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You exhale softly at Bob’s refusal to accept the inevitable, climbing onto the rumpled bed and lying over him carefully. You trailed your fingers against the bare skin just below the hem of the baggy sweater and slipped your hand beneath, the first thing you noticed was how cold he was despite being buried beneath a nest of blankets. Pressing your thumb down, you started rubbing circles against his hip, an attempt to slowly ground him. Humming with contentment, you feel the soft rise and fall of his breathing beneath your chest; that careful movement of life. “You gotta get up soon.” The words were muffled as you nuzzled into his neck, peering at the side of his face from the low angle. “C’mon, baby.”
“Hm… No, I-” he murmured something soft and unintelligible while pressing his face further into the pillow that cushioned him.
“Yes, yes,” you informed him playfully, nudging your nose against the side of his neck before pulling away. There was an audible sound of discomfort when you relinquished your comfort and moved off him, settling on your haunches.
Bob shifted, lifting his head enough so that his chin was resting on the plush surface of the pillow as he peered over at you with exhaustion. One of his hands pulled out from under the pillow, settling against the mattress to hold his weight. His fingertips were coated in wisps of darkness. It didn’t travel higher than his knuckle, just a steady occupation that he was holding back. You frowned at the sight of it, and then tore your attention back to his face. He was bleary-eyed, blinking slowly, too slowly, as he breathed through his nose and scrunched his face.
You savoured the sight, flickering your eyes across his expression with familiar endearment. “Hey, baby blue,” you shifted closer and laid a comforting kiss upon his cheek, the soft pressure causing him to whine and lean into the affection. “Are you gonna get up for me? Yeah? C’mon.” His eyes closed easily when your hand found its way into his tussled hair, pushing it from his face and scratching your nails gently against his scalp in a soothing motion. “I’m going to get some scissors and cut a couple of inches off.”
“You should cut me open,” Bob murmured, pushing himself up enough to crawl into your embrace. Somehow, it felt so much worse when he wrapped himself around your figure with desperation, as if you were the pillar of security in a disaster. He was so cold.
It caused your breath to lodge itself in your throat, brutishly thrown into the sensation of his state. It was distressing. It was worrisome. Unbidden, there was a welling of tears touching the waterline of your eyes. You hated this, feeling the very physical evidence of his struggle. “I’ll cut you open and remove everything that pains you. How about that?”
“Hm… I’d like that.”
“Alright,” you pulled away hesitantly, unwrapping his hold with careful guidance. “I want you to sit here, and I will get some scissors, alright?” You asked him, cupping his face gently in your hands and tentatively stroking his cheekbones in circular movements. Already his hair was falling over the back of your hand, as if it was shielding his face. “Let’s get you feeling a little less like a blanket monster, and more like Robert Reynolds.”
“No, no, come back,” he tried reaching out, sighing dramatically when you climbed off the bed and headed out the room. It was quiet when you left, as if his bedroom was being swallowed by something bigger than himself. And perhaps it was. He could see it, crawling silently from the tips of his fingers and drawing wispy tendrils along his wrists before retreating to his knuckles. It didn’t go further than that. Bob had been pushing so hard to keep it at bay, exhausted by the efforts of constant struggle that it forced him to blink back the stinging in his eyes. He felt like an exhausted child in that moment, frustrated by how heavy his limbs had become.
You padded quietly into his bedroom with a towel thrown over one arm a pair of scissors in one hand, and a spray bottle and comb in the other. You kicked the door shut behind you with the careful push of your foot. Bob was sitting on the edge of the rumpled bed, duvet bunched up and hanging off the edge. He was staring at his spotted socks and taking short, sudden breaths.
“C’mon, let’s sort that mop of yours,” you stepped up to him, throwing the towel and scissors on the bed beside him.
“I’m tired,” he exhaled quietly, leading forward until his forehead was pressed against your abdomen. Bob lifted his arms, wrapping them around your waist to hold you close. He didn’t want to let you go again, not when he needed the closeness and support that you so sweetly provided.
It felt impossible. You never knew the exact thing to do when he was like this, there was no solution to this topple of emotional state. Bob couldn’t be dragged or coaxed out of it, your only option was to be at his side and offer support. It made you feel useless. Nothing made you feel so incapable than when he was like this.
“I know, sweetheart. But you can’t stay in bed for too long when you’re like this. It’s not good for you.” Lifting the bottle, you pressed the trigger and sprayed water into his hair. He flinches at first, jolting and nudging his face against your abdomen. You did this a couple times, making sure it wouldn’t completely drench him but ensured it was coated enough make his hair malleable. It was almost amusing how long his hair had gotten, on the verge of passing his shoulders in length once you got the comb through it a couple times. There were a few knots to untangle, nothing that couldn’t be sorted.
“This would be easier if you weren’t using my stomach as a headrest,” you told him with a gentle tone, tucking some wet strands of his hair back. “No doubt this will be uneven.”
Bob made a faint noise, a ‘hmph’ sound that was more of a vibration against your top than an actual response. The grip around your waist tightened a little, putting a stop to any ideas you had about moving out of his embrace.
Dragging the towel from beside him, you laid it across his shoulders to withhold the possibility of stray hairs getting under his clothes. Afterwards, there was a steady silence between you, with the occasional grinding of the scissors taking the few inches of hair that hung between your middle and forefinger. There was already a gathered amount of hair clinging to the towel, thick chunks of it.
Sometimes there was a squeeze around your waist, his arms clenching as he breathed and enveloped himself in you. “I’ll be finished in a moment,” you told him, raking your fingers through his hair and checking the length. “And then we can make something for dinner, how’s that?”
He made a ‘hmph’ sound again.
“I was thinking that we could make spaghetti,” you spoke softly, knowing he wouldn’t respond but that didn’t matter. “I don’t think my stomach can survive another mac and cheese. My insides will be stuffed with cheese if we don’t put our feet down.”
“I like mac and cheese.”
“Come on, tilt your head back,” you put the scissors down. He shifted, taking his forehead off your stomach with reluctance. You curled a finger under his chin, applying pressure until he was staring up at you. “There you are.” Your hands traced through his damp hair, leaving paths in their wake. Evidence of your touch. You scrunched the ends, trying to encourage those loose curls to form again. “Feel any better?”
He said nothing, watching you with quiet fondness that was undeniable in its devotion. For a moment, it seemed reality was slipping away. It wasn't the cruel grasp of that other side of him. It was the gentle coaxing of him. Just him. There was no other, no scales that tipped back and forth. Just Bob. His hand settled on your lower back, under your top and gently resting against your skin. Oh, you wet cat, you thought with amusement, smiling at the sight of him. Then he nodded slightly, a barely there motion as he soaked up the attention. “Yeah… thank you.”
“Yeah?” You pressed your lips together, feeling the soft vibration against your mouth when he melted into your touch, humming with contentment.
He was smiling when you pulled away slightly, a lethargic thing that you found endearing. “Yeah,” he whispered while nodding with a more noticeable motion.