been sketching him for a piece… absolute damsel

The Eye of the Beholder

Sal/Larry Tags/Warnings: angst, fluff, anxiety, facial dysmorphia, potential body horror? (Just a description of Sal's disfiguration and some of the medical procedures and reconstruction), mutual pining, first person perspective, PTSD. This is just a drabble I wrote last night based on some headcanons and ideas that have been building up for me. I'm also welcome to critique and feedback! This is likely a WIP and I'll probably add to it and delete this original post later to repost the new versions as I go along, but we'll see. Enjoy! 🖤 ---------------------------------------- I stare blankly into the mirror in Larry’s bathroom, lost in my own reflection. This happened often, I'd lose track of time, gaping at the glass as I searched over and over for anything left behind from before the incident. Wishing I could find anything to remind me of how I used to look. I'd forgotten my own face not long after I'd lost it. I'm ripped from my trance as a knock sounds at the door “Sal? You still alive in there buddy? It's been like 20 minutes.” Larry's familiar voice almost immediately soothed my nerves, easing the lump of anxiety I'd felt rising in my chest. “Yeah uhm...I'll be right out.” I fasten my prosthetic back into place and come out, sighing softly and attempting to appear as calm as ever. Despite having no way of seeing my expression, Larry always saw right through my facade, he could read my body language like a book. “You look on edge, you sure you're alright?” I try to nod silently but make a resigned grunt instead before speaking, “Honestly, not exactly. Had a small identity crisis in the mirror again-” Larry pulls a sympathetic face and pats the spot next to him on the couch. Lisa wasn't home at the time, so we felt more comfortable being in the living area than normal, “You wanna talk about it?” I nod and take a seat. I'm not usually so open but something about Larry's presence was comforting in and of itself, allowing me to actually be trusting for once. “I made the mistake of removing my prosthetic and I got lost staring at myself again. It feels like I'm looking at a stranger, but I also don't even remember well enough what I looked like before aside from the few pictures we had of me back then. It's like the trauma wiped my ability to recognize myself.” Larry nods silently, simply listening to me without judgement or pressure. “I can't imagine how that feels, but I'm sure it's really confusing and frustrating.” “You have no idea man, it's the strangest thing.” I pause, mind suddenly going off track as I realize that my best friend has never gotten to see my face in all the time we've known each other. We drift into a comfortable silence as I continue to think, and Larry watches me in mild confusion, but waits patiently. Moments pass that feel like hours before I speak “You've never seen my face.” I blurt awkwardly, mouth running without my consent. Larry's eyes widen for a moment before returning to normal “I...yeah I haven't. I figured we'd get to that when you're comfortable. There's no rush.” “Do you want to see my face, Larry? It's not like I don't trust you at this point.” Larry blinks, seeming slightly taken aback “If you're ready to show me, I'd love to see what my best friend looks like, yes.” I bite my lip behind my prosthetic, mustering the nerve to actually go through with showing him. I remind myself that he wouldn't be like the others, he would never belittle me. “Just a second.” I turn away from him and start unfastening the straps, taking a deep breath to steel myself. “Take your time, Sal. Whenever you're ready-” I smile softly to myself, slipping my prosthetic away and placing it on the table next to the couch. “Just...don't freak out.” “Aw cmon Sal, you know better.” He was right, I did. I slowly face him, watching his expression shift through emotions as he takes in the details of my face, compassion, sadness, pain (he probably was imagining the attack as I'd described it). His gaze roves from my eyes to my mouth, where the deep pit of a scar on my left cheek reveals a hole in my face that had never healed properly, my canines exposed if you looked closely enough. His eyes then shifted to take in the rest, my poorly reconstructed nose, my taut and stretched eyelids, the teeth marks and shredded scars, traces of skin grafts covering every inch of my visage. There wasn't a trace of pity in his expression, and for that I was thankful. Then he surprised me, and smiled. “So this is the real you, Sally Face.” In my shock, I could feel myself blink back tears. Larry's brow furrows in concern immediately “What's wrong?” I laugh quietly and shake my head “These are tears of relief, Larry.” I wipe at my eyes with my sleeve, smiling at him. There was a look on his face I’d never seen before, a soft and compassionate smirk. “You have a nice smile, you know? I'm glad to know what it looks like finally.” “Oh don't patronize me now Larry, I look like one of those toddlers that's shoved their face into spaghetti-” he looks mildly offended, “I'm serious. It's a genuine and sweet smile.” I roll my eyes “If you insist, Larry Face.” I reach for my prosthetic and Larry looks disappointed “Uh, if you don't mind, could you keep it off a bit longer? I understand if not. It's just nice to see your expressions-” I stare at him, so he really was serious, wasn't he? “Sure, I suppose.” He cracks a wide smile “You know, you should let me paint you sometime. The you behind the prosthetic.” I raise an eyebrow at him quizzically “This grotesque mug?” He looks offended again, “You're too hard on yourself about it. I think you see it as worse than it is because of the things people have said to you.” Ouch. That one hit the nail on the head. “You're...probably right, but it's something I do to cope, I guess.” He nudges my side with his elbow “I guess that means I need to start loading you with compliments to make up for the damage they caused then, huh? And not just fake pity compliments either. I'm not about that, it's gotta be authentic.” “Why are you so nice to me, dude?” “I figured it’s about time someone was.” I shake my head with a small smile, leaning my head against his shoulder “That's cheesy. You're a dweeb.” “You know it, Sally Face.” _________________________________ Larry had the most fascinating expressions when he was drawing, and he had uniquely handsome features. Not in the conventional sense, he had a long pointed nose, eyebrows that were bit too thick by most people's standards, and his hair was rarely clean; yet he also had a sharp jawline and broad shoulders atop his thin frame, his skin dusted in freckles and beauty marks, including the darkest one under his right eye. To me, he was just gorgeous, and even if he never washed his hair, I wanted to tangle my fingers in it and never let go. I was always zoning out and staring at him while he was sketching something across the room, hair falling into his face. I had no idea what he was drawing, but occasionally he'd glance up at me and I would quickly avert my eyes, as if that weren't just as obvious as my gawking. Real subtle, Sal. I had realized not long after showing him my face weeks before, it was unavoidable at this point. I had a huge crush on my best friend. My best friend who was, presumably, not into guys. What a mess. Part of me wanted to tell him because I knew he wouldn't be grossed out or hate me, but there was still a chance it would change things, that we'd become distant. What if he didn't want me to stay over as much? What if he was grossed out by it but would be too nice to tell me so? What if I'm just freaking myself out over nothing? The latter is the most likely, but that doesn't make it any easier to form the words, ‘Hey man, I've been thinking about kissing you a lot lately.’ Or ‘Hey man, I’d really fucking love to fall asleep in your arms instead of just lying next to you.’ When did this attraction even start? It's not exactly shocking but damn. I sigh, the sound drowned out by the sound of ‘Singular’ by Sanity’s Fall playing loudly. I wish it could drown out my thoughts and help me think about anything else. Lately these thoughts would always flood my mind around him. It was becoming overwhelming and I knew if I couldn't figure out how to say it soon to get closure, I'd explode. I gnaw my lip and stare over at my prosthetic, lying on Larry’s dresser. Fuck it. I reach over and turn down the music, causing Larry to look up at me. “Something up? You seem like you're a million miles away right now.” “I have something to tell you. It's not easy to say either, but if I don't say it soon I'll snap.” He blinks and closes his sketchbook, giving me his undivided attention. “Go for it.” I bite my lip again and search for the words, picking at the fray in the knee of my jeans. “I hope this doesn't make anything weird, but I think I might-...” I drift off, words catching in my throat, “-no, there's no might about it, I have more than platonic feelings for you Larry. God I hope that doesn't make you uncomfortable or that it doesn't change anything, and I understand if you don't feel the same at all. I just needed to get it off my chest, honestly…” I stare at my hands, afraid to look at him. The silence hangs in the air like smog, and I can hardly breathe. Just as I think I'll crumble under the tension, he speaks, “Why would that change anything or make me uncomfortable, Sal?” My gaze lifts and I finally see his face. Once again he surprises me by smiling, “You're still my best friend. Maybe I'll need time to process this new info and determine how I feel, but I promise you that it won't change anything for the worse.” And once again, I find myself blinking back tears of relief, only this time I can't hold them back. Tears roll down my cheeks and I choke out a single laugh, the sound catching in my throat from my shortness of breath. “You know Sal, you're not the only one questioning our relationship here. I haven't been sure and I'm still confused, but I-... hell I don't even know myself, really. All I know is sometimes I think things that aren't normal to think of someone who's just your friend.” I stare at him, mouth slightly agape, “Like what?” He glances away nervously and runs a hand through his hair, “Things like, wanting to hold your hand, or hug you for longer than usual...and kind of wanting to kiss you.” His voice grew so quiet near the end that I was almost convinced I’d misheard him, but no. He had really been thinking the same sort of things I had. Before I could stop myself the words left my mouth, “Me too.” We exchange a look in silence, the ten or so feet between us seeming to close in as we hold eye contact for much longer than normal. He stands slowly and sets his sketchbook aside, hands shaking ever so slightly, the only sign of his nervousness. My eyes track him as he hesitantly crosses the room before looming over me. “Can I kiss you?” He asks quietly, the words coming out as barely more than a whisper. I'd never seen him so timid. When I finally process his question my face heats and I nod, muttering softly, “Yes.” Both of us lean in slowly, each second seeming to drag on forever before our lips finally connect. The kiss is brief and innocent, lips pressed together for just a moment, yet when we withdrew from it we both were glowing red and staring at each other silently. I wonder if he can hear my heart drumming against my ribcage, but find that I don't care. We both smile sheepishly and laugh as I hide my face in my hands and he sets his hands on my shoulders gently, “For now, we'll just take our time to figure out how we feel before we rush in any further, sound alright?” I look out from behind my hands and nod, unable to stop smiling. _________________________________ I had finally agreed to let him paint me. After weeks of Larry occasionally pestering me about it, I begrudgingly decided to let him. I didn't really think I was anything worth painting, but he had told me that was just what I'd been conditioned to think of myself by the bullies. I'm now sitting with Larry in his room, relaxing on his bed as usual while he sits across from me and sketches the layout of his painting, looking between me and the page every few moments. The silence starts to bother me, so I speak, trying my best to not move, “Why is it you want to paint me so badly?” He smiles, looking down at his work, “Glad you asked. See, I think you represent a special kind of beauty.” I stare at him, expression blank, “I mean it. To me you're pretty because you're just Sal. If I must, I could even list things about you that are physically beautiful.” I snort quietly, nearly rolling my eyes but deciding against it, “Try me.” He looks up at me and meets my eyes, “Your hair is pretty and soft, your eyes are the most stunning blue, the crinkles in the corners of your eyes when you smile are precious and I can even see them when you wear your prosthetic. Before you stopped wearing it all the time that's the only way I could tell you were smiling. You have delicate hands, and a cute frame, I could keep going if you need me too-” I realize as he's speaking that my face feels warm and he laughs, “Don't look so surprised Sal. They say beauty is in the eye of the beholder. It's all subjective. Like a work of art, and that's why I think you're a perfect subject to paint.” I stare at him wordlessly and without thinking I shift to lean over and kiss his cheek before returning to my former position. “Thank you, it means so much coming from you.” His cheeks flush ever so slightly and he returns to sketching with a smile, both of us sitting in almost silence once again as we listen to the music playing quietly from across the room. Lisa was home, so we kept it down. As if on queue when I thought of her, Lisa knocks and pokes her head into the room, glancing between us and at Larry's sketch. A soft smile crosses her lips as she speaks, “Dinner’s ready if you boys are hungry, not to interrupt your artistic flow, Hon.” “Thanks, mom.” We both answer simultaneously. She laughs and steps back out. I'd accidentally referred to her as mom once and it had just stuck. I had a sinking suspicion she knew about the recently changed nature of our relationship, but if so she didn't seem to mind at all. Larry and I had discussed how to tell her properly, but hadn't gotten around to it. “We should tell her tonight.” I say as Larry makes finishing touches on the sketch, so we could take a dinner break, “I mean, what better time to bring it up than over a meal?” He nods agreeably and closes his sketchbook, “Alright. I think we're ready for that. It's not like she'll have a problem with it. Mom’s told me about her past girlfriends from her school days.” I raise my eyebrows and smirk, “Oh?? So you're mom’s not just into guys? The more ya know, I guess.” We make our way out to the living room. We usually would eat in there over the coffee table. Somehow it made the atmosphere of meals more relaxed, and I feel my slight nerves about telling her calm down. We take our seats on the couch, each picking our plates up from the table and thanking Lisa before we start to eat. After a few minutes of small talk and silent eating, Larry clears his throat and sets his fork down, “So, Mom, I-...we have something to tell you.” She smiles knowingly but only says, “Oh? What's that?” “Sal is...kind of my boyfriend now.” Lisa smirks and chuckles to herself, “Henry owes me 10 bucks. He thought it would be a few more months before you told one of us.” I choke on a bite of chicken, laughing when I recover, “You and dad placed bets on this???” She snorts, “Sal sweetheart it's been obvious for a while now.” I resist the urge to hide my face in my hands and Larry groans, “Mom what the hell.” She laughs again before sighing happily, “In all seriousness though, I'm happy for you two and I support you to the ends of the earth. You're good for each other. Sal is one of the best additions to the family I could hope for, and if you're happy I'm happy, son.” She and Larry exchange a loving look before she turns to me, “Just take care of my boy, Sally.” I smile and nod, “I wouldn't have it any other way.”