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Ricky groaned as he rolled over and rubbed his eyes. He'd only managed to fall asleep in waves the entire night, waking up periodically and getting upset when he realized he was alone in his bed.
Chris was gone - he'd been pulled away from him for some family thing that he wasn't entirely stoked about, promising to be back as soon as possible, but it had been five whole days without him and the crushing silence of the apartment was nearly too much to bear. Ricky hadn't bothered leaving the house since the second day, forced out of his nest of blankets by the cruel reality that he'd run out of coffee, and he sure as hell wasn't willing to make himself presentable every day to go to a cafe. Instead, he'd pulled on one of Chris's biggest hoodies to drown himself in and made the quick walk to the corner store, fumbling through the cashier interaction like the socially incompetent loser he felt like he was, and shivered the entire way home in the early autumn wind. It was fine - he needed to feel the discomfort, needed to know that he could still feel at all, and figured that subjecting himself to the cold was technically less harmful than other self-destructive methods he'd tried in the past. He absentmindedly ran his hand up and down his left forearm at the thought before shuddering and trying to push everything out of his mind. If only he could take his brain out of his skull and wash it off, rinse away all the things that clung to his grey matter like mold, all the memories that embedded themselves like shards of glass, ones that would hurt way more to try and remove than to just leave them be and hope they laid dormant, all the years and years and years of hating himself, tearing himself down, convincing himself that he was less a man and more a mistake, less a boy than a burden, less a functioning person than a worn-down automaton with misfiring directives that ended up in awkward silence and visible disrepair more often than not.
Chris was the only person that made him feel human again, like something worth attention and affection and love, and he wasn't there. He hadn't been there, and it wasn't his fault, but it came at a time when Ricky was already trying and failing to fight off another depression spiral that had claimed him as soon as he'd kissed him goodbye.
As he tossed and turned, buried under the Nightmare Before Christmas blankets and trying desperately to fall asleep again so he didn't have to keep thinking about a particularly horrible memory his mind kept replaying, he couldn't help but start crying. The prolonged absence of the only person who made him feel loved and sane and useful was just too much to bear, and it wasn't the first time he'd cried during his spiral, but it was the hardest, and his sobs echoed pathetically off the walls of their room as he buried his face into the mattress. He was crying hard enough that he couldn't really hear anything beyond his own breaths and gasps and wails, and nearly jumped out of his skin when he did hear the door open.
Chris had finally gotten back to his apartment, duffel bag in one hand and a drink carrier in the other, but nearly dropped both when he realized the first sound he heard was Ricky in some sort of distress. He'd damn near flung the door open to their room and felt immediate regret when he saw Ricky startle so bad he actually stopped crying for a few seconds, but quickly rushed to the side of the bed and frantically grabbed the box of tissues from the nightstand.
"Hey- Hey, it's me- Ricky, shit, what's wrong?"
Ricky couldn't really get any words out with how hard he was crying, even more so now that Chris was back, his relief at the sight of him immediately replaced by the embarassment of being seen in such a vulnerable state. Chris sat down and pulled him into his arms, and even though Ricky flinched at the sudden contact, the familiar, comforting embrace was enough to start assuaging him to the point where he was actually able to take deep breaths. They sat in relative silence for a while, Chris softly tracing little circles into Ricky's back in an effort to calm him while he buried his face in his shoulder and cried into his hoodie. When Ricky finally pulled away with puffy eyes and a red, wet face, Chris gently brushed his hair out of his face and kissed his forehead.
"It's okay. I'm here now, doll. I'm sorry I had to leave."
"…s'okay."
"No, it's not. What happened?"
Ricky shrugged and hid his face again, still unable to string together the correct combination of words that would express just how terrible he really felt, and Chris felt his heart ache at the sight. He ran a gentle hand through his hair, noting that it looked like he hadn't washed it since he left, and felt his stomach sink with the realization that Ricky had definitely gone down a deep enough hole to the point where he had started to lose his ability to perform self-care. He let him keep regulating for a little while longer before gently pulling away so he could get a better look at his boyfriend.
Ricky was in one of his hoodies, the big Bleeding Through one that he loved so much, and a pair of his pajama pants despite them being comically too long for him. His hair was unwashed and greasy, with big bags under his eyes that seemed even bigger with how inflamed his face was after crying, and judging by how empty the laundry hamper was, he hadn't changed clothes for at least two days. Chris's heart broke a little further, and he pulled Ricky back closer to his body and tried to choose his next words carefully.
"…You don't need to tell me anything you don't want to. You don't even have to use your words at all if you can't. But…will you let me help you get cleaned up?"
Ricky stiffened a little in Chris's arms, suddenly hyper-aware of the disheveled state he was in, but Chris ran his hand up and down his back and squeezed him tight and suddenly all he could think about was how desperately he needed to get back to some sort of functional for him. He nodded against Chris's chest and felt his ribcage expand and contract in a sigh of relief before he was getting gently guided up off the bed and walked to the bathroom. He leaned against the counter and watched Chris quickly dip out, hearing a bit of movement and one of their kitchen table chairs being scraped unpleasantly for a brief moment before he reappeared holding said chair, their crappy portable CD player and a few discs, and a change of clothes. Ricky blinked, tilting his head, and Chris set it all down in their tiny bathroom before pulling him back into his arms.
"You can stop me if it gets too much, okay? I'm gonna start the bath now."
Ricky nodded, sighing contentedly as he felt Chris press a kiss to the top of his head before letting go to start running the water. He didn't trust himself to look in the mirror, didn't want to face the reality of his condition under the hazy yellowed ceiling light, but at least tried to get more of the tears and snot off his face before Chris was turning back to him and putting both hands on his shoulders gently.
"…Is it okay if I help you get undressed?"
"…Yeah."
Chris smiled, relieved that Ricky was finally able to use some verbal communication again, and started unzipping his hoodie and easing his legs out of the pants that were barely clinging to his hips to begin with before wiggling him out of his shirt, leaving him in just his boxers. Ricky instinctively wrapped his arms around his body and sort of shrunk in on himself, which made Chris a little sad, but he allowed him to finally get him completely undressed before taking his hand and leading him to the tub.
Ricky sighed as he sat down, the water immediately making him realize just how cold he'd gotten despite his blanket pile, and closed his eyes as he heard Chris shuffle some things around before pulling the chair close enough so he could sit at the side of the tub. He couldn't help but pull his knees to his chest again to hide, curling up on himself surrounded by the slightly dingy porcelain, but Chris just let him exist in a way that felt comfortable and simply squeezed his shoulder affectionately before swearing under his breath and standing back up. His lips twitched in a soft, quick smile as he heard Chris fiddling with the CD player, the little clicks of buttons eventually replaced by HIM playing at a small-bathroom-appropriate volume.
"I'm gonna do your hair now, okay? Just keep your eyes closed."
Ricky nodded again, hearing the soft click of the shampoo bottle opening before he felt hands in his hair, massaging gently at his scalp and working in the lather. He inhaled the vaguely ocean-inspired, mostly-chemical scent and exhaled shakily, feeling utter relief at the sensation of his hair finally getting washed. To his credit, it had been a while since he'd let himself sink so low (mostly because of Chris), but he still couldn't help but feel the same shame and guilt about letting himself go as he always did. It took so much energy to keep himself from falling into his pit that he never seemed to have enough left over for basic tasks, and it sucked. It sucked so fucking bad, and he felt so guilty about getting to that point again, forcing his boyfriend to come and take care of him, to help him pick up the pieces of himself that shouldn't have splintered off in the first place. Having to choose between the most basic tasks in order to keep himself from actively neglecting himself was an odd kind of humiliation, and it made him feel absolutely useless. A broken, neglected automaton with every emotion protocol broken except the ones for sadness and shame. Useless.
"Hey- woah, Ricky, hey- you're okay-"
He hadn't even realized he'd started to cry again until Chris spoke up, but once he was aware of it, he started crying even harder, squeezing his eyes shut and burying his face in his knees. Chris made a sad little noise and put his hand on his back again, rubbing it softly, trying to calm him down enough so he could at least lift his head to swipe away the suds before they ran down his face. Ricky didn't have nearly as much energy in him to cry for as long as he had been, and he eventually settled down enough to where he could lift his face and look at Chris, who met his gaze with an equal amount of sadness and concern.
"…I'm sorry you have to do this. For me. Y-You…you shouldn't have to."
Chris looked like his heart was breaking, because it sort of was. He didn't know how to explain to Ricky that it didn't matter what happened, he'd never stop loving him. He could lose all sense of function, rely on Chris for everything, and he'd do it no matter what, because he loved him more than anything and nothing would ever change how he felt about him.
Ricky blinked, because Chris had started to ramble out loud about what he was thinking, and sniffled a little, which seemed to bring him back to reality. Chris reached over to grab a small washcloth and gently patted away the fresh tears from Ricky's face before gently cupping it with one hand.
"You're supposed to be able to rely on me. That's what a partner should do. Anything else, that's conditional affection, and that's not love. I love you. Without any fucking conditions, I love you."
Ricky's face crumpled again despite his best efforts to stop crying, and he sniffled again as more tears started to flow.
"…I love you too."
Chris pulled him closer awkwardly, as close as he could without actually getting in the tub alongside him, and let him cry it out. By the time he was done, the bubbles in his hair had all but disappeared, and he felt like he barely had any energy left in him to keep crying. Chris let him go gently so he could put more shampoo on his head before returning to working up a lather, and they sat in comfortable silence the rest of the time Chris was helping him bathe. Eventually, he'd felt good enough to silently extend a hand in request of a washcloth, and Chris sat back and watched him rinse off before helping him out of the water and wrapping him in a towel. Ricky got dressed on his own, grateful that Chris had gotten him his favorite pajama pants and one of his oldest, baggiest, most faded and stretched out band shirts.
"Do you want me to dry your hair for you?"
"…No, it's okay. I don't want to hear the dryer."
"Alright. Can I brush it, at least?"
"…Yes."
Chris smiled softly and squeezed his shoulder again before rotating the chair so Ricky could sit down, then started running a brush through his hair. Ricky winced as it immediately caught on a giant mat, but Chris just massaged his scalp to soothe the irritated follicles before switching to their detangler brush and methodically working through the knots. Eventually, the pain gave way to a comfortable rhythm, and Ricky blinked his eyes open to realize he'd nearly drifted off. Chris set the brush down and extended his hand to Ricky, squeezing again when his hand slipped into his own before pulling him up gently into his arms.
"Feel better?"
"Lots. Thank you."
"Any time, Ricky. I mean it, seriously. I'm really sorry I wasn't there to help you for this."
"It's not your fault."
"I know, but it hurts me to see you so hurt."
"…I'm trying to get better."
"I know you are. I'm so proud of you."
Ricky took a shuddering breath in, not fully letting himself appreciate Chris's words, but grateful to hear them regardless. Chris didn't mind if he didn't fully get it yet - he'd say it as many times as he needed to until Ricky was confident in it, until he knew with every fiber of his heart and soul that Chris loved him more than anything in the entire world.
"…I'm sorry it got this bad."
"No, it's not your fault-"
"It technically is."
"Technically, it's your brain's fault, because you didn't choose to get like that, right?"
When Ricky nodded against his chest, albeit hesitantly, Chris squeezed him tighter and kissed the top of his head.
"Exactly. It's okay now, I'm here. And, uh…"
Chris pulled out his phone and grimaced when he checked the time. It had been nearly two hours since he'd gotten back, and his surprise he'd brought was definitely cold at this point, but it was fine. Ricky was way more important, of course.
"I'm definitely gonna have to microwave it for us, but…do you want some coffee?"
Ricky's lips twitched again as he nodded.
"…If I ever say no to coffee, that's how you know it's really, really bad."
Chris laughed and kissed the top of his head again, and when Ricky looked up at him with a soft, slight smile, he leaned down to finally capture his lips in a proper "hi honey, I'm home" kiss.
"Yep, noted. I also got you a donut."
"Oh my God, I love you."
"Hehe, love you too, doll."