Work Text:
The day outside was dark and rainy, the perfect weather for relaxing in your chair, taking a nap. Or perhaps maybe painting? Reading a newspaper would also do you you some good. Or Robins case, doing literally anything else other than being on the verge of a full blown OCD meltdown.
You see, the day was getting too much for the poor old man. Even though he was only 45. The house-more so simulation of a house plus some more-had kept them in a loop for only god knows how long. He was used to everything being plastic, fake and most importantly, the repetitiveness of it all. Sure, it wasn’t anyway to live. It was horrible, vile, and all together terrifying. But at least he could predict (somewhat) what the day would bring, although it would often times lead to death of trauma, if they were lucky enough (if you can call it that) to remember it. Then, some way or another, they got out. It was traumatizing, difficult and overall horrific.
In fact, it was so traumatizing that he had shoved most of the escape out his memory, and he was thankful for that. He didn’t need that kind of fucked up shit to stay in his already mentally disturbed mind. So, when the finally came back to the real world and got used to average day living, it was incredibly difficult to adjust. He was diagnosed with mild OCD. He only had a few triggers, blinking lights sometimes set him off, things like repetitive clinking noises, pen taps, and foot taps drove him up the wall. And occasionally, if things got really bad, chewing noises would cause him to have a full blown meltdown.
So you can amuse how hard it was when a broken clock, with a repetitive clicking tick in his new office job damn near drove him mad. He, of course requested to be removed, and thankfully they did soon. But the sound was so stuck in his head in messed up all day, he couldn’t focus on work; or whatever his co-workers were saying, or anything really. He felt anxious and he had a slight pit in his stomach. The hair on his neck was standing up and he overall felt truly drained. So, after that, a horrible drive home through traffic and too many noises at once, and on top of all that the other one- shit, yellow- shit no, Manny. Manny, left all his toys and drawings on the floor, fucking up his flow and preset routine for when he gets home.
He walked into the kitchen and made himself his evening tea. Green. It’s good for the nerves he read somewhere a while ago. His hands shake as he finally grabs the mug. He’s too damn stressed and his breathing practices are failing him.
He’s almost at the brink of tears, of course anyone on the outside wouldn’t know, he just looks like he’s just staring off in space. But I’m the inside is a battlefield of pent up emotions that are one mishap away from boiling over.
Then, as if on beat, his phone rings. It’s not even that loud, and it’s on vibrate. But the mere fact that something, or more so, someone else was going to bother him was too much. He sobbed uncontrollably, causing Manny to waddle into the kitchen worried sick. Being a child, and a horribly traumatized one at that the most he could was stare and pull at robins pant legs. He gave up after a while, opting to just hold his leg instead and hug Robin the best he could.
Sometime later, Harry came home from his job, being a manager at the local fast food restaurant. Immediately he went into the kitchen to see his crying husband and their adopted son crying. Manny wasn’t sure why he was crying, more so he wanted to copy what Robin was doing and even Robin couldn’t properly explain why he was crying, mostly because all his words came out like sobs and deep inhales for air. He picked up Manny and wiped his eyes, telling him that everything was fine and to go play with his games in the other room before giving him a small kiss in the forehead and running him off. Manny, be the little boy he is, forgets about everything in meet second.
Now Harry can focus on Robin. He grabs Robins tanned hands, stained and burnt from spilled tea and his tears and gently folds them over so that his palms are down and kisses his knuckles. Robin calms, his sobs flowing into whimpers as tears run dry down his puffy face. His eyes grow tired and his eye bags show. Deep and heavy bags mount under his eyes and keep their place for several long moments. His faded green hair messy and crumpled from his pressuring his nails deep within his scalp and bedding indents into his forehead.
“I’m so sorry for worrying you.” He states, whispered under gangled breathes. Harry doesn’t respond, only holding his hands and massaging the stress out of them. He helps Robin up, and takes him to their shared room. He puts him down and helps him out of his socks and shoes. He pulls away the days stress with every layer of clothing lost. His pants, dress shirt, under shirt and tie all fade off of Robins tense body until only the soft bellied man lies on the bed with boxers and nothing else. He shoulders relax and he stares down at his hands, Robin comes back with a tissue from his face. He wipes his beloved’s dried tears from his face and turns to give Robin his favorite PJs, making sure that the didn’t smell to strong or fabric softener to make sure it didn’t overwhelm his dear husband. One weighted blanket and some noise canceling headphones later and Robin’s finally calmed down. Harry smiles, and finally gets to tend to himself for a while. Changing clothes and checking on Manny. Perhaps today wasn’t good, but tomorrow could be. It’s all in a matter of time.