Chapter Text
A light
Chapter One
“Hun, we have to go now if we’re going to make it to work.”
Tim stood in front of the mirror, dabbing foundation over his black eye. No matter how much makeup he used, the bruise still shone through. People would notice. People would ask questions. His ribs ached, and his wrist throbbed. He bit back a groan.
“I’m going,” Arthur snapped from the hallway. “I’m not being late because of you. You had your chance—walk in the rain for all I care!”
The front door slammed.
In the early months, there had been apologies, flowers, gifts. Sweet promises of it’ll never happen again. Now, all that was left was control and pain. Tim couldn’t remember the last time he’d spoken freely to his family or seen his friends—Arthur had shut all that down.
Tim leaned closer to the mirror. Hopeless. The bruise was too obvious. Maybe it was better to call in sick. Questions would come, yes, but at least he wouldn’t have to be seen like this. His head pounded harder than ever, and his ribs protested with every stretch.
Yes. Call in. Better that than letting Craig see me like this again.
The last time Craig had noticed, the look of concern in his eyes had been unbearable. Tim’s story of being “the clumsiest person alive” was starting to wear thin.
He picked up the phone and dialled in sick for the week, cancelling dinner with Mary and Caroline as well. They, like Frankie and Marcus, were quick to remind him he didn’t have to stay with Arthur. He ignored them all.
Last night’s events flashed through his mind. It had all started because he’d dared to suggest counselling. Arthur’s reaction had been instant fury.
“You think you’re so smart, don’t you?” Arthur had shouted, the kicks landing on his stomach one after another. “Telling me to go to therapy? Look at you—worthless piece of shit! Not even good enough to fuck. And it’s not just me who thinks that. That guy you were dating, what’s his name—Hawk?”
The name had been like a second blow, sharp and wounding.
“Didn’t love you enough, did he?”
Tim’s body shuddered at the memory, his head throbbing again. He pulled the blanket around himself and made the call: “Bad headache, should be okay tomorrow. I’ll work from home.”
When he finally lay down on the bed, he stared at the wall for an hour before sleep came.
The next time he woke, the house was silent. His phone lit up with messages:
Craig: Hey, didn’t see you at work again. You okay?
Frankie: Been a while since we hung out. Wanna grab a beer?
Maggie: Hey little brother, it’s been so long. Sorry for what I said about Arthur—I’m just worried. Call me? PS: Mum wants to know if you’re making the annual trip.
Tim groaned. He had forgotten about the summer trip. He hadn’t gone last year after Arthur’s scene at the BBQ—another jealous outburst that had ended in a bruised wrist. Christmas had been avoided too, thanks to a bruised face and dislocated shoulder.
He quickly deleted the messages. Arthur had started checking his phone. Tim told himself he wasn’t scared. He just didn’t want the argument.
Besides… he loved Arthur. And with Arthur, he could be himself—not a secret. Right?