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It was freezing. The torn shreds of his clothing did little to protect him from the cold. He stared down at his shaking hands, hidden within a pair of faded mittens. His fingertip poked out of a small hole in one of them. They used to be a bright red, or so he assumed. But now they were fading and dirty with stains. Still, they provided his hands with some amount of warmth.
Despite the tiny ounce of comfort they provided him, they also filled him with a feeling of dread. They didn’t belong to him. Ultimately, he was certain they didn’t belong to anyone anymore, but they most certainly weren’t his. Nothing was his, not even his own life.
He’d found them. One had fallen from the trash, and he’d then proceeded to pull the other one from the bin. They weren’t even that badly damaged, just a small hole and some wear and tear. But apparently for the prior owner, it was easier to just replace them with a pair that was brand new.
If he were back home, he would have taken them to his mom, asking her to help teach him how to repair the hole. She’d help him get the materials to fix it and show him how to fix it in case it got another. But she wasn’t here. And so the hole remained.
He pressed his hands to his face, trying to warm up his cheeks. He’d just come in from the snowy world outside, and it was such a struggle to warm up once more. If he closed his eyes, he could almost imagine it was his sister, pressing her hands to his cheeks and holding him close when the nights got cold.
He was so caught up in his fantasies of home, a place where he was loved, that he didn’t hear the angry footsteps coming towards him until they were far too close to him for him to ignore.
“Number 35.” An angry voice shouted down at him, causing him to jump and look up at the angry man now standing before him. His master. “Did you really think that job was acceptable? And you’re still tracking snow in here? What was even the point of giving you boots if you’re still this fucking careless?”
He opened his mouth to form a response, taking a small step back. “I just wanted to warm up a bit-” It was cold. He couldn’t bear it anymore.
“Enough.” The man was clearly pissed, and he couldn’t tell if it was something unrelated, or if the man really just hated his entire existence that much. The man’s eyes locked on the mittens still on his hands. “You stupid thief. You filthy Avgin scum.”
His eyes widened as his hair was roughly grabbed, yanking at the matted blond strands. He’s been hiding the mittens so well. Why did he have to be so careless now? His head was slammed into the wall, causing his vision to spin.
“Useless. Fucking. Slave.” Each word was punctuated with another slam into the wall.
“Please stop-” He gasped out, tears welling up in his eyes. His pleads were only met with more of the abuse. His instincts were to fight back, hands reaching up to claw at the arm attached to the hand gripping his hair, but the stupid mittens blocked his nails from causing any damage. The stupid mittens. He shouldn’t have grabbed them in the first place. Look where it got him.
Who was he to think he deserved any ounce of comfort?
His vision grew dark as he felt a bit of warmth slide down the side of his head and his cheek. Was he allowed to derive comfort from his unconsciousness?
There were hands on him. It was dark when he opened his eyes. He couldn’t see or think clearly. He thrashed against the hands on him, which only caused them to firm up against him. His legs were caught up in something, restricting his movement. His upper body was free to move. And he wasn’t about to let anyone restrict him further.
He flailed his arms around until he grabbed onto something. He dug in, feeling soft flesh beneath his nails. He lunged forwards, finding himself suddenly crashing down on top of someone. He sat upon them, hands finding their way to the person’s neck.
His hands wrapped firmly around their throat, squeezing down hard, applying some of his body weight while he dug his nails in to do as much damage as quickly as possible. He had to fight for his life, for his chance to make his escape, even if it came at the risk of further abuse.
He could feel the hands wrapping around his own, trying to pry his fingers from their throat. It was gentle, like this person wasn’t trying to hurt him. He knew better, however.
At least he thought he did. The moment he actually chose to focus on who his so-called attacker was, his eyes widened in realization. Lit up by a small, duck shaped night-light plugged into the wall beside them was a set of crimson eyes staring up at him.
Aventurine quickly pulled his hands away from Ratio’s neck, letting himself collapse on top of him. He pressed his face into his chest, wrapping his arms around him. He realized now that he was on the floor of their shared bedroom, legs tangled up in their comforter.
Ratio slowly draped an arm across Aventurine’s back. His other hand found its way into Aventurine’s hair, gently stroking it. “You’re okay, Gambler.”
“I’m sorry,” Aventurine mumbled into Ratio’s chest. He could feel his racing heart beginning to slow. Ratio was so warm. A stark contrast to his worst memories. “I didn’t hurt you, did I?”
“No, no. I’m alright. It’ll probably be bruised at the worst.”
“People are going to think I’m abusing you,” Aventurine mumbled once more, a small hint of humor in his voice this time. He was grateful for Ratio, who never seemed enraged when things like this happened. Back in the early parts of their relationship, he felt the need to apologize constantly when his trauma responses got the better of him.
But now he knew he was safe. Ratio loved him.
“It’s winter, nobody will question a scarf around my neck. Do not fret,” Ratio reassured. His grip on Aventurine tightened a little, his other arm wrapping around him so they were hugging while laying on the floor. “Sorry for coming home so late.”
“It’s fine.” Aventurine shifted his head so his ear was against Ratio’s chest. His heart was racing a bit as well. Seems like Aventurine really did startle him. “I knew you’d be late. You told me after all. It was just cold in bed without you.”
“I’m sorry, love. Will a warm cup of tea make you feel better?”
“Make it hot chocolate with marshmallows and we have a deal.”
Aventurine watched Ratio from the stool at the kitchen island. The warm smell of chocolate wafted to his nose as Ratio made him some hot chocolate at the stove, and the taste of marshmallows was sweet in his mouth.
“Gambler, please stop eating all the marshmallows. You won’t have any for your hot chocolate at this rate.”
Aventurine huffed like a child being scolded, but pulled his hand out of the marshmallow bag. He rested his chin on his hand instead, silently watching Ratio from behind as he worked.
What had he done to deserve such a man?
Their home was warm, and Ratio made sure Aventurine knew he was loved. Whether it was a verbal “I love you”, or nonverbal cuddling in bed, it was clear that Aventurine was cared for. And even not, after trying to strangle his lover, he was still receiving a homemade cup of hot chocolate.
He sniffled, feeling something warm slide down his cheeks. He heard a mug being set down beside him before he felt a pair of warm hands on his cheeks.
“Gambler? What’s wrong?” Thumbs gently brushed away his tears, a pair of concerned eyes staring into his teary ones.
Aventurine let out a wavering laugh, a smile forming on his face. “Nothing is wrong. This just.. feels like home.”
He watched as Ratio’s face turned into shock before softening into a small smile. “Of course..” He pressed a soft kiss to Aventurine’s lips. “That’s because it is.”