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Travis adjusted himself, just enough that when he listed to the side into Naomi, his head landed on her shoulder. He could hear her breathing above him, focusing on trying to get through her classwork on the beat up old laptop on the table in front of them.
They'd gone out to the library, because he wanted to check out a new book and she needed a change in scenery to keep working on her homework, but he was regretting it. Maybe it was the silence, maybe it was all the little noises in the silence, but whatever it was, he was struggling.
His chest was tight, and he kept getting this urge to cry and cover his ears like he was hearing something crazy loud when he wasn't. He'd been trying to let out whatever overwhelmed energy he could with little stims-- running his hand through his hair, bouncing his leg, fidgeting with the pages in The Outsiders.
But the noise, and the feeling, and it was all just--
He wanted to go home.
Naomi was finally, like, locked in on her homework, though. And he wasn't gonna ruin that, not over what was literally nothing. But he needed a little comfort, or he was gonna explode. Into a million chunks. Like he was infected with Cordyceps Novus.
That was some horrifying imagery, right there. He didn’t wanna think about that, actually.
So, he was leaning on her. He’d abandoned his book a little while ago, unable to keep focusing on it. The pages were too rough between his fingers and every time they warped to be turned the sound they made made his ears hurt. Instead, he’d been darting his attention around the library, taking in too much information at once for someone who was already overstimulated.
Naomi didn’t say anything, didn’t turn to look at him. After a few moments she tipped her head so it was leaned against his in acknowledgement, before pulling away to keep working.
He lasted maybe another twenty minutes of increasing restlessness before he couldn’t keep it in anymore. He pulled away, jerking his head and shaking out his hands, a sharp puff of air snapping at his throat. It was like he was trying to shake off and spit out all the bad feelings.
“You okay?” Naomi’s voice was soft, quiet. Normally that’d be good when he’s overstimulated, but the hissed tone to her near-whisper was anything but pleasant. He grunted, covering his face and hunching in on himself, “Travis?”
It wasn’t like there was some block in his throat, or his tongue was too thick to get words around. He just didn’t talk, didn’t respond. He couldn’t explain it, not in the moment. There weren’t words for it.
Naomi was quiet for a moment, before her hand landed on his shoulder. Too softly, a light touch that made him grunt again and lean forward so it slipped off. His emotions were crushing his throat, compressing his lungs, tightening like a ball of yarn.
He hated being overstimulated like this, when it felt like all that was really bothering him was this overfilled sensation in his ears. He heard the click of Naomi shutting her laptop, the shuffling of fabric, but couldn’t get himself to move again until he heard her stand, “You wanna go home?” She offered, quietly.
He managed a nod, after probably too long to be socially acceptable and so jerky it was more like he just tipped his head down. She got the message, though, and that was all that mattered. She didn’t touch him again, either, which he couldn’t tell if he appreciated or not.
He wanted her to touch him, but he wanted it to be a heavy, rough touch. Pressing against him like she was trying to fuse their skin together. When he clambered to his feet to follow her out of the building, he pressed himself against her, hooking their elbows. He knew it made it awkward for them both to walk, but she said nothing, so he didn’t let go.
When they got in the car, Travis wanted to unravel at the seams. He pulled his feet up onto the seat even though he knew she hated that, covered his ears and pressed his eyes into his knees.
Naomi tried to get him to talk, again, asked if he was okay or if he needed anything. He didn’t answer, just focused on himself, on repeating a mantra of I’m fine, it’s fine, I’m freaking out over nothin and a million other words in his head.
He breathed, trying so hard calm himself. He couldn’t have a meltdown, not around Naomi. He’d been doing so good, and every time he had a meltdown he just felt so stupid and dramatic and broken. He didn’t want to scare her, screaming and hurting himself over the library.
He turned the volume on the speakers up until they were playing their shared playlist maybe a little too loud, but it was enough to drown out his other senses and start to loosen that feeling in his chest until he didn’t feel like he was about to fall apart. Naomi didn’t comment.
The apartment was quiet until Naomi connected to the speaker and turned Spotify back on, like she’d read his mind. She joined him on the couch, the lights still off leaving the room only lit by the fading sunlight trickling in through the kitchen window.
It was one of those nights where he splayed himself out on the too small furniture, his feet hanging off one edge, and she crawled in on top of him like a weighted blanket. The duvet they’d bought covered both of them, long enough to tuck in under his sides even with her there.
He didn’t talk for the rest of that night, but that was one of the good things about Naomi. She didn’t mind the silence. She wasn’t a big talker at the best of times, not like he was. And she knew how to read people, knew just how to answer unspoken asks.
He thought they were perfect for each other, in that way.