Beau Watson (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
halfwaytoheaven) wrote in ![[community profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/community.png)
muserevival2013-11-12 04:10 pm
halfwaytoheaven) wrote in muserevival2013-11-12 04:10 pm
Entry tags:
042.3. Drabble
"Everybody hurts."
Beau stood in the bathroom, hands braced on the edge of the sink, and just stared at himself in the mirror. He didn’t think he really expected to look different, but he did. Or maybe he just hadn’t wasted a whole lot of time looking in the mirror recently. He was trying to see what everyone else was seeing, but at the same time, he had no idea what he was really looking for.
Maybe it was just the harsh spotlights overhead that his husband probably worshipped for spotting any blemish or mark he wouldn’t want to leave the house without rectifying. Maybe it was just the fact that he was sick that he looked it now. If people looked at him, would they know? Would they know that, once again, he was about to start the battle for his life he didn’t know he even had the energy for a second time around? He wanted to hide it. He wanted to push it off to the side and not think about it.
But how could he hide it when he wasn’t even sure he recognised himself in the reflection? Could he even plaster on a fake smile and get on with it? Probably not. Could he pretend he was fine and okay? Unlikely. Did he want to be able to do anything he could so people wouldn’t treat him differently? Fuck yes.
There was no way you could run from pain. You can’t hide from anything that is conceived in your soul and reflected on your face. Not pain that was more than just physical hurt. As much as he wanted to shield the man he loved from sharing this pain, he knew he couldn’t. And that was probably the most painful part of all.
Beau Watson-Shaw | Original Character | 296 words
Beau stood in the bathroom, hands braced on the edge of the sink, and just stared at himself in the mirror. He didn’t think he really expected to look different, but he did. Or maybe he just hadn’t wasted a whole lot of time looking in the mirror recently. He was trying to see what everyone else was seeing, but at the same time, he had no idea what he was really looking for.
Maybe it was just the harsh spotlights overhead that his husband probably worshipped for spotting any blemish or mark he wouldn’t want to leave the house without rectifying. Maybe it was just the fact that he was sick that he looked it now. If people looked at him, would they know? Would they know that, once again, he was about to start the battle for his life he didn’t know he even had the energy for a second time around? He wanted to hide it. He wanted to push it off to the side and not think about it.
But how could he hide it when he wasn’t even sure he recognised himself in the reflection? Could he even plaster on a fake smile and get on with it? Probably not. Could he pretend he was fine and okay? Unlikely. Did he want to be able to do anything he could so people wouldn’t treat him differently? Fuck yes.
There was no way you could run from pain. You can’t hide from anything that is conceived in your soul and reflected on your face. Not pain that was more than just physical hurt. As much as he wanted to shield the man he loved from sharing this pain, he knew he couldn’t. And that was probably the most painful part of all.