Work Text:
26.
Gavin’s perched out on the fire escape attached to his front room, nursing a cigarette. It bathes the tips of his fingers with a dull golden glow. He breathes in a lungful, smoke disappearing into the bustle of the night. He listens to that quiet noise that comes with living up this high, where the wind runs past buildings, his neighbour stomps around above him at all times of the day, and the occasional midnight traffic hums below, a constant stream in all directions as far as he can look each way.
With all this open air, and still
he can’t
breathe.
The sheets were cold when he awoke abruptly to darkness.
He could hear cars pass below, outside his window, and he hadn’t felt that… alone, in years. Something sunk into his ribcage. It tore through his skin and left thorns to entwine around his bones and tighten until all he felt was a numbing weight atop his chest that held him in place. He couldn’t move. Just had to lie there in his own sweat and think of everything he would avoid having moments to linger on during the day, eyes adjusting so he could stare at the same crack in his ceiling for hours. It was painful, this torture his body had him encased in. His jaw wouldn’t unclench, his teeth ground down, he couldn’t even cry. But the sun never rose, and he couldn’t move.
He was trapped in his own room. Gun in his bedside drawer doing nothing to quell his fears. It never did.
He’d almost worried that daybreak would never come.
39.
When he blinks open his eyes, it’s to a lengthy nothing, unfamiliar to his dream yet somewhere he’s grown fond of, now.
He knows that ceiling, the moonlight peeks through the blind and he turns to watch as it grows,
slowly,
reaching for the corners of their room.
Theirs.
He’d forced himself to wake up. Has dreamt that night too many times.
He knows the window frame, but knows if he went over to look through it he wouldn’t see the same view. Rows of suburban bricks inlay the roads as far as he can squint, until the line of the city breaks in the distance, and the river serves to soothe his thoughts. There’s a different kind of quiet, here. Static, heavy, but not suffocating. Sleeping like the rest of their block probably is. Like he should be.
He doesn’t move, wary of waking up the lump of blanket beside him, an arm thrown over his waist to keep Gavin close. The floorboards he’d gotten to know since walking them every morning for work, which walls to use to navigate in the dark; For him.
They have a front garden. A small porch. A mail box. Nines had wanted roses to climb up the old-looking trellis that leant by the front door. It had been one of the reasons he’d liked this place more than the others. They had just begun to bloom for the first time this year, and even the state-of-the-art Android couldn’t have hidden his awe at their beauty, no matter how many times he passed them by, he always paused.
There’s a laundry room, and a kitchen that could probably fit his old apartment in it’s entirety, yet somehow they’ve managed to fill the spaces with brews of teas, Gavin’s preferred coffee brand, ironic coffee mugs, for guests mostly, not that they had many. His veteran toaster sits proudly on the countertop, because he couldn’t see through throwing it out, and Nines saw no harm in keeping it, seeing as Gavin was attached. He’s noticed humans tend to invest in inanimate objects quite easily - if Gavin’s panicked insistence that his obviously broken CD player still worked was anything to go by.
They hadn’t known what to do with the spare room, at first. The walls were still freshly painted. They’d done it together, their laughter airy, echoing in the empty room along with the rushed footsteps of Gavin trying to outrun the paintbrush pointed at him like a weapon. Bundles of paint-flecked clothes dumped into the washing machine after whilst they sat on the floor eating takeout and sneaking dorky smiles at each other every time they caught the other’s eyes. Remnants of green paint had smudged across Nines’ cheekbone, and Gavin couldn’t not feel compelled to kiss the bot’s stupid face all over. He did. Maybe they could turn it into a study? Nines would like that, he thinks.
Whatever it turned out to be, this was theirs,
all of it.
Every hallway and floor, each doorway and window. Every crack in their ceiling and mug stain on their coffee table. It had been months, and it still hadn’t sunk in that he lived in a house with stairs in it, for fucks sake.
He used to dream of rainy nights, victims’ front lawns churned up into uneven mud and doors bust wide open, glimpses of crimson dragged across an otherwise pristine wall. Back when his only problems had revolved around skin-crawling scenes of homicides that rubbed him the wrong way, situations that hit too close to home, memories that clawed their way to the surface just to make sure he couldn’t escape their grip even awake. He still does, sometimes. But not as much as he used to. They aren’t easy to pry from his throat, they don’t seize even if he begs them to, but they aren’t like they used to be, when insomnia had made itself his stubborn friend and kept him up into the early hours just to avoid their confrontation.
The far off sirens that never seemed to get any closer down the block. The occasional horn sounding from a frustrated late-night driver, that same, constant hum.
He’d never had anyone to hide into, before, when he felt this way. There was never anyone to hold close, no one to offer unspoken comfort in the form of soft circles against his skin and breathe against his hair to help him mimic until his own slowed and sleep overtook once more.
But he had that now. Couldn’t believe it, almost, that he could turn over and seek warmth in his arms. They were so close that he almost couldn’t breathe with how easy it would be to let himself search for that heartbeat. As though he deserved to be there.
And so,
he did.
Reaching out into the dark until his hands gripped at the soft material of a shirt, Gavin buried his face against the android’s neck, and swallowed something jagged until his throat smoothed and the lump eased. Because god, he’s not sure he could live without this, anymore. Couldn’t go back to that time where it was him against everything and no one would stick around, so he would cut them off first, and return to his empty apartment each night. They’d called him ruthlessly ambitious. What a lonely fate it had been. And one he’d been obstinately resigned to, by that point.
He gets homesick, sometimes, with this new place. Not in the way you’d think, it was just… all something he never saw himself doing. But, lying beside Nines seems to make it all a little less daunting, a little less new,
more like they’d planned this move for years.
——
“Gavin?” Nines smooths his thumb pad over his cheek, “Are you alright, my love?”
My love, he says it with such easy adoration, concern entwined with every syllable. Concerned for Gavin, of all people. He could have cried.
——
They hadn’t. But they had done this together.
And yet.
He still dreams of those sleepless nights. Somehow they’re worse than some of the shit he’s seen. He can’t remember ever feeling that isolated from everything, like nothing mattered no matter how overzealous he was.
Gavin thinks sometimes that he misses it, deep down, but he knows that isn’t it anymore. This is his home. Wherever he is. It’s inexplicable, he can’t find the words to explain it yet without thinking he sounds like a fucking idiot. So he tightens his hold on his shirt, so tense he felt ready to
choke at
any moment,
until—
The gentle embrace of his arms wrapping around his middle melts him down to cool honey, calms his anxieties to a simmer until slowly, the heat quietens to something bearable. Something not quite nothing, but all the same, it’s him. And Gavin can
breathe.
——
”Just a bad dream,”
There’s quiet for a moment, before he feels the arms around him slide tighter, just a fraction, but it’s enough.
“The same one again?”
He can only nod, breathing a sigh against his neck, the skin pale enough to make out freckles even in this light. He squints, trying to count them. He doesn’t get very far. ‘I’m fine,’ he’d reassure softly, ‘’just need a minute.’ And Nines had given him plenty. It’s always the same one, but he never grows tired of Gavin’s repetitiveness.
——
He doesn’t smoke anymore. He feels his lungs clearing as the days without the crutch crawl by. The only problem is that it makes his shaky exhale all the more present. Undeniable. And he hates it’s clarity. Wishes he still smoked a pack a day almost if it’d give him a reason to feel heavy.
But feeling light is something he’s found isn’t so bad. Nines has taught him that maybe, just maybe, he didn’t deserve to burden himself anymore. Maybe he didn’t have to hurt.
The rest of his dreams are bathed in bliss and warm sands. Beaches that stretch for miles with not a single person in sight. Just them, and the shoreline. Tepid oceans with a handful of swallows dancing above. The sand is soft between his toes, hot against his soles but not scolding. He feels something move to his right. Gavin squints against the sunlight, forearm held up to shadow his brow in an effort to see who’s beside him, but he doesn’t need to. It’s unmistakeable. That same, rare smile beams at him, reaches up and meets a pair of familiar strikingly pale eyes. Ones he’s spent hours trying to memorise, doodled on sticky notes at his desk several times, secretly, before they’d started dating.
They’re gone within the next moment, the distancing pad of feet fading away until its followed by a loud splash and suddenly, Gavin is soaked, fond laugh bubbling from his lips. He scrambles to his feet to join him.
He’s never been to the beach before.
——
“I’m here,” Nines’ voice promises, wraps him up in hushed whispers, presses kisses to his hair, “I’m here.” tucks him under his chin.
He knew exactly what he needed to hear. Knew what would ease his panic, remind him he wasn’t alone.
——
There are nights that come every so often, a bought of dark sickness almost with the way it leaves him tossing in his sleep. Gavin cannot grasp the sheets any more desperately, knuckles blooming white lilies over his skin, and his fists won’t loosen up. Nines would wake to find him frozen, silent crystalline track staining his cheekbone from the position he lay in, and cold sweat plastering the hair that hung over his forehead down flat. On those nights, he would get up, make short the trip to their bedroom window, hidden behind curtains they’d bought just weeks before, and pull them apart just the slightest; just enough to crack open the window and let the city in, no matter the chill it brought with it. Nines didn’t mind, not when he could simply turn on his heating system to keep them comfortable.
Then, he’d climb back into bed, and would hold Gavin in his arms with little room for argument. Even when Gavin couldn’t tell him about those nightmares, Nines didn’t pry. He’d told him he didn’t have to do any of this, but Nines had instantly replied that he wanted to, and that had thrown him for a loop. He wanted to. He’s grown so much, they both have. But Gavin will keep being surprised by Nines’ selfless thoughtfulness, no doubt. He’s so good. Too good for someone like Gavin.
“Do you miss your old home?”
“No,” Gavin had murmured, lips grazing Nines’ jawline lovingly as he forms his words; hesitant as they were. He would get better with voicing these things. “it wasn’t home.”
“It wasn’t?” Nines asks into the silence. Gavin swallows.
“No, it wasn’t. Because, I…”
For the first time that night he had not struggled nor had to think for more than a moment to reply with certainty. Only need force the admission from his lips. Feels the faint thrum beneath Nines’ chest, the whir of his heating programme yawning into life, that same feeling crept up on Gavin, human as he was, more so now than ever before in his life; more than he’d ever let happen. There’s a gentle vibration, a familiar rhythm he’d fallen asleep to countless times, if he only presses himself closer to the android’s chest. It lulls his fears until he knows,
“My mother had this phrase,” he thumbs the hem of his boyfriend’s shirt, a clear of his throat doing nothing for his nerves, “back when I was a kid. She always said it, like she needed me to remember it. ‘Guess it worked, in the end. But… I didn’t understand it. In my twenties, shit, even my thirties too. I knew what it was supposed to mean, I just… Didn’t see how it meant anything. How it could… How anyone could find meaning like that in someone they loved. Fuck, I barely believed in love before… But I…”
He sighs into the softness of his shirt, nestles his forehead against his collar bone and listens to the ever present beat and for a moment, he swears he feels it jump ever so slightly, then lets it’s presence engulf him whole. Admissions that involve bearing his heart like this don’t come easy to Gavin Reed, but people change, he knows that.
“I think I know what it means to me now.”
Nines is there beside him, pressed against him, legs and arms entangled in each other until there’s almost nowhere they aren’t touching. No cold permeates the air, not when Nines has warmth to give in abundance. One of their cats hups onto the sheets, pawing around almost mutely until they settle by the foot of the bed. Tired and aching as they may be alone, they’re held together in each other’s embrace, this safety they’ve made their own.
“What was the phrase?”
Gavin smiles something tired and content, but he holds Nines’ gaze through the dark intensely, and he knows he’s hopelessly enamoured when he mumbles back, half asleep,
“‘Parfois domicile est à un battement de coeur.’”
He watches as Nines’ Led bleeds yellow through it’s usual blue, swirling for the briefest of moments whilst he translates. The look he gives Gavin is one he shouldn’t deserve, and he’s so delicate with the way he kisses Gavin then, as though he were a penniless glass maker in a barren land holding in his palms the last grains of sand in the world, that Gavin’s inhale is shaky and desperate, and he thinks he might break after all.
But maybe that’s okay. Maybe it’s okay to break, if he has arms to fall into. Hands to pick him up again when he comes home in pieces, back to him.
Always him.
“Goodnight, my heart.”
“G’night, love.”
He made it so easy to fall again, broke down his walls and speed ran the way to his short list of people he would die for without a second thought, in record time. Nines was wedged within the deepest part of him, even when a history of bad relationships had warned him not to bother. But he had, without faltering. Even when Gavin had given him an out at every possible turn, he’d still stayed. Because fuck Nines was so damn patient, and kind. And Gavin wouldn’t even begin to know how to tell him he’d fallen hard the second the man had said something snarky in reply to one of Gavin’s equally shitty remarks. He figures Nines probably knows, how could he not?
Whether Nines knew it or not, Gavin was in this shit for the long haul. Blood and grime, any time of day, he’d be there to pick up Nines’ pieces just like Nines had his back. And maybe he’d gotten sappier with age, but it just made sense, and he wouldn’t have it any other way. There’s no one he’d trust as his partner, as his friend, as a home to come back to and vice versa,
than him.
“‘Because sometimes, home is a heartbeat away.’”
The young woman smiled, brushing strands of unruly hair from her son’s eyes, making room to leave a kiss between his brows. He huffed out, arms angrily folded over his blankets with a surprising amount of attitude for a toddler, and a deep pout marring his features in bewilderment. He’s almost swallowed by the blankets when he sinks into them in frustration.
“But Ma, I don’t get it!” The boy whined.
”Be patient, mon muguet,” she tapped his nose, earning a giggle from beneath the bundle of blankets, and flicked the light off at the door, “you’ll understand, one day. For now, rest well.”
He thinks he gets it, now.