[Oh, no. Oh, no, he's losing it, he's teetering over the edge and he can feel it, falling facefirst into too-much, trying to scrabble back to safety and utterly unable to do it. Maybe unwilling. His voice is a breathy disaster and he can't stop staring, and he doesn't even know what he's staring at. Everything, maybe, everything that's happening or has happened or will happen, his own bitter resentment at not having been the one to heal Fugo in that restaurant, the way Fugo looks at their joined hands, the gentleness of his fingers.]
[His heart is physically trying to burst through his rib cage. He can't handle this. Fugo is apologizing and he feels like he's going to say something really, really stupid if he doesn't hurry up and fill the air between them with chatter. He can feel himself flushing. He can't look away. Someone needs to save him, right now.]
It's okay, I . . . you understood in the end, so . . .
[Every time Fugo laughs, he thinks his heart might stop. And he's still staring. If grief anchors your feet, then let me share it. No, his heart isn't stopping, it's trying to run itself out the door and down the street. And he's still staring, and he knows he must look crazy, and he's curling unconsciously closer, terribly desperate to do something and yet just as certain that he wants to stay exactly here forever--]
I . . . know, I . . . do. I am. Now. See?
[Because he wouldn't have told this to just anyone. It took months and months for even Kakyoin to pry it out of him. But he volunteered it to Fugo, practically. Please take this and hold it for me because I know you understand--that's what it was. Is. Will be.]
[Impulsively, he pulls their joined hands towards his chest and presses his lips to their knuckles. It's less a kiss and more just contact, closeness, another layer of anchoring. Affection, but also necessity. Don't leave me, is what he's still begging, although less desperately than before.]
I want to share with you. I want you to know me. I think I want--for you to keep that safe. Haruno. Until I figure out what I want to do with it. And I want this, just . . .
[Ugh. He gives up, buries his face against Fugo's shoulder, his breath hitching.]
I want to stay with you. Here. Please. It feels safe.
no subject
It's okay.
[Oh, no. Oh, no, he's losing it, he's teetering over the edge and he can feel it, falling facefirst into too-much, trying to scrabble back to safety and utterly unable to do it. Maybe unwilling. His voice is a breathy disaster and he can't stop staring, and he doesn't even know what he's staring at. Everything, maybe, everything that's happening or has happened or will happen, his own bitter resentment at not having been the one to heal Fugo in that restaurant, the way Fugo looks at their joined hands, the gentleness of his fingers.]
[His heart is physically trying to burst through his rib cage. He can't handle this. Fugo is apologizing and he feels like he's going to say something really, really stupid if he doesn't hurry up and fill the air between them with chatter. He can feel himself flushing. He can't look away. Someone needs to save him, right now.]
It's okay, I . . . you understood in the end, so . . .
[Every time Fugo laughs, he thinks his heart might stop. And he's still staring. If grief anchors your feet, then let me share it. No, his heart isn't stopping, it's trying to run itself out the door and down the street. And he's still staring, and he knows he must look crazy, and he's curling unconsciously closer, terribly desperate to do something and yet just as certain that he wants to stay exactly here forever--]
I . . . know, I . . . do. I am. Now. See?
[Because he wouldn't have told this to just anyone. It took months and months for even Kakyoin to pry it out of him. But he volunteered it to Fugo, practically. Please take this and hold it for me because I know you understand--that's what it was. Is. Will be.]
[Impulsively, he pulls their joined hands towards his chest and presses his lips to their knuckles. It's less a kiss and more just contact, closeness, another layer of anchoring. Affection, but also necessity. Don't leave me, is what he's still begging, although less desperately than before.]
I want to share with you. I want you to know me. I think I want--for you to keep that safe. Haruno. Until I figure out what I want to do with it. And I want this, just . . .
[Ugh. He gives up, buries his face against Fugo's shoulder, his breath hitching.]
I want to stay with you. Here. Please. It feels safe.