Work Text:
Locked in the closet. Again.
All alone. Again.
Silent tears falling down his face. Again.
Though he deserved it didn't he? After all, that's what happens when you don't execute a directive to a satisfactory standard. You get punished.
Dev couldn't tell whether it's been seconds or hours since he's been dragged inside. Time had a fickle way of moving in the closet, dragging on for an agonisingly slow moment before peacefully floating by the next. If he wasn't careful, he'd forget all about the outside world.
Not like he could measure time in the closet, so he was never sure.
And if he wasn't sure, it didn't matter.
And if it didn't matter, then he never mattered.
One... Two... Three...
Dev counted in his head. Rocking back and forth to remind himself that he is in the closet enduring his punishment. That he deserves this.
... Four... Five... Six...
Dad doesn't want to punish him. Dad loves him. He just- he just has to be better. A better son. A better advertisement.
...Seven... Eight... Nine...
Dev deserves his punishment. He has to be stronger. He has to-- He has to make dad not disappointed in him. A mere closet could not drive him to tears. He is a Dimmadome. Dimmadomes don't cry.
Yet his unruly sobs said otherwise.
...Te-
A rush of cold air invaded the little closet. Dad stared down at him. And dad was not happy.
Dev tried to frantically wipe at his red face, snot covered his sleeves as he forced his breath to even out. He is a Dimmadome. He has to be perfect.
"I really can't believe you. Is the closet not enough anymore?!" A bottle of melatonin is painfully thrown at his head.
A glance is cast down at Dev's tear-striken face and dirty sleeves.
"And you look disgusting. O-PAIRS! Change his clothes."
After all is said and done, Dev is brought back.
Locked in the closet. Again.
All alone. Again.
Silenced sobs. Again.
The new tracksuit was itchy. The place where dad threw the melatonin bottle at him stung. And the closet was noticeably colder.
But dad cared. He cared enough to enter his room and command him to stay quiet. He cared enough to make sure Dev didn't look like a mess when he inevitably fell asleep. He even helped him in the process by giving him his melatonin! Dad loves him. And he loves dad.
Yet... Something that seemed easy to do - taking the melatonin - felt a little strange. How would he be able to distinguish between the darkness of sleep and the darkness of the closet? Wouldn't they be the same? But dad went out of his way to give Dev the gummies. Dev should obey dad and take some. It's the least he could do after misbehaving inside the closet.
Chewing the disgustingly sweet candies, he swallows. The chemical aftertaste did not help in his enjoyment of said gummies. But if it makes dad happy, he'll eat them all.
More and more melatonin went down his throat. Dad will not be disappointed.
The disgusting aftertaste fills his mouth. Dad will not be disappointed.
He swallows down the nausea that threatens him. Dad will not be disappointed.
Dev has made dad proud. He ate all the gummies. His hands were covered in sticky residue. His teeth hurt. And his stomach felt sick. But he made dad proud.
That is all that matters.
As he drifted off to sleep, he briefly imagined a scenario where someone would be there for him. But Dimmadomes don't depend on others, and Dev is nothing if not the definition of a perfect Dimmadome.
Locked in a closet.
All alone.
Completely silent.