Work Text:
Daniel Atlas wasn’t a happy guy. He couldn’t be. Merritt had concluded this the minute he’d first laid eyes on him. All arrogant posturing with his boundless self-assuredness. No, J. Daniel Atlas wasn’t happy. A performer, yes, unfortunately not even a consistent one. Atlas on stage was all charisma. Charming smiles that wooed the crowd and pulled them in with promises of the greatest illusion yet. And he was good at it. Good at wooing and good at creating illusions. He had to give it to him. Credit. That is.
Atlas off stage was as graceful as a wilting ficus, despite his attempts at, well, who was he kidding? Daniel was pompous, cocky, and equally as dramatic as a ficus.
One might start questioning why Merritt felt the need to do a little character study. Sitting in their shared living space, taking up as much space in the armchair he’d claimed as his, Merritt hadn’t been able to stop analysing the latest developments. If “developments” were the correct descriptor.
Something had changed. Daniel, who Merritt knew wasn’t happy in the general sense of the word, couldn’t be happy. And Merritt was loath to admit, but Daniel was smart, and smart people just weren’t happy as a rule. But right now, Daniel seemed downright depressed and he couldn’t for the life of him pinpoint when things had changed.
They’d been living under the same roof for several years now. There were no upcoming anniversaries Merritt was aware of. No events that stood out. Past, present or upcoming.
And yet.
- Daniel Atlas wasn’t quiet. He was clever and he knew, so the world had to know as well. He talked a mile a minute, moved like hellhounds were after him, snapping at his heels and threatening to eat him whole if he dared to slow down for even a fraction of a second. He was noise, erratic in his unpredictability. It would drive a weaker man crazy. Alright, he shouldn’t lie to himself, it had driven all of them crazy at some point. But they’d also gotten over it at the next point.
Now, Daniel had joined them for movie night. Which, in and of itself, was enough to make Merritt suspicious. Daniel didn’t do “group bonding” unless there was something in it for him, preferably applause. Still, Merritt hadn’t said anything.
However, he hadn’t argued about which movie to watch. Hadn’t so much as complained, which frankly bordered on medically concerning. He hadn’t looked up when Henley fawned over a young Johnny Depp, hadn’t even rolled his eyes as she sighed at every close-up shot like she was personally responsible of his career.
In fact, Daniel hadn’t said a word since they sat down. Not a single one.
Merritt shifted in his seat, the leather creaking under him in a way that had him feeling like he was drawing attention to himself. He waited for the inevitable comment about the movie, some cutting remark about Depp’s acting, or Henley’s taste, or the cinematography, or breathing in general.
In hindsight, this is when Merritt should have spoken up. Instead, he split his attention between the movie and Daniel’s unusual silence, and said absolutely nothing.
From an outsider’s perspective, Daniel didn’t seem like the chatty type. He posed as someone unapproachable with a single-minded focus on simply getting through the day. And while he did prefer you didn’t talk to him, he still had a lot to say. Who knew trying to win arguments could be someone’s favourite sport? Merritt hadn’t been keen on finding that one out.
So, imagine his surprise when, the next day, Merritt found Daniel in the kitchen. Which wasn’t an odd concept as a whole. But the quiet announcement of “we’re out of milk” said like it was a mere afterthought, was something that left Merritt scratching his head. Daniel was in a toxic relationship with coffee. Which always included milk because, and he would never admit it, coffee made him anxious and black coffee would inevitably make him crash in a way Merritt had only witnessed once.
And being the semi-responsible adult that Atlas was, he’d made himself tea.
“We’re always out of milk,” Merritt commented with a frown directed at both Daniel’s behaviour and the milk’s absence. The milk was nothing new, but Daniel’s nonchalance almost had him reaching to check for a fever. The only reply he got was a nod in agreement and a clink of a spoon stirring a tea-filled mug.
“You know,” Merritt started, not sure what to make of the situation, so he did the best next thing. Fill it with mindless patter. “In some parts of the world, tea without milk is considered water with a flavour.”
“I don’t mind it,” Daniel told him with as much nonchalance as before. Merritt wasn’t convinced and it showed on his face.
“That’s how it starts,” he leaned back against the counter. “First it’s ‘I don’t mind,’ next thing you know you’re drinking herbal infusions and talking about notes of citrus like you’ve lost all sense of self.”
That, if nothing else, should have earned him a response. A scoff. Some sort of lecture on how taste worked, because Daniel liked to be right about things that didn’t really matter. And Merritt would roll his eyes and groan inwardly because starting this was his fault and now he had to sit through the entire spiel.
Instead, Daniel merely nodded and made a noise that vaguely sounded like he was acknowledging something that needed a little more effort than a non-word. Merritt’s eyes narrowed as he watched Daniel take a sip of his tea.
“Compelling argument,” Merritt said dryly. “I’ll be sure to write that down.” Daniel didn’t rise to it. He didn’t even pretend to be annoyed or even amused or anything for that matter. He set the mug down on the table with a careful precision that didn’t match his unfocused gaze, then he blinked and seemed to remember he wasn’t alone. He barely caught himself from doing a double take at Merritt’s presence.
Something was going on and Merritt was more than invested now.
“You’re up early,” he tried instead, changing his approach in the hopes of getting something out of him. Merritt busied himself with the contents of the fridge, trying to inject even a sliver of Daniel’s apparent indifference. Matching the energy in the room and all that jazz, he figured.
Daniel nodded, the motion curt and barely noticeable from the corner of Merritt's eyes. “Couldn’t sleep,” came the short answer. Which translated into Merritt’s mind as “shut up” and was quite effective if that was the intended goal.
Merritt simply nodded, acknowledged that he’d heard. With a suppressed sigh, he closed the fridge and reached for the cupboard instead, absently listening to the repetitive sound of Daniel’s spoon hitting the mug. The repetition of the spoon was melodic in a shrill, disagreeable way, but also too intentional to be absentminded. Like if Daniel were to stop, something else might begin. OCD playing up then? Merritt considered it as good an explanation as any at this point.
Merritt moaned, loud and unashamed, when he pulled out of the cupboard with his prize. Grin wide and triumph lighting up bright blue eyes, he tossed two Twinkies in Daniel’s general direction, aiming for the table. The ting cling of the spoon didn’t stop, and Merritt counted it a win for it meant another argument had been averted.
“You’re going to wake up everyone with that, you know,” he said instead, and kept his back to him while he filled his glass with water. He’d expected some kind of response, even after Daniel’s apparent unwillingness to communicate.
Finally, Merritt turned around to face the other occupant of the room, mildly concerned at how clocked out Daniel looked. He was still hitting the mug with the spoon, but he was also quietly readjusting the Twinkies so they were in whatever position seemed to please him. Merritt suddenly wasn’t so sure how much of this was actually OCD-related. Not that he had a better explanation. And Daniel wasn’t exactly lining up to offer one.
“You can have one,” Merritt tried, knowing full well Daniel hated them. The latter stilled for a moment before he shook his head, a faint frown pulling at his mouth like he’d had to think about the answer and found he’d felt rather offended by the offer. “They make for an amazing breakfast,” Merritt continued with a grin. Daniel stopped fumbling with the cakes, frown still in place,
“They’d survive an apocalypse.”
“I’m counting on it!” Merritt sat down with his glass of water, but didn’t move to grab the treats that were practically begging to be devoured. He took a sip, and rediscovered the blandness of tap water, hating how it slid down his throat and left an awful taste in his mouth. Fighting the urge to gag, he swallowed and opened his mouth to speak again.
“So,” Merritt began, and set the glass down with a soft thud, “what’s wrong with you?”
Daniel didn’t answer immediately. The spoon kept tapping against the mug, steady and unrelenting. Merritt picked up his glass to look over the rim, waiting for the inevitable snap-back, the deflection, the something. It didn’t come, much to his growing annoyance. This was like talking to a wall.
Then Daniel’s brow furrowed again, like the question had landed somewhere it wasn’t supposed to. His gaze flicked up towards Merritt, not quite meeting his eyes before dropping again, settling somewhere around the edge of the table. The Twinkies were still laying in front of him, now untouched, but perfectly level to each other.
“Nothing,” Daniel said at last. The word came out flat. It didn’t sound convincing, but then again, it never did when Daniel was avoiding actually talking to any of them when something was up. The spoon stilled and Merritt watched him closely.
“Just didn’t sleep,” he added, like that explained anything. Like that was the whole of it. Merritt wanted to shake him, demand answers, guess out loud until he had it right, but he didn’t do any of those things. He hummed and grabbed one of the Twinkies, freeing it from its plastic confinement.
Behind the crinkle of plastic, Daniel’s fingers tightened slightly around the handle of the mug. He didn’t pick the spoon back up. For a moment, he just sat there, staring at nothing in particular. Then, like he’d caught himself, he reached for the spoon again, missed it on the first try, the metal clinking against the rim before he adjusted his grip and resumed the same tapping pattern as before. It wasn’t as steady, nor was it as loud. While grating, Merritt shook his head and didn’t try to stop it.
Upon recollecting the moment later, Merritt could have kicked himself. The warning signs had been there, poorly masked and begging him to be noticed and act accordingly. What he did in that moment instead was shrug, finish his Twinkies and pour the rest of his water down the drain before leaving Daniel to it.
His second, third, fourth, who was keeping count? His next brilliant decision was going out for groceries that same day.
He came back to chaos.
There was no crashing, no physical altercation that made him want to turn around and out of the building. There was just noise. And a lot of it.
“… not what I said.”
“You did, Jack, you literally …”
Merritt stepped into the living room, frown already forming, grocery bags digging into the palms of his hands. He took in the room, Jack and Henley, the tv playing a show all occupants seemed to be ignoring. There was also Daniel, standing in the middle of it, too still for someone usually incapable of staying in one place. His hands were curled in on themselves, shoulders tight, well, tighter than usual. His gaze was fixed somewhere just past Jack’s shoulder, like he wasn’t seeing any of them.
“Daniel.” Henley was saying, closer than she should’ve been. “Hey, snap out of it. You know I’m right. Tell him.” She gestured towards Jack, snapping her fingers in Daniel’s general direction. There was no response from him.
Jack huffed, running a hand through his hair. “He’s been like that for five minutes, Hen. I don’t- “
“Daniel.” Merritt tried, sharper than he meant to sound. Henley and Jack startled and turned towards him like they hadn’t heard him enter. Daniel, however, didn’t move. He didn’t even blink. Something in Merritt’s chest dropped, sudden and heavy. His eyes flicked to Jack and then Henley, he held their gaze as he addressed them,
“Back off. Both of you.”
“He’s been ignoring us all afternoon!” Henley shot back, frustration hot and sharp. Merritt didn’t raise his voice again in response. He set the grocery bags down by the door instead, slower than was likely necessary, like sudden movement might spook the wrong person. The room felt too full, too loud, even without anyone speaking. Merritt was hyper aware of the television chattering on in the background, too bright and insistent. He grimaced and looked at Henley.
“Turn that off,” he said with a nod towards the tv.
“What? Why?” she started, but there was enough in his tone this time that she hesitated, then stepped away to reach for the remote. The room dropped a notch into something quieter. Something that allowed him to take a breath.
“Jack,” Merritt said, softer still, “give him some space.” Both had been standing close to Daniel, trying to involve him into their argument. Jack frowned, still keyed up, but he stepped back a pace. He looked at him, expectant and questioning, but he didn’t speak.
Merritt moved then, slow and deliberate, angling himself just slightly between them and Daniel. He was close enough to be heard without crowding him.
“Hey,” he tried. No luck.
Up close, it looked even worse. Daniel’s gaze didn’t track him, it didn’t shift at all. It was fixed somewhere past his shoulder, unfocused in a way that made Merritt’s stomach twist. His hands were tight, fingers curled in, knuckles pale where they pressed into his palms.
“Atlas.” He wasn’t sure if he was expecting a reaction, but none was forthcoming. Merritt exhaled slowly, forcing his voice down even more.
“Alright,” he muttered, more to himself than anyone else. He wanted to reach out and see if he could somehow ground him. Daniel looked lost, unsure if he was going to find his way back. But Merritt was also afraid. Afraid that reaching out, physically, might shatter the fragile strings that were keeping Daniel upright.
“You’re good,” he tried again. “Nobody’s asking anything of you.” He waited, for what he didn’t know. Behind him, he could feel Henley move, having grown restless.
“Merritt, what is-“
“Not now,” he cut in, low but firm. “Just give me a minute.” He tipped his head slightly, trying to catch Daniel’s line of sight without stepping closer. “You don’t have to talk,” he addressed Daniel again, not as firm. “Sit down, alright?”
Daniel didn’t nod. He didn’t move. But the tension in his shoulders dropped almost imperceptibly. Like something in the words had gotten through, even if the rest hadn’t.
Merritt bit his tongue, resisting the urge to fill the silence. He figured they could work with this, it was fine. Probably.
“Should we move him?” Jack asked, sounding as restless as Henley.
“No. Don’t touch him,” Merritt said. “Close the curtains,” he paused before adding, “and call Dylan.” He didn’t look away from Daniel as he said this, waiting for any type of response. The last of that expectation drained out of him slowly the longer they stood there. Henley sorted out the curtains while Jack went to make the phone call in the kitchen. Merritt could hear snippets of the conversation, but he paid it no mind until Jack re-entered the living room and handed him the phone.
“He wants to talk to you.”
Merritt sighed and took the phone. He stepped away, but kept his voice hushed as he spoke.
“Did you know about this?” He asked immediately, not granting Dylan the chance to at least greet him.
“I’m not there, Merritt. All I know is that Danny ‘sort of froze’ and you seem to know what’s going on, so talk.” Came the voice from the other end.
“Daniel completely shut down,” Merritt answered simple and straightforward.
“Do you know what triggered it?”
“No, he’s been withdrawing for a couple of days now. Dylan,” Merritt took a steadying breath, “did you know he has ASD?”
“You mean you didn’t?” Merritt gaped at the wall in front of him, momentarily blanking. On one hand, Dylan had a point, but on the other,
“I know about the OCD, but how was I supposed to know about the ASD? It’s Daniel.”
“Exactly. It’s Daniel.”
“Exactly.”
“I have a feeling our exactlies don’t mean the same thing,” Dylan sighed, the sound cracking across the speaker like a miniature tornado. “Listen. I can be there in half an-“
“Merritt!”
His head snapped up at the shout, the phone still pressed to his ear.
“What-“ He didn’t finish the question. As his gaze landed on Daniel, he understood. Daniel had physically recoiled into himself, shoulders drawn tight, hands pulled into fists near his head. It looked like he was bracing himself against something. He still wasn’t looking at them, but his breathing had gone uneven, shallow and quick. Panicked almost.
“I just … I only touched his arm,” Henley explained. Merritt had the distinct feeling he was the only adult in the room. He had told them not to touch Daniel, hadn’t he? He bit back whatever he might’ve said.
“I have to go,” he muttered into the phone, already moving. He didn’t wait for an answer, pulled the phone away and tossed it at Jack. Jack caught it like it was muscle memory.
“Alright, clear the room,” Merritt said, a little too loud it would seem. Daniel took a small step back, the couch catching the back of his knees and forcing him down. Any flicker of relief died as Daniel folded in on himself, tight and protective.
“What’s going on?” Henley demanded.
“Listen,” Merritt lowered his voice and spoke in hushed tones, drawing in Jack as well. “He’s not ignoring us. He can’t respond right now.”
Jack frowned like that didn’t make any sense. “What do you mean can’t?”
“I mean exactly that,” Merritt cut in quietly. “No talking to him, no touching, no sudden moves. Just,” he shook his head, grasping for words. “Just back off and keep it quiet.” Henley glanced over his shoulder, her expression a mix of emotions as she really looked at Daniel this time.
“He’s just sitting there.”
“Yeah,” Merritt said. Jack scrubbed a hand over his face, the earlier frustration bleeding out into something more uncertain.
“So what do we do?” He, too, looked over Merritt’s shoulder to watch the unmoving figure on the couch. Daniel would hate this. He would hate them watching him like he was some sort of fascinating zoo animal or worse, an anomaly they had to tiptoe around lest it explode.
Merritt huffed and shook his head. “Right now? I’m not sure we can do much.” He glanced back at Daniel, taking in the tight curl of his posture, the way he’d folded in on himself like he was trying to take up less space.
“Is this some sort of breakdown?” Henley whispered, sounding like she was addressing something taboo.
“Shutdown,” Merritt corrected under his breath. Jack glanced between them.
“How come you know so much about this, Merritt?” Jack suddenly asked. “It’s not like your generation’s been all that great about it.”
Merritt grimaced and shrugged. What was he to say to that? He wasn’t made up of an entire generation. “I pay attention,” he muttered. “And I listen when people talk. Shocking concept, I know.”
Jack huffed quietly at that, but didn’t push it. Henley shifted her weight, still watching Daniel.
“So what does that actually mean? Shutdown?”
“It means he’s done,” Merritt said. “Overloaded. Too much input, not enough room to process it.” He gestured vaguely to the room around them. “Everything just … stops responding.”
Jack’s brow furrowed. “So he can hear us or-“
“Probably,” Merritt cut in. “Doesn’t mean he can do anything about it.” It sounded meaner than it was meant to be, but it seemed to land. Henley swallowed, glancing back again.
“So we just leave him like that?”
“No,” Merritt said. Then softer, “We just try not to make it worse.”
He looked around the room, taking stock properly this time. The tv was off and the curtains were drawn, cutting off the worst of it. But was it enough?
“Where is that ugly yellow blanket we keep around?” Merritt looked around the room for it, baffled by how he managed to lose such an eyesore.
“Wait, I know where it is,” Henley slipped out of the room without another word. Merritt merely nodded and stepped a little closer to the couch, still careful, still not touching. He crouched instead of loomed, lowering himself into Daniel’s line of sight. Whether Daniel could meet it or not.
“Hey,” he said quietly. “We’re going to keep it calm, alright? No one’s going to bother you.” Daniel didn’t respond, and Merritt didn’t expect him to. Behind him, the room had finally settled into something that wasn’t building up to anything anymore. Jack had wandered into the kitchen while Merritt had approached the couch. Henley eventually returned with the blanket, holding it awkwardly before she cleared her throat and asked,
“Do you want me to just put it here?” Realising that question would just leave her hanging, she tried again, “Can I drape it over you?” Shit. Well, that was the same question. Merritt prepared to step in when movement caught both of their attention. Daniel had nodded. It had been curt and barely noticeable, but it had been a nod nonetheless.
Merritt watched her drape the blanket carefully around him. Daniel pulled the edges in tight, burying himself in a soft custard yellow embrace. Daniel’s movements were stiff, it clearly took a lot more effort than the action called for.
“Here,” Jack had reappeared with a glass of water and set it on the table in front of Daniel. He backed off just as quickly. They all settled around the living room, careful to give him space. He seemed a little more aware of them now, and more exhausted for it.
“Dylan’s here,” Jack announced quietly, only looking up from his phone to get up so he could open the door. Merritt set the book aside, not entirely sure he’d actually read the page. It seemed to be becoming a running theme, he thought weary.
The door opened, low voices carried down the hallway as Jack filled Dylan in. They appeared in the doorway, voices dropping off entirely. Dylan’s gaze swept the room first, quick and quiet. He took in the dim lighting, the drawn curtains, the careful distance everyone kept. His gaze finally settled on the custard yellow heap on the couch.
Merritt glanced up at him, something like relief flickering across his face before he quickly buried it. He pushed himself up from his position in his usual armchair and met Dylan halfway, keeping his voice low.
“He’s not responding,” Merritt said. “Hasn’t been, not really. We got a nod out of him. That’s about it.”
Dylan nodded, eyes still on Daniel. “How long?”
“Don’t know exactly. Jack said he froze about five minutes before I got back.” He let that hang in the air. “He’s been off for days,” he added.
“Anyone touch him?” Dylan asked. Merritt’s mouth set in a fine line, a tell he was well aware of.
“Yeah. Didn’t go well.”
Dylan hummed under his breath, not surprised. Henley moved, drawing their attention. She looked guilty even though no one was accusing her of anything.
“Alright,” Dylan said quietly. He moved closer towards the yellow shape, but not straight on. He angled his approach so he didn’t come into Daniel’s space all at once. He stopped a few steps short of the couch, lowering himself slightly so he wasn’t looming.
“You’re okay, Danny.” None of them were sure on how much he was processing right now, but that didn’t mean they were simply going to ignore him. “There’s some water right there, I see.” Dylan nodded at the table. He suppressed the urge to reach out and soothe the stillness out of him. It was eerie. Daniel was full of movement and self-soothing gestures. His hands were always working. But not now. Now, they clutched at soft fabric with white-knuckled strength while his eyes stayed vacant.
“You’ve been handling this well,” Dylan looked over his shoulder at the group, at Merritt in particular.
No one said much after that. There didn’t seem to be a point to it. Merritt tried to get back to his book, albeit unsuccessfully. Jack had retreated to the kitchen, looking like he was going to be the only productive person in the apartment. The sounds that followed his departure suggested he was cooking something, which Merritt could appreciate.
Henley had curled into the far end of the couch, keeping her distance this time. Her eyes found Daniel every so often before she forced herself to look away, tapping away on her phone instead. Dylan was almost matching her pace on his own phone.
And Daniel, he stayed curled in on himself, blanket pulled tight, shoulders still drawn in. For a long while, he didn’t move at all. Then, gradually, something in his posture changed. It was small, easy to miss if you weren’t looking for it.
His grip loosened first, the fabric no longer held taut between his fingers. One hand slipped free just slightly, hovering uncertainly before settling against the blanket instead of gripping it. Then his fingers started moving. It started with the barest motion, thumb rubbing against the side of his index finger, over and over, like he was testing the movement, but he was starting to come back.
Merritt was the first to notice. He wasn’t focusing on his book, after all. He decided not to say anything, keep attention off of him until Henley glanced over and would see it herself. Which she did not long after. They both watched him carefully as the movement picked up just a little more until it was repetitive and looked more like it was helping him ground himself.
Dylan shifted his weight from his position at the table, just enough to catch Merritt’s eye. A silent “there we go” passing between them.
“Hey,” Merritt said after a moment, voice kept low, careful not to break the rhythm Daniel seemed to be finding. “You with us a little more?”
Daniel didn’t look up, but his head moved in a hesitant nod. Henley sucked in a quiet breath from across the room, immediately clapping a hand over her mouth like she’d made too much noise just by reacting. Merritt shot her a quick look, but turned back to Daniel just as fast when nothing changed. His fingers kept moving, more certain. The tension in his shoulders hadn’t fully left, but it wasn’t as locked as before. His breathing was still shallow, but no longer as uneven.
Dylan tilted his head a little. “Can you hear us okay?” he asked, matching his tone of voice to Merritt’s calm one.
Daniel didn’t react to that immediately, but after a while, he shook his head. A small but unmistakable gesture.
“Okay,” Dylan said next. “You don’t have to talk. Just nod or shake your head if you can. That’s enough.”
Daniel responded with another small nod. Merritt watched it like it meant more than it probably did, but it was something and that’s all that mattered.
“Alright,” Merritt sat back. “We’ll keep it simple,” Dylan hummed in agreement. Merritt glanced briefly at the glass on the table, then back at Daniel.
“There’s water right in front of you,” he said. “You don’t have to drink it. Just,” he paused a little awkwardly. “if you want it, it’s there.” He didn’t gesture or reach for it. He just left the option hanging. Daniel, in turn, kept moving his fingers, tracing that same pattern against the blanket. His eyes moved a little from where he’d been staring down, and looked in the general direction of the table.
He eventually shook his head. Merritt accepted the response, “Alright,” he said. “Later, maybe.” He leaned back even more, easing some of the tension that had been building in his posture. He hummed under his breath, like he couldn’t stand to let the silence take over the room.
Thinking out loud, but still quiet, he said “We’ve got yes and no. That’s plenty to work with.” He looked back at Daniel. “You good where you are?” he asked. “Or do you want us to move you somewhere else?” He wasn’t sure how they would move him without potentially setting him off, but he was sure they’d find a way.
Daniel’s fingers slowed. stilled for a second, like the question had snagged somewhere and Merritt was hit with a realisation. Right. Too many questions.
“No, wait. Too much.” He shook his head. “Just this. Stay or move.” He held up two fingers, then let his hand drop again so he wasn’t crowding him visually. “Stay?”
The nod that followed was small, but it was definitely a nod.
“Good,” Merritt said. “We’ll stay right here.” There wasn’t much else to say, and the quiet felt unsettling, but there was only so many things he could ask right now. He looked over at Dylan, who seemed to approve of whatever he was doing, so he took it in stride.
He watched Daniel for another minute. The movement in Daniel’s hands had steadied into something almost rhythmic now, slow and repetitive against the blanket. His shoulders weren’t locked as tight as before, but there was a heaviness to them. Like whatever had been holding him upright was starting to give out. Dylan saw it too. He mouthed something at Merritt. “Tired.” Dylan said quietly a moment later, when Merritt didn’t catch it. He nodded, having come to the same conclusion.
“Wouldn’t he be more comfortable in his own bed?” Henley asked. Merritt merely shrugged. He’d already asked. The answer had been clear.
“Danny?” Dylan began as he moved from his spot at the table, moving around the couch so he was within Daniel’s field of vision if he chose to look at him. “You can lie down if you want. You don’t have to stay sitting up."
A few seconds passed before Daniel’s head tipped forward, as if the suggestion had taken a moment to get through to him. His fingers slowed, then stilled for a while, but it wasn’t long before they started again, slower this time.
Then, carefully and awkwardly, he repositioned himself. It wasn’t a graceful process. More like his body had forgotten the order of things. But he managed to turn just enough to curl onto his side with the blanket dragging with him in uneven movements until it bunched up under his chin like a makeshift pillow. Merritt watched him and found the sight wasn’t unlike that of an elderly cat nestling itself in a cocoon of blankets.
Daniel’s breathing didn’t take long to start evening out. He didn’t look fully relaxed, but he also didn’t appear to be hanging on by mere threads anymore. He’d positioned himself in a shape as small and contained as humanly possible, facing away from most of the room. His hands were hidden by the blanket, but clearly no longer moving.
The apartment had gone back to silence, the earlier tension bleeding out into a careful quiet that was more unusual than anyone cared to address. Jack had finished up in the kitchen and then disappeared down the hall altogether. Henley hadn’t lingered much longer after that, casting one last look over her shoulder before leaving them to it. Dylan stayed the longest, watchful and unobtrusive. Until even he seemed satisfied enough to step away with a quiet word to Merritt that didn’t quite register.
Merritt stayed in his armchair. At some point, the lines on the page in front of him had started to make sense. Until they didn’t. He couldn’t have said how long he’d been staring at the same paragraph, only that his attention had never really left the couch. It was the smallest movement that pulled him back fully, a faint rustle of fabric that didn’t belong to the ambient noise of the room. And so the book Merritt had been holding found itself forgotten again.
Daniel hadn’t changed much at first glance. Still curled in on himself, half-hidden beneath that aggressively yellow blanket. But the stillness wasn’t quite as absolute as it had been before. There was movement now, faint and uncoordinated. Fingers clenched and unclenched, the blanket moved and then settled again. His head followed not long after, lifting just enough to suggest awareness before dropping back down in a way that looked less like sleep and more like effort abandoned halfway through.
Merritt leaned forward, resting his forearms on his knees, careful not to crowd the space he’d so deliberately preserved.
“Take your time,” he mumbled in his usual drawl. There was no verbal response, but if the way Daniel tensed was anything to go by, he’d definitely heard. It was a small reaction, but Merritt was observant. Daniel’s face was set in a frown and he had yet to open his eyes.
“Head hurting?” Merritt guessed. It took longer this time. Long enough that Merritt almost wrote the question off entirely. Then Daniel’s fingers twitched against the blanket, stopped, and finally, slowly, his head dipped in a small, uneven nod. Merritt hummed thoughtfully, easing back just enough to take some of the pressure out of the interaction without disengaging entirely.
“There’s water right there. It might help,” he said, tone deliberately casual. Daniel didn’t move immediately. His brow remained furrowed even as he opened his eyes to look at the table in front of him. He didn’t nod or shake his head, Merritt had been fine with either reaction, but nothing could top the wordless sound Daniel made, instead.
“Is that a yes?” Merritt watched him with bated breath.
“Hng,” Daniel tried again, adding in a curt nod for good measure.
“Eloquently put.” Merritt sat up straighter, edging closer towards the table so he could help if needed. “Can you sit up for me?”
While Daniel took his time sitting himself up, Merritt moved in deliberate motions as he reached for the glass. He kept it steady, careful not to make unnecessary noise as he brought it closer and set it within easier reach rather than placing it directly in Daniel’s hands.
“Right there,” he murmured, pulling back again just as carefully. He wasn’t sure if he was doing the right thing, but Daniel hadn’t thrown anything at him yet, so he figured he was doing something right.
Daniel didn’t grab the glass immediately. He seemed to register its presence, hand hovering uncertainly before closing around it with a grip that wasn’t entirely steady. Merritt didn’t interfere, however.
It took another moment before Daniel managed a small sip. The movement was clumsy, like coordination had become something he had to think about rather than something that simply happened. When he lowered the glass again, he didn’t let go right away, just held onto it like it anchored him to something solid.
Merritt let out the breath he hadn’t realised he’d been holding and dragged a hand over his face. “You gave us a bit of a scare,” he said after a while.
“Sorry,” Daniel’s voice was an echo of its usual confidence, quiet and genuine in the guilt it held. He didn’t look at Merritt as he spoke, the word strained and hovering between them until Merritt decided that, no. No, that wouldn’t do.
“Don’t apologise,” he began. “But now we know, so we can help you better next time.”
Daniel looked up, his eyes briefly meeting his, but sliding away just as fast. He’d looked surprised.
“What triggered it?” Merritt asked out of curiosity, but also for future reference. He didn’t let the disappointment show when Daniel merely shook his head. Whether he didn’t know or didn’t, couldn’t, tell him was something he would have to accept. So he didn’t press it. He could have. A hundred different ways, half of them less than kind, the other half dressed up as concern. But Daniel looked wrung out enough as it was, and whatever answer he might have gotten wouldn’t have been worth it.
“Alright,” he said instead, easy and dismissive in a way that wasn’t meant to sting. “We’ll call it a mystery for now.”
Daniel didn’t react much to that, just moved the glass in his hands like he wasn’t entirely sure what to do with it anymore. His grip had steadied, but there was still hesitation to every movement.
“Still a bit out of it, huh?” Merritt smiled, not unkindly. “Which is fine, by the way. No one’s expecting a full performance.”
That earned him the faintest flicker of something that wasn’t quite amusement, but it was similar. Closer to Daniel than anything else had been so far.
“How’s the head? Still hurting?”
Daniel nodded at that, which Merritt mirrored. He glanced towards the hallway, then back at Daniel. “Do you want to lie down properly?” he gestured vaguely at the hallway. Daniel’s gaze followed the motion this time, nodding without ever looking at Merritt directly.
“Can I help you up?” he asked.
“Hmng.” That sounded like agreement, so Merritt got up and approached. He reached out tentatively, giving Daniel just enough time to pull away if he needed to. He didn’t, but he did tense under the contact. There was no flinch this time, his posture rigid until he managed to relax a little under the weight of Merritt’s hand.
They stayed there for a moment before Merritt gently guided him up. The motion caused Daniel’s blanket to start slipping, but was caught by quick hands that weren’t quite ready yet to let it go.
“Replaced by a yellow throw. I’ll try not to take it personally,” Merritt said, eyeing it with feigned contempt. Daniel shot him a glare, making him bite back a grin that would have told Daniel exactly how relieved he was to see that glare.
They shuffled into the hallway, their progress slow, but it was progress nonetheless.
“One small step for man, one giant-“
“No,” Daniel’s voice was quiet, but it was unmistakable and it shut Merritt right up. He had so much to say, so it was no easy feat. There was a need for normalcy, wanting to return to their usual verbal sparring, talking about how he was going to put the milk under lock and key and far far away from Jack. He wanted to talk to him about a potential new trick they could do on stage. He just wanted to hear Daniel go on and on about how great he was and how Merritt’s mentalism was just a fancy psychology trick that had no business being presented under the guise of magic on a stage. He wanted to rile him up and enjoy how frustrated Daniel got when Merritt had as much to say as Daniel did.
He also wanted to put him to bed and make him sleep for a week.
A week, it turned out, was wishful thinking. It wasn’t realistic to begin with, he recognised as Daniel entered the room that night. Yellow blanket dragging behind him, he padded into the living room with a bad case of sleep-tousled hair. His hair, usually stubbornly straightened, was a mass of curls, unruly and unapologetically springing out in every direction. Merritt almost preferred it this way. It made him look more human, more like his actual age. Which, come to think of, was probably why Daniel spent so much effort into flattening it.
“You feeling any better?” Dylan asked. They’d decided on watching a movie for lack of having anything better to do. It was the one thing they could do that didn’t include too much noise. Daniel nodded in response, making Merritt frown in concern. Still no talking? He had to remind himself that these things could take a while, or that it was simply easier to not say anything. Not that he ever thought Daniel was capable of that.
“Jack cooked if you want something to eat,” Henley told him.
“Yeah! Let me grab you a plate.” Jack hurled himself off the couch, almost tripping over himself to get to the kitchen. He stopped in his tracks when Daniel practically tackled him with the yellow blanket, throwing it straight into his path.
“Guys.” It was the first thing he said and it held everyone’s attention like it was something to be cherished. “Stop acting like I’m child, or that I’m about to break.”
“We’re not,” Jack kicked the blanket at his feet, reached down to pick it up and lobbed it at Daniel’s head in some sort of petty revenge. Daniel caught it easily, and didn’t miss the way Henley gave Jack a look that clearly told him off.
“That,” he pointed at Henley, “That’s what I mean.”
“You stopped responding, Danny. You scared us,” She defended, taking full offense.
“Just sit down and let Jack grab you something to eat,” Merritt butted in before an argument could start.
“I can get it myself.”
“Please.” Merritt didn’t break eye contact, and Daniel tried to hold it, but he eventually had to look away.
“Fine,” he said with a sigh. He settled near Dylan, his blanket a shield against the very room. He thanked Jack when he returned with a plate, reheated and smelling divine, but remained silent during the rest of the night as they finished watching the movie.
They didn’t mention it again. Things went back to the way they were, arguing about who (Jack) kept using up their milk like they used it for bathing. And Henley took no shame in voicing how she wished she had curls, envying people who did have them. If Daniel allowed his to go wild every once in a while, no one said anything about it.
They were going to be just fine.