oh, i'm gonna mess this up [p] oh, this is just my luck

[eos]

[align=center][div style="width: 500px; text-align: justify; font-family: calibri; font-size: 9.2pt; line-height: 1.4;"]cw: past transphobia, mentions of domestic and child abuse, abusive relationships in general

The last time Eos had been on a date? Pretty much never.

His life had always been this... roller coaster. First he was too young and fragile, too unsure of himself in a world that demanded a sort of confidence. Something that he found hard to muster when he was too busy living life under the thumb of parents that shouted and told him to stop asking for a haircut. On their better days, his mother would sit him down and explain that sweetie, you're beautiful the way you are; don't you know that? It had always made him feel so guilty. Like he was ruining something that he had no right to change. As he got older, he got angrier at that way of thinking. Slowly, Eos realized that they were the ones who had no right to his body, to his existence. He would shout back when they yelled at him, hold a dirty kitchen pan in one hand when his dad was drunk and lumbering, that empty bottle held by the neck in a grip so firm it could shatter it.

No more bowing his head. But even after he got out of there, after doing things that he doesn't dare tell anyone about, he was more broken than he can put words to. He had spent too long in the dark to know what to do with the light, and if it weren't for the luck of good company and great friends, he would have ended up in a place he couldn't come back from. While they were still a rowdy bunch, breaking windows and climbing construction work, they needed him as much as he needed them, and he'd had the time to heal. To fix himself, piece by piece. It was a bit of work that would never be completed, for various reasons. Eos is fairly certain that he would always remain this shattered. You couldn't fix someone's memories.

And that's okay. Really, it is. He's made peace with his history and all of its fucked up happenings, even past the friends and the loss of them. Bad relationships and a bad person that he loved — thought he loved. One of his most vivid memories is still of kneeling by him and watching him bleed, crying into his shoulder and feeling so tempted to stay there and bleed with him. Maybe he's glad he didn't, or maybe he's not. It's hard to tell some days, but with time and distance he's learning to untangle those feelings. Whatever that man made him feel, it wasn't sweet or gentle. Maybe he needs that, now. Something gentle, with someone that will hold his hand. But as he already mentioned, he's never done this before. Never tried to be sweet. It was thrilling and terrifying, and he'd spent way too long worrying about it. Cat didn't seem to be that judgmental of a person.

Definitely not enough to worry himself like this. He thought he'd be keyed up the entire ride, but something about the seats and the smell of leather and that soft rumbling purr had him melting. In just a few minutes, he was almost curled up in a slightly unsafe way, his head by the window. He feels safe like this, wrapped up and warm, and that's — he can't call it new, but it's close, and it's certainly new with Cat. It's probably a good sign, except he's asleep on the way to their date.

Hopefully they don't give up on him for this.

Their soft words jolt him awake some, a sleep-heavy, "Mm?" betraying some of his confusion as he arches and unfolds himself with a hand carding through soft blond hair, sharply ignoring the pink tinge to his own cheeks once he's awake enough to recognize it. It only grows a little warmer then. "Sorry, that —" Eos covers his face with both hands as he yawns "— that's not a great impression for a date. I just —" Why does he feel like he has to explain himself? Probably because he actually cares about what they think of him. "— it's just the car. Like a really big cat." Or a lion, really.