Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

got back from home

omw

Vessel looked up from his bed, then resettled when he made sure it was II who had entered the room. He sighed, grateful for the promise of company. He had just gotten back to the dorm a couple of hours ago and aside from making a quick trip to the shop, he hadn’t gotten around to doing anything much, since lying in bed and wanting to disappear didn’t count.

“Hey, sprout,” II spoke softly, kicking off his shoes.

Vessel stayed curled up with his plush and security blanket, blinking from behind them. “Hi.”

It was still new, even after a year, that II actually came when he said he would. Vessel was used to empty promises and waiting, anxiety always present when it came to the unpredictability of others. His need for help or comfort was hardly ever on anyone’s priority list. But II replied to him twenty minutes ago and he lived closer to twenty-five minutes away if you walked at a regular pace. It wasn’t even a direct invitation, more like a status report, but II didn’t need more. The predictability of that made Vessel feel warm.

What was more, II was shrugging off the hoodie he wore outside and bent down to rummage in his bag for the change of sweatpants he brought. Vessel didn’t like outside clothes in his bed; the thought of them touching surfaces on the bus and in public places and then his sheets made him uncomfortable. So II, easygoing as he was, brought clean clothes so he wasn’t disrespectful of his space, even when he only came over for a short time. He swore he was also more comfortable that way, lounging in sweatpants instead of jeans, and Vessel was too overwhelmed by his kindness to try and argue after the first time it happened.

II stood with his hands in his pockets, cocking his head to the side, looking down at Vessel still hugging his plush whale to his chest, smiling at the picture of coziness his friend painted, half-hidden by the plush, with its tail nestled between his legs for maximum comfort. “Want a cuddle?”

Vessel nodded, already shifting backward to make room. II lay beside him as Vessel moved his plush behind him, curling his arms to his chest, kneading his small blanket at his collar while II got comfortable.

Once he did, one arm bent under his head, the other resting on Vessel’s side, thumb stroking his ribcage, he asked, like he did every weekend when Vessel returned from home, “How’re you feeling?”

Vessel shrugged. “Feel stupid,” he muttered, not meeting II’s eyes, then moved closer, admitting quietly into his small blanket, “‘m so tired of feelin’ stupid.”

II moved his hand and thumbed at his shoulder. “Have you eaten yet?”

Vessel burrowed even closer, wanting to hide in the crook of II’s neck, but settling for hiding his face even more, mumbling, “‘m shit at cookin’.”

II smiled, pulling him into a hug. “You’re not.”

Vessel sighed and admitted, “Bought stuff. Didn’t have the energy to cook.” He pulled back and tucked his blanket lower so II could see his apologetic grimace. “Sorry.”

“You’re okay.” II carefully tilted their foreheads together. “Come on. We’ll do it together, yeah?” He added in a conspiratory whisper, “I also brought snacks.”

“Didn’t have to.”

“I know. But I did.” II tapped Vessel’s cheek before pulling back. “Could watch something after dinner.”

It was worth it to see Vessel’s expression smooth out some more. “Okay. Thank you.”

“You’re welcome, love.”

Vessel’s shy smile was poorly hidden and barely suppressed behind his blanket. “‘m not love. Just a blob.”

“Fine, then.” II chuckled and tugged on his sleeve, sitting up. His eyes crinkled as he insisted, “Come on, sprout.”

In the communal kitchen, II checked Vessel’s cabinet and his shelf in the fridge with a thoughtful expression, then glanced back at him. “I’m thinkin’ pasta?”

“Pasta’s good,” Vessel agreed, already moving to get out a pot for the sauce and one for the pasta.

They worked beside each other and after II put the spoon he tasted the sauce with in the sink, he leaned his hip against the counter beside Vessel who watched the boiling water move pieces of pasta around.

“Two?” He turned his head and pulled his sleeves over his hands, fidgeting just far above the cooling front burner not to mind its heat. “Can I get a hug?”

II stepped close and rubbed his back first, warm palm gliding up and down with steady pressure over his sweater. He was always so steady with him. Steady and safe. Even when he had a bad day, he wasn’t trying to stifle Vessel or one-up him. He didn’t forget that he was a person, too. He actually showed Vessel that he mattered, no matter how bad of a day everyone else was having. His bad days mattered, too. Vessel never knew they could.

II hugged him, long and tight, and only pulled a hand back to stir the pasta, then it returned to his back to soothe and pull close, to rub and touch in all the ways that made Vessel’s heartbeat feel like it would pulse out of his veins and bleed onto the bland, beige-gray tiles under their feet.

They returned to his room to eat, sitting on his bed, side by side.

“My father asked about school,” Vessel muttered, stabbing a piece of pasta onto his fork.

II glanced up at his face, expression a little hopeful. “Yeah?”

Vessel rubbed his nose with his bent finger as if he wanted to hide his mouth as he spoke, keeping his eyes on his food, “Asked how my guitar classes were going.”

II frowned and stopped with his fork halfway to his mouth. “But you don’t have a guitar class.”

Vessel shrugged, grimacing tiredly. “Doesn’t matter. He’ll ask again next week, probably.” He looked so defeated, II could have sworn he physically shrunk smaller. “Told me I need to make connections. I won’t make it anywhere if I don’t do anything.”

Now II’s previous hope evaporated and gave way to a surge of protective anger. “You’re not not doing anything.” He softened his tone, feeling Vessel tense up. “You’re working hard. Anyone with eyes can see that.”

Vessel let his shoulders drop again, chewing with little real appetite. “I dunno.” He never thought he was a very interesting person, but you would think his parents would remember what he went to school for or at least listen to him enough to realize that they had no idea what he was doing and try to do better.

“I do.” II pressed his arm to his, but Vessel still didn’t look at him. “He doesn’t know what he’s talking about. You’re doing so well.” He perked up a bit and gently nudged him. “Mum said to tell you she’s making those cheese sticks you like next time I go home. She’ll send you some.” II’s eyes went round as he remembered. “Oh, and she sends you this.” He put his bowl down and eased Vessel’s from his hands to hug him tight. “For luck on your recital.”

After II pulled away, only after squeezing him tight, Vessel’s bowl was returned to him and II took his place beside him again. He smiled, small and hopeful, like a hand extended, and Vessel couldn’t help smiling back, weak but trying still. It felt like II’s mother knew him better than his own. Definitely cared more about him than his own. It was nice to be cared about by someone who wasn’t required to but still did.

“Tell her thank you?” he requested, feeling a little shy, a little guilty, a little odd at having II’s mum think or, gods forbid, worry about his recital. He was the only one who was supposed to care about it, and it felt strange to think that someone else even remembered it in the first place.

II nodded. His mum always said Vessel just needed stability, lots of encouragement and plenty of kind, patient love. II agreed and gave his friend what he could. Not quite all that he wanted to give, limited only because Vessel wasn’t able to accept much, as if he had a small stomach when it came to affection. II would have filled his palms with it if he could have, but Vessel was hesitant about receiving more than a few bits here and there.

Most of Vessel’s anxieties were from having grown up around unpredictability, paired with an almost complete lack of consideration for his personhood, leaving him feeling entirely unimportant and behind everyone else, even though he had skills and achievements to be proud of. They felt meaningless when he was barely regarded and stuck isolated because he couldn’t fathom that he was worth caring about.

II still remembered the genuine confusion on Vessel’s face when he finally spelled it out to him that he wasn’t only acting nice to get him to do both their tasks when they were assigned to do pair work in a class, but because he liked him and wanted to be his friend. How he froze up when II greeted him with a hug the next time they met up. How excited he got, talking about music, but how quickly he wilted once he realized he had been rambling, assuming that he annoyed II. And how even the smallest things made him flustered, like when II called his occasional lisp cute, practically feeling the self-deprecating thoughts gathering in Vessel’s head when his sounds wouldn’t come as they should have.

At the present, II saw how drained he was, had been for months now, writing and practicing, and then some more, all the while giving weakly reassuring smiles and saying that he couldn’t complain, as if he was trying to convince himself that it was justified, that he simply didn’t deserve attention or rest, like it was written into the foundation of the universe. If he didn’t do anything worthy, as he was reminded time and time again, if not by direct words, then actions and lack of interest in what mattered to him, he couldn’t be tired, and if he couldn’t be tired, then his fatigue and aches and spiraling thoughts were not worth mentioning and taking seriously.

II found his heart aching for him, but he just licked pasta sauce off his fork and took his friend’s empty bowl, too, to set them aside until they gathered the energy to go and do the dishes.

Vessel shifted, then moved around some, returning with a leftover container.

“I have some cake if you want. Sponge cake rolls. Made it yesterday.” He stood beside the bed, balancing on the outer edges of his soles and presented it to II with a hesitant smile.

II let Vessel remove the top of the container before he took it and sat back, watching his face with crinkling eyes. “You’re such a sweetheart.”

Vessel gave him a fork, mumbling, “No, I’m not.” He bit his lip and sat beside him, paddling the air with his feet. “Tell me if it’s any good?”

“Haven’t had any yet?” The sweet-sourness of apricot jam hit II's tongue, and he closed his eyes, savoring the contrast. The sponge cake was soft and just a touch sweet, while the, by now melted, powdered sugar held the flavors perfectly together. It was so like Vessel somehow, but II couldn’t put it into words, so he just cut off another piece from the slice, working his way around the roll.

“No, not yet.”

II accepted the answer with a nod. “It’s very good. Very soft.”

Vessel smiled at that. He liked that II didn’t question why or why he didn’t do things, like not eating when he didn’t feel like it. It was still a surprise sometimes, but II was always so nice to him. And he was nice about his cake, too. He didn’t have to, but he still was. And he was getting started on a second slice, so Vessel could hope that he told the truth.

Feeling warmth spread in his chest at being able to give II something that he liked, he smiled down at his hands in his lap. “Thanks. That’s good. I’m glad.”

II popped the last, jam-covered center bite into his mouth, then set his fork down to draw him to his side, tasting and smelling delicious jam and powdered sugar with a touch of vanilla.

“Told you you’re sweet.” He hugged him tight, tilting their heads together, like that way the sweetness stuck on his tongue could be shared between them.

Vessel turned on his laptop to put something on and they stayed beside each other in his bed. II had his arm around his shoulder, stroking up and down his sweater in a short line. Vessel liked cuddling with II. It made him feel calm and like things were sort of okay for a little while. It was one of his favorite things to do with II. Maybe one of his favorite things, in general. Watching something and talking while enjoying being so close to each other.

II also didn’t mind his plushie or blanket. When he discovered that Vessel had them, he didn’t make fun of them, didn’t scoff at him. He even encouraged Vessel to use his comfort items when he was there, since, technically, his dorm room was Vessel’s home and II reasoned he didn’t have any right to make him feel bad about them either way, not that he wanted to. He definitely didn’t call them ‘rag’ and ‘thing’. He even called the plushie a ‘him’, just because Vessel did. He always handled both with care and not like they were meaningless and stupid, even though sometimes Vessel was ashamed of still being so attached to them, like a small child.

The episode they were watching was nearing its end. Vessel squeezed his whale tighter and looked up at II. “We could go to the park tomorrow?”

“M-hm.” II’s hand wandered into the short hairs at his nape. “Supposed to be nice and sunny.”

Vessel nodded, returning his attention to the screen. Soon, the credits rolled and II sighed, squeezing him to his side. “I should go.”

Vessel gave a displeased sound and pressed closer, closing his eyes. “Okay.”

As if in apology for having to disturb their shared coziness, II kissed the top of his head. “I’ll text you later.”

He was up before he became tempted to give Vessel another hug and another, slipping on his hoodie and shoes, putting the cake he was given into his bag.

“I love you, Two.” Vessel blinked at him over the nose of his plush, head tilted against the wall.

II flattened his hood and pushed his hands into his kangaroo pocket, ready, but not quite ready, to go. “Love you, too, Ves.”

He turned, then slowed down as he backed out the door, bending down a bit, speaking softly, “I love you.” He saw Vessel’s smile hidden behind his plush, even as he was pulling the door closed. “Bye.”

***

Vessel tried to take a deep breath, shaking out his clammy hands as he walked down the row of empty stalls and into the last one. He felt like curling up small and disappearing from existence. He messed up, his hands shook, and he was sure he was chewing on his lip the whole time, looking entirely unprofessional. Then, he barely looked at the crowd before practically rushing off stage, hunching his shoulders and pressing on the sides of his nails because they felt wrong, like the picked-on pieces of skin right beside them that felt like they were peeling off his mind.

He hated himself for all of it.

Why couldn’t he be normal?

There was a lump in his throat, but he couldn’t cry, like his body didn’t let him because his mind knew it was for a stupid reason.

He flinched when the door to the restroom opened, heartbeat kicking up some more.

Footsteps came, a familiar gait, then a soft voice.

“Ves?”

He gulped, wishing he could throw up the feeling. “I–in here,” he managed to choke out.

His hand fumbled with the lock, and he went to wash his hands with II hovering behind him. Vessel couldn’t look in the mirror and he turned around with his head bowed still.

II spoke first, stepping closer, “You did it, love.” He carefully ushered Vessel into a hug, seeing that he was barely holding himself up, still visibly trembling, coming off of the adrenaline that carried him through. “Why don’t we go home?”

Vessel felt like a child as he clung on, lips curling down even more at the thought of being alone at home, but II continued as he pulled back to look at his face, “You can come to mine. Sleep over.” He took his hand to keep contact. “There’re no classes tomorrow. We can stay in.” When Vessel didn’t react, he squeezed his hand. “Okay?”

Vessel nodded, so II hugged him again.

“Alright.” His thumbs rubbed his biceps, back and forth. “We go when you’re ready. We'll drop by yours, get some stuff and take the bus to mine, yeah?”

A deep breath and Vessel moved, fiddling with his shirt cuffs as he maneuvered around people. His upmost button was undone once they were on the bus, but still, it felt like he couldn’t breathe around the thing stuck in his throat.

At II’s, he had a phone call to make. He knew it would be short, but it didn’t make it any more pleasant to press call. His mother asked him to call once he was done and he knew she wouldn’t like it if he didn’t do it soon after.

She picked up after the second ring.

“Hey.” He fiddled with the sleeve of his hoodie, looking at his bitten cuticles. “It went okay.” He wore a weak, self-deprecating smile as he listened to her and answered, “Yeah, a little.” That dropped and he pressed his lips together. “No, it didn’t rain. It’s actua–” Interrupted, he let both word and sentence hang unfinished and instead muttered resignedly, “Okay. Bye.”

He sighed as he pocketed his phone and lifted his gaze, somehow looking even more defeated than before.

II, having gotten confirmation on their takeout order in the meantime, opened his arms without a word.

Vessel shrugged like the brief phone call didn’t matter, then all but fell into the embrace, shoulders sagging.

II felt him hiccup silently and drily, breaths hitching like he was choking something down as he struggled not to let it get to him. His heart hurt for him. All Vessel had wanted, ever since he’d known him, and probably all his life, was for someone to notice him and direct some genuine care at him. He accepted the smallest morsels, sometimes even apologized for it, convinced he somehow manipulated II into treating him with a gentleness he couldn’t even dare admit to craving.

Even now, after an important recital, all II could overhear his mother asking was whether or not he was nervous, her tone teasing and, without her noticing, terribly unkind, and whether or not it had rained there, too. Then her already barely-there interest ran out and she said goodbye before her son even finished speaking. II couldn’t believe she didn’t hear Vessel’s tiredness or the smallness of his voice.

Too soon for II’s tastes, Vessel pulled away, mumbling apologies, “Sorry, sorry.”

II kept him close, kept his voice soft. “You did so well.”

“But I had a– an– anxiety attack.” He quieted down, wilting, unsure if it could even be called that. He was almost always anxious. It wasn’t anything new. “I think.” He sighed. “But why after? That makes no sense.”

“That doesn’t cancel out that you did well.” II’s tone was so patient and kind, but it didn’t help with the lump in Vessel’s throat. “You were in fight or flight and your body needed out of it.”

II led him to the couch, once again reassuring him that his flatmates were away and it would only be the two of them in the flat for the next day, as well. They sat side by side, watching TV until their food arrived. II didn’t want to press him and let him try and unwind on his own, no matter how much he worried that Vessel just stared out of his head, forcing himself to smile like he thought he could still pass for being alright.

The door to the flat slammed closed after II said goodbye to the delivery guy, and he winced at having managed to kick it shut a little too forcefully. “Sorry.”

Vessel shook his head with a small smile, but II noticed him flinch. He also noticed that his hands were still shaking a little as he gathered plates and forks.

They ate or rather, II ate and watched Vessel take small bites until he couldn’t anymore and averted his gaze from his too-full plate. Leftovers went into the fridge and the two of them moved to II’s room, both actions easy as anything.

His bed was big enough for the two of them, even as Vessel unloaded his bag and put his hugged-flat plush and blanket to the edge on one side.

II pushed them to the middle of the bed, scolding softly, “You’re not sleeping hanging off the edge.” He walked around to the other side where Vessel stood. “Come on. I know you’re hurting.”

Vessel sat with his hands lying in his lap and pulled off a piece of fuzz from his pants. “’m not. Just– I messed up the piece. I knew I would.” He pressed his lips into a thin line and shrugged. “But it doesn’t matter. It’s done now.” Finally, he met II’s eyes, voice going smaller. “I’m sorry for ruining tonight. I can just go home.” He reached for his phone, already pulling up the app for timetables. “It’s still early, I can take the bus–”

“No.” II covered his hand with his and gently pushed it so Vessel let it down into his lap. “Listen to me, sprout.” He eased his fingers into Vessel’s hold until the man let go of his phone, while his other hand moved and began rubbing his back like Vessel was the most delicate thing he had ever held. He smiled when Vessel’s throat bobbed as he swallowed dryly, eyes fixed on II’s face with cautious attention. “You made a small mistake, yeah. But you played wonderfully. I saw a lady searching for tissues by the time you weren’t even a page in.” He squeezed his hand, glad to see the faintest hint of a smile on his lips. “You did very well. You went on and played.” He lifted his hand and stroked his cheek with his knuckles, wanting to drive his point further in by keeping Vessel’s eyes on his. “I’m so proud of you. I would still be proud if you made ten or twenty mistakes. I’d still think you’re one of the best I’ve ever heard.” He reached for his hand again, stroking his fingers and squeezing gently. “Okay?” He alternated looking between Vessel’s eyes, noticing their growing shininess. His gaze softened even more. “You’re okay, Ves. No more recitals for a bit. You can let go.”

Vessel blinked rapidly, giving a weak squeeze to his fingers, then all but crumpled forward when II opened his arms, and hung on, chest heaving.

“Shh, it’s okay.” II cooed, “I’ve got you.”

He held him close, convinced he could hear the hurt struggling to rip up from Vessel’s lungs, almost like a stubborn cough, even though he was just breathing heavily, not crying.

“So proud of you, love. That was a big thing, that recital. And you did so well, you really did.” His hand moved in a soothing up and down. “I’m so glad I could see it.” He tilted his head against Vessel’s. “I promise it’ll be a little better in the morning.”

Vessel’s throat felt like it would close up from feeling too much.

II cared about him.

He cared enough to go to his recital and listen to him and tell him he was proud of him. No one had ever told him that before II. II was proud of him, even though he hid in the restroom right after. He was holding him now, even though he ruined a night that could have been used to celebrate properly, like normal people, by going out drinking with a group of friends. Vessel wasn’t normal, but II still loved him. He always said it wasn’t despite, just plainly, simply, because. Because Vessel was Vessel and like no one else.

Vessel squeezed his eyes shut and tried to breathe through it. He didn’t want to ruin everything by letting this drag out when II had been so nice and patient with him tonight. He soaked up what he was given, which already was so much, being in II’s arms, having a hand on his back and even some kind words spoken to him. It was what he imagined some children got when they were upset and their parents wanted to comfort them properly. He couldn’t be sure, but that was what it looked like in his head when he thought about it and let his fantasy run wild. Being held and listened to and told that he was enough and not something unimportant and forgettable that no one wanted to have close or even look at or think about for too long.

II thought about him and remembered him, even when they weren’t together. He texted him randomly, asked him how he was and whether or not he needed anything, something picked up from the shop as II made his way over to his. It made something feel funny in Vessel’s chest, that he wasn’t stuck as the subject of a seemingly never-ending cycle of faulty object permanence, like he was whenever he left and returned home. That made him feel like he was difficult to remember and a huge bother in the first place, having to repeat himself so many times that he had stopped trying, stopped pretending with polite smiles and lying to himself that he wanted too much each time his family proved that they couldn’t extend their care to anyone but themselves. But II remembered and cared and Vessel would forever be grateful to him for being so kind.

Now, though, he felt like he was already in a dream, being held close and cared for so effortlessly like he couldn’t fathom.

II pulled back, keeping his hand on Vessel’s arm as he offered, “I’ll make us tea. You get cozy and think on what you wanna watch.”

Standing up, he thought Vessel looked something like an abandoned kitten, six feet something, sweater paws moving as he pressed his fingers against each other, hunched shoulders making him seem much smaller than he was. II wished he could stand as tall as he deserved to, proud of his abilities, but he knew his friend would apologize for every one of his perceived mistakes before ever admitting to doing well. He took a deep breath and left for the kitchen.

When he returned, Vessel was still sitting on the edge of the bed, but now with his knees pulled to his chest, knuckles rubbing at his eyes. He flinched when he realized II was back.

II quickly put down the mugs of tea he prepared and rushed to sit beside him, hand already moving to his back. “Oh, love.”

Vessel wiped his face with trembling hands, shaking his head dismissively.

“It’s okay. Let it out.” II pulled him closer and got Vessel to let his legs down so he could hug him properly. “Let it all out. I have you.”

Vessel sniffled staccatos as he tried to speak, still fighting to keep his composure, trying to stay upright in II’s embrace, but feeling himself crumbling so rapidly, it would have scared him if he had any energy left. “I– I–” His chest hurt so badly, he couldn’t help it as the words burst from him, wet and raw with distress, “I want my mum.” He gasped for air and fell forward into II’s arms, shaking as he sobbed over his shoulder, “I want my mu-um.”

II would have scrambled for his phone to call her already if he didn’t know Vessel. Instead, he rubbed his back and closed the remaining space between them, shifting to make it more comfortable on their legs.

Vessel just cried harder, whimpering over his shoulder, eyes squeezed shut, “Wa-want my mum.”

II felt tears prickle his eyes at the desperate, wounded tone. He had never heard it from Vessel before, neither had he ever seen him cry this openly. He blinked toward the ceiling and squeezed Vessel to himself. “I’m here, love. I’m here.”

Vessel sobbed wordlessly, hiccupping behind his back, then blubbered with wobbly lips, “W-want– ple-ease? M-m– ple-he-ase?” II could feel him gasping for air and loosened his hold to help him, but kept him close, unable to do anything other than let him ride it out. That’s when Vessel’s teeth chattered before he pressed out, “Please, ju-ust want m-mum-my?” He coughed out some air and pulled back to drop his forehead to II’s shoulder, lung-deep sobs wracking his whole body. “‘m so– I wa-ha-nt–” He weakly butted his head against the crook of II’s neck, but had his arms wrapped around his back to cling onto him. “S-so tired.”

“I have you, Ves.” One of II’s hands took over rubbing his back, while the other moved to stroke his hair. “It’s okay. It’s gonna be okay.” He instinctively began swaying them, gently, from side to side. Vessel seemed not to hear him, but II wasn’t too bothered and instead tried to catch his words, stuttered and weak as they were.

“W-want m-mum to– to–” His shoulders shook violently, but II held him, soothing a hand down his nape. “Want m-mum. ’m tired. ’m so t-tired.” A deep sigh made his shoulders drop even lower. “Wa-want to matter.” II’s arms tightened around him, but all Vessel could do was gulp before croakily sobbing, stuttering as he managed to get air through his mouth, nose long too blocked for that, “Just wa-h-ant to ma-ha-tter, p-please. Ple-ease?”

Vessel lifted his head, only registering a blurred figure through his tears and the all-too-familiar, cutting ache in his chest. For a moment, he felt so very small, looking up at someone who meant the only safety he knew, someone his child self used to think would help with every problem.

He blubbered out, broken, lost in the momentary illusion, pleading, for what, he didn’t know, but he wanted it to be known for him, the hurt of it soothed out and made easier to bear, “M-mu-um?” His face crumpled and broke as another sob bubbled up and burst into pieces. It was like someone threw a handful of plates at II’s heart, shards getting stuck and embedding into the muscle. “P-ple-ease?”

II blinked at his friend’s blotchy face, his efforts at trying to clear his tears away, only to frown through them, licking snot from his upper lip, pleading after wetting quivering lips. He brushed his fingers against Vessel’s cheek, feeling helpless, but wanting to make him feel better so badly it hurt.

Without another thought, he pulled him into a hug again, uncaring of the angle or the tears and snot. His best friend, his sweet Vessel, was hurting, begging not to be ignored for once, breaking down from years of having kept it silent and inside, and II couldn’t think, couldn’t do anything besides give him what he was struggling to find words to ask for, due to never having gotten it, only feeling the glaring lack and the inexplicable pain it brought. II was moving on instinct, kissing his head, his cheek, stroking his hair, rocking them as Vessel whimpered those two words over and over again until his voice gave out, throat drying after one too many gasped breaths.

II kept talking; it flowed out of him, even though most of it was lost to the buzzing in Vessel’s head and ears. He hoped some of it made to the outskirts of his mind, at least. That was the best he could do as Vessel fell apart in his arms.

“I’ve got you. You’re safe, here with me. It’s okay to cry. Cry it all out. I have you, little sprout. I’m not letting go. I love you, Ves. You’ve been so brave, so strong. It’s time to let go now. Let it out, let me hold you. Let me love you. Shh, Vessel. I love you so much. You matter so much, you’re so important to me. So important, love. It’s okay. It’s gonna be okay, I promise.”

Everything else forgotten, they ended up lying down, with Vessel falling asleep not long after, curled up in a loose fetal position at II’s side, head propped up on his shoulder, hugging his arm like it was a lifeline to him, tethering him to something real.

II pressed a final kiss to his hair and reached over to wipe his cheek again, taking that bit of discomfort of drying tears away as he murmured, “I’ll be right here, sprout. I’m not leaving you.” He reached above his head for Vessel’s little blanket and tucked it to his chin, blinking away the momentary blur in his eyes when the man immediately recognized it, even in his sleep, and pressed the lower half of his face to it, seeking comfort. II nuzzled into his hair, depositing the confession there, hoping it would encase his friend in a bubble, void of past and present hurts, even if only for a little while, in his sleep. “I love you.”

He knew Vessel would be beyond ashamed in the morning and probably cry again out of pure embarrassment at his behavior, apologizing profusely and not even acknowledging the breakdown for what it was, not deeming it serious enough. All II could do now was keep him close and give him the comfort his body and mind made clear he so desperately wanted and needed. The rest they would figure out when it was time, preferably after Vessel had slept for a few hours, and II’s hand had the chance to pass enough times over his hair to maybe make him feel a fraction of the care he held for him, to try and make up for what he was starving for, even if it could never be the same.

Chapter Text

In the morning, to Vessel’s mortification, when he opened his eyes, II was already awake and looking at him.

“Hey.” II’s voice was soft like he didn’t want to disturb the quiet of the room. He turned onto his side, so they were facing each other.

It seemed that at some point in the night, Vessel stopped clinging to him like an overgrown koala and got a hold of his plushie instead. He lowered it from his mouth and managed a small, croaky greeting. His head hurt and he could only picture how puffy his eyelids must have looked. He felt ugly, uglier than usual, even under II’s gaze.

II was studying his face, but Vessel couldn’t read his expression. It was hard enough to meet his eyes, so he settled for averting his gaze and fiddling with his cuticles.

To II, he looked ashamed and exhausted. And a little small, like he wanted to slip away under his blanket.

“How was your sleep?”

Vessel kept his eyes down as he answered. “Okay.” Suddenly, he turned his head, and his eyes widened when he located the clock on II’s bedside table. He bit his lip and looked at II, pushing himself up into sitting.

II frowned and looked back over his shoulder. It was a little past nine, but it was Friday and neither of them had anywhere to be. Besides, it was no wonder Vessel needed the rest after sobbing his heart out the night before.

“I woke up like five minutes ago. You’re fine.” II sat up as well and offered a small smile. He didn’t like how stiff Vessel seemed, a different kind of awkward than his usual.

He was hunching forward, hugging his whale like letting go would leave him crumbling into pieces. He took a deep breath and let it fall into his lap, then petted over the material with one hand, while his other arm moved to his torso. II’s chest tightened at how instinctual his self-hug was. He hadn’t noticed that before and wasn’t happy with himself for that.

II stretched with a yawn. “You wanna have breakfast? Or stay in bed for a little longer?”

“I-” Vessel’s shoulders dropped some more, voice joining them and becoming almost a whisper. “I want to say sorry. For yesterday.”

“No need to be sorry.” II wanted to say that looking at his face, but Vessel was staring at his hand. Instead, he watched his fingers stroke his plushie.

Vessel was trying to find something to say but, to his even greater shame, couldn’t. He was so stupid and now there he was, ruining the morning, too, with this mopey, pitiful thing he couldn’t put behind him. He flicked his gaze to II’s face and felt even more ashamed when he realized II was waiting for him to react.

“Okay.” He tried for a smile, but his face hurt. His arms felt heavy, too. Even his eyeballs. He was so tired, still. Why couldn’t he just sleep it off?

II felt concern weaken his smile but he stood and half-heartedly straightened his sheets.

“C’mon. Let’s find some breakfast.”

In the kitchen, he set to cooking some eggs while Vessel settled for some cereal. After he made his plate, he returned to Vessel sitting quietly at the dining table, wiping the corner of his mouth with his knuckle as he chewed, his eyes fixed on his mug of milk.

Something shifted in II, looking at his friend. He had always been aware of certain aspects of his behavior, but it was as if they all slotted together now to get him to notice subtleties that he couldn’t understand before and had written off as quirks. For instance, the way Vessel always seemed to try to keep his presence small and quiet, which came across as polite and shy most of the time. How he tended to need to work up to letting himself talk about the things he cared about and even then, he quickly let conversation drift to other topics. How easily he let himself be talked over and how soft-spoken he was. How he seemed not to mind being alone and waiting for other people as if his own time didn’t matter as much. How he always seemed to look for small ways to cheer II up and was so ready to accommodate him, be it letting him choose food or snacks or listening to him go on long tangents or rants.

Oh.

How he looked startled the first time II had told him he loved him. How he got shy when talking about himself, like he was keeping things close to his chest and carefully choosing what to share. How II had rarely heard him complain without immediately dismissing himself. How he had never really seen him get angry or frustrated or disappointed or–

“Two?” Vessel’s nasal tone shook him out of his daze. He had apparently frozen while putting his plate on the table. Vessel stopped eating to ask, “Are you okay?”

II blinked at him and swallowed, suddenly unsure. Vessel hardly ever talked about himself, about his family and his life at home. II barely knew anything about that side of him, aside from stuff he picked up based on context clues and a few things Vessel had told him. He knew his parents weren’t very involved in his life but he didn’t know the full extent of that either.

All he knew for sure was that his best friend broke down crying for his mum the night before and he was now eating cereal in his flat, looking like a plant that grew too tall, sitting hunched over his mug of cold milk as if he was trying to make up for it by wilting and contorting his body into a smaller thing so he didn’t get in the way too much.

II blew out an exhale and pulled out his chair. “I’m just realizing that I don’t know a lot about you.”

Vessel watched him sit down, frowning. “You know more about me than anyone, I think.” He shrugged and turned his gaze to his spoon. “I mean– considering how long we’ve known each other and like– disregarding stuff from growing up.”

“I–” II studied the piece of scrambled eggs that he had stabbed onto his fork. “I don’t even know what your favorite food is.”

Vessel gave a weak chuckle, then realized II was serious. His smile slipped and his brows expressed his confusion. “But that’s not important, is it? It doesn’t matter, like, you don’t have to know it.” He shrugged, easy as anything. “And I don’t have one, so it’s okay.”

II thought while taking a bite. He was starting to feel like a bad friend. He knew Vessel but he didn’t know that much, if he thought about it.

“Actually, I don’t think I know any of your favorites,” he admitted, quieter.

Vessel looked at him with a small, easy smile. “That’s okay because I don’t have favorites.”

II felt even more helpless. It was so rare that Vessel expressed his preferences. Now that made him worried.

He frowned, starting to feel a little desperate. “But I want to know what you like.”

Vessel was quiet for a few moments, looking like he was trying to read him. He sounded genuine and a little confused when he asked, “But why?”

“‘Why?’ Vessel! Because I want to know you!” II gestured at him across the table with his fork. “I want to know stuff that makes you happy. Those things matter!”

“Oh.” Vessel let go of his spoon and drew his hands into his lap. “There’s not really–” He bit off the rest. He didn’t want to bring the mood down by admitting to being so sad that few things could make him feel better. He didn’t want to worry II any more than he already had. Instead, he tried his best at sounding convincing. “It’s okay, Two. Really.”

They were quiet for a while. Vessel could tell II found it hard to let go of the topic but he didn’t know how to make it better.

He finished his breakfast and sat on his hands, looking around the kitchen. II was gathering up his last bites, so he used the moment to feel out what his friend’s plans were for the morning and how quickly he should get his things packed.

“So, um–” II’s brows rose a little, telling Vessel that he was listening, even with his eyes on his plate. “Around what time do you want me to leave?”

II had to swallow twice because he thought his bite would go down the wrong way from the sudden lump that appeared in his throat.

He put down his fork and answered honestly, “I’d actually love it if you slept over again tonight. If you wanted.” There was the smallest movement of muscles in Vessel’s brows. II softened his features and decided to aim at the center of the issue. “Vessel, I need you to talk to me.”

It was now glaringly obvious that Vessel only really gave him bits and pieces but never a lot of details. He would sooner wave things off and turn the topic away to something else or to II. II had initially attributed that to Vessel being shy but it persisted still, and he wasn’t sure if he should have pushed sooner or if that would have only made Vessel feel worse. He was pushing now, though, just a little.

“I–” Vessel wetted his lips. “There’s nothing to talk about. It’s fine. I was just being stupid.” He tried to convince him with a smile, that tight and lightheartedly dismissive one, but II couldn’t let him push his breakdown aside like that.

“Ves, crying for your mum because you’re exhausted isn’t what I would call fine.” He rushed to add, “And that’s okay, but it made me realize how little you tell me about things.” Hesitating a little, he admitted, “I’m worried about you.”

Vessel’s face fell.

More words rushed out of II. “And, please, don’t say you’re fine. You cried so hard last night, and I don’t want you to hurt, Ves. I really don’t.” He kept looking at Vessel and managed a sad smile. “I do love you. I don’t just say that. You matter. And I don’t want you to keep things bottled up.” He flicked his eyes to where he lined the handle of his mug with his finger but quickly made eye contact again. “When you’re having a hard time or feel down, you can tell me.”

Vessel was silent for a while, then averted his eyes just as he spoke in a quiet voice like he was afraid, or more like ashamed, to admit, “I didn’t know that.”

II wanted to react but found that he couldn’t.

He didn’t know. He didn’t know he could talk to a friend? Sure, he didn’t say much about how he was, aside from admitting to being tired from time to time, but surely, he knew he could be honest. Surely.

Vessel rubbed his cheek with a sleeve-covered hand. He didn’t remember the last time he actually cried and got comforted. Or the last time he honestly talked about something that was bothering him. That just wasn’t something he did. He didn’t remember ever doing that very often, especially not when it came to things that were serious or stressful, things that made him anxious or sad.

But maybe now with II? Maybe he could, just once, even if he didn’t say anything else again–? If for nothing else, then to convince II that he didn't need to worry.

Vessel swallowed and confessed, “It’s like I’m not allowed to have enough.” He glanced at II, then set his hands down at the edge of the table and looked at his straightened fingers. He realized he was lightly trembling, but he didn’t know why. It felt like he would burst from talking about something he had only ever thought before. Like he wasn’t allowed to say it, wasn’t supposed to. “Not– not like it’s forbidden, but–” He licked his lips as his shoulders sagged with a heavy exhale. “Whenever I say I’m tired or anxious– or anything, it’s always worse for my parents or they tell me I shouldn’t be. It’s been like that ever since I can remember. Which is okay, because work is work and I know it’s hard for them, but–” His voice was tight, but still shook, just a little. “I wish I could be tired, too.”

He looked at II as he sighed and tapped his fingertips together. Sometimes, he wondered if he got so tall because he kept taking the age-old advice of being the bigger person and not speaking his mind to avoid conflict because he knew it would get nowhere. He looked back at his hands before he could have teared up seeing II’s heartbroken expression.

He rushed to soften what he had said, smiling sadly. “But it’s okay. I don’t think they notice they do it. And I have nothing to complain about, so–” He spread his hands like that would explain it.

II was lost on just how young Vessel looked in the sunlight streaming in. He didn’t want to imagine what he had just heard happening to a sensitive child. He didn’t want to think about the long-term effects of that. How prolonged dismissal would lead to the child internalizing that his issues simply didn’t matter and that he wasn’t allowed to be tired or have a bad day or express overwhelm, or any non-positive emotion or anything non-neutral, for that matter.

Without meaning to, he ended up running with the thought. He also realized that he actually didn’t need to go far in imagining the result of that sort of upbringing. It hit him now how big of a deal it was that Vessel had admitted to being tired during his breakdown.

Vessel’s throat clicked as he swallowed and II realized his eyes were shining with gathering tears. “I just want to talk about my day sometimes. And–” He swallowed again, but it didn’t help with how softly he spoke. “Have someone listen. I know I’m nobody special.” He caught and brushed away the first tear that started to roll down to his cheekbone and looked up at II again. His whole body shook like he was cold, affecting his voice. “But sometimes I wish I could talk and be listened to. Or spoken to. It sounds w–really nice.” He bit his bottom lip to stop it from wobbling and try and get his lisp under control. He sniffled and gave a weak chuckle as he wiped his eyes like he was amused by his own body’s reaction. “I know it’s silly.”

II’s eyes widened. “No, Ves–”

Vessel didn’t let him react and instead rushed to dismiss himself, standing up to take his mug to the sink. “But it’s okay, you know. They give me food and a place and stuff.” He bit his lip and focused on finding the sponge, then muttered, half turned away from II, sloshing water around the mug to rinse it, “I feel like I’m making this up. It’s not serious or anything. It’s always been like this, so it’s alright.”

He tried to get his body to stop shaking but he could only swallow and tense his jaw to keep his teeth from chattering. What was wrong with him? His vision was blurry, so he closed his eyes and turned his head like he was rubbing his cheek on his shoulder, so II wouldn’t see the way his chin scrunched up as he tried to force away the annoyingly persistent urge to cry.

“Sorry,” he barely managed to press out. It was a flimsy apology for the mess he managed to become first thing in the morning, but he wanted to say it. With his hand still trembling, for no good reason, really, he set the now clean mug on the dryer.

II wasn’t sure when he moved from the table, but he was there at Vessel’s side and touched his arm. Vessel’s presence felt so small, even with him standing tall as usual in front of him. He tried to match his volume like his friend would shatter if he spoke louder. “It’s alright. I mean– it’s not alright.” II tried for a comforting smile, but the corners of his lips turned down when he looked into Vessel’s eyes. “God,” he whispered, blinking a little more rapidly as his own eyes began to sting. “Listen– just– come here.” He tugged Vessel into a hug and pressed the side of his face to his chest, where he whispered, “God, sprout.” He didn’t have anything smarter to say. Vessel was shaking like a leaf, and he could feel the shiver that ran down his back when he started rubbing it, desperate to help somehow. He just wanted to hold him until he didn’t feel so fragile in his arms.

“I dunno–” Vessel mumbled over his shoulder. “I dunno why– I don’t–” His sentence was interrupted by a soundless hiccup.

“Shh, it’s okay.”

II wasn’t sure he ever heard Vessel talk this much about his home life, let alone consecutively. Although if his body reacted this badly to it, he understood. He didn’t want to overwhelm him or make him feel uncomfortable by being too smothering, so he shifted to hug, then kiss his arm over his sweater.

To his mortification, Vessel couldn’t stop crying. He wiped his cheeks, then his palms on his pants. He rubbed his eye. The tears kept coming. His throat felt tight. His chest shook. II just rubbed his back. Vessel wanted to stop. Wanted to stop crying, being so pathetic and embarrassing, such a burden on his friend.

“It’s okay, love.”

Vessel shook his head. He wanted to stop. Why couldn’t he? Nothing was wrong, yet his tears kept coming in hot bursts as he gasped for air through his mouth.

To make it worse, or better, he wasn’t entirely sure, II spoke so gently, it was like it physically hurt him. He shushed, soft and unhurried, “Shh, it’s alright. Cry it out.”

II moved his hand to tip Vessel’s head toward his shoulder and stroke the hair at the back of his head. He kept up with his touches because Vessel seemed to like it, if the sudden, muffled but deep-chested wail he let out at the first pass of II’s hand could be called an indication of that. II didn’t mean to make it worse, it was just that his attempts at comfort got reactions like that, while, at the same time, they definitely seemed to be something Vessel needed.

Unable to do anything else, Vessel clung onto II like his life depended on it. Sniffling, taking shallow, quick breaths, feeling his tears dry, feeling so utterly stupid. For crying, for not being able to be normal and deal with things on his own, for clinging to the first person who had expressed interest in him in such a way, who asked about him and even seemed to care about his answers.

II didn’t know what to say, so he said what he knew, “I love you.”

Vessel squeezed his eyes shut. II was the first person to ever tell him that. He didn’t know why II loved him or how, and what he did to earn it, or if II was really telling the truth, but he was fairly sure he loved him, too. At the very least, he enjoyed being with him and II seemed to enjoy it, too, so, as usual, Vessel felt safe enough to reply a quiet, “I love you, too.”

He made sure not to get any tears or snot on II, so he turned his face outward and loosened his arms in preparation of being let go of. He remembered how sweet II was to him the night before, how he called him not only sprout, but love and sweetheart. Vessel swallowed a sob but couldn’t help a quiet whimper. He wanted to be all those things so badly, but he didn’t think that was for him.

His head hurt and his limbs ached, but he was scared of being so much again and so, so ashamed, still. He took a deep breath and pulled away, judging that he dragged the duration of the hug out too much already. His tears had stopped fairly quickly, almost like his supply ran out, but his chest kept hurting. He lifted his gaze to see II give him a sad look.

II took his hand and led him to the couch.

Vessel sat like he was guilty of a terrible crime, curled in on himself, restlessly still, but looking like he was ready to get out of the way if needed. He glanced to the side at II, then back at his hands in his lap. “I’m sorry. I’m being silly.”

Silly? II’s heart ached. “You aren’t.”

Vessel insisted, “But I’m being difficult.”

“You have feelings, Ves.” II took his hand closest to him. “That’s not being difficult.”

Vessel looked at him, his expression all shame and apologies, and shrugged. “It feels like it is.”

“You know–” II scooted closer until their thighs touched. “I’d rather have you crying and talking to me than keeping it locked up.”

That made Vessel’s face crumple. He moved to hide it behind his hand that wasn’t held by II.

II weaved their fingers together and bracketed Vessel’s hand between the two of his. He was about to think of something to say when Vessel spoke.

“You know, it’s not just when things are difficult.” He wiped his face with the back of his hand, even though there were no fresh tears on it. “It’s like– I wish they remembered I exist, sometimes.” A wet chuckle escaped him, but it was more shaky than anything. “I think they sort of forget I still exist even when I’m not home. Like they don’t know object permanence.” He shrugged with a weak smile which didn’t exactly soften the meaning of his words. “I mean, I’m used to it. And it is kinda funny if you think about it.”

II wanted to cry. Vessel talked about his existence like it was a bother.

Vessel went on, voice still quiet and wobbly, “They forget stuff about me all the time.” Aside from the obvious, what pained II the most was how Vessel was completely genuine as he added, “I mean I guess I can’t expect them to know.”

He turned to II who was looking at him with his head tilted and brows furrowed in a helpless, sad expression, but couldn’t hold his gaze, not when he spoke again.

“Sometimes I imagine what it’d be like if they knew or cared more about me. Or I dunno.” His hand moved in II’s when he shrugged, but II’s hold didn’t waver. “If I could talk about stuff that’s scary or important, like school stuff. Or just– mundane things.” Vessel bit his lip as he once again basically dismissed himself. “But I also don’t really want to talk, so it’s okay. I don’t have a lot to say or– it’s not important. And they never really kept up with things like that, so it’s–” He spread his hands in a powerless gesture.

II wanted to congratulate his parents. Their child was fantasizing about being cared about, thinking it was something he, personally, just didn’t deserve, so he could never get, accepting it as easily as having to breathe. He supposed, if they didn’t teach him that he was worth the effort, he couldn’t have learnt it. II wanted to cry and bundle him up and not let him go until he was thoroughly cuddled. And then some extra. Even as he knew it couldn’t make up for what he wasn’t given in his formative years. He didn’t want to think about the effects that must have had on his developing brain. He got an approximate idea when Vessel was sobbing in his arms, begging to matter for once.

“Still,” II said. “They should try. They should listen and talk to you.” It shouldn’t have even been a question, but he knew Vessel needed to hear this spoken to him, needed to know that it applied to him, too.

Vessel shrugged again and smiled bitterly. “It’s kind of like– I don’t tell them things, so they can’t ruin them.”

“What?” II blinked but let Vessel pull his hand away to rub his eye.

“No, I mean– it sounds worse than it is.”

“I’m not sure that’s possible.” It was a little hard to believe, especially coming from his friend whose face was all blotchy from having started crying almost immediately as he opened up. II made a face, stuck between hopeful and heartbroken. “Do you really not talk to them that much?”

Vessel shook his head. “Only about superficial things. My mother likes to tease me about the things I like. Or to call them stupid. But they did that when I was a kid, too.” He tugged his sleeve over his hand and smoothed it out. His expression remained mostly neutral, like he was telling II about natural facts. “They question almost everything I do but then don’t really listen to my answers. The other week, my father asked me if I could play a whole song yet. He wanted to know if I’m any good.”

“If you’re–?” II cut himself off out of pure disbelief. “Jesus Christ.”

Vessel’s shoulders rose up a little. “I think he was genuine.”

“You’ve been playing and writing for years. How does he not know that?”

Vessel chanced a glance to the side as he admitted, feeling like he was bending the truth, even as he knew he wasn’t, “They don’t really listen to me, I guess. Or believe what I say. Or remember things I said. Or know much about what I do.” With each added word, it was as if more and more of his strength left him. At the end, even quieter than before, he added, speaking to his hands in his lap, “Or care.”

“Sweetheart.” II slid his hand across his back to offer the support of his arm and already felt Vessel melt into the half-embrace. “Not listening to the point of knowing so little about your child is–” He didn’t know what to say, really. “They should do better.”

II didn’t understand. How could they not be interested? Vessel was skilled on more than one instrument, he had a lovely, although still very quiet, singing voice, and he always had some niche thing he was reading up on that he even shared if he was gently prodded. He was also just a sweet thing, always ready to learn something new. II gathered most of that about a week into their friendship. They had supposedly known him since birth.

First and foremost, he was their son. That should have been enough of a reason for them to care about him.

“I dunno.” Vessel fiddled with his fingers and shrugged like it didn’t matter. “It’s not all that important, I guess.”

II couldn’t fathom how they could be so uninterested in their child’s inner world. He also couldn’t imagine not talking to his parents about what was going on in his life. And to feel that his everyday life was so unimportant as to not be worth remembering by them? II felt like hitting something. Vessel looked so small, sitting there, so apologetic, so sad about wanting the most basic connection someone could, and generally should, have. He also looked like he had accepted it being this way and given up on receiving that kind of care. Still, that didn't mean it didn't hurt him.

II took a deep breath. He didn’t know what to say that would have made Vessel feel better. He didn’t want to give him empty reassurances or make him feel like he was doubting him.

In the meantime, Vessel wetted his lips and spoke again, “Maybe it’s my fault, you know. I should’ve talked to them more or– or listened or–” He gulped. II could practically feel the waves of shame shaking his body where they touched. “I didn’t make them feel important when I was younger. I hurt them.” He looked up at II, practically pleading with his eyes. “I didn’t mean to.”

II lifted his hand to cup the side of his face. “That’s not how that works, Ves. You were a child.” He couldn’t help brushing his hair away from his face, not when Vessel looked so guilty under the layers of regret and confusion. “It wasn’t your job to make them feel important. You didn’t owe them emotional support.”

Vessel sighed and averted his gaze. “I know they won’t change. I just wish I didn’t want them to care about me more.”

II’s hand ran down to his shoulder to usher him into a hug. He swayed with him and squeezed his eyes shut as Vessel’s shoulders began to shake. He realized he was soundlessly sobbing, like he couldn’t quite get there.

Vessel inhaled sharply, lifting then letting his hands down between them, unsure where to put them. Eventually, he just accepted the affection, leaning into the hug. His voice broke on a whisper, “Sorry.”

One of II’s hands rubbed his back with steady pressure. “Nothing to be sorry for.”

Vessel hiccuped, struggling to cry, no matter how much his chest ached. He leaned back so he could rub at his eyes. His lungs struggled to fill, so the most he could do was take stuttering breaths through his mouth to try to calm down.

II’s voice was still kind. “So what do you do when it’s too much?”

“Try not to cry.” Vessel tried for a joke, but it fell flat. His already weak smile dropped. “Dunno. Nothing much I can do. I just wait for it to pass.”

II guessed that wasn’t the case now. “And when it doesn’t?”

“Then–” He sighed. “Then, I guess, yesterday happens.” It felt like II’s gaze reached right into him. Vessel couldn’t hold it, so he looked at his hands again as he mumbled, “Anxiety attack or– or something. But it isn’t often. I’ve only ever had those in the dorm so far, not at home.”

“What are they like?”

“Not that bad, usually.” Vessel thought about stopping there. There was something silly about admitting to this. “My head hurts, my chest gets tight, I feel nauseous. It feels like I’ll cry, even if I actually can’t, and my body feels weird. My heartbeat feels off and it’s like I’m not really here, but like everything’s pressing down on me.” He shrugged, trying to make sure it didn’t come across like he was trying to get pity for some serious condition he most definitely didn’t have. “I get like that when I’m at home, too, when nothing’s really going on, so I’m not sure it’s anything.”

Up until that point II was fairly sure those were textbook anxiety symptoms, but that addition made him stop and frown. “At home, too?”

“Yeah, you know.” Vessel kept moving his shoulders up and down but couldn’t meet his eyes for longer than a few quick heartbeats. “Sometimes I feel nervous.”

“That’s– that’s not normal.” Now it was II’s turn to rub his cheek, though, more out of concern and helplessness than anything else. “You shouldn’t–”

Vessel’s lips curled down as he caught his gaze once II let out a deep sigh and turned to him. He spoke in a small voice, “It is, to me.” He rushed to add, leaning forward and gesturing as if meaning to catch II’s thoughts before they could have rushed to other conclusions. “They don’t hurt me. They’re not abusive or anything. I’m fine, I just make a big deal out of little things.” He pulled back after waving dismissively to give II a worried look and wring his hands. “I don’t want you to worry. You don’t have to worry about me.”

II grimaced. “I kinda do, Ves.”

“Please, don’t.” Vessel looked at him pleadingly and if it was anything else, II would have listened to those gentle eyes with their persuasive little glint. “I’m okay. Really. I was just tired and– and I messed up yesterday. It was a bad day and– but it’s okay. Everything’s okay.” His exhausted, nasal tone didn’t make his words any more convincing. Neither did the rush of air he exhaled, nor his still lightly shaking hands he clasped together in his lap.

II tilted his head. “Sprout.” He drummed on Vessel’s knee with his fingertips. “They do hurt you, even if they don’t mean to. They should care about you.”

“Maybe. But like–” Vessel bit his lip, then released it. “I can’t expect them to go out of their way to understand me. I’ve always been weird and at this point they can’t be expected to care. I’m an adult, I should know better.”

“They don’t stop being your parents. And yes, they should have gone out of their way to connect with you or do the bare minimum, at least, and try.”

Vessel pulled at a piece of skin beside his thumbnail and asked in a tone that could only be described as heartbrokenly hopeful, “Even though there’s things wrong with me?”

II tried to swallow down the sudden lump in his throat. “Do you mean your anxiety–?”

“That, too. But–” Vessel sighed and looked at II’s hands, then his shoulder, but not his face. He didn’t know if he wanted to see II’s expression when the thoughts he’d never shared out loud before took shape as he rambled, “I think maybe something else is wrong. But I know they would hate it and it’d just be a paper to prove that I’m a failure and incapable. I don’t want a paper about that.” His eyes stung, but he managed to say the other reason in the smallest voice, “My mother once said that maybe it’s better not to have kids like that.”

II didn’t know what to say.

“I think–” Vessel bit his lip and cut himself off.

II softened his expression to silently urge him to go on, even as his heart was breaking for him. If that was how he felt, he knew it was much harder for Vessel to talk about this.

“Maybe that’s why she never really liked me. ‘Cause there’s something off about me.” Vessel lifted one shoulder and nodded like he was inclined to agree with what he was saying. “You know. Something wrong.”

II gaped, then whispered, unsure if he actually said it or just thought it, “What the fuck.” He reached for Vessel’s hands without looking. “That’s not only incredibly wrong, but–” He stood and pulled Vessel to his chest to carefully, but still tightly, squeeze him and speak into his hair, loud and clear, “There’s nothing off about you. Nothing wrong with you.”

Vessel frowned with his face pressed to II’s shirt. II was holding him like something important and stroked his hair.

“Can I ask something, love?” II’s voice was soft like it didn’t harden for the moment before, leaving no room for argument. Now it was like a gentle touch.

Vessel shrugged and nodded as much as he could. Even though he couldn’t reciprocate it, the embrace was very nice, but he didn’t know if it was warranted. He was just telling II about things that had happened years ago. They were spoken in passing and barely worth mentioning. Vessel wasn’t even sure why he brought them up. He just distressed II for no reason.

“Please, don’t call it ‘something wrong’?” II’s hand stopped to play with his hair. The motion was soothing, even as Vessel felt silly, still held so tightly to II’s chest as if he was a little child. “You’re not wrong. Maybe your brain’s different, but you’re not wrong. And you have it rough on top of that.”

“But–”

“Vessel.” II took his face in his hands and looked into his eyes. “No. You’re not wrong or incapable or a failure.” His expression relaxed. His thumbs stroked Vessel’s cheeks as he smiled at him with his head tilted to the side. “You’re sweet and lovable. And nerdy and talented and so much more.” He playfully squished his cheeks, then leaned closer as if he was sharing a secret. “You know why I call you sprout?”

Vessel’s forehead scrunched up as he guessed, “Because I’m tall?” He was all red cheeks and glinting eyes, soft and vulnerable.

“Yeah,” II agreed. “But also because you keep growing in so many directions. And that’s so, so good to see. You teach yourself instruments. You improvise whole songs. You’re a lovely little sprout.” He grinned affectionately.

Vessel nibbled on his lip and searched his eyes. II let him, still holding his face in his hands.

Finally, Vessel asked with audible doubt, “Do you really think that?”

“Yep.” II rested his hands on his shoulder instead but kept eye contact. “Wouldn’t say it if I didn’t.”

Still looking unconvinced, Vessel studied him for a few more moments. “Can I hug you?”

“‘Course. Come here.”

Taking a few steps back, II let Vessel stand and pull him into a hug. Vessel’s arms were lower on II’s back and looser compared to II’s, which reached for his shoulders as if to gently tug him down and wrap him up in affection.

“Your hugs are much better than hers,” Vessel whispered over II’s shoulder like a guilty confession.

It only served to make II prolong the hug. His friend needed it, and so did he. He didn’t know what Vessel’s parents looked like, but in his mind, he imagined grabbing them by the shoulder and giving them a hard shake. Instead, he hugged him tight.

They spent the rest of the morning on the couch with lighter topics and some TV as background noise. Vessel agreed to stay another night and the two of them cooked an easy lunch together, then returned to the living room.

Throughout, II couldn’t help noticing small things in the way Vessel behaved that made him wonder just how much of his anxiety and awkwardness stemmed from his upbringing.

He took the remote Vessel handed to him. “Do you wanna watch a movie?”

Vessel thought for a moment, blinking slowly, then shrugged and looked back at him, “Dunno. Do you want to?”

II took a moment to really look at him. The words had nothing wrong with them, Vessel wasn’t the most decisive person after all, but there was something about the tone that he used. It was like he was eager to be easy, so he was ready to accept what II wanted. That probably happened more often than II liked thinking about.

Scheduling a possibly emotionally devastating google search for later, II picked a movie he knew they both enjoyed, one he remembered Vessel had even rambled a bit about after they had first watched it.

Throughout, Vessel kept rubbing his eyes like he was annoyed at them. II didn’t say anything but kept his eye on him.

Vessel rested his chin on the nose of his whale, hugging it, and followed the events of the movie, feeling like he was existing in slow motion compared to it. His head hurt and his eyes stung. He was aware that II noticed him barely being present. It still felt awkward that he complained and cried to him earlier and how they simply switched to talking about bands and a series they were both watching right after, but even now, instead of telling him that everyone had problems and that life was hard and he should get used to it, II paused the movie and turned to him.

He used that gentle voice, the one that meant he was trying to get Vessel to be kinder to himself. “I know you’re tired, love.”

Vessel couldn’t stop rubbing his eye, not when it gave a small relief from them aching while they were open. “I’m always tired.” When he realized II was giving him a look, he leaned his head on his shoulder and admitted, “My head hurts.”

II’s hand reached up to tame the hair sticking out above his ear. “You need some rest.” When Vessel just hummed noncommittally, he tickled his cheek with his fingertips. Vessel slowly pressed into the barely-there touch, making II smile as he asked, “Why don’t you take a nap?”

After he managed to convince Vessel that him taking a much-needed nap wasn’t rude or annoying, he turned off the movie and brought his laptop from his room.

At first, he thought about looking up some advice on how to help a friend but as soon as he typed in some clue words he thought summed up what Vessel had told him, he almost regretted it. Articles about stress, anxiety, depression, and, scrolling further down, something called emotional neglect. He read a few articles and posts by people describing similar relationships with their parents that Vessel seemed to have. They said they felt unheard and alone. Unwanted and like they had to apologize for their existence. Having to be an emotional punching bag to their parents and not getting any comfort, not even a listening ear in return. Soaking up the feelings of caregivers and adults around them because they couldn’t deal with them themselves and made that everyone else’s problem. Someone wrote about growing up feeling invisible because they never felt important and felt like they barely existed. Someone else described wishing to become seriously ill or injured, so maybe they could get attention and care, even if it wasn’t genuine.

II turned to look at Vessel’s sleeping face, tucked behind his plushie. His forehead was creased in a little frown, and his arm held his whale protectively to his chest. He nuzzled his plushie and settled down, expression smoothing out.

II tried to imagine what he must have been like as a child. Small, sweet and shy, maybe clutching a different plushie, asking for a snuggle or a story with those round eyes. He wondered how Vessel ended up getting his comfort items and how much comfort they must still bring him if he brought them to uni with him. He swallowed bitterly at the thought of him trying to seek comfort the only way he knew how.

He tore his eyes away from his friend and returned to scrolling. He did a search about plushies and found some posts talking about substituting physical affection with comfort items and using them as a source of constant care and comfort. About parents making fun of comfort items, even though their child needed them because they provided the comfort their parents didn’t. Children treating comfort items with the kindness they wished to receive, taking care of them as if they were living, feeling beings. Feeling intense shame for having comfort items as an adult. Being so touch-starved they surrounded themselves with several plushies to imitate being held. Not being able to imagine getting loving physical contact when being regarded as an individual with wants and needs rarely ever happened. Going into adulthood clinging to hugged-flat plushies and fraying baby blankets, desperate for the comfort they still brought.

II then decided to check out a forum on emotional neglect. He was startled by post after post about parents ignoring their children’s bids for connection for one reason or another, letting them grow up feeling like there was something utterly unlovable about them, and that if their parents couldn’t want and love them, then no one ever possibly could.

Someone explained that if a child noticed that their attempts at requesting parental attention were continuously ignored or if their needs were not properly met, the child quickly learned that it was better not to ask at all and took that lesson into adulthood. They won’t suddenly learn to behave like a person who grew up with secure attachment and healthy family relations the moment they turn eighteen. If their parents appeared not to want to have much to do with them and who they were, they grew up feeling, even if unconsciously, that mum and dad had more important matters and people to attend to and that they simply didn’t matter as much or weren’t liked or loved like others were. These children often ended up shutting down emotionally, especially if their parents responded in a way that brought out feelings of shame about their own emotional world. At the same time, appearing as low-maintenance and seemingly unfeeling was a protective mechanism that was highly detrimental in the long run.

II read a post detailing subtle signs of emotional neglect and winced at how many he recognized in Vessel. How quiet he was, both when talking and when doing things. How he rarely if ever asked for help and liked to work on his own to make sure things got done properly. How II could barely recall ever seeing him express strong emotions, like anger or frustration. Instead, Vessel accepted most things with what seemed to be calm neutrality, even if they actually deeply affected him. How good he was at waiting without so much as a complaint. How often he answered ‘whatever you want is fine’ when it came to preferences, getting anxious when voicing an opinion as simple as a choice of food or a movie.

II’s heart felt like it would crack open when he read a paragraph, then read it again and again. It was about someone unconsciously trying to prove that they were worthy of attention and connection by giving gifts and anticipating needs and making themselves smaller in relationships; being ‘low-maintenance’. II recalled the way Vessel would look anxious or worried whenever he was stressed or had a bad day, and got extra soft and quiet while still trying to help lift II's mood. How he was so clearly struggling, but always managed to shift focus from himself, forcing a smile and brushing off his own issues. How he was so often tired, sporting dark circles under his eyes, and cold, struggling with his anxiety or appetite. How often II heard him say that it was his own fault and nothing serious. How Vessel thought so little of himself and his achievements, downplaying them whenever they were brought up, getting nervous when attention was aimed at him. Someone listed freezing and shutting down emotionally as a reaction to conflict or uncomfortable situations or overwhelming emotions, and II found himself clicking back so he could calm down.

II couldn’t fix him, he knew that. He didn’t want to fix Vessel, just love him and help him as much as he could.

He ended up turning the movie back on with the volume lowered. Vessel woke up toward the end, then playfully butted II’s shoulder with his forehead to tell him to choose another one. II obeyed, then pulled him to his side, itching to have him close.

Vessel was in no way an expert, but he was pretty sure people cuddled with their partners and not their lame, sad friend. On the other hand, he couldn’t say no to an arm around his shoulder and a warm body beside him.

Mind straying from the plot of the movie, II thought back on something else he had read. He didn’t know if Vessel was touch-starved or not. He did seem to enjoy hugs and cuddles from time to time and liked hugging his whale, but II didn’t want to assume anything. It wasn’t like it mattered or like II had to know, he was just thinking.

For a moment, it felt like Vessel would pull away, but instead, he all but melted into his side, posture loosening as he slid down into a half-sitting, half-lying down position. He rested his head against II’s shoulder and exhaled deeply. He slowly rubbed his cheek on II’s shirt like he wanted to be even closer.

II closed his eyes and leaned into it. Yep. Vessel was most likely touch-starved. Not that it mattered. II liked cuddling with him, so it worked out.

Vessel was reminded of how he sometimes imagined being hugged and comforted, either by some immaterial entity or, more often, by II. It was most likely because II was one of the only people who had ever really dedicated time to him like that, but still, it felt so embarrassing, Vessel couldn’t imagine telling his friend about those fantasies. Or how ashamed he felt for missing II when he was at home, knowing that II went home to his family, too, and probably enjoyed unwinding while he was being pathetic all alone again. Or how his chest felt tight when he thought about sobbing in II’s arms because a part of him was ready to face that immense shame just to feel that sense of safety again. It felt almost cathartic, to cry and tell II things he could never say out loud before and have it be met not with dismissal or shame, but with understanding. Vessel didn’t know that was possible and his brain was having a hard time processing it.

Their impromptu movie marathon ended with a quiet dinner, then they got ready for bed.

Ever since the second movie, one featuring some moments of exaggerated miscommunication, Vessel had the word ‘want’ stuck in his head. It felt like a needy word, a word certain people could use because it was alright for them to want, while from the mouths of others, it sounded weak, ugly and unimportant. He knew about himself that he preferred substituting it with softer alternatives or, most often, didn’t find himself in situations where he could admit to wanting things without worrying that it would be taken the wrong way or misunderstood.

Vessel admitted in a low voice, sitting in bed, stuck in the process of getting comfortable, “I want things sometimes.”

II was smoothing out his duvet and slowed down to give his friend space to gather his thoughts. “Yeah?”

His gaze was averted to the sheets. He didn’t even know why he spoke out loud in the first place. “It makes me feel stupid.”

Turning fully to Vessel where he sat beside him, II assured, “Everybody wants things, Ves. It’s so normal, I promise.”

Vessel tugged his whale into his lap and looked around II’s bed. It felt so welcoming, even though it didn’t have a lot of things in it. But the pillows and blankets were soft and made of nice materials. They all fitted II and his whole room had a lived-in feel. It was homey in a way that made Vessel’s heart ache.

“I feel like a child.” He pressed out the words. “But I want things.” He nibbled on his lip, looking at II with a tired expression. It exhausted him to even imagine talking to his parents about this. There was no way he could do it without it becoming a big deal where, in the end, he would be the one to feel worse and unheard. “I’m tired of always telling them what I want. I want them to remember.” He was stroking the material of his plushie with the focus of his gaze lost somewhere in the middle distance. “I want to feel like I matter, like I’m a person. I want to stop feeling like a dog that no one would care about if– if it d–” He bit his lip and shook his head. As he closed his eyes, he realized the heat creeping up his nape was the urge to cry, even though he thought he had run out of tears hours ago.

Sheets rustled and something warm slid across his back, then gently tugged. Vessel was so focused on sniffling and keeping his eyes squeezed shut to will away his tears that he only realized he was being pulled down when his shoulder hit the bed. His whale was clutched to his chest and his legs were bent as if he was still sitting, but he opened his eyes to see II looking right back, lying beside him. Vessel realized he was holding onto II’s shirt with his free hand. Instead of letting go, he wetted his lips and offered an apologetic smile.

II was stroking his arm, looking at him with that gaze Vessel hadn’t been able to read ever since he had known him. It was searching but tender, inviting like II could read his mind and pluck the forming request from his tongue. He didn’t, though, so Vessel had to speak up again, trying and failing to swallow the lump in his throat.

“Two, I–” His fists tightened in II’s shirt.

II hummed, then waited, almost finding himself holding his breath to make sure he heard him. They were face to face, but he didn’t want to do anything to accidentally stifle Vessel's words.

“I don’t want you to let go yet.”

II’s eyes were bright and crinkled at the corners. “Me either.”

Vessel let his legs lie more comfortably and closed his eyes. He heard II shift and let his friend envelop him in a hug, as much as he was able, with his plushie still between them.

It felt odd, holding his whale and being held at the same time, but a small part of him felt very strongly about it and he found himself having to blink rapidly, feeling his lashes gather hot teardrops. II touched his back like he was looking for purchase and Vessel wanted to hug him back but didn’t want to move his plushie from between them and interrupt the moment. He sniffled at the dilemma. He wanted to hide away until the need to cry passed, but II was holding him, keeping all of him contained, even the ugly and needy parts, and all Vessel could do was sniffle in helplessness. He didn’t know what to do, so he started to cry. He didn’t mean to. He just felt so odd, so tired and oversaturated, so exposed and seen, but at the same time, so very safe.

Vessel wiped his cheek with a hand trapped between them. He didn’t know if it was the tears or the question making his voice go so small. “Can I ask something?”

II nodded. At that moment, Vessel could have asked anything, he would have rushed to answer or give it to him.

“Do– do parents really care about their children?” Vessel swallowed dryly. “Like, do families actually talk or– hug or–?” He snuffled noisily and pressed the back of his hand to his nose, making his voice even more nasal. “I f-feel so stupid but I can’t–” He gave a weak, teary laugh. “Can’t imagine it.” His watery amusement turned into a hitching inhale, but he still tried to hold back, even as a sob shook his chest as he pressed out, his fragile smile melting away, “‘m sorry.”

II wordlessly pulled him in, squishing Vessel’s plushie, and simply held him with his eyes closed. After a couple of seconds where it felt like Vessel was holding his breath, he finally broke and started shaking in his hold.

II didn’t want to leave him without an answer, so he said, as softly as he could, “They should.” He shifted until his hand could reach Vessel’s head more comfortably and began stroking his hair. “But sometimes they don’t, but that’s not their children’s fault. That much I know.”

It took a few moments for Vessel to find his voice, shaky as it was. “T-thank you.” He tightened his hold on II. “Thank you, love.” The pet name made his lips feel silly and his heart beat faster, but he wanted II to hear it, too. He wanted to try and be sweet like II was to him.

Interrupting his sluggishly drifting thoughts, there was a hand on his cheek, then on the other. His head was gently tilted back, then there were lips on his forehead, followed by a kiss, then one more on his temple. II kissed his face. And he was stroking it with his fingers. He kissed his forehead again, then looked into his eyes. He looked a little tired but so soft it made Vessel’s lips struggle to decide between curling up and down.

“Do you want to try and sleep now? You can be my little spoon.”

The question decided it. Vessel chuckled wetly with a wobbly smile and moved closer, sliding down the bed so he fit under II’s chin. He put his plushie behind himself and carefully scooted closer until II pulled him in and cradled the back of his head, urging him to hide his face in his neck. Vessel reached behind himself and tugged his small blanket to his collar, tightening and loosening his fist in the material. He still felt miserable but hollower now, and lighter, and above all, safe and comfortable in II’s bed. He sighed, body aching now that the adrenaline left, trying not to burrow in too close. He liked being II’s little spoon, even though he definitely wasn’t meant to be a little spoon. He never thought he was meant to be a spoon at all, but then II came along and now here he was.

A deep ache flared up in his chest, causing another round of tears to start up, so he squeezed his eyes shut and nuzzled his blanket to at least keep his snot and tears away from his friend.

“Night, sprout,” II murmured. “I love you.”

Vessel nodded into his blanket, trying to process the thought. II loved him. He felt like he couldn’t be sure what that meant, really, but it hurt in a nice way.

“Love you,” he replied and he was sure he meant it, even though it hurt.

II let his hand pass over Vessel’s hair again and again until he was fairly convinced he had fallen asleep, and then some more because it was soft and II’s chest warmed at the tender contact.

In the morning, Vessel woke with his back to II. He was hugging his whale but had II’s arm thrown over his waist like a protective weight. He suspected he moved in his sleep, instinctively seeking his usual comfort, and II moved after him. That made Vessel feel tingly, the fact that even in his sleep, II didn’t want the embrace to end. He still felt drained, but definitely better after a night’s rest and without waking up with a rapidly beating heart, anxiety rising the moment he gained consciousness. Instead, he was sleepy-warm and surrounded by the scent of II’s sheets. It was a nice scent, a blend of fabric softener and II, and now, after two nights, a little bit of Vessel. He exhaled and let his shoulders relax.

Vessel wasn’t sure how much time had passed until II made a sleepy sound and snuggled closer, pressing his nose to his back.

He was hit with the sudden need to apologize for getting so comfortable in II’s bed for the second night in a row and for everything else he suspected he didn't need to apologize for but still wanted to. “Two, I’m–”

II cut him off, “No sorries.” He dragged his words, still in the process of waking up. “Say something else.”

“I’m– hungry?” Vessel tried.

II seemed to consider his answer, if his nosing side to side over his shoulder blade was anything to go by. “Okay.” He tightened his hold on him to signal his acceptance. “We’ll make pancakes.”

Chapter Text

They made pancakes, listening to music, then settled on the couch after. There, II finally addressed Vessel rubbing away at his eyes ever since they got up.

“Are they sensitive?” It was fairly obvious. They were puffy and red, but II was a worrier and wanted to gently deter his friend from further irritating his eyes.

Vessel stopped rubbing and nodded, pulling his sleeves over his hands. “I haven’t really cried in a while.” The admission was quiet and ashamed, paired with a small movement of his shoulders.

II gave a sad smile when Vessel managed to look at him.

It encouraged Vessel to add, still soft, “I don’t think I’ve ever cried to anyone like that before.” He bit his lip. His body felt heavy with how much he cried and shared the day before. It felt silly to want to cry again. He didn’t want to, but his body seemed not to get that message because his eyes were starting to sting. He stole a glance at II watching him with his head tilted at a slight angle. “Two?” He still felt embarrassed for asking awkward questions, as if he was from another planet, trying to work out what it is that humans did, but he wanted to clear something up. His fingers danced along his sleeve and he kept his eyes on them as he asked, “Is this what parents are supposed to do?”

II’s reply came after a beat of silence. “What do you mean?”

“What you did yesterday.” Vessel finally looked at him with the beginning of a weak, lopsided smile. “I cried but you hugged me and– and stroked my hair,” he mumbled the last part. “And listened, even though I talked a lot.” II wanted to argue with that, but Vessel went on, “Is that what comforting is? I mean– can you still get that after you’ve grown up?”

“Of course, you can. There’s no age limit to it.” II put a hand on his forearm and slowly moved it toward his wrist, wanting to chase those fidgety fingers. He felt Vessel’s muscles both stiffen and loosen under the touch. “Sweetheart, the point of comfort is that it helps you feel better.”

Vessel was quiet for a few moments, nodding absentmindedly, then wetted his lips and asked in a soft tone, “Even if I didn’t do anything to deserve it?”

II opened his mouth, then closed it. When Vessel looked to the side to check that he didn’t just say the wrong thing, II looked worried. “What do you mean?”

Vessel shifted where he sat, shoulders drawing up toward his ears. “Well, I– it really isn’t a big deal, so I didn’t know I could, you know–” He made a half-hearted gesture.

II was quiet for a while, then broke the silence, keeping his voice soft. “Can I ask something?”

Vessel nodded with a shrug, still lining his sleeve just beside where II’s hand rested.

“Have you ever had a safe adult to talk to?”

Vessel’s brows knitted together. “About what?”

II brushed his thumb against Vessel’s and watched it draw back like the head of a turtle before poking back out of his sleeve to carefully press into his touch. “Your feelings, love. Or anything, really.”

“Oh,” Vessel breathed, both in understanding and newfound confusion. “Um– I dunno. Not really? No one’s really asked.”

II expected the answer, but still, part of him hoped for something better. “What about your grandparents?”

Vessel made a face for the fraction of a second before he replied, “No?” He paused, then added, “Of course, not.”

II blinked a few times at how little thought that answer required. “What do you mean, of course, not?”

Vessel looked at him with a frown and spoke more cautiously, like he thought he had done something wrong. “I mean, they don’t really care for that sort of stuff. I’m just there to listen to them and help when they need, you know.”

II thought about his own family, with their questions and worries about his well-being, struggling to picture what Vessel had described so far about his own. “That’s–” He pushed the pads of his fingers to his friend’s and watched as their digits lined up. He mumbled, at a loss for words, “Jesus. I mean– so, you can’t just–?” He turned to look at Vessel. “Who do you go to when you’re sad?”

Vessel kept his eyes on their hands and answered slowly, in a tone that let II know that he was saying what he thought was obvious, “Nobody–?”

“Nobody?” II lifted his gaze the same time as he pressed down to feel the warmth of Vessel’s palm against his.

There was another answer on the tip of Vessel’s tongue, but he didn’t want to burden II with the admission that the only person he occasionally turned to was currently sitting beside him and holding his hand. His lips twitched into something of an apologetic smile instead. “But it’s okay. I don’t really get sad, you know.” He grimaced and corrected, “Or, I mean, being sad isn’t like– new. Or a big deal.” He felt so clumsy, trying to put it into words. It felt like an entirely silly issue in the first place. Childish and stupid. He shrugged in helplessness. “I mean what do you do when your kid’s sad for no reason?”

He meant it as a rhetorical question, but II was quick to answer, “You get them help.”

“No, I mean–”

II enveloped his hand with the two of his, trying to get him to listen. “Ves, you’re not like– uniquely horrible and undeserving of good things. You know that, right?”

The man didn’t answer, instead opting for pulling layers of skin off his bottom lip with his teeth and avoiding II’s eyes.

II kept holding his hand, stroking the back of it with a slow thumb. The more he found out, the more it became clear that Vessel had grown up with a support system that could be called unreliable at best and barely-there at worst. No wonder he had a hard time knowing when to ask for help. Or that it was something he could, and should, do in the first place.

Although it made sense that he stopped relying on his parents, it broke II’s heart to know that he couldn’t turn to anyone else in his family. Instead, he was left alone with his feelings and practically everything else, his questions and ideas and interests.

Vessel wanted to make the weird sadness that settled over the room go away, so he tried to quietly reason, “I was just a kid.”

He could hear II take a breath. His voice, when it came, was achingly tender. “Yeah, but kids have feelings. And they need help dealing with them sometimes.”

II’s chest went tight at Vessel’s look of genuine confusion and that was before he spoke, still trying to justify not receiving comfort regularly or being able to talk about his feelings.

“I’ve always been quiet.”

II gave his hand a gentle squeeze. “I get that, love. But if you didn’t get to talk or weren’t listened to, then it makes sense that you were always quiet.” He tilted his head, patiently explaining with his eyes on Vessel’s downcast pair, “If little sprout felt like he wasn’t important, it makes sense that he stopped trying to express how he felt. It makes sense why it’s hard for you to say how you feel. But sweetheart–” He lifted their hands and continued once Vessel looked at him, “Being quiet is not permission to be ignored.”

Vessel blinked against the burning feeling building behind his eyes. He was trying his best to keep it together. He managed to sour the mood again and still, II was so sweet with him.

He shrugged shakily and quieted his voice more as he rambled, “But it’s not like– bad. I mean, nothing happened. It doesn’t really matter.” His hands were starting to shake. It made him feel pathetic.

II scooted closer and squeezed his hand again, then drew it to his chest. “Of course, it matters. It’s you, Ves.”

Vessel didn’t react. He stayed silent and only spoke once he was convinced his voice wouldn’t break while trying to explain. “It’s like–” His lips were chapped, so he drew them inward to wet them. He stopped himself from glancing to the side in case he couldn’t go on after seeing II’s expression. “Like when you were little and waited until bedtime, you know, to– to try and tell your parents you’re upset.”

“I–” II racked his memories but came up empty. “I didn’t– do that,” he said cautiously. It was clear Vessel was using a general pronoun to describe his own experience, but II still wanted to give him feedback on how general that experience might have been. Or should have been.

Vessel rubbed his eye with his free hand, faltering at II’s reaction. “I mean– me either, after a while. I just waited until mum said good night and cried in the dark instead.” He gradually lifted his gaze, shrugging and swaying his head like it made perfect sense.

II blinked rapidly, trying to process what he just heard. It sounded like Vessel had practically given up on his need for comfort as a child to be easier on his parents.

Without another thought, he wrapped his arms around Vessel’s torso and pulled him into a rushed, clumsy hug. “God, love,” he murmured, holding on tighter.

Vessel gulped but let himself be held, then mumbled over II’s shoulder as they eased back from the embrace, “I thought everyone did that.” Seeing II’s near-horrified expression, he corrected, “Well, not– not everyone. But I thought it’s what you’re supposed to do. Hide that you’re upset, you know?” He looked down when II took his hand again. His eyes stung, but something about their joint hands made words come. “I think I used to just– cry when I was upset. And sometimes I went to my plushies or our cat outside, you know, ‘cause my parents– I didn’t feel comforted or they sort of didn’t see why I was upset or– I dunno.” He was aware that he had lost his point somewhere during his rambling. “But it’s also– it’s not like– sadness isn’t really visible, you know?” It felt silly to call it just sadness, but specifics didn’t matter that much and besides, he had no real grounds for calling it anything more serious.

II looked so sad but so kind, arguing softly, “But it is, sprout. I can see it on you.”

Vessel’s smile was so weak and confused, II almost wished he hadn’t said anything.

“I used to, sort of, wait, you know, until bedtime–” He lightly sunk his teeth into his bottom lip. It was oddly easy to talk into the space II left for him. It felt scary but safe. “But then sometimes I couldn’t say why I was upset, so I just started crying out of the blue.”

He couldn’t help his awkward smile as he spoke. It was almost like he wanted to laugh but something was pressing up against his lungs, and it felt like it would burst into something ugly as soon as he let out the first sound of broken, cross-wired joy.

“And it wasn’t a good time, either, you know. You should just stop crying and go to sleep ‘cause it’s late and you’re crying for no reason.” Something blurry swam into his field of vision. He blinked hard against it. “And I– I sort of tried to find a good reason to cry. So maybe it would be okay. But it wasn’t really.”

He looked at II and drew a shaky breath. He couldn’t hold his gaze, couldn’t see his friend clearly because those stubborn clouds of blur were trying to push themselves into his sight, like they were trying to get him to notice them. He closed his eyes, but still, they wouldn’t go away.

“I tried to keep it in, sort of– let it build up, you know, but it was like it was never a good time. So, after a time, I just didn’t try to tell anyone. Dad wasn’t home a lot and mum didn’t–” He could only manage a wobbly shrug. “So, I thought it’s better if I don’t tell them. Thought it was okay if only my plushies knew, you know. It’s not like they had something better to do than be with me.” He gave a small, wet snicker, sniffling when his lips and jaw trembled afterward. He added as a whispered afterthought, “At least I didn’t make them frustrated.”

II stroked the trembling hand in his, thinking in the silence that came after Vessel pressed his lips together and let out a shaky exhale. He couldn’t fathom bottling up and trying to time his emotions to try and find the least inconvenient moment where he might be listened to and validated in his feelings. And trying to calculate that, only to be left alone in his upset? Going to bed feeling like he didn’t matter enough to be comforted, that there was just no time and energy left for him? Keeping his feelings and thoughts inside for his parents’ convenience?

And Vessel was just a child.

II squeezed his hand, then took it with his other hand, so he could use the one closer to Vessel to gently tilt his jaw up until he could look into those glassy brown eyes. He could see and feel how hard Vessel was tensing his muscles to keep from unraveling, to keep at least some of what he was convinced was a burden inside, to keep himself contained, even though there was nothing to be afraid of; no possibility for rejection, no chance to be brushed away, to be conveniently ignored.

II smiled, throat clicking around the lump that had settled there.

Vessel’s lips quivered, the corners turning down, even as he tried his best to stop them. His voice trembled as he said, like a last attempt at both apology and explanation, “I just didn’t w-want to be inconvenient.”

II could only shake his head. “You weren’t. You’re not. You’re not inconvenient.” He pressed his lips together and wet them, still shaking his head and keeping eye contact, then adjusted his hands, so they both held Vessel’s face, holding some of that long-buried heartache that surfaced.

He didn’t know what else to say to make it better. He supposed there wasn’t much, not anything that could instantly make that conviction go away.

To make a child feel like their comfort was an inconvenience must have been damaging beyond what he could imagine. And it led to that child growing up to be an adult who put himself last because he was terrified and ashamed of taking up space in anyone’s – even his own – life.

Vessel couldn’t look at II anymore. His face was contorting into an ugly, upset thing, and he felt exposed with II’s gaze on him. It wasn’t a hard gaze or dismissive, rather the opposite, but still, he couldn’t bear it. He closed his eyes and tried to turn his head.

II let go and put a hand on his arm instead. When he next spoke, his voice was soft, but he wanted to understand, “Didn’t they hear you cry? At night?”

Vessel frowned. His confusion halted the tears that were wedged in his throat and the sobs threatening to burst out. “No? Don’t think so.” He fidgeted with his cuticles. “I was quiet.”

He didn’t know how to explain it. He would breathe through his mouth to keep his sniffles quiet and press a tissue to his nose to wipe his snot away as silently as possible, mindful of the open door between his room and his parents’. He let his pillow and comfort blanket soak up his tears and hugged his plushies tight until he eventually fell asleep.

“I don’t think they noticed. Or maybe they did but didn’t want to deal with it.” His shoulders danced in a hesitant up and down. He rubbed his nose, ashamed of sounding so watery and small. “But that’s normal, right?” He met II’s eyes. “Like, I understand. You don’t want to deal with your kid all the time and solve their problems and stuff. I mean–” His lips curled into a powerless grimace, a sorrow-tinted half smile. “I don’t think kids should be sad but maybe it was okay that I was because–” He trailed off, running out of words. “I dunno. Maybe I misremember,” he concluded, so quiet that II felt it more than heard it.

“Vessel, that’s–” II huffed out a helpless exhale. “They should’ve noticed.” He was in no place to decide what was normal and what wasn’t, but common sense told him that parents should realize when their child is upset, even if they try to hide it. How well could a child really hide their emotions? And even if they could, that didn’t mean that they should be left to deal with them alone.

II’s heart ached at the thought of Vessel’s family neglecting and shushing a little boy’s emotions with no intention of putting aside time for him, even if it was partly with the excuse of there being no time or being busy. How that must have eroded his sense of self-worth. If he wasn’t important even to his family, who else would he be important to? When could he hope to have some time and effort dedicated to him and how he experienced the world? How long was he patiently waiting for his turn if others around him constantly took priority with their own feelings and problems? When did he give up waiting and hoping?

Vessel gradually shaved himself away for his parents’ and family’s convenience, but then did no one bother to find out why he was so withdrawn? Did no one think to question why a child never cried openly anymore? Did they feel relieved that he stopped? Did they even consciously notice? Did they really never hear him at night? Didn’t they see it on him? Didn’t they notice that he was struggling behind the façade of doing well in school? Didn’t they wonder how such a sensitive person dealt with his everyday life without ever speaking to anyone about his innermost thoughts? Didn’t they want to make sure he was okay?

Vessel shrugged and bowed his head like he was trying to make up for what he said by making himself smaller. He didn’t know how to get out of it all. He couldn’t see clearly, and it felt like his whole body was wobbling where he sat. Still, he tried to explain, tried to keep his voice level, tried to make sure II knew it wasn’t that bad, that it was alright.

“After a w-while, I thought it’s best that I don’t tell them or a-ask for ‘nything, you know?” It was so loud when he swallowed. His voice shook and he wasn’t sure how much II could understand, but it was as if he was losing control over his words, rambling without filter, just trying to get II to understand and get him to feel better since it was he who made him feel sad in the first place. He desperately wanted to get II to stop looking and sounding so heartbroken for him because things were okay, they weren’t that bad, they didn’t matter that much. “‘Cause it’d be a b-bad time or s-stupid or they’d just forget, y-you know? So, it’s better not to b-bother ‘cause then there’s no hu-hurt feelings.” He was wringing his hands, squeezing trembling fingers from time to time. A muscle in his jaw twitched. His throat ached with something hot trapped at the back of it.

When he looked up, II was blinking rapidly at him and asked in a small voice, “What?” He sounded upset, but Vessel didn’t mean to make him upset, didn’t mean to spill out again and taint everything with that sticky sadness, that pathetic thing that only belonged locked away in his chest and mind, never to be shared or spoken aloud.

Vessel clamped down on whatever it was that was brewing in him and willed his mouth to open to let sounds out. A cut-off whimper turned into mumbled words. “I mean– it’s– I’m okay.” A small sob found its way out as he exhaled. He offered a shameful grimace-frown, but II was just a wet blur and the quick blink’s image of a downturned mouth. “‘m sorry? ‘m okay. P–pwromise,” Vessel gasped, rubbing his cheek and covering his mouth with his bent fingers as if he could push back those ugly sounds.

Without a word, II gathered him into his arms as best as he could and put a hand in his hair to carefully tuck Vessel’s head into the safety of the crook of his neck. He pushed himself up where he sat, so his friend could sag in his hold and be held like he was smaller than his actual size. “Shh, love. It’s alright.” He stroked his hair with careful fingers as the man shook in his embrace. “I have you.” II himself felt wobbly but he just pressed his lips to Vessel’s hair and held him steady. “You didn’t do anything wrong. It’s okay, I promise.”

Vessel sniffled in stuffy staccatos and tried to reason, still, “I d-don’t– d-don’t remember how old I w-was.” He really didn’t. Maybe he was too old to need comfort. Maybe he was being really difficult. Maybe–

“It doesn’t matter, love,” II soothed. “It still doesn’t make it okay.”

“M-maybe–” He held back a hiccupped sob, then whispered, full of shame, “It was m-my f-f-fault.”

II’s forehead creased. “How do you mean?” He loosened his arms around his friend enough to be able to look at his face, brushing strands of hair back from his forehead.

Vessel swallowed and sniffled, digging into his pocket for a tissue. There weren’t any, but before he could have turned to try and find some, II was reaching for the packet of them perched on the coffee table. He even pulled one out and handed it to him, then waited patiently while Vessel blew his nose and wiped his face with his eyes downcast.

His breathing was still shaky and his voice small as he began explaining, “One time when I was little, mum said or– or d-did something that made me cry. I dunno w-what.” His chest heaved, forcing him to take a breath. “But s-she– she said–” He closed his eyes at the memory, feeling too raw and small to look at II. “‘You think you never hurt me?’” Vessel swallowed, dislodging more tears. “Told me it’s n-not fair that ‘m cryin’ be-because I’ve hurt her before, too.” He palmed at the tears streaking and tickling the skin of his cheeks. “She never t-told me. I d-didn’t kn-know.”

II was following his recount with a worried expression. Vessel began to tear off small pieces from his crumpled tissue, balling them up in a clammy, trembling palm.

“D-didn’t m-mean to.” He shook his head, barely breathing the words, “I didn’t.” He drew a sharp inhale. “But I did and– and th-then she didn’t t-talk to m-me.”

In the momentary pause, II asked, to make sure he understood right, “But she hurt your feelings, didn’t she?” He encircled Vessel’s wrist with his fingers, soothing with slow movements across his skin. “She made you upset in the first place?”

Vessel nodded, shrugging all the while. “I– I felt h-horrible.” He gulped, keeping his eyes on his tissue. “But she just–” He shrugged again and gave a weak gesture with his hand. “Ign–nored me for the r-rest of the day. Didn’t l-look at m-me at dinner, you know? Like I didn’t ex–ist.” The word broke into two on a hiccup. “Th-then she just didn’t come to s-say good n-night. I wai–ted ‘cause she d-did it every night.” He pressed his mangled tissue to his nose. “But she didn’t. S-so, I cried mys–self to s-sleep.” To II’s surprise, Vessel gave a wet chuckle. It was a hollow, painful sound and trailed off into sniffles. He rubbed his eye and shrugged, finally looking at II again. “But some–times it wasn’t l-like that. Sometimes th-they tried, I think.”

II took Vessel’s hand that held the small bits of torn tissue. Vessel kept it in a fist but let it rest on II’s thigh. II’s fingers were stroking his so gently while he gathered his thoughts.

Finally, II said, “That doesn’t erase all the other times, though.” He looked up and saw the beginnings of a deeper crease between Vessel’s brows, so he clarified, “When they made you feel like your feelings didn’t matter.”

Vessel’s face felt warm. He wasn’t sure he had ever felt so much shame as he did now, after having shared so many pointless hurts from his childhood. His nose stung and kept running and his eyes felt swollen and sensitive. He just felt pathetic and small.

“I think I don’t understand,” he admitted quietly. He didn’t know which part. Maybe none of it.

II was still stroking his fist like it was something precious and not just holding crumpled pieces of a used tissue. He tugged out another one and handed it to him, then thought while Vessel wiped his face again.

Even if what Vessel had just told him about were singular or rare instances, they still left their mark. Vessel was clearly repeatedly shown that he could be easily ignored or cast aside with no regard to how he felt. Even if he did hurt his mother’s feelings that time, in no way did he deserve to just be ignored and left to work through not only his original upset but also the fact that he was given the silent treatment because he expressed his hurt. Vessel’s mother had to have realized that she was actively hurting her son. Or at least that she was doing it out of some form of misguided pettiness to make a literal child feel worse than he already was.

II wanted to scoop a young Vessel up and talk to him and tell him how he should have never been treated that way, let alone enough times for it to become the norm for him to suppress his feelings entirely, to avoid being dismissed like that again.

Instead, he pulled his legs up onto the couch and sat cross-legged, facing his friend. Vessel had since returned to quietly shredding his tissue.

“You were a child, Ves,” he started. At that, Vessel lifted his head to look at him. II offered him a small smile before he continued, “Of course, you wanted comfort from your parents. Of course, you wanted understanding and help.” II felt like he had to reach for Vessel’s hand again, so he did, keeping his eyes on his face, making eye contact when Vessel let him. “Sweetheart, if you got told to stop being upset, it makes sense that you’d rather hide it than ask for help. It makes sense that you cried to your plushies.” He squeezed his hand when he saw Vessel bite down on his bottom lip. “But it doesn’t excuse your parents leaving you be. Kids don’t stop feeling things. It’s not that if you ignore things, they’ll go away.” II tried his best to keep his tone gentle, even as he felt angry on behalf of Vessel. “If your baby learns to hide things from you, that’s not an indication that you should just not address them ever and think that you’re doing a good job. If you make your child feel like they can’t tell you things or ask for help, then you’re doing a bad job being a parent.”

Vessel’s nose twitched. He looked at II, then away again. His voice was mostly level, but still nasal. “Even when– when it’s silly? Or at a bad t-time?”

II nodded. “Even then.”

Vessel frowned and nodded slowly, fiddling with his tissue. He looked at II, then away, then back into those gentle, blue eyes. “Even if I didn’t tell anyone?”

“Even then, love.” II smiled sadly as Vessel pulled his knees to his chest to hug them. He let him keep holding his hand, even though it meant he had to hold it awkwardly, mid-air. “I can’t believe they never saw it on you. There’s no way they didn’t notice that you cried or that you were sad. I don’t believe that for a second.” Vessel was nodding along, looking unconvinced, but listening with his brows furrowed, so II went on, “You notice when your kid’s behavior changes. You notice if they stop talking or become depressed. You don’t leave them to it because it’s ‘easy’. You should know that means they need help. And you should do your best to help them.” II knew that was an ideal scenario but he truly couldn’t believe that no one had ever given thought to Vessel’ emotional well-being.

Vessel rested his chin on his knee, lost in thought for a few moments. “But– what if they made you angry? Or they’re difficult?”

II leaned forward and cupped his face, chest aching with the urge to make Vessel understand. “Darling.” He looked between those sorrowful, apologetic browns, stroking Vessel’s tear-sticky cheek with his thumb. “I mean it when I say ‘even then’. You don’t neglect your kid out of spite when they make you angry. You don’t do passive aggressive or silent treatment. You’re the adult. Your child won’t understand, they’ll just feel that they’re alone with their problem.” Vessel seemed to shrink at that, so II put more gentleness in his voice. “And yes, even when it’s difficult. If it’s difficult for you, then how difficult must it be for a little one who’s upset but can’t tell his caregivers? Who should he go to, then, if not you?”

Vessel’s lip wobbled and he looked away, then closed his eyes. “I don’t– I dunno,” he blubbered mid-sob, shaking his head. He hugged his knees tighter, then let go of them when he felt II pull his hand away.

When he blinked his eyes open, II was sitting right beside him with his arms open. It took him tilting his head to the side for Vessel to start to lean into the embrace. As soon as he did, II hugged him tight, closing his eyes as Vessel crumbled in his arms.

“I thought–” Vessel laughed wetly, chokedly, and shook as he burrowed into the hug. “I tho–ought I must’ve be–en s-so bad that I d-deserved i-it.” His shoulders kept jumping as he hiccupped with his eyes squeezed shut. “Th-that m-maybe I just don’t ma–hatter.”

“But you do. You matter just as much as everybody else.” II rubbed his back with steady pressure, adding to further drive his point home, “And you’re worth comforting.”

Vessel stopped soundlessly sobbing for a breath, but only to give a cut-off whimper and mumble, “‘m sorry, Two. ‘m so sorry.”

II let his fingers brush the short hair at his nape as he soothed, “Shh, sweetheart. Nothing to be sorry for.” When Vessel kept muttering something that still sounded close to apologies, he leaned away enough to be able to catch Vessel’s eyes. “Okay?” When the man gave the tiniest nod, he leaned in to press a kiss to his forehead before pulling him close again.

“‘m–” Vessel didn’t know what to say. His heart was beating so fast and his whole face was covered in dried and fresh tears and snot. He felt sticky and bad, but somehow light, and most importantly, safe and held. “Th-thank you.” He burrowed into II’s shoulder and held on tight. “Thank yo–ou.”

II closed his eyes. There was no need for Vessel to thank him, but he didn’t want to say no to that, too, so he let it go and continued stroking down his hair and back.

He couldn’t imagine someone possibly getting satisfaction out of rejecting their child and making them feel insignificant and invisible like that. Not even talking to them about why. Bringing up their own past, unvoiced hurts to punish them for making a mistake and dismiss their present feelings. Putting, as an adult, their feelings on their child like it was a way of getting back at them. That just wasn’t acceptable in his eyes, let alone as a way of trying to teach a lesson. The only resulting lesson he could imagine was that the child would learn that they couldn’t rely on their parents.

And withholding comfort? Purposefully not giving acknowledgment of their existence? Letting them conclude that they were not only worthless but that it must have been because they were a horrible, hurtful human being and that it was a fit punishment to be deprived of being heard in their upset, that it made sense that their hurt wasn’t equal to, was entirely insignificant beside others’ hurt?

Of course, Vessel stopped going to his parents for comfort, if that was what happened when he told them he felt hurt.

What that accomplished was that Vessel struggled with getting upset, even if he felt hurt. If he was upset by something, he must deserve it, and if someone made him upset, he must have been so bad that he simply couldn’t feel hurt because his hurt didn’t matter. He must keep it all inside and not tell anyone, just wait until it was night and cry by himself for a little while, until his plushies soaked up his tears and he fell asleep, wondering why his pain couldn’t matter.

What Vessel was also apparently taught was that there was no sure way for him to receive love or care, which not only gave him anxiety but the overwhelming sense that there was nothing he could do to ever be important to anyone. It wasn’t that he knew exactly how to earn approval or affection – which would’ve been damaging in its own right – it was that he desperately craved them, but they didn’t come in predictable ways or didn’t come at all, so he was left to conclude that there must be no way for him to even want them. That there must be a reason why he, personally, is treated that way. That it must be okay for him to hurt and hide parts of himself, to make his presence small to avoid getting even more hurt. That wanting anything better wasn’t possible; besides, it was selfish and the subject of dreams. That every aspect of him was shameful and stupid and bad, so bad that maybe it was why he was neglected. He must have been such a bad human that he didn’t deserve attention, consideration, or, a concept so wild and foreign, he couldn’t even fathom it, unconditional love.

“I just don’t understand why they don’t take you seriously,” II wondered out loud.

There was a beat of silence.

“‘Cause I don’t have real problems?” Vessel whispered wetly, like he hoped he was asking the right question.

II grimaced and loosened the embrace, brushing Vessel’s hair back from his forehead. “I’ll get us some water.”

Vessel nodded and reached for a fresh tissue when II left the room.

He quickly drained his cup when II returned, feeling like he had shed years’ worth of tears. That might have actually been the case, considering the previous days, too. Regardless, the water soothed his parched throat and made him feel a little less wretched.

And so did II, when he pulled him into another long hug and tilted their heads together.

He sat back against the back of the couch afterwards and urged Vessel closer, gesturing as if he wanted him in his lap.

Vessel frowned. “I can’t–” He sniffled and smeared some more tears across his cheek. “Can’t sit in your lap.” It sounded even sillier spoken out loud

II tilted his head, brows moving slightly. He was smiling that warm smile that made Vessel struggle to keep eye contact. “Why not?”

“‘m not a child,” Vessel mumbled, gesturing between their bodies. “And ‘m too big.” He chuckled but it was more sad than anything, like he thought II’s request was a joke on him and his size.

II wasn’t having any of it. “Just throw your legs over mine. It’s okay. You’re not sitting on me.” He smiled at the way Vessel was visibly warring with himself. He beckoned, opening his arms, inclining his head with a tender expression. “Come here?” He repeated, softening his tone even more, “Come here, love.”

Glossy browns studied his face, then Vessel was carefully scooting closer and finally laid his legs over his lap. He flinched a little when II reached behind his back to coax him closer but followed the wordless instruction and leaned into his embrace, cheeks flushed under the blotchiness.

“‘s silly,” he muttered, biting his lip.

II gave a warm chuckle. “Maybe. But I love you too much to care.”

Vessel pressed his lips together tight, feeling his eyes fill with fresh tears at the words. “I love you, too,” he mumbled, settling with his arm carefully draped across II’s chest. He couldn’t help sniffling. It was so loud, but II just started rubbing his back like it was that easy. Vessel really didn’t know, but maybe it was.