Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Tim had been in bed for days. Weeks. He wasn't inclined to move, and when he dared to move a muscle, it was an apathetic and rigid gesture that moved through the air reluctantly, like his limbs had forgotten what it meant to live. 
Tim's depression began years ago with sprinkles of insecurity. He was alright, he would tell himself, just slightly sad. It continued on like that for ages.

Recently, the sadness started to hit him like a bullet. 
His mental health deteriorated until every small issue irritated and uncoordinated him, and every social interaction was treacherous. And eventually, he became so overwhelmingly sad that he couldn't concentrate, couldn't communicate, couldn't leave his bed... 
He spent a portion of the hours scanning through his memories, thinking deeply, searching for a reason behind the relentless sadness. 

One possibility that had taken a heavy toll on him over the years... he had feelings for Moby. He tried everything but facing it. Initially, he tried to simply ignore it. Then he tried dating Rita instead, convincing himself that he loved her. Nothing worked, nothing diminished his genuine feelings. 

Another reason. His body was wrong. Still, even after binding for years and starting testosterone, his body felt vaguely girlish. Still too feminine in ways that made him feel unrecognizable to himself. 
Or maybe he was just plain sad. 
Not everything has a purpose.  
He couldn't fully face any of those possibilities yet. He felt too guilty. He felt like an upper middle class white kid making up problems. So, he pushed them out of his mind. What did that leave him to think about? Not much. Thinking was pointless anyway.

Moby knocked. Tim groaned in response, a sound Moby had come to recognize as his permission to enter. 

"Beep." He set a bowl of macaroni and cheese on his nightstand.
Tim sat up, his shoulders slumped. Moby frowned and patted him on the back. 
Moby didn't leave before he saw Tim take a bite, as he always did. 

"Thanks," Tim said with a rough voice, as if he hadn't used it in days. 

"Beep." Moby walked out of the room, hesitating at the door for a moment before he left. 
So, Tim was alone again, which left him to do nothing but ruminate in the quiet. The quiet was surprisingly suffocating. 
He felt like an asshole, leaving Moby by himself for weeks. Why wasn't he capable of just... pushing through? Why couldn't he suck it up like everyone else? 
He couldn’t shake the lingering guilt... or the sadness, or anything. There was no way to fix it - not today, not now.

Chapter Text

Tim had managed to get some hours of sleep. 

Unfortunately, he woke up. 

It was almost evening, he thought. He didn’t know what day it was. The light that filtered through his blinds had that gold tone which made things look more beautiful. Tim hated how beautiful things were. He didn’t feel entitled to beauty. Beauty didn’t feel like it belonged to someone who hadn’t taken a real shower in weeks. 

His phone buzzed once, then again, and finally settled. Probably his mom. Or Rita, trying again with that passive-aggressive tone of subtle accusation. Tim didn’t want to talk; not because he didn’t care, but more because he couldn’t. 

He thought again about Moby, about how softly he knocked, how conscientious he was about waiting for Tim’s noise before opening the door. Moby didn’t force cheerfulness. He just existed. He accepted everything as it came. 

Tim wished he could do that. Instead, everything hit him hard, and he had no clue how to manage it. It always led to a spiral, until he spent the hours rotting in bed and sobbing into his pillow, until he could hardly move. 

Eventually, he would overcome it and become a functioning member of society again. People always said things like that. But it never felt like a promise. It felt like a threat. The world outside of bed required strength and stability; and if you lacked those qualities, It required pretending. And Tim couldn’t pretend anymore. 

Tim realized he was crying. He wiped his tears slowly, but they continued to fall. 

Moby gently knocked on the door.

“Mmhm?”

Moby stepped into the room. He must have noticed Tim’s tears, because he sat beside him and hugged him tightly. Tim wanted to lean into him, he wanted to hug him back. But he couldn’t. He was frozen. He knew he didn’t deserve Moby.