Work Text:
Sat on cold roof tile, fingers gripping edges, knuckles whitened through force, Stan’s hair blows in the wind; Kyle watches.
His foot slips on the algae infested shingles. His heart drops, his eyes squeeze shut, anticipating the fall before collision — it doesn’t come.
Stan’s hand holds his, secure. His grip on the edge of the slanted roof doesn’t falter. It won’t falter. It can’t. As long as Stan’s warm touch heats his cold fingers, he can’t fall. Secure.
Kyle repositions his foot; ensures he doesn’t slip again, even if he fully trusts Stan to catch him if he did.
Huffing a breath of icy air, he wills away the thumping rhythm of his heart pumping adrenaline soaked blood. It does nothing.
His ribcage acts like an aviary, detaining his heart before it bursts out, taking flight. It’s painful. Unlike the metal of a cage, bone and marrow is not without feeling. He wishes for steel.
Strands of hair mingle with Stan’s eyelashes. Kyle can see how it annoys him, and how he ignores it. Stan’s head turns to make eyes meet; for a second, Kyle feels like an acquaintance.
“Don’t worry, I got you.”