Work Text:
The apartment smells faintly of burnt garlic and rosemary.
You drop your bag by the door, shoulders sagging like wet laundry. The glow from the kitchen is soft, and you can see Xavier’s silhouette hunched over the stove, sleeves pushed to his elbows.
He startles when your keys clink, straightening and wiping flour off his forearm. “You’re early.” He says with a sheepish smile before taking a look at you.
The sight punches the air from his lungs. You look defeated. Hair messy from restless hands, skin a shade paler, dark crescents bruising the skin beneath your eyes. This is the fourth night you’ve come home looking like a ghost of yourself, always the same excuse: “Busiest time of the year. It’ll pass.”
“Orrr I’m late.” he adds, trying to mask his worry. “The chicken was supposed to be golden, not… charcoal-adjacent.”
You manage a tired laugh. “Smells like effort, that counts.”
He plates the slightly crispy rosemary chicken anyway and sets it in front of you like it’s a five-star dish. You eat because he’s watching, because refusing would mean explaining, and you’ve been dodging explanations all week.
“I’m fine,” you’d said this morning, eyes on your phone. “I told you, just busier than normal.”
“I’ll be okay,” you’d murmured last night, curled on the couch with case files spread like a fortress.
Fine, okay, busier. The words are like bricks and he keeps running into them.
He tries the next thing on his mental list of things that could make you feel better: a walk.
To his misfortune the day turns rainy and grey, city lights smearing across the wet pavement. He tilts the umbrella so the rain beads on his sleeve instead of your hair. You loop your arm through his, but your grip is loose, like you’re holding a railing instead of the man who would travel planets for you.
He needs you to talk to him, to yell, to cry… Anything. But you only sigh, a sound that thugs at his heart, so soft it’s almost swallowed by traffic.
Back home he runs you a bath, waiting for you on the couch as his palms rub restless circles on his thighs.
He misses you.
The bright, smiley, loving you — who used to launch into his arms after a long day, peppering his face with kisses until he laughed so hard his ribs hurt.
The feeling of being helpless was eating him alive.
Later, you’re asleep on the couch, cheek smushed against Xavier’s lap, hoodie riding up to reveal a strip of skin. Xavier drapes a blanket over you with the care of someone defusing a bomb, then retreats to his very important research on his phone.
He types: how to comfort your stressed partner
Offer distractions. (the walk made you quieter.)
Buy flowers (he already did and you looked happy before you started sneezing like crazy).
Listen without fixing (he’s trying).
Physical touch releases oxytocin…
He clicks.
It’s an article from a mothers blog. “Skin-to-skin isn’t just for newborns. Kangaroo care lowers cortisol, regulates heart rate and triggers oxytocin release within 10-20 minutes…”
There’s a picture of a tiny baby on a bare chest, Xavier blinks. You’re not a baby.
But as he reads more, the graph shows stress hormones plummeting after 20 minutes of bare skin contact. The comments are full of exhausted parents saying it saved their sanity, others claiming it helped their partners with anxiety.
He imagines you, curled small, heartbeat against his, the warmth of your chest seeping into him as he holds you tight. His own pulse spikes so hard he has to press a fist to his sternum.
Glancing down, he studies the purple shadows under your eyes, the way your mouth hangs slightly open against his thigh. He runs his fingers through your soft hair, deciding that he would try anything if meant for you to be okay.
He tries to imagine asking you to strip bare, getting into bed and just… hugging. Would you think he lost his mind? Or that maybe he has other motives behind his touch?
Maybe he should just say it’s science. You like science. One time you spent twenty minutes explaining some type of elemental reactions while he nodded, pretending to hear, but way too focused on memorizing your beautiful face to care about any science behind it.
He sighs and bookmarks it, closing the tab like it’s contraband.
“Take your clothes off. For science.” The line sounds ridiculous even in his head, but he’ll figure out how to bring it up without sounding stupid.
Saturday morning bleeds in slow, rain pattering the window.
You’re at the kitchen counter in Xavier’s oversized shirt, the one that hangs to your thighs like a dress. A mug of coffee sits untouched in front of you, gone cold while you stare at the screen of your computer like it owes you money.
The week’s weight sits heavy in your chest. You’ve spent the last few days fighting for your own sanity with the amount of work you had, clinging to the promise that it’ll end soon.
Just busier than normal, you’d kept telling your concerned boyfriend. I’ll be okay, don’t worry. Lies, but functional ones. Admitting the truth felt like stepping off a cliff, and you right now you couldn't afford the fall.
Xavier breaks your thoughts as he appears in the doorway with a sleepy expression, wearing nothing but the grey sweatpants that make you stare a little longer than needed.
You glance up, offering the ghost of a smile. “Hey. You’re up early for a Saturday.”
“Couldn’t sleep.” He crosses the kitchen in three quiet steps, stopping just behind you. Close enough to smell your shampoo but far enough that you don’t feel crowded. “So... I have an idea.”
You glance up, eyebrow arched. “Oh no... More burnt food?”
He huffs a laugh, but it’s strained. “No. You’ll probably think it’s weird, but I read something last night. And I want to try it… With you.” He rubs the back of his neck. “Can we go to the bedroom?”
You looked confused but still stood up from your chair. He extends a hand and you take it, his fingers curling around yours like they’ve been waiting years for the contact.
The bedroom is dim, curtains half-drawn against the drizzle, and the bed looks like the place you need to be the most in the world right now.
“I need you to take your clothes off.” He asks, or rather commands, with a faint blush on his cheeks.
Heat floods your face as you look back at him; you blink, processing. Was he…? Now?
The week’s exhaustion had made it hard for any type of sexual activity, and you wonder if that would actually help relieve a bit of the stress. Still, it was weird for Xavier to initiate it this randomly, no tension beforehand.
He catches the shift in your eyes. “Not like that, sweetheart. I mean, unless you– no, nevermind.” He shakes his head, trying to regain focus “Just…trust me?”
“Okay,” you whisper.
Relief softens his shoulders. “Shirt and pants,” he clarifies, tugging his own sweatpants down. He climbs onto the mattress in just his briefs, patting the space beside him. “The article wasn’t specific on underwear. Optional, I guess.”
You choke on a laugh. “You read an article about this?”
He nodded, his expression calm but his ears just slightly pink. "Like how newborns are held against their parents chests. Regulates heartbeat, breathing… calms the nervous system. I was wondering if you’d let me try it. Just for a few minutes. No pressure, love."
Comfort... Not what you’d assumed but definitely what you needed.
You hesitate, then peel the oversized shirt off your body, leaving you with your black pair of underwear. He opens his arms and you waste no time crawling in, instinctively straddling his lap. Before you can wrap around him, his callused palms glide down your waist, stopping you. He stares at your curves like they’re a constellation he’s memorized and still can’t believe is real.
“You’re so beautiful.” he whispers, like it’s the most obvious fact in the world.
“Xavier…” you warn, feeling your cheeks heat up at the intensity of his stare.
“Right” He clears his throat, hands sliding to your back. A quick flick of his fingers unhooks your bra. “This will probably get in the way.”
Goosebumps prickle as cool air hits your bare skin. Xavier’s gaze traces you, not hungry but reverent, like he’s worshiping what he hasn’t seen in weeks. Stars flicker in his eyes and you realize it’s been too long since you felt seen as you, without expectations or masks.
He falls back and pulls you flush – your chest squeezing against his chest, legs tangling automatically. The first contact steals your breath, his heartbeat thuds steady under your ear, a little fast. Yours answers, a little faster.
It wasn't the first time you held each other like this, but it usually happend while you were trying to regain your breaths after sex. Not like this, vulnerable and nervous.
He tucks your head beneath his chin as his palm begins slow, deliberate circles down your spine.
“Does it feel good?” He asks, voice low.
You nod, unable to form any words at the amount of warmth his body was giving you. You breathe him in, the familiar scent feeling more like home than any space you live in.
This is everything you’ve been missing. Maybe you didn’t need words or gestures, just him holding you steady like an anchor.
His thumb traces the notch at the base of your spine, counting ribs one by one.
You swallow. The words rise before you can cage them.
“I lied,” you whisper into the hollow of his throat.
His hand stills but he doesn’t speak, giving you the silence you finally want to fill.
“About being fine. About just being busy.” You bite down your lip that trembles. “I’ve barely even slept the last few days… trying to match the deadlines, trying to prove myself and others that I’m actually good at my job.”
A tear slips, hot against his skin. You don’t bother wiping it away.
He resumes the circles, slower now. “Keep going,” he murmurs, lips brushing your hair.
“I thought if I admitted it, I’d fall apart. And I can’t fall apart, Xavier. Not when everyone’s watching and expecting so much from me.” Another tear. “But I’m so tired… I’m scared I’ll burn out and drag you down with me.”
You feel his heart beating a little bit faster at your confession, arms tightening around you. “You’re not dragging me anywhere. I’m always here, at the same level as you.” His voice is rough and it vibrates through your body. “I’ve been helpless all week, watching you disappear and feeling like I can’t do anything about it.”
You swallow, his words hitting deep in your core.
“Sweetheart, when your world is falling apart, mine does too.” He whispers as his thumb brushes your wet cheek, and he sounds hurt. Your whole body starts aching and you press closer, as if you could fuse into him.
“I just didn’t want you to worry, Xavier.” you confess, voice cracking.
“I worry because I love you.” His words are so simple yet so strong. “Let me carry half the sky, okay? That’s the role I want to have in your life.”
Half the sky…
The phrase blooms in your chest, and you feel a sense of gratefulness that he’s with you, breathing under the same stars.
Your fingers curl against his chest “Okay...”
“So you promise you’ll take better care of yourself?” His voice lifts, hopeful.
A laugh bubbles up, watery “Yes Xavi, I promise. I won’t overdo work… for you and for myself”
“Well you don’t have to worry about that for now.” You look up at him, confused. “I called Jenna asking for a medical leave. She said you looked off the last few days and that you probably needed it. Didn’t even have to use my negotiation abilities” He says it casually but pride glints in his eyes.
You stare, incredulous. “You…”
Words tangle on your tongue. Thank you, you idiot, how dare you, I love you—so you only huff a laugh and push yourself up until you’re nose-to-nose. His fingers glide through your hair, tucking a stray strand behind your ear with the same care
“Three days, minimum. Doctor’s orders” he murmurs, voice velvet. “Well, Xavier’s orders, but she doesn’t have to know.” He winks. Your heart flips like it did the first time he smiled at you.
Then he places kisses all over your face, mapping every inch of you back to life.
And for the first time in weeks, you feel like yourself here, tangled in his arms, at home.