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Steve tries to keep the routine as steady as possible, but things still seem to change on the daily. Every time they turn around, there’s a new something or other: a therapy, a technique, a prosthesis. The endless parade of doctors and specialists can’t seem to stop suggesting new things to try.
Then there are the things Steve chooses. He feels a little bad for adding to the chaos, but everything just seems so promising. Steve buys James a single-strap backpack for his birthday, hoping the ability to carry around his things will curb the panic attacks when he feels like he can’t find them. Steve knows the OCD is rooted in concerns about gear and preparedness, but hearing “where is my bag of rocks?” for the twelfth time in as many minutes is beginning to grate on him.
Then there are the rocks themselves. They started out a therapeutic fidget toys, but quickly wound up being an obsession. The polished gem and mineral store downtown was a blessing until James insisted on visiting three days in a row. Steve broke down and bought him his own tumbler after that.
The little whirring machine sounds like a constant rainstorm, but luckily James isn’t half as bothered by it as Steve is. One day he even found lying on the floor beside it. “What’re you doing?” Steve had asked, concerned.
But James just shrugged. “I don’t know…It’s kinda soothing, I guess.” After that, Steve had to fight the urge to buy another one for upstairs. He has to admit, it’s better than the new age music they’d tried. James thought it sounded ok. Steve thought it sounded like a spaceship.
He’s not trying to buy James a cure. Steve reminds himself of that every time he clicks ‘add to cart.’ But if spending a little extra brings him a little more happiness, Steve is alright with that.
He’s browsing on his laptop on evening when James suddenly appears on his shoulder. His hair is tied in a messy topknot; he can’t stand how it falls into his eyes, but Steve can’t for the life of him convince James to get a haircut.
“What’re you looking at?” James asks.
“Just stuff,” Steve replies quickly. “On sale.” It’s a justification, really. He’s looking at lycra sport shirts, hoping that something in wick-away fabric will help with the awful night sweats that come with James’s terrifying dreams.
“Clothes?” James leans into him so he can see the screen without glare.
“What color do you like?” Steve asks, resigned. Now that James has seen, there’s no hope of making this a solo mission.
“That one,” James says, pointing to a shirt in dark charcoal grey.
“Hm.” Steve grins. “I should have known.”
It’s the truth. He should’ve. But Steve’s become so immersed in learning and preventing James’s triggers that he’s failed to notice his favorite color.
“I don’t really need more shirts, though,” James says, his brows knitting together.
“Yeah, well,” Steve starts, a little embarrassed. “I thought you might like something a little cooler for sleeping.” He doesn’t go mention the sheets rated for breathability already on order from Ikea.
“Oh…” Comprehension dawns on James’s face. “Yeah.” He gives a little half-sigh. “Sorry.”
“It’s ok,” Steve tells him, though it really isn’t. They’re both tired and grouchy on days when they’re up at four in the morning to change wet clothes and sheets. “Really, it is.” Steve adds the grey shirt to his cart. “I still can’t get over how easy this is.” He nods toward the computer screen. “I remember my mom dragging me all over tarnation to look for clothes…” He trails off as the memory goes sour.
“That was… before, right?” James clarifies.
“Before college?”
“Yeah.” Steve sighs and closes the laptop, feeling suddenly very tired and slightly ill.
“It’s ok, you know,” James says, gently tilting Steve’s face downward by the chin. “You don’t have to keep doing things for me. Take care of you, too. I mean, for fuck’s sake, put yourself first every once in a while.” James laughs, the sound untamed and a little manic.
“Hm.” Steve smiles, then nods. He knows James is exactly right, even if he isn’t so sure about the delivery. He closes his laptop and opens his arms, inviting James to use his chest as a pillow. “What if I don’t want to be first?”
“Well, I guess you can choose that.” James’s voice echoes through Steve’s ribcage as he gets comfortable. “I’m just saying you don’t have to. Do it for you, not for me.”
“I’d give my life for you,” Steve says before he can stop himself. No sooner do the words leave his mouth that his eyes fill with tears. It’s what James did all those years ago. Joining the army as good as took him away from Steve forever. It’s only by miraculous coincidence that they’re back together now, and there’s no way Steve’s losing him again. Not through some stupid fight about materialism and overspending. Not for anything.
“I know,” James says quietly. “I wish you wouldn’t. But I know.”
“That’s just the way it is, I guess,” Steve murmurs. “And we both gotta live with it.”
“Hm.” He feels James’s cheeks move against him as he smiles. “I guess we do.”