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It was late into the night when Avoma awoke.
His eyelids flew open, eyes boring into the blank ceiling above him, unfocused yet painfully alert.
He became suddenly hyperaware of everything. His body. The temperature. The oddly heavy atmosphere pressing down on his chest like something unseen. The room felt wrong, like it had shifted while he slept and forgotten to settle back into place.
The cold clung to any exposed skin, biting sharply, almost stinging. Somewhere outside his room, the distant ticking of the clock in the hallway echoed far louder than it ever should have. God, he hated that clock. Each second felt deliberate. Mocking.
Everything felt uncomfortable all at once.
His blankets felt too thick, too heavy, trapping heat against his body in a way that made his skin crawl. But if he kicked them off completely, he knew the cold would be unbearable. He lay there, stuck between the two sensations, neither tolerable for long.
With a tired huff, Avoma lazily lifted one arm and shoved the blanket down just enough to free his chest. Cold air immediately rushed in to replace the warmth, his hands going numb almost instantly. Still, it was better this way. Cold hands were manageable. Cold feet, on the other hand—absolutely not.
Avoma sighed, long and slow. It was definitely going to take a while before sleep came back to him.
-----
A few minutes passed. Maybe more. Time felt strange when he was like this.
He had been staring into nothing, thoughts drifting without direction, when a faint sound cut through the quiet.
A soft thud.
Avoma blinked.
Another knock followed, slightly louder than the first, coming unmistakably from his window.
He frowned. Intrigued, but immediately suspicious.
Slowly, he pushed himself upright, sitting there for a moment as if waiting to see if the sound would repeat. As if on cue, it did—louder this time, sharper. Impatient.
Avoma scoffed under his breath. Wow. He really couldn’t even take a moment to himself now? And whoever—or whatever—was bothering him clearly had the audacity to be annoyed that Avoma hadn’t responded fast enough.
Typical.
Rolling his eyes, he scooted across the bed toward the window beside his bedside table, tugging the curtain aside just enough to peek through. From where he was sitting, he couldn’t see anything useful.
With a quiet groan, he stood, grumbling something unintelligible under his breath as he crossed the room. Moonlight spilled through the glass, pale and cold.
At first, there was nothing.
Then he looked to the right.
There, perched on a tree branch that looked seconds away from snapping under the strain, sat Neo.
Avoma sighed, dragging a hand down his face before pinching the bridge of his nose. Of course it was him.
He slid the window open just enough to lean out, catching a proper look at Neo. He was wearing the grey sweater Avoma had given him the last time he pulled this exact stunt. The idiot had shown up then without anything warm, despite the snow and freezing air, and predictably got sick the next day.
Seeing Neo in his sweater made Avoma’s face warm, though he brushed the feeling off quickly. It was just clothing. Nothing more.
“What.”
Avoma asked, flatly.
He already knew why Neo was here. Kicked out again. Locked out. Trouble with his parents, same as always.
Neo just grinned at him.
“Can I crash over?”
Avoma’s expression hardened. He reached for the window—
“Wait, wait, wait—sorry, sorry! Look—”
“Bloody hell. Christ, save it. Come in.”
Neo froze, mouth falling open. Then he recovered, lips curling into that stupid grin Avoma hated that he loved. Stupid Neo. Stupid, lovable Neo. His Neo.
With Avoma’s help, Neo climbed inside, nearly collapsing straight into him. Avoma steadied them both just as a rush of cold wind burst into the room, sending a chill through their bodies. Neo stumbled, ending up flush against Avoma’s chest, the warmth there immediate and undeniable.
He barely had time to register it before Avoma pulled away, brushing past him to shut the window.
Neo frowned, already opening his mouth to complain about Avoma not wanting him there—until a hand clamped gently but firmly over his mouth.
Avoma’s.
With his free hand, Avoma shut and latched the window, the other still pressed over Neo’s mouth to silence him. He sighed in relief, shoulders finally relaxing—
—and then felt something wet against his palm.
Avoma yelped, pulling his hand away instantly. A slick streak of saliva glistened across his skin.
Neo giggled.
Avoma glared at him. Christ. It had only been a few minutes.
He exhaled deeply, watching Neo laugh silently at his reaction. His gaze lingered longer than he meant it to. Black hair, flushed cheeks, eyes bright despite everything.
Yeah. He was sure. Absolutely sure. If he could, he’d marry him right now.
“What’s up?” Neo asked playfully, only to be met with Avoma’s unimpressed stare.
“…Are you kidding me.”
-----
They settled onto the bed eventually, the initial chaos fading into something quieter.
Neo stretched lazily, and that’s when Avoma saw it.
The sweater rode up just enough to expose a bruise—dark, purpling, ugly—along Neo’s hip, disappearing higher under the fabric.
Avoma’s expression sharpened immediately.
“Neo,” he said quietly, motioning him closer.
Neo approached, confused, barely registering the tension before Avoma’s hand settled gently but firmly at his waist, pulling him forward.
Avoma’s fingers slid to his hips. His other hand hooked beneath the hem of Neo’s sweater, lifting it just enough to confirm what he feared.
Neo panicked.
He yanked the sweater down with a sharp cry, staring at Avoma like a cornered animal.
“What the fuck?”
“Neo—shh.”
“No. Why—why did you do that?”
“You’re not being honest with me.”
“You didn’t even ask anything. How am I not being honest?”
Avoma hesitated. “Please. Just let me see them.”
“…No.”
“You can’t keep letting them do this to you.”
“Well what do you want me to do then? Have them sent to jail or something and end up alone again?”
Silence.
“I can’t lose them,” Neo said shakily. “They’re all I have.”
“And I—I can’t keep coming back to you like this and dragging you and your family into this bullshit.”
His voice cracked. The sound startled even him—brittle, wrong, like something snapping where it shouldn’t. The words came faster after that, rushed and uneven, spilling out in a desperate attempt to outrun their weight. Like if he said everything quickly enough, it wouldn’t hurt as much. Like it wouldn’t become real.
Then his breath hitched.
It snagged painfully in his chest, refusing to steady no matter how hard he tried. His shoulders trembled once, then again.
Tears followed.
They spilled before he could stop them, hot and humiliating, blurring his vision until the room dissolved into useless shapes. Neo scrubbed at his face furiously, dragging the heels of his palms over his eyes again and again, like he could erase it all if he tried hard enough. He barely registered the movement until a hand caught his wrist mid-motion.
Firm.
Warm.
He froze.
Slowly, Neo looked up.
Of course it was Avoma.
Avoma’s expression had softened completely, all sharp edges gone, replaced with something heavy and intent. He didn’t say anything at first. He just tugged Neo closer, careful but unyielding, one arm wrapping around him while the other gently pried Neo’s hands away from his face. His thumb brushed beneath Neo’s eye, wiping away tears with a tenderness that made Neo’s chest ache worse than before.
“Hey,” Avoma murmured quietly, voice low and grounding. “I’ve got you.”
Neo broke at that.
The sobs came harder now, tearing out of him in uneven bursts as he pressed his face into Avoma’s shoulder. Avoma held him through all of it—steady, patient—one hand rubbing slow circles into his back, the other cradling the back of his head like he wasn’t going anywhere. Like he never would.
Eventually, the crying dulled. Neo’s breaths evened out, still shaky but no longer breaking apart. He stayed curled against Avoma a moment longer, exhausted and hollowed out.
When Avoma gently shifted, pulling back just enough to look at him, Neo didn’t stop him.
That was when he finally let Avoma see.
The injuries.
Avoma’s jaw tightened almost imperceptibly as his eyes traced over the bruises, darker and more widespread than he’d expected. Anger flickered there—sharp and immediate—but it was swallowed just as quickly by something heavier.
Something that hurt.
-----
Avoma patched him up in silence, hands steady and careful, movements practiced but never rushed. He listened as Neo spoke between uneven breaths, words spilling out whenever he found the strength for them. Sometimes Neo stopped halfway through a sentence, swallowing hard before continuing. Sometimes he didn’t finish at all.
Avoma didn’t interrupt.
Didn’t ask questions.
Didn’t push.
He just stayed there, close enough that Neo could feel him. Close enough that Neo didn’t have to look up to know he was still listening.
When it was finally done—when the last bandage was smoothed down and his hands retreated—Avoma said nothing. He simply shifted back against the headboard and opened his arms, the gesture small but unmistakable.
Neo hesitated only a second before crawling into bed beside him.
Avoma adjusted without thinking, one arm sliding around Neo’s waist, the other settling warm and solid against his back. The blankets were pulled up, thick and familiar, trapping heat between them. Their legs tangled naturally, knees fitting where they always did, like muscle memory taking over where words failed.
Neo let out a breath he hadn’t realized he’d been holding.
Avoma’s fingers began to move slowly, tracing idle circles across Neo’s back. Over and over. No pattern, no rush—just enough pressure to remind him he was here. That he wasn’t going anywhere.
Neo’s breathing gradually evened out beneath his touch. The tension drained from his shoulders first, then his hands, fingers uncurling as sleep crept closer. His weight settled more fully against Avoma’s chest.
“Sleep,” Avoma murmured quietly, voice low and rough with exhaustion.
Neo did.
And for tonight, with the room quiet and the world held at bay, that was enough.
-----
Avoma watched as his partner was slowly claimed by sleep, dragged under by exhaustion Neo had been fighting for far too long. His breathing evened out little by little, the tension in his body finally loosening as his weight settled more fully against Avoma’s chest. It was subtle, but Avoma felt it. Felt the exact moment Neo let go.
He exhaled softly, like he’d been holding his breath the entire night without realizing it.
Another kiss found its way into Neo’s hair—slower this time, more deliberate. Avoma rested his chin atop Neo’s head, eyes unfocused as he stared into the dimness of the room. The clock still ticked somewhere in the hallway, irritating as ever, but he ignored it now. Everything else faded into the background. The cold. The hour. The world outside this room.
All that mattered was this weight in his arms.
This warmth.
This quiet.
Maybe one day—some day—things wouldn’t have to be like this. Sneaking through windows. Bruises hidden under sweaters. Nights spent pretending everything was fine until it wasn’t. Maybe one day they could wake up without fear sitting heavy in Neo’s chest. Maybe they could exist without constantly bracing for the next fallout.
Avoma let his fingers curl slightly into the fabric of Neo’s sweater, grounding himself in the reality of him being here.
Safe.
For now.
One day, he thought, he would take Neo far away from this. He would give him mornings without dread, nights without flinching at every sound. A place where Neo didn’t have to apologize for existing, or bleed in silence just to keep the people who hurt him close.
One day, they could get married. Run away, even, if that was what it took. Avoma didn’t care how messy it would be, how difficult or terrifying. He would do it. He would choose Neo every single time.
That promise settled deep in his chest—heavy, quiet, unwavering. Not something he needed to say out loud. It was already etched into him, carved into something permanent.
With Neo breathing steadily against him and the room finally still, Avoma closed his eyes.
And for the first time that night, he let himself sleep—holding onto Neo, holding onto the future he swore he’d make real, no matter how long it took.