16. It Takes Courage

Trigger Warning:

Themes involving familial death and grieving

Feel free to completely skip this chapter, or if you'd like a brief summary I'll include one at the very end of this chapter—only what's necessary for character background/motivation but without the details. 💚

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The air returns to an easy quiet as we watch tv, but I keep my attention split between it and my current task. I send more heat into his footbed under my fingers, putting some heavier pressure on his heel and defrosting his toes one by one. When they don't feel frozen anymore I fish the sock back from the ground and slide it on before taking the other one off to start on his next foot.

As I glance down to check my work, I notice a small dark mark near his inner ankle, so I examine a little closer and sure enough, there's a small tattoo there.

"A butterfly? That's cute."

He flinches at my voice, but he recovers quickly with a soft smile. "It's a moth actually, but thanks."

"Is that the one tattoo you were talking about? You made it sound so secretive, I thought maybe it was in a weird place."

"Oh, yeah... Nah, it's just that nobody ever sees it since it's usually covered by my socks and I don't talk about it much. If someone does happen to see it I just say it was a drunk dare."

I tilt my head at him while trying to understand the subtle shift in his demeanor. His tones changed and while he's not exactly watching the background television, he's also looking everywhere except at me. Why did he shift so suddenly after I mentioned the tattoo?

"...And was it? A dare, I mean." I try to match his forced humor but fail. I'm pretty sure he noticed, too, his small smile now completely gone from his face. He opens and closes his mouth like he can't decide what to say.

"Um, no. It was for my sister."

He goes still and quiet. He's obviously uncomfortable talking about it and it makes me curious, of course, but if he goes out of his way to hide and avoid it, then it's definitely something personal and probably not my business. So instead of prying, I go back to massaging.

A few moments later he speaks up. "You're not gonna ask?"

He's still looking to the side of me, picking at the corner of the pillow.

Did he purposefully give me a vague answer so that I would ask? "No. I'm definitely interested, but you don't have to tell me if you don't want to."

His eyes finally meet mine then— and the fierce vulnerability shining there stabs me right in the center of my chest.

"I-I do... want to tell you. It's just hard to talk about. I don't really talk about her much. To anyone actually, besides my therapist, but... I do want to. If that's ok with you, of course, it can wait." He's gone ice still, only his eyes continue to survey me.

"Kal, I would love to hear about your sister. If you want to talk, I'm here. About anything."

A tentative, soft smile graces his face as that quiet anxiousness melts away. "Thanks."

He looks shyly downward again and I can just barely make out his cheeks lightly flaming in the low light. I follow his line of vision to his feet, where I realize my hands had paused their movement. I pick back up where I left off, pressing my thumb into the pad under his toes.

He takes a deep breath. "Her name was Cara. She was an aeroweaver and so, naturally, she loved watching butterflies float on the breeze... We had a running inside joke though, about how I liked moths better. She was the sunny butterfly, and I was the moonlit moth. As soon as she graduated high school, she got a butterfly tattoo on her ankle, in the same place—so our tattoos are almost matching. One butterfly. One moth."

Loved. Had. Why does he keep using past tense?

A hard, dark pit settles in the hollow of my stomach. "Your sister, she's older right? I think you've mentioned that before."

"Only by a little over a year, yeah... sh-she was. She's not around anymore."

I've stopped hearing the background hum of the television.

He clears his throat, before continuing. "Sh-She, ah... died actually. A week after she got that tattoo, just before my senior year of high school... a car crash. Ran into a tree during a bad storm."

And there it is. The gut-wrenching, heart-breaking part I was dreading. I wasn't sure exactly what I was expecting? That she left? That they were separated? But this... this is... I pull a ragged breath back into my lungs. "I'm so, so sorry, Kal. That had to be really hard."

He slowly nods.

"Were you guys close?"

He nods a bit. "Very. She was my best friend... Say what you like about siblings being friends, trust me, nobody believed me when I told them my bestie was my older sister. But we had honestly, truly been best friends since I was born. We drifted apart on occasion, as all siblings do... but we were always close. Like, did everything together, no secrets between us, close—to the point where I had to whack her with a pillow and cover her mouth to prevent my ears from bleeding, close." A ghost of a smile appears, even if it doesn't match his glistening eyes.

I cringe in solidarity—the countless times Wren has over-shared during our talks come to mind.

He continues, "We had already planned my mirroring tattoo, so as soon as I graduated, I went and got it done as a way to remember her and keep my promise."

"I like it, it's very fitting," I mirror his own comment, from when I told him about the flames on my shoulder.

"It is, isn't it? It's ironic actually... do you know what moths symbolize?"

I shake my head.

"They're an omen of change. Of seeking the light and overcoming adversity."

"That's really beautiful. Terribly ironic... but beautiful too."

He nods again and the motion makes the singular tear on his cheek shine in the tv's colorful light. Another quickly follows it, but he doesn't brush it away, he just keeps picking at the pillow that sits in his lap.

I can't even imagine going through something like that. And he's never told anyone before? Having to hold that inside you for that long—my heart aches for him. I want to do something for him, to comfort him at least.

I offer the best thing I'm able to: "Can I give you a hug?"

He looks at me through his lashes and pouts. "Always."

I officially pause my massaging—although I hadn't even moved my hands since he mentioned his sister—and move his feet aside so I can sit up. His eyebrows remain pinched as he bites his bottom lip. I know it's really not the time, but I can't help thinking he looks adorable like that. Minus the tears of course.

"C'mere." I reach toward him and gently remove the pillow, and as soon as it's gone he leans up to meet me. His arms wrap around my waist, fisting in the back of my shirt, as mine settle on his shoulders. He pulls in a shaky breath and I immediately find the nape of his neck, pulling him into me until his head settles on the top of my shoulder.

"You really haven't told anyone before? What about Ronan?" I ask when he finally settles.

"No. Nobody. Obviously my family knows, and my therapist, but outside of them I've never wanted to bring it up or talk about it. I have a feeling Ronan might know though—he's met my parents and there's a good chance they might've said something about her. But neither of us has brought it up. I wasn't ready to. I love him and I know he cares about me, but we've never really opened up to each other about deep stuff like that. I just wasn't comfortable sharing it with him I guess."

"Can I ask why? I mean, I know it's a hard subject, but was there a specific reason?"

"Umm, kinda, yeah... it's complex though." He buries his face into the crook of my neck, and I move my hand into his hair.

"I'll be here as long as you need; got nowhere else to be. Tell me as much or as little as you want."

I feel his deep inhale as air rushes along my neck. "Alright. Well, when she died... I-I spiraled. Hard." His grip tightens on my shirt, a result of dredging up unhappy memories. "Drinking, smoking, partying. Meaningless hookups and surface-level acquaintances... anyway... eventually I started seeing a therapist around the same time I met Ronan, and it's helped. So now, a few years later, between her and Ro, and now you and the others here, I'm doing a lot better I think... not 'great' or 'perfect' by any means, but better. I'm more me. Less fake and fleeting. More genuine and present. It's been a long time since I've had actual, real friends that I was happy to be around. So, I think I'm just trying to open up a little. And I figured I'd start by sharing something meaningful. Something I've thought to talk about but never had the courage to do before."

"Thank you for telling me," I whisper into his hair. "I want you to know how brave you are. For going through all that and coming out a better person, and for finding the courage to talk about it. It's no easy thing."

There's a faint damp spot on my shirt where he nods his head, but I just keep stroking his back and holding him close, trying to feed him some warmth and comfort.

"Thanks for listening. You give good hugs."

My lips quirk up against his skin. "Anytime." Then I ask something I've been waiting to: "Will you tell me about her?"

So he does.

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[A/N]

:'(

Ya'll have no idea how many times I teared up writing/editing/rereading this chapter.

Sorry for the heavy sadness, but sometimes a little sadness is necessary and cleansing. This was one of those big meaningful chapters I've had lined up to write since the beginning. It was a moment I wanted Kal and Aiden to share together, and kind of serves as a point to show some of Kal's motivation and growth.

Sending love to anyone who's gone through anything like this—especially with the covid situation right now. You are strong and beautiful ❤️

We'll get back to some lighter stuff after this, thanks for joining me on this journey!

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Brief Summary:

Aiden sees a moth tattoo on Kal's ankle. They talk about Kal's sister who died, she had a butterfly tattoo so he got a moth tattoo in the same place.

Kal has never discussed it with anyone and used some unhealthy coping mechanisms in the past, but he is in therapy and wants to take a step and be more open regarding it.