Thrown Away

Lithuania x Reader


Tuesday was drizzly and gray, though not exactly cold. You were making your way leisurely down the street with your umbrella in hand, on your way to nowhere in particular when you noticed a figure hunched over up ahead. As you drew nearer, you saw that it was a young man sitting on the curb and doing a remarkable impression of a lost puppy.

"Something wrong?" you asked as you approached. His head jerked up at the sound of your voice, as though he were surprised that anyone would stop to talk to a depressed stranger sitting in the rain.

"N-not really," he lied. You couldn't quite place his accent. You took a seat beside him, and his green eyes widened as you held the umbrella over his head. It wasn't really raining hard, but he must have been out here for a while, as his shoulder-length brown hair was soaked and plastered to his skin. You noticed that he was nursing a broken hand.

"What happened?" you asked, concerned. He rubbed the back of his neck sheepishly with his good hand.

"Oh, nothing," he laughed nervously. "It was an accident, is all."

You weren't sure that you believed him, but it wasn't any of your business. You didn't know what else to say, so you just sat beside him for several minutes, the gentle rhythm of the rain the soundtrack to the silent war that he seemed to be fighting inside himself. Finally, he took a deep breath.

"I-I'm sorry," he said. "I lied. Something is wrong."

"I surmised as much," you retorted before you could stop yourself. The corner of his mouth twitched upward into a sad half-smile.

"Sorry. So, what's wrong?"

He tapped a finger on his cast absently. "The girl I like. She… she doesn't like me back."

You felt your eyes widen a bit skeptically. That was what was going on? Girl troubles? Then your gaze traveled, almost accidentally, to his cast. You put two and two together and didn't like the sum.

"She broke your hand," you said. It wasn't a question. He opened his mouth like he was going to say no, then changed his mind, closed it, and nodded.

Some people claim that they become angry when they hear of a stranger's suffering, but they were full of shit. You just felt a wave of exhaustion sweep over you, as if you'd been awake for days and had been running on a caffeine high that had suddenly vanished. You didn't want to hunt this girl down and kill her. You wanted to go home, curl up under the covers, and fall asleep.

He hadn't said anything for a while, and the rain was starting to pick up. It sounded impatient, like it wanted to hurry this little encounter along. You made a decision, grabbing the man's elbow to pull him to his feet as you stood. You started down the sidewalk without releasing him.

"Where-" You cut him off.

"My house. I have some dry clothes and stuff there."

You felt some resistance as he tried to escape, but the attempt was half-hearted, and he gave up a second later. You dragged him several blocks, and all the while the wind slowly picked up and the rain evolved from tiny droplets to huge liquid bullets. By the time you made it to your front door, the umbrella had been rendered totally useless.

You let yourself inside and released the man, who followed you anxiously. It occurred to you that, should he choose to do so, he could present a believable argument stating that you'd kidnapped him. He didn't seem like the type, though. He followed you into the hall, and you showed him the bathroom.

"Use whatever you need," you told him as you unplugged your hairdryer. His fingers curled around your arm as you left, then withdrew immediately. You turned to look at him.

"I can't," he said, looking guilty. "You're soaked, too. You need it more than-"

You silenced him by holding up the hairdryer. "I'm going to my room to plug this in and dry off," you said simply. "I'll leave some clothes outside the bathroom door for you." And the conversation was over just like that.

You dug through your closet, finally deciding to give him the least feminine outfit you owned. The jeans were still technically girl jeans, but it wasn't like he was going to wear them in public.

You changed into your sleep clothes, plugged in the dryer, then stopped to listen. A moment later, you heard the shower cut on. Satisfied, you started playing with the dryer, letting it warm your clothes before using it for its intended purpose. You nearly forgot that you had company.

Nearly.

A knock on your door. You jumped and dropped the dryer, which landed on your foot. You grabbed it, swearing, and flicked it off. The man knocked again, gentler now that he knew you could hear him. You opened the door, and suddenly the temperature in your house seemed to rise about ten degrees.

He had a towel wrapped around his waist, which he was clutching with one hand. He was blushing nearly as much as you were, and you observed for the first time that he was actually really attractive, with a well-toned swimmer's body. He cleared his throat uncomfortably, and you realized why he was there.

"Oh, God! Sorry!" You snatched up the bundle of clothes that you'd forgotten to put out, trying to hide the fact that you'd been staring. He took them, mumbled an embarrassed thanks, then turned to go get dressed.

You gasped audibly.

His back was covered in deep, faded scars. Most were shorter than your index finger, but one stretched all the way from his left shoulder to down below the towel, and several others were nearly as long. You knew that he knew you'd noticed, because he sort of tensed up and hurried back to the bathroom without saying anything. That feeling of exhaustion washed over you once more, and you collapsed onto the bed.

You weren't even sure what to do or say or think. Should you call someone? A domestic abuse hotline? Surely it wasn't that girl who'd done this to him… And then your stomach vanished, just disappeared and left a horrible emptiness behind. He would go back to her. You knew that he would; you could see it in his eyes, hear it in his trembling voice. If there was a hell for people who did bad things, you felt sure that you would be sent there immediately if you abandoned this man, left him to be abused like this.

Another knock jolted you from your refuge inside your head. You said "come in," and he did so. He stood before you, examining his feet. You were seized by the crazy urge to laugh when you saw him in your t-shirt and jeans, even though it wasn't remotely funny. He was holding his own wet clothes in his arms.

"So the clothes fit, then," you said, your voice deceptively steady. He nodded, still refusing to meet your eye.

"Yes. Th-thanks so much." You were beginning to anticipate the tense bouts of silence that frequently fell between the two of you. You gave him a moment to see if he had anything else to say, then stood up and took the wet clothes from him so you could toss them in the dryer. When you returned to your room, you found that he was standing outside the door, looking like a lost puppy once again.

"Make yourself comfortable," you told him. You wanted to find out more about him, make sure that he was alright. He shifted a bit nervously, so you showed him into the sitting room, directing him to the couch. He sat at your insistence, and you hurried into the kitchen to get some warm drinks. You were going to be the best damn hostess ever.

When you returned with the steaming mugs, you saw that he was playing with the hem of his your shirt, looking like he was trying to make a painful decision. He mumbled something quietly.

"What was that?" you asked. It must have sounded sharper than you intended, because he flinched slightly.

"I-I said that you don't have to do this…"

You felt really bad for this guy. He was too gentle for his own good. You smiled, handing him a mug.

"Sure I do. I'd have to be pretty coldhearted to leave you out there in the rain. You can stay here as long as you need to."

A moment passed in uncomfortable silence. After a while, he spoke again.

"Toris."

"Hmm?"

"My name is Toris Laurinaitis," he said, clearly and confidently. You smiled again and introduced yourself.

A few hours passed, spent comfortably on the couch, deep in conversation with Toris. You learned that he was from out of town, and currently living with his friend, Alfred. Apparently Alfred was hyper to the point of being irritating, so Toris frequently left the house for a bit of quiet. He liked literature and was interested in martial arts, of all things, and drove a crappy second-hand car. His crush was named Natalia, and she had been bullying him basically his whole life.

"Why do you like her, then?" you asked. "If she's mean to you and doesn't return your feelings, why chase her?"

He laughed his nervous laugh and didn't answer. Instead, he asked you about yourself. So you told him about your family, your friends, your interests, your typical day… And all the while, you wondered about this 'Natalia' girl, and what was so special about her that someone like Toris would put up with her again and again.

Too soon, he glanced out the window and announced that it was late, and he should get home.

"I doubt Al will notice I'm gone," he said in his adorable, self-depreciating way. "But I should still go. I don't want to overstay my welcome."

You went and got his clothes out of he dryer, where they'd been sitting for several hours. You brought them back to him, but as he reached out to take them from you, you pulled back, just out of reach.

"Why do you like Natalia?" you demanded. "I'm prepared to hold your clothes hostage until I get an answer, so don't just change the subject again!"

He grinned at you a bit timidly, then blushed and averted his eyes, addressing the floor.

"I-I don't," he mumbled. "Not since…"

"Not since…?" you urged him on mercilessly.

"Not since I met you."

You honestly hadn't been expecting that.

"M-me?" You were both blushing now.

"You're really nice," he said quickly, like if he didn't get it out now, he wouldn't have the nerve to do it later. "No one's ever been this kind to me before. Plus, you're really pretty and interesting…" The last part was so fast and quiet that it took your brain a moment to catch up. Or maybe that was the shock.

Toris seemed to decide that your silence was rejection. He smiled sadly.

"I understand," he said quietly. "I'll just get changed and go now." He reached out once more to take back his clothes, but you dropped them so you could throw your arms around his neck. You tried to put as much friendship and compassion as you could into the embrace. He returned it awkwardly. When you released him, you were grinning like a loon.

"You're sweet, Toris," you told him. "You're way too sweet for someone like Natalia."

His cheeks became even more red, if that was possible. He forced his gaze to lock with yours, determined not to look away this time.

"Can… can I call you?"

You stood on tiptoe to press your lips to his cheek. You could feel the heat radiating from his skin.

"Of course."