Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Life in Coolsville really wasn’t all that cool. 

Your only friend, Sam, was constantly working. And your boss had a habit of making things sound better than they actually were. You knew that truth almost as soon as you got the job, you lost it. 

Your family lived hours away, and your luck on dating apps had been shit. Most people were weird about trans guys in real life, just imagine the questions you got on dating apps.

Not to mention, Coolsville was in the middle of nowhere. So you didn’t feel like driving an hour out into the city for a first date that would probably suck. 

Your love life was trash. Your friendship was fading into nothing. Your job was nothing.

So you fell back into some old habits. 

As a high schooler, you became addicted to the knife. Well that’s more of a metaphor. What you really became addicted to was a disassembled pencil sharpener. Or a lit match. Or a razor blade. Or a lighter. Or a— yeah we get the picture. 

You were addicted to pain. The way it comforted you whenever everything else was out of control. The way it released all of your pent up emotions. The way it held you so, so gently as you felt an ache in your thigh or a sting on your shoulder. 

You never told anyone about this though. Oh no. They just wouldn’t understand. They would tell you it was harmful, or worse, they’d lock you up somewhere. 

But once you moved into this new house, it felt like all eyes were on you as you did it. You could have sworn that the AC had gotten cooler, icy almost. Doors would jam until you gave up on the urge to hurt yourself in your normal locations. Lights would flicker and the power would turn off so you couldn’t see anything. Shower and bath water wouldn’t get too hot like it did in your old houses whenever you wanted to scald yourself. 

Then you got these glasses. Dateviators. Some guy told you he took the technology from Valdivian and entrusted it to you. 

The idiot. 

You laughed your ass off whenever the guy claimed that these glasses could bring objects to life. Like seriously, who would even—

“What’s up betches! Today I’m here to show you my daily routine. Wait a second my lovely Luxies.” The person that appeared out of thin air turned towards you and raised an eyebrow, “Can’t you go, like, be mentally ill somewhere else? I’m live-streaming.” 

You threw the glasses to the ground and ran away squealing. 

Somehow the light turning into an insanely hot twink wasn’t bad enough. 

The fact was they knew   you were mentally ill. 

You had hundreds of people aware of your little habits.

You proceeded to run to the bathroom and throw up in a toilet. 

Then you felt guilty about throwing up in a toilet-person. 

Chapter Text

You curl up on your bed and try not to freak out. Glasses on, you speak to a lovely woman named Betty for a short period of time. 

“I’m sorry, I’m just struggling to process this. All of the objects can see me all of the time? God, you guys must hate me.” You say, face flushed with embarrassment. There were dozens of humiliating moments that came to mind. Mostly mental breakdowns. 

You hated the idea of anyone seeing you cry, and this wasn’t helpful in making you feel better in the slightest. 

“Well, yes we can see you! All of the time, that is. But we don’t hate you. On the contrary, actually.” Betty said. Her sweet, gentle voice did little to soothe the pounding in your heart. 

“Jesus…” you groan and grab a pillow to scream into. You stop once you notice that Betty is wincing and you apologize profusely. 

“It’s alright dear. I want you to behave as you normally do. I don’t want your new situation to cause you any stress.” 

“It’s a little late for that, Betty.” You sigh and thank her for her comfort anyways. 

You decide it’s best to face this predicament head on. You keep the glasses on constantly, refusing to miss the watchful eyes on you. 

Except whenever you shower or use the bathroom. You’d much rather not stare at the Frenchman rapper or the Johnny Cash wannabe whenever doing those deeds.

You’re texting Sam on your phone about all of this whenever cold air brushes against your cheek. You look up and hear some sound coming from the vents. 

“Hello?” You ask and tilt your head. The vents clamor a little, like someone is moving inside of them. You stand up on your bed and tap the vent’s edge.

“Sorry, I didn’t mean to interrupt. You just looked too warm, I wanted to help.” A voice tells you. 

“You aren’t interrupting anything, don’t worry. My friend is too busy to talk right now anyways…” You explain.

It wasn’t a lie. Sam was able to keep her job, unlike you. She wouldn’t have to worry about her bills getting paid, or what she was going to eat. Meanwhile you were on your second week of eating canned beans to save money. You had applied to some other places, but AI was unfortunately taking over every position you were qualified for. 

“Too busy?” The voice asks. You shrug. 

“Work. It’s a human thing.” You try to explain, “Because we need money. And capitalism is a bitch.” 

“But you don’t have work.” The voice reminds you, he’s not intending to be rude, but the words cut just the same.

“Yeahhh… I’m trying to amend that.” You say and sit back down on the bed. You stare up at the vent and tilt your head like an intrigued puppy. “Who are you?”

“I’m Hector. I’m your HVAC unit.” 

“Oh thank God for you.” You say, immediately impressed and appreciative of Hector. One thing Coolsville was infamous for was its climate. Hot, heated summers. Icy, frigid winters. 

You had learned early on to buy the best of the best when it came to AC and heating units. Thankfully, it has always been there for you with no issues. Or should you say… he? 

“Thank God… for me?” Hands appear out of the gaps in the vent grates. You acknowledge them, trying to picture a face to them. You notice tan skin, calloused hands. You wonder what the rest of him looks like.

“Yes! It’s so hot out there,” you point outside the window, “I’m thankful for you.” 

“No, no, no. You should not be thankful for me. I am the one who is thankful for you, for the opportunity to shelter you. To protect you from the outside weather. It’s an honor.” Hector states. You feel a blush creep across your cheeks and you look away for a moment. 

You weren’t used to people doing things for you. Much less being happy about it. Your father complained about every dollar you cost him, and he was always too busy to bond with you as a child. 

“Hector, you’re too nice.” You settle on. But Hector waves his hands frantically.

“It’s the truth, Y/N. You’re amazing, and it is my honor to watch as the air circulates around you. It is my pride and joy to watch as you relax into my temperatures. I wouldn’t want it any other way.” Hector tells you. 

You are certain you are flushing as red as a tomato now, so you quickly thank Hector and then bury yourself under the blankets, saying you are tired. 

Hector cools the room a little bit more, as if he knows you like it freezing whenever you sleep. He does it without you even asking, and you wonder just how many details about you he knows.

And how could he possibly like those details? 

Whenever you are certain he’s gone, you stare at yourself in the mirror. You lift your hoodie to squeeze at the fat on your stomach and you let your hands roam over your chest, as if willing it to become flatter. You sigh and open your dresser drawers. You pull out a binder, and you hear a dainty voice appear near the alarm clock.

“Again? Isn’t the schedule for binding eight hours?” Timothy asks. You turn and glare at him. 

“Today it’s nine.” You argue.

“But the schedule—“ 

“Today it’s nine.” You say again and rip the glasses off of your face. 

It’s only been two days and you can already tell: 

This is going to be a nightmare. 

Chapter Text

You have a routine. Somewhat. It involves staying in bed until noon, relocating on the couch to doomscroll on TikTok, and then pace the house thinking about how other people live better lives than you do. 

And repeat.

Most of the objects express some form of concern. Mac especially, they keep blocking all of your purchases from going through! 

“I don’t see the harm.” You tell them and cross your arms one evening.

“That’s kind of ironic. But seriously, I cannot allow you to purchase all these sharp objects. What do you even need an exacto knife for?” Mac asks. 

“An art project, you nosy computer.” 

“According to Timothy and Lux, you haven’t been up to your art projects in a matter of weeks. You also haven’t been scrolling Pinterest for ideas at all, like you used to do. Assuming this all is true, you are lying.” 

“Just, get out of my Amazon account!” You beg. Mac says nothing, and you groan as you give up. You walk over to the living room and flop onto the couch. 

You still have plenty of razors and pencil sharpeners, but they are getting dull. They weren’t giving the same sting that they did whenever they were brand new. And the pencil sharpeners were getting just the slightest bit rusty from use during showers… 

Showers that you now know were aware of every drip of blood down the drain. 

You cringe, mentally wondering how you could ever make it up to Johnny Splash. 

You’d leave the house to go to your local Walmart, but tinfoilhat said not to. Besides, that required energy. 

And you had very little of that these recent days. 

Depression is often confused with being just plain sad all the time. Which could be true, you did feel pretty damn sad constantly.

But it was more than that. It was feeling an overwhelming sense of exhaustion that you couldn’t beat. It was a sense of numbness that drove you to insanity. It was feeling like you were drowning but still breathing all at the same time. 

You hated yourself for feeling so hopeless. You weren’t sure if you’d ever feel happy again. Were you ever happy in the first place? 

You weren’t sure. 

This shadow has haunted you for as long as you can remember. No, not Skips, but a different kind of shadow. A shadow on your soul.

Yikes, you sounded like an edgy AF middle schooler whenever you put it that way. 

But it was the truth, nonetheless. 

You curl up on the couch and begin to scroll on Instagram for God knows how long. Your chest starts to hurt from how long you’ve been binding. 

But you welcome the pain. The light stabbing in your ribs is much appreciated. You hadn’t been able to self harm out of guilt ever since you learned of the object’s existence. 

Overbinding was the only thing keeping you sane. 

“Y/N?” Hector asked through the vents. You glance up to the wall and adjust your Dateviators. 

“Yeah?”

“Are you alright? I couldn’t help but notice that you look to be in pain.” Hector asked gently. You close your eyes and debate taking off the glasses to ignore him. 

But that would be unfair to him. From what you’ve gathered from the other objects, he has self-confidence issues that rival your own. He wouldn’t even show his face to anyone! 

“Just some heartburn. I’ll be alright.” 

“Is there some medication you can take? I’m sure Farya knows something that could help.” Hector offers, so sweetly. You hate lying to him, but it’s better than admitting you’re binding your chest to a painful degree. 

Plus, you weren’t really keen on discussing trans subjects with the objects just yet. It was an awkward thing for you to talk about with people you already knew well. 

You knew you were valid. You knew that your identity deserved to be respected. But you also felt an inkling of shame when other people looked at you a certain way.

You didn’t want to deal with that with any of the objects that lived in your house. 

It may not be in a disrespectful taste, but people can look at trans people in a way that others them. It hurts, and you pretend it doesn’t, but it does.

You are now overly aware of your body being so wrong. You are aware that people will always look at you as a freak. You are aware of every little detail you wish you could forget. 

“Y/N?” Hector asks. He’s been speaking and you haven’t responded. You feel horrible for ignoring him.

“Sorry, I’m just stuck in my own head.” You admit. You sit up on the couch and weakly smile at him, “Thank you for caring.”

“I’ll always care for you.” Hector assures you and reaches his hand out, as if he wants to leave the vent and hug you, but he returns back in place. Safely hidden in the darkness. 

“I’m not sure you want to.” You say, out loud, without meaning to. 

“Why would you ever say that? I adore you.”

“You shouldn’t.” You say, looking away from him. 

“Y/N, please don’t say such things. It makes my heart ache knowing that you feel you don’t deserve my support and appreciation.” Hector says, voice tight with emotion. 

“I don’t even understand why you care so much! You don’t even know me!” You shout and get up, leaving Hector to go to the bathroom. You lock the door, which immediately unlocks.

“Dorian, I’m not gonna off myself.” You say gruffly. Dorian appears and shrugs.

“Sorry, love. I promised the others to not let you lock any doors when you’re upset.”

“I’m not upset!” You shout again. Dorian looks unconvinced and turns around, standing guard. You groan and look at Johnny Splash and Jean Loo. You wince, remembering how you threw up in Jean Loo the other day.

“Hey… so about the other day—“

“It’s fine,” Jean Loo waves off the apology before you even can start it, his French accent prominent as always, “It actually inspired a new beat for my latest single.” 

Jean Loo proceeds to rap about vomit and crap. You try not to look utterly appalled that his rhymes are somewhat comparing your mental state to shit. 

“Pow-pow! Boots and cats and boots and cats and boots and craps!” Jean Loo finishes. You glance at Johnny Splash, who looks enthralled by his rapping beats. 

“My, my, Jean Loo! That may be your best single yet! It’s always an honor to share this lovely little room with a fellow artist.” Johnny Splash applauds. 

“Don’t compare me to your “artistry”.” Jean Loo spits out. Johnny looks hurt. You stand up and clasp his shoulder.

“Ignore the toilet. I much prefer your style, Splash.” You tell him. Johnny lights up, and Jean Loo rolls his eyes. 

“Clearly your sanity is broken.” Jean Loo disses you. You glare at him.

“Don’t make me get Curt and Rod. They’ll even tell you that your shade crosses a line.” You warn. Jean Loo shuts up after that, but he still looks unhappy. 

“If you want to hear more of me, you should go to the Breaker Box tonight!” Johnny says excitedly and changes the subject. 

You knew of the Breaker Box. A club that somehow has been running in your house for who knows how long. Volt and Eddie ran the thing, but the first time you met Eddie he made you utterly spiral. 

The man was blunt, far too stand-offish, and he made you feel like an intruder in your own home. Your rejection sensory dysphoria went off the charts and you had to excuse yourself. You heard Volt chide him as you left, but Eddie responded.

“What? It’s not my fault his feelings get hurt too easily.” 

Which made you spiral even more. 

You weren’t exactly dreaming of the day you returned to the Breaker Box… but Johnny looks so hopeful.

“Okay. I’ll go.” You say. Johnny cheers and hugs you.

“Thank ‘ya, gorgeous!” Johnny thanks you.

Hopefully nothing bad happens tonight.

Chapter Text

“What about this?” Lux asks. They hold up a stylish short sleeved button up and high waisted pants. You stare at the sleeves and look down at your long sleeves that you are currently wearing.

“I’m not in the mood to ruin the party with my unsightly arms.” You say bluntly. Although there was nothing too fresh, you still felt the need to cover them up. Especially since they were still scabbing over. 

“You’re right. The only one that would be into that would be Rebel, and they’d probably like, get freaky about it.” Lux puts a finger on their lip and starts wondering out loud. “But it’s hot in the club. You’re going to be wearing a binder, correct?”

“Uh, yes?” You flush.

“No need to be embarrassed, doll. It’s just a garment. I’m just concerned you’re gonna like, have a heatstroke.” Lux says, showing some form of worry. 

“I’ll ask Hector to keep the AC on extra cool.” You sigh. 

“Didn’t you yell at him?” Lux asks, looking disinterested and now going back on their phone. They take a few selfies and look back to you, waiting for an answer. 

“You heard that?”

“Doll, the entire house has been discussing it.”

“Does anyone here know about the concept of privacy?”

“The concept of what now?” 

“Just forget it.” You sigh and start pacing. You weren’t mean to Hector yesterday, but shouting at him definitely wasn’t kind either. And leaving the conversation with no warning was slightly rude, especially whenever all Hector was doing was asking about you. 

“He’s not mad.” Lux said after a moment. They sit down on the bed beside you, looking at their nails, “He’s just like, hurt. Or whatever. He’s a sensitive guy, I personally don’t get it. I would never let anyone get me down like that. But of course, everyone loves me so I don’t have that issue to worry about.” 

“You are possibly the worst person to go to for advice.” 

“Lies! I have my own advice blog, and it has so many followers. Everyone is dying to hear my perspective on their useless little lives.” 

“Sure.” You agree, just to get them to shut up about their blog. Which they bring up every time you meet up with them. 

You choose a long sleeved black button up to wear, and put on some cross earrings and silver chain necklace. All of the items were Lux Approved, of course. 

After shooing them out of your room, because they were starting to film a livestream, you stand on your bed and tap the vents on your ceiling.

“Hector?” You ask. 

There, Hector’s hands come out of the vents. You smile softly as you sense his calming, gentle presence.

“Hey, I just wanted to apologize for yesterday. I was having a bad day, and I snapped at you.” You say. 

“Oh, it’s okay Y/N. You had every right to be upset. I came into your life, full of flowery language and affection. But you haven’t gotten a chance to know me, to meet me really. I know you almost intimately from all these months watching you. You… you probably think of me as some creep.”

“I don’t!” You say, grabbing his hands and smiling softly at him, “I appreciate your candor. I just don’t understand it, that’s all. All you have seen… I wouldn’t be so sure I could love someone so broken.” 

“Darling, you aren’t broken. You may be struggling, but that doesn’t make you unloveable.” Hector says softly. You shrug, not really sure how truthful his words are. He squeezes your hands firmly, and says “I do not lie. I have watched you. I have heard your laugh, memorized the intricacies of your smile. There is so much beauty in you dear, you just can’t see it.” 

“I’m just a mistake.” You whisper. You recall the memories of lost friendships, strained familial relationships, and failed romantic pursuits. Your transness has forever made you feel like a mistake, like you don’t belong in the world like your cisgender counterparts. 

“Don’t say that.” Hector caresses your hand, stroking it oh so gently. 

“It’s the truth.”

“It might be your truth, but that doesn’t make it true. I saw you, earlier with Johnny and Jean Loo. You cheered Johnny up and defended him. You’ve always opened your home to Sam whenever she’s struggling. Ever since you learned of us, you treat the objects here with such respect. You’re a good person, Y/N. A good man.” Hector says. He tried to get every point across with love. You tear up and shake your head. 

“You don’t know me. All I do is cause trouble for other people. My dad—“

“Oh. Him.” Hector removes his hand from yours and cracks his knuckles. You raise an eyebrow. “Phoenicia has made us more than aware of him. I recommend you ignore anything he says. He’s your parent, he shouldn’t be treating you like a burden whenever you didn’t even ask to be born. You should be treated with gentleness, respect, and compassion. All of which your father lacks.” 

It’s almost impressive how expressive Hector’s hands are as he speaks. He speaks with such vigor and care, it’s almost enough to make you believe him. 

“But what if he’s right?” You ask earnestly. 

“But what if he’s wrong.” Hector urges. You say nothing. He grabs your hand again and holds it oh so sweetly. “Y/N, give me a chance to prove I speak the truth. Please, get to know me.” 

You agree. 

After your conversation with Hector, you get changed in the empty closet in your room. The other one is filled with objects, such as the Hanks. This one you are safe from watchful eyes (specifically Hank 3, who seemed to be quite taken with you). Of course Wallace can still see you, but he doesn’t seem too invested in you changing. He only liked talking about walls, not the concerning state of your body. 

As you change, you trace over your butchered arm and thighs. You swallow, silently being torn with yourself.

On one hand, you hated yourself for doing this to your body.

On the other hand, you wanted to destroy it even further. 

You hug yourself in the closet and sink down to the ground. Your binder fits snugly on you and you start to wonder if you need a new size. Ever since you started testosterone, you’ve gained more weight and muscle mass. It’s redistributed how your fat lays on you, and your clothes don’t fit like they used to. Namely in the shoulders, which were getting broader by the day. 

Of course buying a new one requires money you don’t have. 

You sigh and pull at the fabric, relishing in the slight relief you receive from the lack of pressure. 

You hate your chest. You hate how it never seems flat enough. You hate how it swells up over your torso. You hate how obvious it makes your sex. 

You feel nauseous and overly aware of your body. You pull on your button up and pants before exiting the closet. You go to your dresser and pull at the drawer that holds your blades.

Not to your surprise, Daemon keeps the drawer closed shut.

“You’ve got to be kidding me.” You say, but you don’t argue. Daemon low-key scared you, as they were a literal unpredictable glitch, and you didn’t want to get on their bad side. 

“Self harming is against the schedule.” A voice warns, sounding both concerned and annoyed at the same time. You turn around and face your alarm clock, staring at Timothy with disdain.

“Mind your buisness.” You order. Timothy doesn’t look offended, he merely stretches and yawns.

“Well then, I guess you don’t want me to tell you that you’re going to be late to the Breaker Box show.” 

“Shit! You’re right!” You snatch your jewelry and put it on quickly. You dash out of the room, shouting a thank you to Timothy. He tells you to have fun, and you suppose your dynamic is still safe from ruin due to your… habits. 

At the Breaker Box, you smile softly at Volt and Eddie. 

“Hey guys! I’m here to see Johnny Splash. I want to wish him good luck.” You say. Eddie scoffs.

“He’ll need it.” Eddie says. Volt elbows him and gestures to the door, welcoming you in.

“That’s so kind of you, live wire. I knew you were a sweetheart.” Volt says and smiles, “And don’t you look ravishing tonight.” 

“Thank you. Lux helped me pick something out.” You smile.

“Of course they did.” Eddie replies. He looks you over and shrugs, “But you do look good.” 

You grin, pleased that Eddie finally is having a positive interaction with you. 

Volt sits you down at a table and you watch as Johnny goes up on stage. You cheer him on as the rest of the audience boos, and you congratulate him whenever he is done singing. 

“Here gorgeous, have a drink! On me.” Johnny says. He hands Volt a few bills, and Volt responds by pouring you a shot glass. 

You stare at the drink. 

Suddenly you get an idea.

You’ve spent so long without being allowed to be self destructive… you take the drink and down it all in one gulp. 

“Another one.” You challenge with a glint in your eyes.

As your buzz gets higher and more prominent, the less your pain feels. 

You had spent your entire life drowning in the darkness that was depression. Your heart was always racing from anxious thoughts. You loathed yourself, and your body so deeply.

Alcohol made you forget about it all. At least for a little while.

You don’t know exactly what happens, but the next thing you recall is that you wake up on your bed in sweatpants and a hoodie. 

Chapter Text

“What happened?” You ask Lux as you wash your face. They’re sitting on the toilet lid (which Jean Loo doesn’t appreciate at all) and swinging their legs back and forth like a wistful child would.

“Oh? You mean at the Breaker Box? Yeah you got flat out drunk and started sobbing about your miserable life. Volt brought you to your room.” Lux says and takes a selfie. You bang your head on the sink. Sinclaire whimpers, and you whisper hushed apologies to him. 

“Was it Volt who changed my clothes?” 

“No, I doubt he’d do that. From what Betty said, he just tossed you on the bed.” Lux hums. You sigh and look at your tired eyes. 

You had spent the majority of the morning throwing up in the trash can and apologizing to the objects for being such a mess. 

You loved the buzz of alcohol, but the sickness probably would deter you from using it again. 

“So how many objects know about my meltdown?”

“Mostly everyone. But please, don’t get into a fuss about it. Everyone gets drunk and makes mistakes now and then. I once drank too much and forgot to take off my makeup. My skin the next day was horrid.” Lux tries to comfort you. You decide it’s best not to compare things with them.

“What exactly did I say?” You ask. That’s when Lux visibly cringes and looks away.

“You begged Volt to electrocute you out of your misery.” They spit out.

You bang your head on the sink again. 

“That’s it! I’m never leaving my room again!” You say and turn off the sink. You storm out of the bathroom and go up the stairs. You always feel guilty walking up your stairs now, even though Stella says it doesn’t hurt. 

You flop on your bed and text Sam, asking her what’s up with her life. Oh, she just got a raise. And a girlfriend! Meanwhile you are a suicidal depressed mess! 

You lay on the bed for hours. Not moving. Not speaking. Just wasting time.

Timothy reminds you to eat, but you can’t move. You feel nothing but sadness. Your body aches and you can’t function the way you know you should. 

You’re exhausted, but you can’t seem to fall asleep. You changed into your binder this morning (you’re still horrified that someone in the house took it off of you last night) and you’re still wearing it. The pain of it is refreshing. 

You know you should get up and eat something, but you just don’t feel hungry. You sometimes go hours or days without anything but a mere snack. 

Depression is known to mess with your appetite. It can either increase it significantly… or bring it down to nothing. You were the latter. Although despite the fact you rarely ate, you still weren’t exactly thin. On the chubbier side, to be honest. 

That was more of an issue whenever you were Pre-T. Back then your fat enhanced your curves and made you feel too nauseous to look in the mirror for days at a time. 

You were still learning to love your body as it was, but at least now it looked more like a masculine build. 

“Y/N?” A voice asks you. You stare up at the ceiling vent and wave weakly. Even moving your hand zaps all of the energy out of you. 

You hardly have the energy to speak or keep your eyes open. You just want to zone out for a little while longer. 

“Hi, I just wanted to make sure you were feeling alright after your hangover. Farya has left some aspirin for you in the drawer of your nightstand. I got her to change your clothes last night too. I thought it wouldn’t be as creepy if a doctor did it, rather than me. I just wanted you to be comfortable.” Hector says sheepishly.

Ah. So Farya changed you out of your binder. True, it was monumentally less humiliating because she was a doctor. 

“Thank you.” You say, but your voice sounds strained. You’re so tired from feeling like this constantly. It’s catching up to you, whether you want it to or not. 

“Dear, are you alright?”

“I feel so lonely, Hector.” You admit, “I feel like no one understands me, or wants to. I feel like a mess. I don’t even want to be alive half of the time. I doubt anyone would notice, or care.” 

The vent unhatches and out comes a handsome, soft featured man with kind eyes and curly hair. You watch as he kneels in front of the bed and grabs your hands. 

“I would care. So much.” Hector brings your hand to his cheek and holds it there. “Your life has so much value, more than you could ever know. God, I wish I could show you the beauty inside of you. You’re so perfect, Y/N. And I want to understand you. I want to know your favorite songs and movies. I want to know what makes you laugh and what makes you cry. I want to be the one to hold you, to care for you. It’s okay if you’re a mess, we can be messes together.” 

You feel your eyes start to water and you force yourself up to hug Hector. This man, this kind man, always seems to know what to say. You hug him and sob. 

“I don’t know how to keep going.” You cry out to him. He strokes your hair and holds you close. 

“Just one breath at a time. You got this. I believe in you. One breath at a time.” 

So you decide to keep trying. 

You ask Hector to help you up and help you to the kitchen, and you both cook a delightful lunch together. It’s no secret that Hector is shy about being out of the vents, so you do everything you can to make him comfortable.

“I love your eyes.” You say and hold his face in your hands as pasta boils in a pot, “They look beautiful.” 

“My dear, the true beauty is you.” Hector says.

“No, it’s you.” 

“Dear God, get a room.” Lux gags as they pass through the kitchen. You and Hector blush, then burst out laughing. 

You both enjoy a lunch date together, and you get Hector to accept one singular compliment! Huzzah! 

That night, you ask Hector to stay and cuddle for a while. You’ve always dealt with insomnia due to anxiety, and being alone made things tremendously harder on you. 

Hector agrees and gets in bed with you. 

At first it is awkward, but you allow him to spoon you. You hold his hand over your chest and you start to drift off peacefully—

“Y/N! Your binder!” Hector says. You freeze and hug your knees to your chest. You hadn’t expected him to notice. But it is Hector, he notices everything. 

“…Yeah?”

“How long have you been wearing it? Beauty, how long were you planning on continuing to wear it?” 

“Until my next shower date with Johnny Splash tomorrow morning.” You admit. Which is the truth. You recently have only been taking off your binder to bathe. The pains in your ribs have been almost unbearable. And you loved it. 

“Beauty, you can’t do this to yourself.” 

“We were having such a nice day, do we have to do this?” You ask, already feeling your defenses go up. 

“Yes, we do.” And Hector sounds genuinely apologetic. He hugs you, and you shrug him off. A hurt look flashes across his face, and you wish Lux would turn off the lamp so you wouldn’t have to see it. 

“Your health is so incredibly important.” Hector tries. He puts his hand over your heart and focuses on the feeling of it beating. “I know it’s hard, but you can’t do this.”

“I’m not really the poster kid for caring about my health.” You quip. Hector’s concern etched onto his face even more deeply at that. 

“You have no idea how long I’ve watched you hurt yourself. I spent months wanting to reach out to you, to care for you and make it stop. And now that I can, I can’t let you do this any longer—“

“You don’t let me do anything.” Your walls are up, your breath is quickening. “It’s my body, you have no right to what happens with it! Has this all been some game of control for you? So you can be my savior? Well you can’t save me! I’m fucked!” 

You sob and stand up, pacing around the room.

“You, this entire damn house! You want me to baby proof everything, even my own damn mind! But I can’t. This pain? The pain you all won’t let me release? It’s always there! And it’s never going to go away!” 

“Remember what I said, one breath at a time—“

“I’m tired of this!” You shout and you leave the room. You go to the bathroom and lock the door. 

Of course, Dorian unlocks it. 

“Dorian, shut up!” You say and lock the door again. You give up when it unlocks a second time, and you reach for your razor. Unfortunately, Bathsheba appears and snatches it out of your hand. 

“Girl be so fucking for real.” You try to reach for it, but she’s taller than you and holds it high above your head.

“Hector! A little help here!” Bathsheba yells. Hector comes bursting in. He and Dorian hold you back from losing it on Bathsheba. 

You are strong, yes, but you are also tired. And two against one isn’t a fair fight. You go limp and start sobbing, begging for the blade. 

“Hush, it’s okay now. It’s all alright.” Hector says and wipes away your tears. You hate how even after you lost it on him, he still wants to comfort you. 

“Hector, take him to bed. Try to get his binder off if you can.” Dorian says politely. Hector nods and carries you back to the bedroom.

You awkwardly sit on the bed and watch as Hector sits down at your desk chair. 

“So. Your binder.” Hector treads carefully, knowing that it’s clearly a touchy subject with how you reacted. 

“I know.” You sigh and tap your foot anxiously. “I was so desperate to feel the pain, I tried anything I could. I didn’t want you to take that away from me.” 

“I know sweetheart. I know it must be hard, especially with your dysphoria. But I am always here for you and we can try to find better coping mechanisms together. What about changing into a sports bra?” Hector asks gently. You nod after a moment and agree. 

You go into your closet and change into a sports bra and baggy sweater. You come out with your arms crossed over your chest. 

“Happy?” You ask with a glare. Hector laughs softly and gets up to hug you. 

“Extremely, my beauty. Now let’s get some sleep. We’ll talk more in the morning.”