Title: Warmth
Author: Carrehz
Character(s): Chuckles, 420
Warning(s): Angst - this is not a happy fic (well, mostly - it's something like hurt/comfort, but heavy on the hurt). Contains references to childhood bullying and (unrelatedly) homophobia (mostly internalized).
Warmth
The heatwave had been going on all week.
That's what they had said on the news, at least. It certainly seemed to be the case for everyone else. He could see that the sun was blindingly bright, that everyone else was going around in as little clothing as possible to try and stay cool. It was impossible to miss the talk about it from everyone around him, his students and coworkers both complaining that it was 'too hot to work in'. It wasn't that he was trying to deny any of this. It's just that it was true for everyone but him.
Today had passed just the same as the rest of the week had; another day of trying to ensure the children didn't overheat while wondering what that would actually feel like. Of trying to stay in the classroom as much as possible to avoid everyone else - not that he didn't do that anyway - of suppressing his shivers when he was forced to go into the teachers' lounge - the freezing cold lounge, with its huge desk fans and open windows - nodding sympathetically when his coworkers grumbled about the heat, trying not to get annoyed with what they said to him.
"You're still wearing long sleeves? Aren't you hot?" "Turn the fan off for a minute? You're joking, right?" "Oh, come on now, you're not really cold in this weather." "Isn't that a good thing, though?" "I wish I felt cold all the time, I'm dying here."
He was pretty sure they didn't mean to be... insensitive. No one ever meant to be insensitive when they said those things. Well... most people didn't. It was just that they didn't understand (didn't want to understand), that was all. He tried not to mind too much when some of his students said similar things. Nine year olds weren't exactly known for their tact, after all. He tried to just ignore all the remarks, ignore the snickering when the school day ended and he walked out in his thick duffle coat and scarf. Pretend that, as he walked back home, he wasn't aware of people going past him and whispering things like "did you see that guy?", "he must be roasting in that", "don't point, dear - there must be something wrong with him".
He wished it didn't still bother him. It shouldn't, really. It wasn't like it was anything new, after all. It had been this way for as long as he could remember; you'd think he'd be used to it by now. He kept his head down, trying not to think about it, and picked up the pace a little, ignoring his briefcase thumping against his legs. He tried not to remember primary school and the other kids staring at him, teasing him, stealing his scarves and hiding them. His teachers all the way through to high school rolling their eyes, telling him to take his scarf off, giving him odd looks. Coworkers talking behind his back, being taken to one side in teacher training and told you really need to change, it's not professional to dress like that in the workplace, at least not in summer. His worried parents whispering about him at night when they thought he was asleep, taking him to the doctors over and over when he was small, trying to find out what was wrong with him, because it wasn't normal for him to be shivering cold all the time, there must be something they could do, surely. The doctors that raised eyebrows and said he was just making up things for attention, it was a phase, he'd grow out of it.
He shook his head, trying to clear it, but his mind kept pelting him with images, memories, reminders of how weird he was for being like this. He remembered the day one doctor had declared he was 'psychosomatic' and needed to see a psychiatrist. His mother had asked him to wait outside, before exploding - he could hear her through the door, finishing up with some words she'd certainly never allow him or his brothers to say. On the way home she'd told him he didn't need to see any more doctors, and he'd been so happy, and then later that day he'd asked Titters what 'psychosomatic' meant, and his brother had stammered for a bit before giving him an awkward hug and telling him not to worry about it.
Don't worry about it, don't think about it, ignore all the pointing and staring and jeering, they'd do that anyway, if it's not the cold thing then it's something else anyway. His mind continued to pelt him with unpleasant memories as he crossed the road, speeding up a little more in a desperate bid to get home sooner. He remembered one time at school when he was little, his arms being held behind his back by an older kid while another one leered over him, his scarf lying in the dirt nearby. "Lookit this little wuss, crying cause he lost his scarf! You'd think he'd be warm with all this extra fat!" He remembered crying harder as the kid punched him in the stomach over and over until it had suddenly stopped without warning, and he'd looked up to see Chortle rolling around on the ground with the other kid, kicking and hitting him and yelling at him to "leave my baby brother alone, you fuckin' cocksucker", and feeling relieved but also worried, because he knew Chortle was going to be in so much trouble... remembered sitting next to him outside the headteacher's office afterwards as Chortle's nose bled onto his shirt, waiting for their mother to pick them up, being scared to death of what she would say...
His mind started to race, and he was almost running now, as if he was trying to outrun the barrage of upsetting images clogging up his head - worrying, so much worrying, trying not to draw attention to himself, hiding from people, the way his stomach would clench up - just how it was clenching up now - at the thought of having to explain to someone "I'm always cold, no, it's okay, don't worry about it, it's nothing really", the fear that they wouldn't believe him, or that their face would fall and they'd start fretting over him and feeling sorry for him which was maybe even worse - all the stares, trying to laugh it off or change the subject, Chortle flicking his nose and calling him a 'sissy', being cold, so cold, trying to pretend he wasn't bothered when he was freezing, how he could swear it was getting worse over time and how much that terrified him, that time when the heating had broken at school and he'd been shivering so badly they'd sent him home, always worrying his mother, if it wasn't this then it was his lack of friends, he didn't want to be a burden, to make her worry, why was it taking him so long to make friends, why couldn't he be like the other boys, something else to make him different, and then when he was twelve he'd been sent away to that camp and no, no, he was not going to think about that, he was over that---
He rounded the corner and stopped short suddenly - breathing and panting heavily as the last few minutes caught up to him - blindsided by the sight that greeted him. Finn was sitting on his doorstep, his tall, skinny body awkwardly hunched over, head hung low towards the ground, face mostly covered by his long, shaggy hair - one long stick-like leg drawn up to his chest, the other stretched in front of him - dressed in his usual non-outfit of trousers and not much else, barefoot even though he'd heard others complaining about how hot the pavement was lately-
Chuckles blinked, the image cutting through the fog in his brain like a knife, pushing all the memories to the back of his mind, or wherever they'd come from in the first place. "F-Finn?" he stammered, still catching his breath. At the sound of his voice, the other cat raised his head instantly, looking up at him. "Wh-" he cut off, raising a hand to his mouth as he coughed a little. "Um, w-what are you - how long have you been here?"
Finn looked like he usually did - kind of lost, a bit mopey and tired, vaguely worried. "Ummm... like... like annnn... hour, maybe? I dunno." He sat up straighter and stretched, and Chuckles stood there in front of him, trying to focus on remembering how to breathe again and not stare at Finn's bare chest, the way his collarbone stood out, he was pretty sure he could see his ribs, god he looked like he was going to snap in two if he kept stretching like that-
"Are you okay?"
He started and felt his face flush, which always felt so weird, hot but not really warming. "U-um, um, er-" His head was such a mess - he should just get inside already, he was making such a fool of himself, and he didn't want to worry Finn, or draw the attention of any of his neighbours. "Ye-yes, um, t-that is, I... sorry, it's just... y-you made me jump," he landed on eventually, then felt guilty, like he was blaming Finn for... whatever had just happened on the way home. "Um, sorry, I just- I was thinking about some stuff and you- I, well, I didn't expect to see you here. -N-not that I- that I don't want to see you, I mean, I do, but-" He stopped, processing what the other cat had said before. "Wait, you've been out here an hour?"
"Yyyyeahhhh... I kinda, forgot what day it was, 'til I was already halfway here? And, uh, and then I figured that you'd prolly already be back anyway?" He leaned back against Chuckles' front door as he talked, his leg dropping down from the step. "But I guess I got the time wrong too... You know what I'm like," he said sheepishly, and Chuckles frowned; he hated it when Finn put himself down like that. "But uh, it's okay, I didn't mind waiting, it's my fault anyways." There was a pause, and then he said (with the tone and expression of someone suddenly remembering something) "Oh, right-". He stood up and walked over to Chuckles, stopping behind him.
"Wh- oh." Right - he had just come home, so he should open the door and let Finn inside, instead of them both standing out here like idiots all night - he shook his head slightly and reached inside his pocket. "I should get you a key," he said absentmindedly. He could feel Finn standing close behind him, watching him.
"I'd prolly just lose it somewhere."
"No you wouldn't," Chuckles replied automatically as he opened the door, used to rebuffing Finn's attempts at self-deprecation. As he crossed the threshold, though, he frowned again, remembering all the times he'd visited Giggles' house when they were teenagers and found the front door had been left unlocked... maybe Finn had a point. He dropped his briefcase on the floor gently; he'd come back to it later, it wasn't that important right now. The door clicked shut behind him and he turned to lock it again, finding himself face to - well, not quite face, given how much taller Finn was, but - well, anyway. "U-uh, um... excuse me.."
"Sorry," Finn said again. The two both shuffled to the left, then the right, then the left again. "Wwwait-" Finn raised his hand, before lowering it just as quickly, eyes darting about for a second as he visibly tried to figure out what to do, eventually settling on flattening himself against the wall to let Chuckles past, his long tail swishing around and brushing against Chuckles' leg as he moved.
"...Right." He locked the door, feeling his face flush again at even that slight touch, thankful for the fact that his fur was already red to begin with. His hand dropped to his side and he stood there, staring at the window set into the door, trying to figure out what to do next. Minutes ago he had been working himself up over- over nothing, and now Finn was here, and...
A thought occurred to him, and he looked over at the other cat, still standing in the same position as before. "Are you okay? It's a hot day, you should be careful in this weather. You walked here, right?" He already knew the answer. His house wasn't really within walking distance of Telluria by most people's standards, but Finn was broke, and he didn't seem to mind making the journey on foot, anyway; Chuckles supposed it was in part due to his general lack of a sense of time, maybe.
Finn nodded. "Yeah." He pulled away from the wall, taking a step closer to Chuckles, sending a shiver down his spine that had nothing to do with how cold he already was. "'S'okay though. I mean, um, like, it doesn't really bother me, y'know? The, uh, the heat, I mean." He shrugged.
Chuckles looked up at him, head to one side. Finn was always so... laissez-faire about this sort of thing. He never seemed to get hot or cold; his answer was always more-or-less the same any time Chuckles asked him about it. He kind of envied him for it.
"...Well, you still need to be careful of these things," he said eventually, aware he probably sounded like his mother. "Go and get yourself a drink while I get changed, okay?"
Finn nodded again before walking away, and Chuckles turned to the coat pegs on the opposite wall, pulling his thick coat and scarf off. He was halfway through hanging them up when Finn popped his head back 'round the door - "Hey, uh, what do you want? Tttto drink," he added quickly. "Sorry, I forgot to ask before?" As usual, his voice caught on random syllables, drawing them out, rising in intonation at the end of the sentence. Finn had apologized, unnecessarily, about it a few times - "ssssorry, I know it's like... kinda annoying? b-but I can't help it, y'know?" - but it really didn't bother Chuckles.
"Oh! Um..." He paused, thinking about it. Part of him wanted a hot drink - but then he'd have to tell Finn where everything was, and probably how to make it, and it'd probably be easier to just do it himself - anyway, he also kind of felt like something sweet and sugary. He finished hanging up the coat and hummed quietly, trying to decide, before shaking his head. "Don't worry about it, I'll get it. Thanks, though."
"'Kaaaayyy~" Finn's head disappeared back into the other room. Chuckles stood for a second, smiling and just... thinking. Then the thoughts from before started to creep back in and his smile slipped. He shook his head again, more vigorously this time, and set off for his bedroom, his footsteps probably more forceful than they really needed to be, trying to tell his brain to shut up, stop it, stop it, you're being weird, this is stupid, stop it...
He pushed the door open and yanked the tie off from around his neck, dropping it on the chest of drawers nearby before reaching to unbutton his shirt, only realizing his hands were shaking when his fingers fumbled against the buttons, missing and catching in the holes... After a few tries he gave up, standing there, frustrated with himself, with how he was shaking all over, both from cold, and, and... There was no reason to be like this, he knew that. Just because everyone else was sticky-hot and he wasn't, couldn't feel anything other than cold. So what, what did it matter? They were probably right, even, he probably was lucky he wasn't burning away like everyone else.
Almost everyone, he reminded himself, hearing Finn clatter around in the other room. He sank down onto the edge of his bed, his tail twitching back and forth restlessly as he had another go at undoing the buttons of his shirt, more successfully this time, his mind wandering. Still not in a great place, but now also thinking about Finn. He'd never asked about the thick sweaters, the warm scarves, any of it, never given him odd looks or anything. Just accepted it without question when Chuckles had told him how cold he always felt. When he'd first- when they'd first held hands, he'd just commented "your hand's really cold" and then apologized for his hands being shaky, before wrapping them both around Chuckles' hands and saying he'd try and make them warmer, smiling nervously. Finn didn't seem to find it weird, just... a part of him. And- and okay, so that was true of Giggles, too, more or less. It was never a big thing with her, either. But it just... it was different with Finn, in a way that he didn't really know how to explain and made him flustered if he thought about it for too long. He didn't like comparing Giggles and Finn, even though they were siblings. It just felt weird, and wrong, and he knew why but he didn't really want to think about that, especially not when he was getting undressed.
He really wished he hadn't thought about that. His face flushed again and he could feel his insides knotting up as he became acutely aware of the fact that Finn was only a couple of rooms away, and he was... he was being silly. He yanked his shirt off and tossed it at the chest of drawers, knowing he was being stupid and childish and that he'd regret it later when he had to get rid of the creases he'd undoubtedly just created in it. It wasn't like he was even actually shirtless right now; he still had two more shirts on underneath. And an undershirt under those. Finn wouldn't see anything if he were to walk in right now - which he wouldn't, and even if he did it wouldn't matter, it wasn't weird, it didn't mean anything, Finn walked around shirtless every day and he barely even registered that any more, it was perfectly normal, it didn't... and his mind was wandering again, because what if Finn did walk in right now, and... and...
"Stop that," he whispered to himself, feeling flustered and sickened and cold all at once. He stood up and walked very quickly over to the drawers, pulling a thick, grey sweater - most of his clothes were grey - from the top drawer and shoving it over his head as fast as possible. Normally he might at least consider changing his other shirts too, preferring to keep his 'work clothes' and 'home clothes' separate, but he really, really didn't want to be shirtless right now, not even for a second. He knew Finn really wouldn't just walk in on him like that, but... that wasn't the point. He didn't want to look at himself anyway.
Chuckles sighed and leaned forward, folding his arms on top of the chest of drawers and resting his head on them. He didn't know what to do, where to go from here. He hated feeling like this, this crushing random spiral of - of whatever this was, self-pity and fear and thinking about things he'd rather not think about, about things that he should have gotten over years ago. It was exhausting in about every single way, and frustrating, and usually when he got like this he just wound up eating more than he should and going to bed early, tossing and turning until he eventually managed to fall asleep. He really didn't want to do that right now, either.
He moved his head a little, staring at the wall and thinking. What he really wanted was for someone to hold him tightly, to pull him close and pet his hair and tell him that everything was okay, he was okay, and say it until he actually believed it. To comfort him and make things feel alright again. To tell him that they lo... cared about him.
When he'd thought about this in the past, it had just made him feel worse, because there wasn't anyone that did feel that way about him - not in that way - not in the way he really wanted. Of course he had his family, and Giggles (who might as well be his family), but he didn't want to burden them with this, it wasn't fair, and it wasn't... he loved them dearly but they weren't... and this was where he would get even more frustrated and upset with himself, because he didn't want to think about what he did want. He knew he should want a girl to - to hold, he should want to be holding her, not the other way around - but he didn't, no matter how hard he tried to convince himself he did. And he hated thinking about that, because the only other option was- was wrong, was wicked and forbidden and he'd just ruin everything again, and he just needed to try harder, and just because he'd never felt that way about a girl, it didn't mean he was- because he wasn't, he wasn't, he'd grown out of that, he'd fixed that part of himself a long time ago and it wasn't a part of himself anyway, it never had been, not really, it was just a stupid phase, he was over that now...
Thinking about it felt different now. Well... sort of - not really - he still felt awful and confused and scared about everything, his stomach twisting up as he considered it. He could have what he wanted, right now. Finn was only a few rooms away, and Chuckles knew he just needed to ask and Finn would - would hold onto him like he'd never let go, would blink and said he liked how he looked, and call him sweet names that he didn't think he agreed with but liked hearing anyway, and apologize for 'not knowing what to do' as he said all the right things, and meant them, and he'd always mean them, because he always had done, because he lov-
He swallowed, shaking, unable to finish the thought. He didn't... he shouldn't want those things. Not from Finn, anyway - not from any other man. But he did want them, and was it really that bad if he got them from another man, if it was someone that wanted - that needed all of those things just as much as he did?
Chuckles lifted his head from his arms slowly and unfolded his arms, coming to a tentative decision. It was still - it still felt wrong, but maybe he didn't care about that right now, this minute. He was so tired. Maybe this one time he could just do what he wanted, and worry about the implications and possible consequences later. Besides, Finn had walked all this way, in this heat that was supposed to be so oppressive and hellish, just to see him, and here he was ignoring that kindness in favour of holing up in his bedroom feeling sorry for himself. The thought made him feel worse than he already did. He didn't want to treat someone he cared about so much like that, no matter what the reasons he had to 'justify' it.
There was a scarf neatly folded up and sitting on top of the drawers, and he pulled it towards himself, wrapping it around his neck, the soft, worn fabric comforting to the touch. He was still shaking a little, his head - all of him - was still whirling around and screaming, and his mouth was dry, but his mind was made up. He swallowed again, trying to get his mouth to work properly, before stepping out into the hallway.
"F-Finn?"