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It’s overwhelming, sometimes. All of the thoughts in his head. There’s always so many . He can hardly register the half of them, sometimes. There are good days, and bad days and most days are just okay. Exhausting. But he manages.
It was worse when he was younger. Sometimes he would have days when he couldn’t do anything , just stay curled up in his room, hoping for his head to quiet down. Jakob helped, always dragging him out to go play, forcing him to focus on the fun instead of everything else. So he learned to manage. But sometimes, it still gets awful.
It was one of those days.
He was sure that everyone could tell something was off with him, even the kids. He’d been quiet today. A tad vacant, too caught up in the thousands of words running through his head to formulate any of them into sentences. He just couldn’t force anything out, even for the sake of pretending. He’d wandered off a little after dusk, off in a direction that he didn’t even think about, and just kept walking.
Luckily for him, it was a full moon. So it was a spear instead of a torch that he fiddled with as he sat, legs dangling over the cliff edge as he stared unseeingly out across the pitch-black ocean. Thoughts echoed and bounced around his head like a shaken cup of marbles.
“Say, pal. Are you alright?”
He doesn’t startle at Maxwell’s voice, but his hands still in their fidgeting for a moment, and his shoulders tense. He doesn’t want to have to speak.
“You were acting rather strange today.”
He doesn’t respond, shoulders tensing even more. He doesn’t want to speak. God he doesn’t want to speak. He doesn’t even know if he can speak.
There’s a small sigh from Maxwell, and a slight shuffling sound as the older man sits down beside him.
“I love you,” he says, not looking at Wilson but instead following his gaze out towards the sea. “I love you dearly, and I don’t-” he stops for a moment, closing his eyes. “I don’t want to lose you, Higgsbury.”
‘You’re not going to lose me,’ he thinks, ‘Not tonight.’ But he can’t force the words out past his lips, so he shakes his head instead and hopes that it’s enough.
“My dear,” and Maxwell’s voice is so, so soft, in that way reserved for when one of the children is upset or when Wilson is hurt. “It’s alright. You’re allowed to hurt. But this place, as awful as it is- it isn’t worth throwing your life away, darling.”
He thinks that Wilson is going to kill himself? God, he wishes . But he knows by now that not even death can calm his racing thoughts. He shakes his head, and carefully glances at Maxwell. Eye contact is physically painful on bad days, but he still wants to tell his lover just how wrong he is. He hesitates for a moment, before leaning and resting his head on Maxwell’s shoulder. He closes his eyes. It’s nice.
Maxwell wraps an arm around him and presses a gentle kiss to the top of Wilson’s head. It’s nice. Wilson can almost feel his thoughts beginning to sort themselves out.
“I’m here for you, love. No matter what.”
“Thank you.”
His voice is whisper-quiet, but it’s there, and that alone is a victory.