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Jimmy was, first and foremost, very dizzy. He was also hissing in pain Grian wipes his new cuts with disinfectant. Tears spring to his eyes and he instinctively goes to wipe them away.
"Hey, I'm not done, give me your arm back, stupid."
Jimmy returns his arm to his friend sitting in front of him with a whine.
"It burns"
"I know, Tim, I'm almost done, ok?"
Grian hops up to retrieve the bandages from the counter, along with a bandaid to close the deepest cut.
"I'm sorry"
Grian sighs, continuing his work and bringing the broken skin back together to heal, "It's alright. I know it was an accident."
Jimmy whines again, because it wasn't an accident. He did it on purpose. Jimmy found the replacement blades for his razor and sliced into his arm because he wanted to. He deserved it.
He cries harder at that.
"Hey, hey, Timmy, you're alright. I'm taking care of you, you're okay." Grian hushes the distressed blonde.
Jimmy's arm, now dressed in gauze, itches like crazy. It feels wrong, the cuts under it still burn, and Grian is being nice to him.
Soft hands come to cradle his tear streaked cheeks.
Jimmy doesn't remember when he shut his eyes, but they're squeezed tight. He knows Grian is looking at him. He's looking at Jimmy with that face that Jimmy hates. The one that's painted with pity and concern.
"I'm not mad about you relapsing, Tim. You know I'm not mad."
That's what makes it worse. He should be mad. Grian is supposed to be mean to him and make fun of him. He's not supposed to clean his self inflicted wounds while insisting none of it was Jimmy's fault.
His chest tightens as a heavy sob escapes him. He can't speak, can't explain to Grian that he doesn't deserve this out of character behavior. Hell, he can barely even breathe.
Without thinking, he shoves his friend's hands away. They were soft and comforting and way too much for Jimmy to ever accept. He replaces them with his own palms pressing into the flesh of his face and rubbing aggressively to rid himself of tears.
He knows he looks stupid and that he's probably creating more of a mess of his face than it was before. Before when it was safely framed by Grian's hands. He can hear the embarassing whines of frustration shoving their way out of his mouth.
He looks stupid. He's acting like a child again. Grian should be mad. Especially after all he's just done for him. Jimmy is sat, whining and throwing a tantrum like an ungrateful child.
"Tim," he's not mad, " Cmon now, what's got you all worked up? You need something else?"
No, no, Jimmy didn't want anything from Grian.
He already took so much.
A hand wraps around his trembling bicep, gently rubbing up and down.
"Breathe with me, take a moment to breathe."
He tries. He really does.
"Breathe in,"
His hand squeezes,
"And out."
And releases.
Jimmy follows along. Finally having stopped scrubbing his tears, he lowers his arms and hands back down to rest on his thighs.
He must look a mess, but Grian doesn't say anything. Nothing bad at least.
"And in... and out," he continues.
Jimmy's heart still beats faster than it should, his lung burn like hell, and he can tell he's shaking, but everything is still a lot less overwhelming.
They both take a moment to sit in the silence of the bathroom.
Jimmy slowly opens his eyes. Blinking a few times until his vision lands back on Grian.
He's tired. Jim can see it on his face. He glances away out of guilt.
Jimmy speaks hoarsely, "I'm sorry. I, I don't know- I don't know why I.."
He trails off. Grian nods in understanding anyway, as if he said anything of substance.
Grian sighs. He looks so exhausted. Because of Jimmy.
He smiles. Albeit pretty weakly. The kind of smile you give a dog before you have it put down. Jimmy's guts start to turn.
"You're alright, Tim. You've never been too good with your words, right?" He jokes.
A wave of relief washes over Jimmy.
It takes a moment for him to respond, blinking in surpise. He eventually let's out a faux huff of annoyance at the slight dig.
"And what is that supposed to mean?"
Grian seems to scan over his expression in search of any real hurt feelings. Upon finding none, all gears lock into place. This is what Jimmy needs.
"Well, you're just not the most eloquent bloke, are you? Nothing wrong with that. Eh, Tim?"
He crosses his bandaged arms over his chest, sputtering, "I'll have you know that I am very eloquent! I'm great at talking! Everyone knows that!"
Grian laughs, and Jimmy grins, watching that tired look slowly dissappear completely.
His chest warms. This was familiar. This is what he wanted, needed, deserved.
"I'm sorry, I really am, but, Tim. I've met trained parrots that put together better sentences than you."
"Excuse me?!"
To be belittled and teased. To be played with a little rough. Jimmy thrives like that.
Of course, he still needs to be treated gently at times. He needs that extra love to make it clear that all the bickering- no matter how bad- is all soaked with that underlying message of care. Jimmy might not quite understand this part. The soft touches and reassuring words are still foreign.
But. With time, he might accept them.
For now, Grian's mischievous smile and playful jabs are what he needs to feel comfortable.
Grian thinks he deserves them after his relapse. He deserves to feel normal, no pity, no sad eyes, or sickeningly sweet words. This was it.
He really does hope Jimmy knows he loves him though.