Turns out Trauma is a Good Thing to Bond Over // OxO with Iris

Now that Cameron was gone, Calixto casted a few quick glances around the room. The other wasn't all too far, but it would likely be awhile before he came back. Stubborn as he was, Cal began to shift himself on the couch, slowly aiming for an upright position. His chest screamed in agony, but he continued anyways. He wanted to attempt standing so he wouldn't be stuck lying there anymore. Stupid habits. He just couldn't stand to be still for long. Back nearly upright, he swung his legs off the cushions and attempted a forward sitting position before standing. Well, it was almost there. To avoid his wound opening, he moved stiffly, so he was still a bit lopsided. Frowning, he stayed as he was for a moment. That was one thing the collar did. It made him work through immense pain effortlessly. Every second was torture, but… strangely he missed not being idle.
The man scowled at the thought, before trying right himself on the couch again.
He wouldn't be able to stand. Not today.

Cal had worn himself out, his stitches were obviously not happy with the excess movement. Hearing footsteps, he looked over, nearly terrified with the contrast in appearance of Cameron. It was as if they were the same kind with how stark the change was. But… it looked… well, less like a lie. It was what Cameron was supposed to look like. What he was mostly worried about now was the other man scolding him for moving.

(Cameron: casually walks in looking fine as heck)
(Cal: dang, he looks kinda nice or something-)
(Cam: cAL yOu mOvEd dAmN iT, yOuR sTitChEs!!!)
(Cal: aaand there it is, fricking dang it)

(Bonus:)
(Cam: "Fricking dang it?" Can you not say fuck? Or damn? Or-)
(Cal: nervously sweats)
(Cam: omg you can't say fuck aww)
(Cal: i CaN bUt i wOn'T)

Calixto flinched slightly at the profanity, but let it pass. "I can't just… lay here! I didn't rip them open or anything, dang it," he huffed, feeling a bit annoyed. He looked back at Cameron for a moment before looking down at his chest again. The skin was a bit irritated, but the stitching was still intact. His skin was cool from not having a shirt on. Cal nearly sighed. Now Cameron might not even trust him with one so he could monitor the wound constantly. Great…

Cal flinched as Cameron stroked over the injury on his chest. It stung some, and it was unnerving that the other was that close. He also hated hearing those words. The more he kept around Cameron, the more unsure he was of everything. He had helped him, yes, but the other had been overly doting over him only to suddenly not care about casually snuggling with him again.
Stars, why were people so confusing? At least with those humans in the alleyway were obvious in their intent…
As Cameron was still close after moving his hand away, Calixto stared back in silence. Why did he want to believe that Cameron was different so badly?

Cal pushed Cameron away lightly, not much force behind it. "Stop. Please," he said, not really wanting to answer. Answering would mean he would have to elaborate. He was already not enjoying his current situation, and he didn't want to think about his previous one.

(It's fine! :D)

Cal blinked a moment. He wasn't going to keep asking…? Cal looked down at his lap for a moment. "All he ever did was curse at me. I…" he paused for a moment. "Never mind, I shouldn't have said anything."

Cal shook his head. "No. Do whatever you want," he replied with a sigh. He shouldn't control what other people said or did. That would make him just as bad as the people who tortured him and his kind. "I just… can't say it myself," he finished, looking down at his hands. His thumb brushed over the thin cut he gave himself back at the inn. It was healing nicely.

That made Cal look up again. "What is it with you and apologizing? You didn't do anything," he asked. This was a partial lie. Cameron did bring up bad memories, but that wasn't on purpose. And… there was always that lingering doubt that made him somewhat submissive.

Rather than talk about this any longer, Cal decided to change the subject. "I was right… You uh, look better with blonde hair," he said, hopefully not coming off as a flirtatious comment. He really didn't want Cameron to believe that as he wasn't attracted to him. Well, not in that way. There was that special and strange way of his that was almost growing on him. Both a bit bossy and submissive. Apologetic and worried…? Whether it was fake or not… the interest was there.

(OK LOOK IM KINDA TIRED RN SHSHHS)
(He's like: he's bossing me around to stay still but also like: do you need anything, are you sure, what can i get you? and is very confused XD)
(Cal would most likely be a top if that's what you're meaning. Once they really hit it off I mean lololol)

It was strange how soft it looked considering that Cameron had dyed it several times over. He had heard that doing that dried out both the hair and scalp. "Does it not become tedious to do so every day?" he asked, genuinely a bit curious.

(Cal doesn't understand though because he's never met a good boi)

Cal looked down at his feet a moment. He supposed he did the exact same thing that Cameron had done to him a moment ago. Brought up bad memories. "Yeah. I don't have to know you to say I'd prefer if you didn't die," he said, not bothering to look up. He remembered how much blood there always was. That metallic taste in his mouth on occasion mixed with the smell of smoke in the air…

(he is lmao)

"If I don't get scolded for moving anymore, yeah," he joked lightly, a dry chuckle following as he looked up. He decided to try and make the conversation lighter as it seemed they both had a lot of bad memories popping up. It didn't matter who's was worse. Both experiences were just as real.

The smile left his face as soon as the other male apologized. "I was trying to make a joke, not make you feel sorry," he explained, sounding a bit annoyed. "I'm not good at this, okay?"

Cal leaned his head back and mentally groaned. "An apology can't be accepted if still no need for one, Cameron," he replied. It was funny. He refused to be apologised to by the very kind that held him captive. His fantasies imagined that horrible man who owned him, on his knees, ugly sobs coming from his throat. Perhaps screams as Cal took the cigarettes away and put them out over his skin- no. He couldn't turn himself that way. It was why people were afraid of them to begin with.
But now? When one of them was apologising for every little thing? It seemed far from satisfying. That was probably partially due to the fact that Cameron was in a similar boat. His own kind hated him as well.