’ a sec’nd ago!”
-
Revan clenched his fists. “You’re right! I can’t stand you! Right now! That doesn’t mean I don’t care about you!”
-
“Sure, it doesn’t— Tell tha’ ta me when ya kick me out, why don’tcha!? Tell tha’ ta, oh I dunno, fuckin’ anyone tha’ ever has!”
-
“Will you shut up about all that?! Everyone has problems! Everyone’s been through shit! Stop—”
-
“Oh, please!” Garvin’s voice dropped into an almost mocking tone for a moment, “‘Cause ‘my mom hates me’ or ‘people died’ or ‘I work long hours at the fam’ly owned fuckin’ comp’ny, of m’own free will’ are such big fuckin’ problems ta ‘ave, huh?! News flash fer ya— People die! Tha’s jus’ wha’ they do! It don’t give ya a damn excuse ta be a dick— Even if y’mom’s one!”
-
He thought that maybe he was shaking, staring at the grin still on Garvin’s face. “Better excuse than what you have! Oh, that’s right— You don’t have one at all! Just like with everything else, right?! It’s no wonder that everyone always gets sick of you! It’s infuriating! Do you make it this fucking annoying to deal with you every time someone decides to give you a chance?!”
-
He didn’t get any response to that, and he tried to take the moment to breathe. Garvin was still grinning though, and when his mouth did open, Revan was already going again. “Oh, wait, no— No one else ever decided to even give you a chance! The only reason anyone ever let you stay before was because they decided to use you! Keep you around just long enough to get whatever they wanted from you and not a second more— I can’t even say that I blame them for that! They all made the smart move, getting rid of you before you could ruin things—”
-
He was interrupted by the front door being slammed shut by someone behind Garvin that Revan couldn’t see. A few seconds too slow, with a small grin still on his face, Garvin turned toward the door.
-
The next seconds blurred. Revan had assumed that Garvin was turning for the same reason he had leaned over slightly— To see who had slammed the front door closed. That clearly wasn’t the case when the hand Garvin had on the wall was pushed off of it, used as a way to help him get out quicker. He went right past Akira and Nico, and right through the front door. Revan couldn’t really say he was surprised. He did still have anger bubbling beneath his skin though. He turned away, letting him run.
---
When he stopped running, he’d only done so because he’d tripped over his own feet, wincing as the hand that he’d used to catch himself scraped against one of the walls of the alley he was in. He stumbled to a full stop, blinking and trying to figure out where he’d ended up. Every alleyway had always looked the same to him though, and with how blurry his eyes were, how hard it was to breathe– He couldn’t tell where he was, how far he’d gotten.
-
Did that matter though? It didn’t think it would have been followed at all. Not after whatever it had done to cause that. It swallowed past a lump in its throat and rubbed at its arms as it leaned back on the wall it’d caught itself on, trying to catch its breath. Its lungs ached in protest, and it struggled not to end up in a coughing fit. The last thing it needed was for someone to find it. Not in an alley.
-
It couldn’t go back. Even if it knew where it was, knew how to get back, it couldn’t. It’d just be told to leave again. It wasn’t sure how it’d gotten there in the first place, it wasn’t sure who the man yelling had been, who the people that’d slammed the door were. They wouldn’t want to see it again though. No matter who they were, they were angry. With it. For. Something. It didn’t know what, it wasn’t sure what had happened. It never did. If it did then maybe it’d actually learn not to do whatever it had done.
-
He bit his tongue, winced at the feeling of metal on his lips that didn’t make sense, looked at the sleeves covering the arms he was rubbing at. He didn’t remember being given the clothes he was wearing. Had he stolen them from someone? Was that what had gotten him into trouble this time? He couldn’t remember. He blinked a few times, tried to get his breathing under control enough to think straight.
-
When he stopped his quick blinking, his eyes landed on his hands. He felt his breath hitch for a second— And then he was tugging the coat off, watching as the dark grey fabric landed on the ground. As the vines and flowers on his hands didn’t, and as nice as they looked they’d get him into trouble—
-
They probably already had. It dug its teeth farther into its tongue as its throat closed on it. It stepped back against the wall of the alley that it’d caught itself on, pushing one of its hands against the bricks as its vision blurred some more. It knew better than to steal, it did. Didn’t it? It knew better.
-
It winced at the feeling of one of its arms rubbing against the wall, and realised its legs were giving out on it, forcing it into sitting down. Which wasn’t a good idea, sitting wasn’t a good idea. It didn’t need someone finding it while it couldn’t stand, or while it had to push itself back up before it could even think to run.
-
He tasted blood in his mouth, and noticed that he’d kept digging his teeth into his tongue. He stopped, forcing himself to go back to just rubbing at his arms, wincing at the feeling of the scarred skin there, at the feeling of too many hands on him. When he still started to bite down on his tongue again, he dug his nails into his arms and tried to focus on breathing again.
-
He didn’t know what to do. After what he’d just caused, however he’d caused that, the people there wouldn’t want him back. They wouldn’t. He didn’t want to be on the streets again. He couldn’t remember what’d happened the last time, he couldn’t remember when he’d gotten back off of the streets. When had the people he’d just ruined things with taken him in? How long ago?
-
Probably not very long. It didn’t behave well enough for that. It never had. It always messed everything up. It always did. It heard itself whimper, felt tears running down from its eyes. Crying wasn’t a good idea either. It didn’t really have a reason to cry. It didn’t want to be given a reason to cry. It still couldn’t stop its tears.
-
It squeezed its eyes closed for a second anyway to try. When it opened its eyes again, its sight was still blurry, but its eyes landed on the dark grey coat in front of it on the ground again. On the gravestone messily sewn onto the back. It stared at the image, blinking with an aching chest, aching lungs.
-
The idea came to him easily, nowhere even near the first time he’d had the thought. His feet felt sore, he dug his nails farther into his arms. He still couldn’t quite breathe. He raked his nails down his arms, slow, painful. He scratched at the large scars covering the back of his arms.
-
He didn’t want to die.
-
It didn’t deserve to live. It’d just keep messing things up, ruining things. Causing issues and being surprised when people didn’t let it get away without getting in trouble. Without someone at least trying to make sure it learned from its mistakes. It never did. It never would. It never would. How could it? It was still crying at nothing. It hadn’t been told anything wrong. It hadn’t even been hurt. Hadn’t been held down or beaten or anything other than yelled at. It’d gotten off easy and it was still crying. It didn’t deserve to live.
-
It didn’t want to be on the streets again either anyway. It’d be fixing two problems, at least. Probably more than that though, what with how many problems it’d caused in the past. How many rules it had broken. It didn’t think it could survive the streets again anyway, so it’d really only be speeding up the process. No one would even notice, not until its body was found, if it ever was.
-
He managed to take a deeper breath than he’d been managing. He blinked a few times, and glanced around the alleyway he was in. He didn’t know the area. Every alley looked the same, or at least everything about them that he cared to notice was always the same. He wasn’t sure if any of the ones he’d been in before had ever had a skip bin like the one he was in at the moment though. He couldn’t remember. They probably had.
-
He almost thought he was having an easier time breathing, as he pushed himself into standing up, using the wall behind him for support… As if he didn’t need any more reasons to follow through. Either way, he swallowed past the lump that still seemed to be in his throat, and forced himself toward the skip bin.
-
Something caught the light as it made its way over, and it looked over to see broken glass on the ground. It wasn’t sure what had broken, it wasn’t sure how long the glass had been on the ground. It didn’t think any of that really mattered though. So it pushed off of the wall towards the broken glass. It at least knew that glass was always sharp. It’d picked up enough shards to know, stood and knelt on enough shards to know.
-
It realised its arms were already bleeding when it reached for one of the larger shards. It bit at its sore tongue, felt its throat closing on it again. It wasn’t bleeding all that much, it was even bleeding less than it usually did when it scratched. It really had to stop doing that though. People didn’t do that.
-
It picked up the glass shard it’d been reaching for, held and moved the glass in its hand, watching as blood pricked up from its palm. It tightened its hold, shifting and stepping back toward the wall of the alley that it’d pushed off of. It lowered itself to the ground as its back met the bricks.
-
Dying next to a skip bin seemed about right for him. He shifted how he was holding the shard, running his fingers along the edges to find the sharpest one. When he did, he held the edge out so that one would be the one used. He swallowed past the lump in his throat, tried to still his hands, and looked down at the inside of his arms.
-
It didn’t remember getting all of the scars that were there, it didn’t think that mattered. There was a long one on either arm though, and that seemed like a good enough plan as any. It pushed the shard into its arm, and followed the long scar that it didn’t remember getting. So long as it died, it didn’t care about how the scar had gotten there or how the scar had a matching one on its other arm.
-
When it reached the end of the scar, it switched the hand holding the glass, watching the blood flowing out of the arm it had already cut. It didn’t watch for long, not wanting to lose feeling in its hand and not be able to do the other. So it pushed the shard into the long scar on its other arm and followed that one too.
-
It reached the end of that one sooner than it had the other, it thought. It wasn’t sure though, it didn’t know what that would mean anyway either. It didn’t think there really was any meaning. It wasn’t sure if both of its arms would be enough, all of the other scars on its arms made it think that it hadn’t done enough though.
-
He blinked a few times, held the shard tighter in his hand to make sure he still had feeling, and stabbed the glass into his leg through the pants he had probably stolen. Just in case the arms weren’t enough. He dragged the shard down to his knee, a much slower process than the arms had been because of the pants in the way.
-
The next breath it took seemed heavy. It let go of the shard still in its leg and leaned back against the wall to wait, closing its eyes. It ignored the burning behind its eyes, ignored the shiver that ran through it. It tried not to curl, it wasn’t sure if it did or not.
Winter 
Day Weather: 
