I'm on waves, out being tossed

[hismelody]

Eventually, the lack of sleep was always going to catch up to him. Through three sleepless nights, or at least mostly sleepless, S knew it, exhaustion increasing, though easy enough to push past with so much else to focus on. Still, it was only ever a temporary solution at best, nothing that could have lasted much longer than it did. With that being the case, it shouldn't be such a surprise when, after that third night, on their third full day together, he hits a wall, no longer able to keep his eyes open, drifting off while sitting on the couch. He isn't expecting it all the same, though even that, he barely registers, just as he's only half-aware of J ushering him back to bed, too tired to protest or to focus on why he should.

It's different when he wakes up. S grew accustomed a long time ago to sleeping and waking up alone, though it was one of the most difficult things about all that solitude, no longer having a warm body beside him at such times. He and J shared a bed for years, even before their relationship became more than platonic, cuddling together for warmth in the one bed in their small studio when the weather began to change. Of course, he felt it then, the beginning of something more, and it wasn't all that long after that they admitted their feelings for each other, but they spent ages like that. Even when they fought, even when J would barely speak to him, he still had the anchor of J's presence at his side, the distance sometimes easier to breach that way. It was comforting, always, but like so much else, he never thought he would lose it until he did.

He had months, though, after J left, after J died. At some point, following the former, it just became routine, as sad and empty as everything else about his life, J's absence as tangible as it ever was to be with him. It shouldn't, then, have taken only three nights to change that. They've hardly been apart in that time, though, save for brief moments of one going into another room for something or other. He's spent every night holding J as he slept, so overwhelmingly grateful to be able to do so, determined to do anything in his power to keep him safe.

So, when S wakes up distinctly alone, disoriented and unaware even of how long he's been asleep, the first thing he feels is cold, sheer terror.

For moments — sometimes hours, even — at a time, he's managed not to dwell on it. It's always been there, though, never too far from his thoughts, always ready to creep back in, the memory of how J sounded that first day on his couch, what S was so fucking scared he might do, J's promise not to stay, but to try. Even that was more than S could have asked for, and yet he knows it's not a guarantee, either. And while the past couple of days have been good more often than not, there's no telling what might happen with J alone, left to his own thoughts. Believing that a couple of decent days would be enough to override all that darkness would be entirely too naïve, even for S; it isn't as if he ever stood a chance against it before, and things are far worse now than they ever were then, even if, in some ways, they're better, too. He doesn't know how long it's been, he doesn't know what might have happened, and it's too much, his chest so tight that it feels like he can't breathe. Despite still being tired and out of sorts, it takes him only moments to pull himself out of bed, trying not to move quite as frantically as he feels but unable to take his time about it.

Not so very long ago at all, he woke up to find out, not very long after, that J was already gone. Now, as he moves out of the bedroom and down the hall, he silently prays to whatever deities might exist that he won't be too late again. He only just got J back. He isn't at all ready to lose him again.

He's dimly aware of a few things — muffled noise that he can't distinguish, the fact that the bathroom door is still open and the light off, which is something of a relief in its own right, though he doesn't really feel it until he rounds the corner and sees J sitting on the couch, watching TV. Overwhelmed and breathless, trembling with worry, he presses his free hand to his chest, the other resting against the wall for support he's surprised to realize how much he needs. "You're alright," he finally manages to say, though it's more to himself than anything else, his voice so small he's not even sure it will be fully audible over the sound of whatever J is watching. He doesn't care, just taking in the sight of him, mercifully alive and alright, relief mingling with the panic he can't yet shake off.

Comments

[hismelody]

The question probably shouldn't be unexpected. It isn't as if what happened earlier has been very far from his mind, and if that's the case for him, then S knows it must be for J, too. Under everything else, he still feels a little guilty, actually, for causing J to worry, even if he couldn't have helped it, even if J would want to know what he's been so afraid of. Even now, in spite of everything that was said earlier and how much he meant it when he agreed to talk to J more too, his instinct is to dismiss it, to say that he's fine. All he can do, really, is try to ignore that. He's been carrying so much on his own for so long and gotten too used to it, but the only way to change that is to push against it. As much as he doesn't want to get either of them more worked up tonight, it would be worse, he thinks, if he kept quiet.

Besides, he is alright now, meaning it entirely when he nods a little, as much as he can without pulling away. "Much better," he says, toying absently with the blanket. "Still... shaken, I guess. Not so scared anymore, but physically like... it hasn't completely worn off yet. Like it's there, just farther off." Unsure if that makes any sense, he shrugs. Though he thinks he's seen J in similar states before, it isn't something he's equipped to explain; he doesn't have the understanding of it or the words for it. All he knows is how terrified he was, how it felt like he couldn't breathe, his chest aching with it still, and how even now that he's calmed down, it still seems present, hanging tangibly overhead. "Ah, but really, it helps, just being with you. Knowing you're here." He pulls a face, a little self-conscious. "Being held."

It keeps hitting him, now that he isn't anymore, how alone he was for so long. Since J moved out — since before then, really, with as frayed as their relationship was by the end — he had nothing like this, no affection of any kind. No matter how needy it makes him feel, knowing that he got by without it before and should be able to now, it's hard not to try to seek out as much of that as he can get.

[beklemmt]

It's familiar in ways J wishes it weren't and new, too, because, until he got here, he never really let himself have the kind of comfort after the fact that he's trying to give S. It's made such a difference, though, for him. If he can give S that same feeling of being supported, then he'll do whatever it takes.

"Good," he says, nodding slightly, drawing S more fully into his arms. It's hard to find the position best suited to this, no matter how many times they've cuddled on couches over the years, but his focus is on keeping S close. "If there's anything else that you think might help, you just have to say so. And it's..." He draws in a slow breath and sighs. "It's like that. I don't know how to put it into words, but it's like that for me too. Like... it's waiting." He's not sure if that's just because of everything else wrong with him, but that's how it often feels to him, as if the panic is lurking, looking for any excuse to seep back in and take over. "It goes away. And I'm here."

The latter, at least, he's confident in. While he's certain it will fade in time, he's less sure of how soon that time will be for S. For himself, it dips in and out, unpredictable, sometimes washing over him and out again and back like the tide, irrepressible, for days on end. Sometimes it's much less. It's impossible to know how long this will take, but he can be here for S, at least, for as long as it takes and more.

[hismelody]

As awful as it is, it helps a little, too, to hear J say that it's like this for him as well. S has no other point of reference for whatever all of that was, really, and he's sure it would have been all the more frightening on his own, without J's reassurances. He hates knowing that J has to feel like that, too, but if that has to be the case, at least he's not alone with it. At least J isn't now, either. Before, when he could see that something was wrong, S did his best to try to be there, but he knows too well that he only ever fell short of being helpful. Maybe now, he can understand it a little more himself. It still might not do much, but even if he can just manage to do for J what J did for him tonight, that would be be better than before, when his attempts to provide comfort were counterproductive more often than not. Part of him knows that what J has said several times in the last few days has been true, that there's no way he could have known what would help. Part of him still wishes he'd been able to anyway.

"I know you are," he murmurs, letting J draw him closer, too worn out to deny himself this. Since he first found J here, it's routinely been the best he's felt in well over a year, just being in J's arms. Particularly when he's so tired, and when he's no longer so set on keeping himself awake, this is all he wants, to settle here against his boyfriend's chest and let himself be soothed. In a strange way, and not for the first time, it reminds him a little of when they first moved in together. They weren't a couple yet, but they were as close as two people not in a relationship could be, and he was such a mess then, still so lost in grieving his parents. He doesn't know how he would have gotten through it without J there to support him. He can let himself have that again now, to let J be here for him like he wants to be here for J.

Exhaling slowly, he nods. "It does feel like that," he says. "Like it's waiting. Like it could come back. Like... I'm fine, but... it would be easy not to be? I don't know." Shrugging as best he can without pulling away, he tips his chin up just enough to try to glance at J. "Ah, but really, I do feel much better now."

[beklemmt]

With S curled into him like this, J feels a kind of comforting certainty. There's a lot he's been unsure of over the years, especially this last year or two, but holding S in his arms, he knows who he is and what he wants, and he knows he'd do whatever it took to keep S safe. There may not be much of anything he can do to keep tonight's panic from happening again, though he'll try all the same. But he can be here. He can hold the man he loves and promise to do his best, and he can keep him company through it all. If he could do more, he would, but even he thinks this is pretty good.

"I know what you mean," he says, hand slipping under S's shirt so he can rub soft circles against S's waist with his thumb, a thoughtless need for contact. "Sometimes it's like that — not just waiting even. Sometimes it does come back. You think you've finally caught your breath and then it happens again." It's not that he wants to scare S — the opposite really. But he should know what it's really like for J, what it might be like for him. A lot of what's so frightening, he thinks, the thing that makes the panic even worse, is not understanding what's happening or why it's happening. He can't really fix that, but he can at least give S an idea of what to expect is possible. Maybe it won't be quite as scary for him if he can remember that J's been through it too.

J kisses the top of S's head again, closing his eyes, enjoying the gentle weight and warmth of S's body against his. "If it does," he murmurs, "I'll be here. But I'm glad you feel better."

[hismelody]

S lets his eyes fall closed for a moment when J kisses his hair, the sweetness of the gesture making something twist pleasantly in his chest. As awful as everything that happened was, before they broke up and after, if there's one good thing that's come of it, S thinks it's this — how much he cherishes even the simplest show of affection, even as it makes him feel pathetically needy, too. Certainly he does now, small and scared, however settled, needing comfort that he's managed to go without for months and months. It really does help, though, a steady, consistent reminder that what he was so afraid of hasn't yet happened, that J is here and alive and safe. Likewise, it helps not to be alone with this. He hates knowing that J has been through this, and that he was by himself for so long with such feelings, but he can only imagine how much more terrifying this visceral sensation would have been without J to help talk him through it, to offer reassurances from having been there too.

This isn't reassuring, exactly, but it almost is for not being so. It's honest, or it strikes him that way, and there was too little of that between them for too long. Just to be told that it would pass and he would be fine probably wouldn't do him any good, but like this, at least he knows what he might be facing, and that this lingering worry is normal.

"I do," he murmurs, nestling against J's chest, thoughtful but content, comfortably drowsy. "And I know. It helps." S doesn't realize until he's said it that he means it in both ways, really — that it helps to have J to see him through this when he doesn't really understand it, and that it helps to ease that panic knowing that he isn't about to lose J again. "I love you."

[beklemmt]

J smiles, fondly protective, sinking down a little more into the corner of the couch so S can stretch out better. He looks so sweet like this, and he must be exhausted; if he hasn't slept much since J arrived, that in itself would be tiring. Adding the fatigue that comes with panic on top of it, he must be all but ready to sleep again, and J means to encourage that if he can. He'll be fine, he knows, for a bit by himself — happier, really, to see S get some rest. In this moment, holding S like this, he has a rare burst of optimism, a quiet certainty that they'll be okay. And if they aren't, if what S fears does eventually come to pass, they'll have both done their best and had a chance to be loved again. Right now, though, he can believe that won't happen. There's a lot ahead of him that's terrifying, but, god, he can't imagine wanting to leave S ever again.

"I love you, Sihyun-ah," he says, low and tender, and it wouldn't matter if he had the TV on or not. He can't tear his gaze away. "Always, always will."

[hismelody]

Despite having had a few days to hear that again and again, S still doesn't really think he's used to it yet — not hearing those words, and not being loved at all. After J left, he had none of that. It could still, even now, make him sad if he let it, the same bittersweet feeling that's gone along with so much else since they first found each other again, but for the moment, he's too tired and too content, and it's better, easier, just to focus on how good it is, a sensation as soft and warm as the blanket draped over them. He doesn't know if this will last. He can't let himself think about that, the panic he felt earlier still lingering too close for that, ready to swoop in and take over again. While it does, though, while they have this, it's everything.

"Always," he echoes, soft but fervent, his eyelids heavy when he blinks. "Ah, if I fall asleep —" It's clear enough that by if he really means when, and by when he means very soon. "Just wake me up when you want to go back to bed. And if you want to watch something, it won't bother me." He wouldn't expect J just to sit here in silence for however long on his account. With as exhausted as he is, it won't make a difference. All that matters is that he's here in J's arms.

[beklemmt]

J lets out a quiet laugh, nodding. "Okay," he says. Already he has trouble imagining that he'll want to disturb S any time soon. He'll wait a while, let S get some rest, and then move them both to bed. TV can wait a few minutes more, though — and it won't be more than that. He can feel the way S is in his arms now, the way his body is relaxing into sleep already, his voice soft around the edges.

It's one of the most beautiful things he's ever seen, J thinks. S loves him so much, trusts him enough to drift off in his embrace. He's so fucking lucky. Whatever ends up happening, whether or not he manages to see through his hopes of staying alive, he's happy now in a way he rarely has been — not the fast-burning flame of his exhilaration and his passion, but something smaller, gentler. After so much unhappiness, it's a strange thing not only to be happy, but to know he has a kind of contentedness and fortune that many people never really know. It would seem ludicrously unfair that someone like him gets to have this, but in this particular moment, it's all but impossible to give much of a fuck about what he does or doesn't deserve or if someone else ought to have this happiness. He can't give it away and he wouldn't.

"Don't worry, darling," he says softly, stroking gently against S's waist. "I can keep myself entertained. You just rest. It's been a long day, but I'm here."

[hismelody]

"I know," S murmurs again, his voice quiet and hazy in a way that portends sleep, and deeply content, too, underneath that. Not so very long ago, he'd been specifically terrified of the opposite, that something had happened to J while he slept. Now, the fear may not be gone, exactly, but he knows that J is here and will still be here when he wakes up, and it's just about the sweetest thing he can imagine, almost as much so as the warmth of J's arms around him, the steady beat of J's heart near where he's rested his head. Granted, while exhausted and lulled into relaxation by this, he can't really imagine much anyway, but it's just as well. For the time being, this is all he wants. They had so many nights like this when they were younger, and so few. Having that back feels like nothing short of a gift.

He shifts minutely, settling again in short order, and this time, his eyes stay closed, a soft hum escaping him as he starts to drift off. "I'm so glad you are."