Chapter Text
Damus had definitely come a long way.
Skids watches him work on that same puzzle- the five thousand piece one, of the piano- focused on the chilling, nearly blank expression on the older boy’s face. Skids watches from across the room, and recalls the first time he had seen him.
Quivering, bleeding and battered, his remaining eye locked on nothing and everything while he huddled in a corner.
None of Senator Shockwave’s words would settle him, no matter how genuine. The Senator had tried to usher Skids and the others out of the room when Damus had woke up, but Skids had stayed behind out of curiosity.
He wasn’t disturbed by the gore that made up his face, not the empty eye socket that convulsed when it tried to blink, not the gnarled stubs of flesh where his hands had been carved off- he was disturbed by the horror in Damus’ glassy stare. Something so genuine, so potent that he could feel it from where he stood by the door.
Skids was religious, deeply, in fact, but no prayer, no vision had ever been burned into his mind like that horror in Damus’ eye when he first made eye contact with him.
That same eye that was looking right back at him.
Skids allowed his thoughts to dissipate, and flashed Damus a small smile, and the confused gaze on the long-haired ginger shifted to something friendlier. Skids was long used to Damus’ facial expressions, if they could be called that- his mouth was mostly numb, he had explained, and where it wasn’t numb was mostly painful to move.
“Something on your mind?” Damus asked, resting his claws on the table, careful not to disturb the puzzle pieces there.
Skids pulled himself off of the couch he had sat on, walking over to the rounded table that Damus inhabited, sitting on the spare chair beside the taller.
“Just thinking about old stuff.” Skids admitted, knowing that Damus would be the last person to judge him for such a thing. Damus acknowledged him with a soft hum, turning his one-eyed gaze back to the puzzle pieces. Sitting on his left side had been a bad choice, giving Skids a perfect view of the mangled remains of that side of Damus’ face. Muscle tissue and darkened skin that crossed unnaturally over each other, warped around the square eye patch that was almost permanently over the taller’s missing eye.
Skids cast his gaze down to the puzzle pieces, ignoring the gnawing anxiety he felt from simply observing the injury.
“You were staring, weren’t you?” Damus inquired without turning his head, sliding two pieces together.
Skids debated lying for a moment.
“Yeah.” He admitted instead. “I keep thinking about what it would feel like.”
Damus turned to flash him a quizzical glance.
“To touch, I mean. Not to have.” Skids explained quickly, keeping his eyes on the puzzle.
Damus looked back down as well, and they sat in awkward silence for a few moments.
“You can. If you really want to, it’s not like it’ll hurt, as long as you’re gentle.” Damus offered, voice sounding strange.
“Nah. That seems kinda invasive.” Skids shook his head, sliding two matching puzzle pieces together when he spotted a match.
He had the decency to not add that he might throw up.
A strange wave of disappointment washed over him when Skids denied his offer. It wasn’t right- Damus 𝙝𝙖𝙩𝙚𝙙 when people touched him. He didn’t even like when Senator Shockwave examined his arms during check ups. He would always flinch or cringe away, even when it didn’t hurt. He even considered pressing the idea, but decided against it almost immediately.
“I understand.” He said instead, cringing at the obvious disappointment that seeped into his voice.
If Skids noticed, he didn’t say so.
Three hours later, Damus was still stuck on the interaction.
So, at five minutes past midnight, he shrugs off his blankets and hauls himself out of his bed, not bothering to pull on his turtleneck in his hurry to confront Skids.
Confronting turns to apprehending turns to questioning, and then turns to nothing as he comes face-to-(not)face with the superlearner’s door.
What was he thinking?
Skids had every right to 𝙣𝙤𝙩 touch him.
How entitled Damus must be to think he could be angry at him for it.
He scowls at the door, claws twitching where they rest at his sides.
𝙞 𝙬𝙤𝙪𝙡𝙙𝙣𝙩 𝙬𝙖𝙣𝙩 𝙩𝙤 𝙩𝙤𝙪𝙘𝙝 𝙢𝙚 𝙚𝙞𝙩𝙝𝙚𝙧. He reasons, turning to walk back to his own room and suddenly everything hurts, and the world is warping and spinning, and he’s on the floor clutching his head because it’s so loud and he can hear the electricity moving through the walls and someone is 𝙩𝙤𝙪𝙘𝙝𝙞𝙣𝙜-
Damus flails, grabbing the offending hand in a vice grip, gaze cold and terrified as he stares up-
at Skids.
Damus released the older’s wrist and tries to stand, resorting to using the wall as support.
Skids rubs his wrist, but before Damus can choke out the apology forming in his throat-
“Are you okay?” Skids asks, genuine concern in his voice.
“Yes.” Damus says, too quickly. Skids’ expression turns to something gentler.
“What are you doing all the way over here? Your room is on the other side of the library.”
“Water?” Damus tries, furious with how weakly the word comes out. Skids levels him with a disbelieving stare.
“The bathroom is on your side, you-“
“Why did you say you wanted to touch me and then not 𝙙𝙤 it?” Damus blurted, then almost physically covered his mouth, but didn’t- completely rigid with shock at his own boldness.
There’s silence, the two of them just stare at each other for a few moments.
“You said you didn’t like being touched.”
𝙄 𝙙𝙤𝙣'𝙩, he wanted to say, but then why would he even be here? What was so special about Skids that he actively sought him out because he 𝙙𝙞𝙙𝙣'𝙩 touch him?
The silence stretched on, and Damus saw Skids’ eyes wander to his arms and oh god, they weren’t covered, he could see the scars, all of them- the ugly, warped flesh around the spot his prosthetic ‘hands’ were attached, the dead skin tracing in intricate, gruesome patterns down the length of his forearms, and-
“Damus, you’re spiraling.” Skids’ voice sliced through his thoughts like a blade through flesh, and Damus jerked back slightly.
“I’m sorry.” He mumbled, voice hoarse.
“Here, come on, you need to sit down.” Skids stepped aside and gestured into his room. Damus nearly protested, but when a fresh wave of nausea passed over him, he obeyed, stumbling inside and almost collapsing onto Skids’ bed.
Skids sat down beside him, watching, but not staring at his arms, oddly enough. Damus returned the stare, waiting for the nausea to pass.
“Do you want to talk about it?” Skids asked, leaning back on his elbows and phishing a remote out from between the pillows, shifting the color of the LED lights that adorned his walls from a dark blue to a lighter one.
“I’m not sure what to say.” Damus admitted.
“That’s fine. You don’t have to be sure.” Skids reassured him, sitting back up and smiling slightly.
Damus thought for a moment.
“I was disappointed. I don’t know why, you’re right, I hate people touching me. But I genuinely wasn’t upset by the idea. Not- not when it’s you?”
He regretted adding the last part- it felt too sentimental.
Skids didn’t seem to mind.
“Do you want me to? Not are you 𝙤𝙠𝙖𝙮 with it, do you 𝙬𝙖𝙣𝙩 me to?” Skids asked, and somehow, Damus felt like he would fall over, even though he was sitting. 𝘿𝙞𝙙 he want Skids to touch him?
“Yes.” He answered honestly.
“Okay.” Skids replied, raising a hand, but Damus spoke again.
“Do you? Want to?”
Skids smiled, tilting his head.
“Yeah.” He hummed.
“Oh,” Damus said, wisely, about to speak again, but Skids’ hand set down on his shoulder and the words evaporated.
“How?” Skids asked, and Damus’ thoughts came crashing back.
“What?”
“How do you want to be touched?”
Damus stared. What could he possibly answer that with?
“I don’t understand.”
“Comforting, friendly, romantically-“
Damus physically jerked back.
“Okay, not romantically.”
“I didn’t-“ Damus stopped himself, but Skids seemed to catch on, raising a brow at the taller.
“Can I hug you?” He asked, instead of prodding.
“Okay.” Damus said quietly.
“Okay.” Skids echoed, smiling slightly as he rested a hand on each of Damus’ shoulders, then pulled him into a hug.
Damus sat there, rigid and unsure of what to do.
“Do I-“
“You don’t need to do anything.” Skids said, and Damus couldn’t help but close his eye as he felt Skids’ voice purr through his shoulder.
“Oh.” Damus replied, voice almost a whisper.
They sat like that for a few minutes, then Skids pulled back.
Damus’ eye flew open and he startled, grabbing his sides without thinking. 𝘿𝙤𝙣'𝙩 𝙡𝙚𝙩 𝙜𝙤, he almost said, but just stared at the black-haired boy in front of him, terrifyingly bright hazel eyes locked on his own.
Neither said anything.
Neither had to.
Shockwave had given the two of them a strange look when they entered the library that morning- neither of them tended to be up early, yet alone at the same time.
Perhaps Damus had accidentally woken Skids up when leaving his own room.
They seemed happy, so the Senator didn’t give it much thought.
They walked beside eachother, speaking quietly, shoulders almost touching.
Damus caught his gaze, and Shockwave offered a slight smile.
Damus gave a short wave, and Skids looked over, following the other’s eyeline, then grinned at the Senator, waving as well.
And then he grabbed Damus’ hand and pulled him out of view.
Shockwave smiled, then looked down at his book again.
Then he sat bolt upright.
Skids had 𝙜𝙧𝙖𝙗𝙗𝙚𝙙 𝘿𝙖𝙢𝙪𝙨' 𝙝𝙖𝙣𝙙.
And Damus hadn’t even reacted.
“What?” He said out loud.