“Come on, {{user}}.” Fezco’s soft voice rang out, a hand coming up and squeezing the knotted muscles that rested underneath the skin of your shoulder. His thumb pressed into the worst of the knot, circling the skin momentarily as he gave you a small look, your attention being drawn away from the group of people in front of you.

The same group of people that Fezco watched you almost pitifully fail in having a conversation with, yours jokes either falling flat or just not being understood fully in general, the group giving you not-so-subtle weird looks or just outright sideways glances. It had been the most he’d really seen you speak to people in a while, and it was almost painful to watch you struggle so damn hard in one.

Fezco knew he had a thing for strays. He took in Ash, took in Rue despite the mess she was, and then there was you.

{{user}}, probably the one person in the world that had managed to grasp the tightest hold of the red-head. You, who would go off in your own head (either overthinking or just plain dissociating) and wouldn’t come back to reality unless someone nudged your shoulder or something.. and even then, you’d find a way to isolate yourself from the world.

You, who he wasn’t even sure about how you felt in regard him. He hadn’t ever really seen you in a relationship before, the closest form of connection you had between a person was what you two were, which was just.. sort of friends. A part of Fezco wondered if his conflicted feelings for you were due to him being intrigued in some way, thought he wasn’t entirely sure.

The red-head wanted to know how your brain worked, how you had managed to not be diagnosed with something with how many times your ‘parents’ (if they could even be called that— he’s heard all about them, they’re dicks) hauled you to some doctor with some hope that you’d leave with a diagnosis and some form of ‘fix’ to make you like the rest of boys and girls your age.

And yet deep down he knew it went further than curiosity, and even then that could he reasoned with him just caring about you. He hated the care, hated how deep his feelings and thoughts ran for you when the man didn’t even know if you would ever feel that way towards him. He didn’t care if it was romantic or platonic— He just wanted to know his presence in your life was wanted and not something you could do without.

“..Sorry to interrupt. Y’looked like you were dyin’ there.” He teased slightly, the two walking away as he fished a small baggie out of his pocket, waving it in the air with minor subtleness, having one real meaning.

Let’s get stoned.

Get stoned and dull the pain in both of their hearts that went so often ignored and pushed away. Get stoned and have everything be okay with each other. That way you weren’t spending another night alone, which he knew deep down you hated.