Chapter Text
I can’t believe he’s still at the monitor, and NOT using some kind of dark-mode on ANY of the sites he used. He said it was to “keep himself awake”. It kept me awake, too, dipshit.
Look, good on him for always working so hard, but it gets to a point where it literally hurts him and affects everyone around him. If he actually slept for once maybe he’d be less of an irritable prick. I’m really not a key factor in his anger, he should make it less fun to poke the bear.
“Hey, Trev, shut that stupid computer off and get your ass in bed.” But he didn’t listen, he only groaned at me. “Trevor, go to sleep instead of working yourself to actual death.” He didn’t listen. “Maybe you don’t care about your health, but I do—believe it or not.” He removed his hands from the desk and slumped his shoulders like what I said was groundbreaking. He folded his glasses, setting them aside as he rubbed his eyes as though it’d remove the dark circles. “Dude,” I got off my bed, now towering over his shoulder. “are you good?” He always just seemed enraged or prideful, I couldn’t believe that he just… did whatever this was, not even talking back or anything.
“Ryan,” he sounded hesitant to spit it out “do you ever… God, I don’t know—feel like nobody listens to you? And that it’s just not worth it?” He spoke slowly, on the verge of tears. I couldn’t believe the shit I was hearing, that he was this hurt and burnt out and held off from telling me until this midnight.
I had to take a minute to think about what was happening right now. Jesus Christ, was that how I made him feel constantly? With no support or way to vent it out? I turned his chair away from the glowing screen, towards me. His ears immediately folded back and he covered his face as if he was being exposed. “I… I’m sorry. Can you uncover your face, Trev? Please?” He did so, albeit with shame, looking down at the floor. I didn’t know what I was supposed to say, it’s not like I’m good at comforting people, let alone Trevor—I almost never see him this vulnerable.
I lowered my posture to meet his shoulders, and hugged him. He immediately returned the embrace, far more vigorously—enough vigor to place me on the chair with him. It was awkward, touching him in a way that wasn’t belligerent, but rather domestic. The chair wasn’t comfortable, his arms were. That was probably the gayest shit I could ever think of him. I burrowed my head into his neck and ran my fingers through his fine hair. My affection was returned with him rubbing the nape of my neck softly. If it weren’t for that fuckass computer, I could fall asleep in his arms so easily. For someone so bitter and short-fused, he was… really gentle.
He looked at me with what I could only describe as love. No one looks at another that way platonically. Maybe it just manifested itself in the both of us—that we may as well just kiss. Holding his warm face, we slowly locked lips. Everything felt so warm, it could kill me. His arms were warm, his face was warm, his mouth was warm. I wanted to hold him for as long as I could, and let his heat linger. His fingers combed through my already disheveled hair, holding on like he’d lose me. We parted for air, a string of combined saliva bridged between us. I couldn’t keep myself from indulging in his taste, open-mouthed. It was so blissful feeling our tongues against each other, our spit coinciding. I didn’t want to think about how awkward this would be tomorrow, I want to believe we’d be too tired to remember no matter how good it felt.
I didn’t want to remember, but I didn’t want to forget.