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He knew he would have to do it eventually. He just didn’t think he’d be so scared .
Look.
Yuri had spent all his life being afraid of everything he could see and most of his afterlife being afraid of everything he couldn’t see. And he saw everyone else’s scars, saw how personal and deep they were. He watched Wally’s mother at his grave, Rhonda’s guidance counselor with that fucking unnerving grin, Charley’s biggest bully ( fuck , that one hurt).
Going through all of them, he knew that they could’ve made it to Janet’s quicker if they’d gone through his, but Wally interjected and said that the school locks the greenhouse at night. None of them knew it for sure, but Yuri went along because he was scared .
He doesn’t want to be scared anymore.
After forty seven years, he wants out of the bubble.
So, now he’s here. Lighter clenched tightly in his palm, hands shaking a little, just a few feet in front of the greenhouse. No one else knows he’s out here; he mentioned vaguely that he had something to do and no one really asked. And he wants to handle this alone, at least for the first time.
He takes a single step closer and there’s that familiar red glow from the rest of the scars. Everything else around him seems to darken, and suddenly he’s not feeling as brave as he was a few moments ago. Maybe this is unnecessary. He can figure out his issues without having to face them head-on, right? He doesn’t need to relive his trauma, he should just go back to the safety of the art studio and-
No. Not again. He’s not going to surrender again.
Yuri chews on the inside of his cheek, closing his eyes and taking a deep, shaky breath. Then, he takes another step, and another, and hesitates but opens the door.
The inside of the greenhouse looks fairly different from how he remembers it—then again, he hasn’t come back here since he walked out dead—and there’s the scar’s eerie teal and red light covering everything. And, taking a closer look, all of the pots and beds don’t have their usual mix of flora, but rather…marijuana plants.
Hardy fucking har.
But otherwise it isn’t completely different in terms of atmosphere. It’s still humid and warm, and smells like plants and water. Though it feels… more somehow. Everything is a little heightened. It’s unnerving.
There’s nothing to be seen here. Maybe the scar just wants to be bitchy. Maybe the door will show up in a few moments. Either way, Yuri is done with whatever this is. He turns and goes to open the door-
And it won’t move.
He tries again, turning the knob harder this time, but it still won’t move.
The door couldn’t have been locked from the outside, it’s mid-afternoon. Well- could it have been? He never knows with this place, maybe they changed shit up since he’s been out.
Either way, he’s fucking locked in .
The air shifts and the usual earthy scent changes to one of blood and weed, and it’s sickening. Yuri’s hands shake and the lighter almost falls from his palm because his chest is tightening in a way it hasn’t in decades.
He bites his tongue harder and squeezes his eyes shut, trying to steady his breathing that’s gone ragged. This- This is normal, he’s felt this before, he can deal with this it’s-
It’s not fine, god it’s not fine. There’s a sharp pain in the back of his throat and now in his mouth because he’s fucking bleeding from how hard he’s biting his tongue. The sharp taste of iron does nothing to help his sickness. He turns to lean back against the door and there’s-
There’s his body laying in front of him, leaning on the side of the table and surrounded by long vines of the marijuana. His eyes are wide open, lifeless and empty and right , like they were always meant to be dead. The smell of smoke and rot grows until it feels like it’s weighing on him and his breath is erratic and his eyes sting with tears and-
Fuck . Yuri knows this feeling. His throat is closing in on itself and it’s like his lungs are being stabbed and he can’t fucking breathe and god, he can feel his heartbeat hammering against his ribs and his ears are ringing and he’s seeing stars and there’s tears that haven’t fallen in forty-seven years streaking down his face and it’s just so much -
A voice. It’s muffled over the ringing in his ears and his heartbeat and wheezing excuses for breaths, but he recognizes it instantly.
“Yuri? Honey? What’s wrong? Where’s your inhaler?”
His mother. That voice usually so saccharine turned bitter and disapproving. Yuri looks up from where he’s been hunched over trying to catch his breath and meets her eyes. But they’re not concerned like they usually are. No, she’s disappointed .
He swallows hard and forgets about the blood still in his mouth, doubling over and coughing up the thick red liquid. The edges of his vision are going dark now because he still can’t fucking breathe , coughing and wheezing and sobbing, oxygen tangling in his ribs like the vines covering his body.
He hears his father’s voice join in with his mother’s and they continue reciting a litany of demanding words. Do you have your inhaler? We told you you should’ve stayed inside. This is what happens when you don’t listen to us. You should’ve learned by now .
Yuri’s knees buckle and he grabs onto the edge of a table next to him. His head and chest ache unbearably and now he can’t think because his parents’ voices are deafening and he’s fucking coughing up blood and shaking like a leaf in a hurricane.
Out. Now.
He looks back up so he can figure out where he’s facing because he lost control of direction probably three minutes ago and before he can turn, he sees his parents are gone, replaced by-
“ Charley? ” he manages to say as a half-wheeze. He curls in on himself to cough up more blood after he says it. Looking back up, he meets Charley’s eyes as best he can because now his vision is going blurry and he’s-
Terrified. There’s nothing on Charley’s face but pure, raw horror.
Yuri chokes on a sob, remembering all those times he tried to let people see him and they looked like that . Scared of who he is beneath his layers. Scared of him.
He takes a shaky step towards Charley and Charley flinches , taking a step back.
Yuri feels and sees the plants growing around him, turning into long, winding vines that threaten to pull him in until he looks like the body on the floor. Because that’s how he was meant to be. Gone. Empty. Dead .
He hacks up more of the blood stuck in his throat and squeezes his eyes closed as he wills his head up so he can’t see Charley. He takes a few painstaking steps in a turn until he’s facing the door again. The vines are curling around his wrists but he manages to latch a shaking hand onto the doorknob and turn.
It moves.
The door swings open and he finally, finally manages to get out, falling to his knees on the ground.
He clutches his chest, gasping for air he doesn’t need. There’s no more blood in his throat or in his mouth, and no more vines around his wrists. The outside smells like fog and night, and he realizes with a jolt that it’s sunset.
The time doesn’t matter right now, because he can finally breathe . He’s still sobbing, choking on the image of Charley and his lifeless body and his parents. The tears rack through him and he lets out much more emotion than he thought he had in him.
After a few minutes, his breath finally evens out, but he can still feel how his face is colorless and wet. Pale as a ghost .
He takes a final deep breath, focusing on the feeling of the grass beneath him, and wills his eyes open.
It’s still starting to get dark out. He can see through the windows that there’s people pacing through the halls and searching through rooms, and it takes him a moment to realize they might be looking for him.
His suspicion is confirmed when he vaguely—because his vision is still spotted—sees a figure racing towards him. He hears his name distantly in the voice he desperately needs to hear right now.
“Yuri!” Yuri sees his shoes running up to him, then his legs then his chest as Charley falls to his knees in front of him. “Fuck, god, I- can I touch you?”
He feels himself nod barely, then feels Charley’s soft hands on his tear-stained face, turning it up so he can meet his eyes. He tenses up for a moment, expecting the same fear he saw in the scar, but sees nothing but concern and care and what he wouldn’t dare yet call love.
Charley’s searching his face with his brows tightly knit together, and he sighs softly. “Can I hold you?” he says, too gentle to be human.
“ Please ,” Yuri hears himself respond, holding back a wince at how hoarse his voice is.
Charley wraps careful arms around his waist and shoulders, and he reciprocates, just not nearly as gently. It’s almost frantic, how badly he needs this.
He falls, and Charley catches him. Again.