Vaughn had noticed he’d left the faucet running, so he reached over and washed away the blood that was flowing from his knuckles. The figure was gone. The pain seemed to knock him out of his daze. But now he could hear Ilya. God, Ilya. He must have heard. He went to the door, hand lingering over the lock before he unlocked it and opened the door.
Ilya pushed himself up into Vaughn's space, wide worried eyes scanning every inch of him for injuries. When all that came back were some bloody knuckles, he sighed in relief. Vaughn was safe. "What happened!? Are you okay!?" He scanned the bathroom and was surprised to find it empty. "Who were you talking to?"
Vaughn’s breath caught in his throat at the sudden barrage of questions from Ilya. “I’m fine, I’m fine,” he reassured. He ran his non-bloody hand through his hair, chewing on his bottom lip as he glanced around. “No one, it was nothing,” he breathed. He would try to avoid telling Ilya about his schizophrenia as much as possible.
Ilya winced at the obvious lie but focused on the situation at hand. "You're hurt." He picked it up gingerly, grip loose enough that Vaughn could pull away, and moved it slowly. Tiny shards of glass caught in the light, and Ilya busied himself picking them out of Vaughn's knuckles. "Run it under the water again please. It's too bloody for me to see."
Vaughn grimaced in the slightest when Ilya began to pick the little shards from the gashes. He murmured something about them not being bad and being able to handle them but he complied anyways, going to wash his knuckles clean of the blood that had been leaking out.
Pain stabbed through Ilya's heart as Vaughn grimaced, but he knew from experience that it would only hurt more if the shards were left in. He had Vaughn run his hand under the water a few more times, grabbing a paper towel to dab gently at his knuckles once the glass was gone. "I'm sorry I hurt you," he apologized, staring at Vaughn's hand to avoid his eyes. "It was the best I could do here."
Vaughn watched as Ilya tended to his hand. He hadn’t really ever had someone else help with his injuries. Usually he was the one to always stitch himself up or do anything like that. His hand dropped back to his side when it was let go. “It’s ok, it’s not your responsibility,” he told Ilya gently. “Come on, lets go back and finish our food and get our dessert, ok?” He took Ilya’s hand in his uninjured one, interlacing their fingers softly.
"Okay," Ilya agreed quietly, happy to let Vaughn pull him back over to their table. His eyes kept catching on Vaughn's bloody knuckles, worried. "I know it's not my responsibility, but I want to… to help you. It's never fun to clean your own wounds, and… I want to be here for you. For whatever you need."
Vaughn tugged Ilya out of the bathroom and over to the table, taking a seat in the booth again. “I like that you’re willing to help, but these wounds are barely anything. They don’t bother me too much anymore, so I don’t want you to worry about it too much.”
Ilya took the seat across from him, keeping their hands linked. He managed to tear his eyes away and sip at his lemonade, but even then glimpses of the torn red skin would pull at the corner of his eye. "I just… I don't like seeing you hurt. You don't deserve it."
“I know, but it was completely my fault. I shouldn’t have gone and done that,” Vaughn said. He noticed how Ilya’s eyes would gaze at his bloody knuckles. He shifted his hand off the table, resting it out of sight against his knee. Their waitress came back over and he ordered the pie for them to share.
Ilya unwound some once the wound was out of sight, even managing a fleeting smile as Vaughn ordered their dessert. He hadn't had pie in forever, though he'd tried his hand at baking them over the years, usually with mixed results. "Do you know if they bake their pies here?"
Vaughn gave a little shrug in response to Ilya’s question. “I have no idea. I haven’t eaten pie in general since I was a kid,” he answered. “But I’m sure they do make it here.” If course he hasn’t had pie since he lost his mother. But he thought he could handle that little thing now
"Good! I want to ask what they use in their crusts. Every time I try to bake one it comes out all crumbly and gross." Ilya made a face, remembering his last baking disaster with a pinched frown. The filling had leaked all across the oven and Ilya burnt his hands cleaning it so Damian wouldn't be angry when he got home.
“You could always ask the waitress when she comes back,” Vaughn suggested to Ilya. He tilted his chin against his palm, knee not bouncing anymore under the table. He ignored the stinging in his knuckles, licking his lips subconsciously.
"Maybe," Ilya half agreed, wanting the knowledge but also not wanting to bother the waitress with useless questions. He'd have much more free time after Damian was gone, he could figure it out then. He jolted suddenly, realizing he'd never really thought about what would happen once Damian wasn't there anymore. Where would he live? On the streets? He'd barely survived the first time! "Vaughn… where will I go when Damian's gone!?"
Vaughn frowned softly at Ilya’s sudden question. He didn’t think about that. “Maybe you would get to stay where you live? If not, do you have anyone who you could stay with?” he asked. He wanted to offer Ilya a place to stay with him, but his place was barely reasonable for one person, let alone two.
Ilya took in a panicked breath and shook his head violently. "No! I… they're not going to let me live there once he's gone and I… I don't… I don't have family or… or any friends and…" Blurred memories began to resurface and he swallowed down a mouthful of bile. "I can't do it again, Vaughn. Please don't make me do it again!"
Vaughn seemed surprised at Ilya’s slight outburst. He guessed that Ilya had been homeless at some point in his life. “Ok, ok, it’s ok, Ilya,” he said softly. He held one of Ilya’s hands in both of his own now, having an urge to hug onto Ilya, though it might not be the best idea. “We’ll figure something else out.”
Ilya nodded, breaths quick and shaky as he tried and failed to pull himself together. He shook in a way that had nothing to do with the cold, trembling like a frightened child in Vaughn's hands. This was stupid! Vaughn already said he would figure something out, but a pervasive fear had spread through Ilya's mind, infecting every thought. He could feel phantom hands all over him, yanking his hips and pulling his hair. Covering his mouth so he couldn't scream. "Please. Please."
Ilya looked like he was going to start having a very bad seeming anxiety attack or something like that. Vaughn wasn’t sure what to do. He stood up and stepped around the table to sit on Ilya’s side of the booth with him. “I’m going to put my arms around you ok? I’ll be gentle,” he reassured Ilya softly before gingerly wrapping his arms around Ilya, careful not to squeeze him.
Ilya melted into the hug, clinging to the front of his shirt and burying his face in the crook of his neck. Vaughn was warm and real under his hands, still so gentle even when Ilya was panicking. He smelled like mint and cologne and Ilya never wanted to uncurl from around him and face the world again. "Please don't make me go back," he murmured. "Please. I'll be good! I'll be so good for you Vaughn, just keep me around. Please, I can't go back. I just… can't."
Vaughn wasn’t sure where to place his hands, so he decided to rest them on Ilya’s back, rubbing and scratching gently over the sweatshirt. “Ilya, it’s ok, you don’t need to talk like that. You’ll be taken care of, I’ll make sure of that. You’ll be safe,” he mumbled by Ilya’s ear.
(oh yeah! I've been meaning to ask, but what timezone are you in? I'm on central daylight time, it's 11:50)
Ilya hummed into his shoulder, not looking up. Safe. It was a nice word, but not one he really believed. Not in the long term. Still, it was easier to fool himself when he was buried in Vaughn and hidden from everything that wanted to hurt him. "Will you do it? Um… take care of me?" His voice was sickeningly hopeful and he clenched Vaughn's shirt even tighter.
(oh yeah, i’m in the eastern zone, it’s 1:05 for me rn lol)
Vaughn reached up with one hand, his fingers brushing lightly against the strands of Ilya’s hair. “Of course I will. I’ll take care of you- keep you safe,” he soothed, shifting a bit to rest his chin on the top of Ilya’s head