Work Text:
The cry for help comes on a casual Wednesday afternoon. They’re quietly folding clothes at MK’s place, such a domestic moment that Red Son thought they were both enjoying. MK is looking down, though.
He murmurs something Red can’t quite catch, and only then does the prince notice the tense atmosphere surrounding the hero. Red looks at him, puzzled. MK breathes deeply and repeats it louder.
“I’m sorry Red…”
Red Son leaves everything he’s doing to stare at MK with those piercing eyes. “Why is that, dear?”
”Because… Why did I seem to enjoy it?”
“Excuse me?”
“Why…”
Red stares. MK cries out: “Why was I wet?!” He throws the shirt he’s holding into the bed.
It hits Red Son’s chest like a punch. He has read about it, about rape victims who feel bad for their bodies responding as if that meant they liked it, and he thought he was prepared for that thought occurring from MK. But hearing it from the hero was a whole new level of hurt.
“It was… not as wet as I was with you, but I was, a bit! Why?! I wasn’t supposed to enjoy it!”
Fuck.
“MK…”
“I’m so afraid of that thought!” He falls into non-stop sobbing. It’s true. He hasn’t told anyone, has avoided it with the therapist, has avoided even visiting the thought himself. Red beats himself up for not catching MK’s tense aura sooner. The prince carries that weight in his shoulders, thinking it’s his responsibility to be aware of everything.
“MK, that doesn’t-“
“With you it didn’t hurt like with him, but still!”
The words dart across Red Son’s heart. MK rarely talked about what happened so explicitly, and it knocks the air out of Red’s lungs.
“I hated it!” He yells. “I promise I did! Then why! Why did my body like it?!
MK punches his legs, screaming when he accidentally hits his bad knee. It doesn’t stop him. He keeps punching himself and before thinking, Red Son rushes to stop him, grabbing his fists and holding them up.
“Agh! Why?!” Yells MK. “Let me- Ugh! Let me go!” He cries out, trashing, because being physically stopped from stimming was one of the worst feelings for MK. Red Son knew that, he has known since forever, but his option was what, letting Mk hurt himself?
“What’s going on in there?” Comes Pigsy’s frantic knock on the door.
“Go away!” MK yells, hoping the door is locked, but everyone is treating him like a fucking child so of course it isn’t. Pigsy walks in, and taking the chance from the distraction, MK tries to free himself from the prince’s hold. It doesn’t work, and being restrained only puts more stress onto the hero.
“MK.” Red Son is so scared but he keeps his voice steady, for MK’s sake. Pigsy looks at them, scandalized seeing Red holding MK’s wrists like that while the other desperately tries to escape.
Pigsy is probably going to think that Red Son is in the wrong here, and Red could have easily told him that MK was hurting himself, but for MK’s privacy, decides not to say anything.
It doesn’t go unnoticed by the hero, and the realization makes him calm down just a bit, distracted from his previous thoughts. His chest, though, is still raising and falling rapidly.
Feeling MK relax a little in his hold, Red lets him go. Pigsy, however, is still staring at them, expecting answers.
“Dad, I… He-“
He sighs. Deep down he doesn’t want Red Son to take the blame for handling him like that, but he isn’t thinking right now. He’s only scared of what facing Red Son would represent to him, so he runs to Pigsy and stands behind him. Pigsy glares at the prince, wondering if he was purposely stressing his son. At this point he trusts the prince enough to give him the benefit of the doubt, but he still glares.
Red Son gets it, he does, but MK’s betrayal hurts, just a little bit, though the feeling falters when he still hears MK’s heavy, panicked breathing.
“What is going on here?” Pigsy asks again, this time, angrier, and when no reply comes, he stomps towards Red Son.
“No!” MK yells, grabbing his wrist.
Pigsy turns back to face his kid.
MK rubs his own arm. “It… It was not his fault.” He manages to say through his panic attack. “It’s- It’s complicated.”
Red Son looks away, brain bubbling with a million different thoughts. Pigsy pauses.
The three of them stand in silence, until the pig demon breaks it.
“Son…”
MK sighs, audibly, and throws himself on the bed, knees against his chest, tears running down his face again.
Dadsy mode activated, Pigsy sits next to him. He offers a hug, but MK flinches, burying his face into his knees.
His loud, broken sob strikes both Red Son and Pigsy. The prince slowly approaches, and sits down on the ground next to the bed, wanting to give the father and son some space.
MK keeps sobbing, breathing deep to try to talk but not managing to push any words out.
“Baby…” says the worried dad.
“Dadsy!” Why does it hurt so bad?”
“…I don’t know, kid-“
“Make it stop, Dadsy, please make it stop!”
The words crush Pigsy like a hydraulic press. MK is pleading like a baby who has a cold asking to take the sickness away, but there is nothing that he can do, no way that he can stop it. He wants, more than anything, to take the pain away from his beloved child and even place it on himself if needed.
But he can’t do anything, can’t even hug his baby.
Another sob is heard, and Pigsy turns to his right, where Red Son is slouching down and sniffling. He’s trying to be quiet but he’s so tired, and the sob just makes its way out.
That he can do something about, thinks Pigsy, even if little. He softly places a hand on Red Son’s shoulder.
One more sob is heard from him, then absolute silence as the prince composes himself.
Pigsy stays in the middle of his beloved found kids, trying his best to keep composure himself. Gods, why, why did you allow this to happen? Why put so much suffering upon his family, especially his hero of a son?
They listen to MK cry until he’s exhausted himself.
Sighing again, MK looks up, glossy eyes making Pigsy’s heart clench. “Dadsy, can you leave us alone?”
Red Son’s head shoots up, because why was MK asking that?
Pointing between himself and the prince, MK speaks, voice small. “We need to talk.”
Red looks at him, but MK’s eyes don’t meet his own.
The pig demon shoots him another worried look, then gets up to leave. The room is left silent.
MK has outcried himself, eyes puffy and face red. “MK?” Red asks, and MK flinches at being called by his name. Red tilts his head, trying to look at MK’s face. “Noodles…” he says, softly.
The tired monkie pats on the bed, for Red Son to sit next to him, and so he does.
“Noodle Boy.”
“I’m sorry!”
“Noodles…”
“I almost got you in trouble with Pigsy and I’m so sorry-“ he’s interrupted by a hiccup. Red sighs. He can’t pretend it didn’t hurt. He figures pretending would be worse, because MK didn’t want to be babied.
“Yeah.”
“I’m so sorry!”
“It’s okay, dear.”
“Are you not mad at me?”
“I’m happy you acknowledged it. Thank you for apologizing.”
MK sulks. Red continues.
“I forgive you.”
It was very clear that Red had done a speed run of improving his communication skills over the past few months. Therapy helped, of course, but credits were his as well, as he wanted to be of better support to MK after the attack, so he decided to get his shit together and work on himself.
MK was insanely grateful.
“Do you forgive me? For restraining you?”
MK nods.
“Hey, Noodles?”
“Hm?”
“I just want you to know… you didn’t enjoy shit.”
MK raises his eyes. Red Son feels crude for swearing in such a serious matter, but he knows it makes him sound more genuine.
“If a villain is beating your ass and it accidentally cracks your spine, it will feel nice. Does that mean you enjoy being beaten up?”
MK hesitates.
“And I know you’re upset right now, but if I tickled you you’d laugh.” He raises his hand, as if he was going to tickle him. MK averts it, but his lips form a half-hearted smile. As much as it lightens the mood, Red Son can’t bring himself to smile back, not until his message is clear. ”Does that make you less upset?”
MK shakes his head again.
“You didn’t enjoy it, MK. Your body responded, as it does to everyone. That’s just natural.”
Tears flow to MK’s eyes again. They hurt from crying already, and he tries to stop it by looking up, but they fall anyway.
“It doesn’t mean you liked it, okay?” Red says, gently brushing MK’s bangs away from his face.
“And I know,” he exhales. “That my words won’t magically make it go away. But I’ll repeat them however many times you need to hear it.”
MK takes a deep breath. He knows it would be appropriate to hug Red Son now, and he considers it, but he can’t, he just can’t with touch right now.
“Red…” he starts, wanting to thank him, to say anything, but the taste in his mouth is sour and nothing comes out.
“You’re still here.” It’s just a plain affirmation. “After all this trouble, you’re still here.”
“You’re stuck with me.” Red smiles, finally.
“I’m serious!”
“Me too. I told you, I’m here for the amazing moments and for the awful ones.”
The younger leans against his boyfriend. His hand brushes Red Son’s. MK had always been grateful for his family, but now that he feels like he’s being a burden 70% of the time, the feeling has intensified. Especially with Red Son, the former villain, who had zero obligation of staying. But he stays, and learns and unlearns whatever he has to to make life better for MK.
They say they don’t think he’s a burden, and when he’s okay he believes them, but then comes another episode and he’s feeling awful about it all over again.
“Are you okay?” MK asks. Red rests his head over MK’s.
“We will be.”
MK sighs.
“And can I do anything?”
Red opens his mouth to say something, but closes it. MK notices the shift of his posture and clearly there is something he can do. “Red…?”
“Can… Can you sing?” Red asks. “Just a little bit,” he adds, quickly, still unused to being the one taken care of. His whole life he has denied himself care, and now his focus was only on MK. This is new to him.
MK gulps, trying to clear his throat from the tears. Gods, of course, Red Son, I’ll do anything for you, he wants to say. I’ll give you everything just like you have given me. “Esse…” he starts singing, but his voice shakes.
“You don’t have t-”
MK pushes through Red’s voice. “Esse samba é pra você, meu amor…”
The harbinger’s voice shakes, but he keeps pushing through. He knows Red likes it when he sings Cássia Eller.
He remembers the last time he was caught singing, and how he realized Red loved hearing it.
“I only ask God for a bit of street wisdom,” came MK’s singing voice from the other room, a few weeks ago. “Because I’m a child, and I don’t know the truth.”
The tired Red Son listens, lyrics crushing him even more. Lyrics sung in Portuguese, and that he only knew the meaning of because of Pigsy. The half-Brazilian chief explained to the prince that MK started to listen to Brazilian music as a kid because of him, but he didn’t understand the meaning behind them until way later. Listening to those stinging words after the attack was soul-crushing.
“I am a poet and never learned how to love.”
Half-hearted claps come from Red as he enters the room. MK doesn’t move, just sighs. Red Son sits beside him.
MK leans against his once-crush, not knowing if he still likes him in that way.
“I like her songs,” He says, voice small, trying to deviate the talk from his sung vent.
Indeed, Cássia Eller’s songs worked great on MK’s voice. The voice he trained to make lower, to match his transmasculinity, sounded beautiful when singing the tunes of the deep-voiced woman.
Red liked hearing him sing.
“I like them too.”
MK bites his lip. Red continues, perfect posture supporting MK’s weight. “Especially in your voice.”
MK is pulled away from the flashback when he feels Red Son is looking at him endearingly, his own eyes burning again with the resurgence of new tears. The prince wraps an arm around MK, pushing him close, while the smaller man sings.
Red Son softly kisses MK’s forehead when he finishes the chorus. MK looks up at him, eyes tired, enchanted with the innocence which Red is staring at him with. That’s how Red views him, it sinks into MK. Still innocent, still loveable, despite everything. He takes a deep breath.
They look at each other, and Red gives a small smile. “Meu amor,” he calls MK by the pet name he recognizes from the song. He’s been picking up the language by listening to MK sing, and his and Pigsy’s translations.
MK smiles, sheepishly, at the pet name. “I can, uh, tell you the meaning.”
“I’d love that.” The demon bull heir nuzzles against MK’s hair.
“This samba is for you, my love,” the hero translates, spoken. “Who made me smile, who made me cry, who made me dream, who made me happy.”
“Who made me love,” Touching Red’s chin, he finishes, quietly.
The Monkie Kid places a kiss on Red Son’s cheek. Red smiles. MK has been singing vents through sad songs that devastate the hearts of his family. Hearing a love song was different, especially when dedicated to him like this.
“You made me love as well.”