Work Text:
One.
Two.
Three.
Four.
One.
Two.
Three.
Four.
One.
Two.
Three.
Four.
ONE TWO THREE FOUR
It’s a rhythmic beat, one that he can’t escape, and he shakes his head in an attempt to get rid of it. But it stays, a feeling that he can’t escape, a noise that he can’t make stop, and every new thump makes him want to scream.
He can’t even tell where it’s coming from.
It’s just everywhere, surrounding him, getting louder and louder with every passing second, and Steven feels his head starting to spin. A light flashes somewhere (he can’t tell where it’s coming from. Was it in front of him? Behind him? Inside of him?) and he winces, stumbling backwards as he feels it overtake him. It runs through his veins, a strange sensation flowing through his blood, leaving a dull ache inside of him. It doesn’t hurt; not really, but he supposes it should. He should be screaming, but he’s not. He’s frozen, shaking, and his skin is pink and his pupils are diamonds and he doesn’t know what to do, every shake of his hands only makes the pink glow brighter and it won’t go away, it won’t go away, it won’t go away, he can’t make it stop, he can’t change it, he’s lost control—
There’s no one there to help.
He’s alone.
He’s really alone.
He’s driven everyone away, he knows it, he remembers, he remembers the hurt and disappointment, and he’s alone.
The pink glows brighter, the floor cracks, and he can’t stop it he can’t stop it, he’s alone alone alone, everything is falling apart, make it stop, please someone help, make it stop!
He doesn’t want to be alone.
ONE.
TWO.
THREE.
FOUR.
FIVE.
SIX.
Steven doesn’t hear the seventh beat, gasping awake and clutching at the covers desperately, desperate for any symbol of comfort. It doesn’t work. The blanket is soft under his fingers, too soft, it feels so wrong, it isn’t right, and he drops it like it’s burning him.
He’s scared.
His breathing is fast, he can feel sweat running down his neck, his shirt is sticking to him and he’s scared, he’s alone, he doesn’t want to be alone.
Connie’s hand is in his.
He doesn’t realise at first, doesn’t notice, until he glances to the side and sees her silhouette in the darkness, Connie staring at him with wide eyes he can only just see. “Are you okay?” she whispers, and he finds that he doesn’t know how to answer.
Tell the truth. No. I’m not okay. Everything hurts. I’m stuck. I can’t change. Everything is pink and I can’t make it stop. Worry her, make her scared, give her a problem that she can’t fix.
Lie. Yes. I’m okay. I just woke up, I slept in the wrong position. I’m fine, really. Go back to sleep. Reassure her, let her sleep, lie to her. Don’t open up.
“No,” is what he decides on, his voice broken around the words, cracking on the single syllable. “I had- nightmare, I had a nightmare.”
He can’t see her face but he can tell that her expression softens, gentle and caring and full of love. He holds his arm out, reaching through the darkness to hold her, and she leans in almost immediately, reaching a hand up to lace fingers through his hair.
“Do you want to talk about it?” She murmurs, and he gives a stiff nod that he’s not sure she can see. She replies though, a quick squeeze of his hand and a question of “what happened?”, and suddenly everything is spilling out faster than he can stop it.
“It was dark, and there was this- this noise, I couldn’t make it stop, it just kept coming and then suddenly I was pink, and everything was breaking and I couldn’t control it, and- and—”
He’s cut off by Connie’s arms tightening around him, a safe and sturdy pressure against his skin that he can’t get enough of.
“And?” Connie whispers.
“I was alone.”
There’s a silence. It’s neither of them know what to say, and for a few seconds Steven finds that he doesn’t mind the quiet. He focuses on his own breathing, but it’s too fast and erratic and running out of control, so he switches to listening to Connie’s, picturing the rise and fall of her chest. Soft, slow, reliable, an assurance that she’s here, she’s here, he’s not pink, he’s Steven, she’s Connie, and she’s here.
“You aren’t alone,” she says, and suddenly she’s even closer to him, she’s not a silhouette anymore, he can see her in the moonlight with her eyes shining. “I’m here.”
“You’re here.”
“You’re here.”
Steven smiles slightly, a little awkward, a little reluctant, but it sends a pang of happiness through him nonetheless. “I’m here.”
“We’re here together.”
“Thank you,” Steven murmurs, and he rests his head on his shoulder. His breathing has slowed a little now, things seem better, and he reaches out to clutch the blanket to his chest, sighing in relief when it feels better this time, the fabric not uncomfortable against his hands. “I love you,” falls out of his mouth before he can stop it, and he almost claps a hand over his mouth, a stuttered lie of “as a friend!” on the tip of his tongue, but suddenly Connie is kissing him, her lips pressed gently against hers, and the words die before they get a chance to be said. Her hand is squeezing his again, an unsaid question of “is this okay?”, and he squeezes back once, twice, three times as an answer, reassuring her that this is all that he wants and more.
A few seconds later she pulls away, blinking at him through the darkness, and they both touch the tips of their fingers to their lips in perfect unison, staring at each other in silence.
“I love you too,” she whispers, and Steven feels any memory of his nightmare disappear as soon as the three simple words are said.
“Can I kiss you again?” He’s almost scared to say it; he doesn’t want to make her uncomfortable. But Connie nods, her face breaking into a smile, and he shifts closer to her without hesitation, resting his hands on her sides and holding their bodies together. “Thank you,” he says inbetween kisses, quiet words between moments that take his breath away, and Connie smiles against his lips, cupping his face in her hands. “Thank you, thank you, thank you. I love you.”
“I love you too, Steven,” and she moves closer, closing space between them that doesn’t exist. “You’re not alone. You’re here with me. We’re together. Always.”