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Arlo Masterpost

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elaborate profile

For pictures search ‘Arlo Visuals’

For art search ‘Arlo Art’

For little writing snippets search ‘Arlo prompt’

Arlo Playlist

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William Masterpost

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elaborate profile

For pictures search ‘William Visuals’

For art search ‘William Art’

For little writing snippets search ‘William prompt’

William Playlist

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Clarence: Darling (affectionate)

Arlo: Darling (derogatory)

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Overworked (WiP)

[-trope: angst, character A overworks themselves and Character B takes care of them]

[-characters: Clarence, William, Mr Wilson]

[-content warnings: fainting, bruises, vague suggestion of an ED]

I kicked the snow off the soles of my shoes before entering the building. My cheeks and fingertips started tingling at the sudden feeling of warmth, and I quickly closed the heavy wooden door behind me, as to not let too much of the cold air inside. The little bells, adorning the wreath, jingled at the sudden movement. I blew into my hands before unwrapping the scarf from around my neck. Inside it was much dimmer than outside. It had stopped snowing hours ago, yet the streets were all but covered in the white powder, reflecting the gaslamps and bathing the world in cold light, making passage through the fog almost easy. Not even the newly installed electric light bulbs could keep up, though that was hardly surprising.

It must've already been quite late, as work had held me up much longer than I had anticipated. Nevertheless, Mister Wilson was sat behind his desk in the lobby as he was every day, cigar in his mouth and most of his lean figure obscured behind the newspaper he had been reading with furrowed brows. Leaving my umbrella and coat by the door, I made my way into the room.

"Good evening, Mister Wilson." "Good evening, Mister Aberdare.", he retorted in his usual official tone without lifting his gaze from the paper or even pausing his reading by the looks of it. In fact, besides his answering my greeting, I noticed he had not acknowledged my presence at all thus far.

"I'm surprised to see you up at this hour, Sir. It is quite late, is it not?" I offered, looking across the room for the grandfather clock in the corner. It was about to strike midnight. "That it is." Mister Wilson nodded, exhaling smoke as he spoke. I tried to hide how much the smell disgusted me but to no avail. Whether the older man noticed, he did not show it. It was most likely all the same to him either way. "But a certain someone, it seems, has made it his mission to keep the entire house awake this evening." As he said so, he picked the cigar out of his mouth and, with the same hand, vaguely gestured upstairs.

As if to corroborate his statement, a loud thud could be heard from right above us, followed by muffled swearing and shuffling. I let out a sigh and shot Mister Wilson an apologetic look. "I'll take care of it."

"Yes.", he answered unmoved, flipping the page of his paper and letting his eyes wander over the first column. "And do make it fast, will you?" he added. "I'd better not hear any complaints from the other tenants."

"Certainly", I murmured, my mind already upstairs with the young man now pacing back and forth in his room by the sound of it. "Good night, Mister Wilson." I bowed slightly, which he acknowledged with the faintest nod, before making my way towards the stairs.

This situation was not at all unusual. It was by no means the first time this had happened either. Whenever Clarence had a big premiere coming up, he would forget himself in his rehearsing all day, and it would only get worse the closer it got. He had already been up this morning when I had left for work, frantically sorting through his script, and he had most likely not left the room since. Mister Wilson and the other tenants quite liked complaining about it, however, the free tickets to his show they would receive afterwards had yet to fail in calming them down.

The soft, green carpet beneath my feet muffled my steps as I reached the end of the stairs. The orange light from the gaslamp under the window filled the small hallway with an almost dreamy atmosphere. I took but a moment to pause and appreciate it when a sudden crash, now louder than before, alerted me back to the current situation at hand. I quickly headed over to the door on the other end of the hallway and knocked three times. A small whimper came from the other side before I could hear him very quickly gather what I could only assume were a lot of scattered pages. "I'm coming in!" I announced.

The sight that presented itself before me was worse than I had let myself imagine. Not only were there a myriad of loose papers all over the floor, but they had tea and ink spilt all over them. The rest of the room was in similar disarray, the bed I had freshly made just this morning had been made a mess again, the table by the window barely visible beneath hastily written notes and half-burnt candles. In the middle of all the chaos, down on the floor, sat Clarence. He looked smaller than usual, sunken cheeks and dark circles under his eyes framing his face in a way unfamiliar to me. He was still in his pyjamas, though they were now littered with stains of many kinds, most of them tiny ink specks all over his sleeves. "Will! You're back." He sounded surprised.

I closed the door behind me and found my way over to him, carefully avoiding the pages upon pages of script on the floor. As I wordlessly helped him to his feet, the clock downstairs declared the end of the day. "H-How was work?" he asked, trying desperately to hide the shaking in his legs and his voice. I noticed the dark bruises on his knees.

"You're hurt." I ignored him, guiding him over to the chair by the desk. I carelessly brushed off a pile of clothes and gently pushed him onto it in its stead. "Ah," he replied hazily, looking down at his legs as though seeing the scrapes for the first time. I knelt in front of him to inspect them closer. "Have you eaten anything today?" I asked warily, not lifting my gaze as my fingers softly touched the red and blue spots on his knees, assessing their severity.

"I-" Clarence began, stopping himself for a second to think. "No, I don't think I have," he admitted then, his voice husky. I could suddenly feel him flinch under my touch. It seemed as though the awareness of his physical condition had brought with it the sensation of pain. In a swift motion, he gripped my shoulder and leaned forward, his eyes shut tight. Without hesitation, I wrapped both arms around him to steady his body in an upright position. His shaking must've gotten worse, and only now did I notice the younger man sweating excessively. I lifted one hand to his forehead, and it was just as I had suspected.

"You're burning up!" I exclaimed, not even attempting to mask the worry in my voice. Clarence let out a defeated huff and allowed himself to sink into my shoulder. I shuddered at the thought of how hard he must've been pushing himself to end up like this. Then, at the feeling of guilt boiling up inside of me. I should have noticed. I should have intervened sooner.

"Does anything else hurt? Your head?" I asked softly. He could now barely bring himself to shake the latter. "Are you nauseous? Can you hold yourself up?" "I-I'm fine." he gasped, his voice so weak I'd have been surprised if he had managed to convince even himself. I scoffed and carefully lifted him back into a sitting position. He swayed for a moment but managed to keep himself upright. "If that's the case, then I'm sure you won't mind eating something with me."

"On second thought..." he groaned, bringing his head down to rest on the table next to him. I gave in with a deep sigh. "Well then, you must drink something at least.". There was no use fighting in the state he was in. I filled a glass with clear water and brought it back to him. Brushing away a wet strand of hair covering his face, I gently lifted his head, bringing the glass up to his lips. He tried to protest, of course, but with the exhaustion keeping him from even opening his eyes for long, he was hardly a match for me. With one hand on his chin, I carefully let the water run down his throat and only paused once he started coughing. "There, there.", I murmured, gently patting his back. He gripped my shirt tightly with both hands while I waited for the fit to pass. I brought myself back down to look him in the face and grabbed him by the shoulders to secure him in position.

"Why do you do this to yourself?" I whispered. It pained me like nothing else to see him like this. He was now breathing heavily, his cheeks flushed. Still unable to open his eyes, he shivered underneath my grip. "I take it you won't be able to stand back up like this?"

I could see his brows furrow as he let out a scoff. "U-Unable to stand.", Clarence exhaled, shaking his head. "Of course I can s-stand. Do you think me so- so weak that I can't even... can't even stand on my own?". As he was protesting, he started using my shirt to slowly pull himself up, huffing and panting with exhaustion. I had not intended to hurt his pride, but I couldn't restrain myself now from grabbing his arms in support. With how feverish he had become, I'm certain he wouldn't have noticed either way.

"There. See?" he gasped, clearly out of breath. He managed to stand for just a moment before blacking out. I caught him mid-fall and lifted him up by the legs before quickly carrying him over to the bed.

[to be continued....]

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Writing Masterpost

Overworked (WiP)

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Chapters Masterpost

[to be added]

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Recources Masterpost

[to be added]

Writing realistic Injuries

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