Work Text:
It's overwhelming. So, so overwhelming sometimes.
The weight on my shoulders, the rising number on my wrist. What are these if not chains binding me to an unfair system? The more people believe in a figure of power, the less I belong to myself.
The power floods my veins, my senses. It twists my reality, breaks my perception, leaves everything feeling shattered. The kaleidoscope of colours becomes unbearable, overwhelming my sight, making my eyes burn and my ears ache with uncontrollable white noise. My wrists feel restrained, the weight of my trust value pressing down on them, as if someone were holding them tightly, keeping me right where fate wants me to be.
My head hurts as if I'd drunk a six-pack of beer. I didn't. I'd swear I didn't. I just need to get a grip.
My chest heaves with each difficult breath. I can feel the comfortable sheets of my bed underneath me and, at the same time, I can't; they feel kilometres away. My hands try to cling to the safe surface, my fists tight at either side of my body. I can't move freely. My eyes are closed, but it's as if I could see everything anyway: every timeline, every dimension, clashing chaotically in front of me.
As long as I'm X, reality, space and time should be at the mercy of a snap of my fingers; my own reality should be mine to control, mine to change.
If only I were able to snap my fingers. If only my hands decided to cooperate when I need them most. If only fate didn't hold me so tightly by the throat.
Undoubtedly, I'm spiralling. That much I can tell. But I can't calm down either; it's not as easy as simply noticing what's happening. No, no… this needs to stop right now. I have the control. I'm supposed to have the control. Who am I, if I can't have control? What is this title worth, if this keeps happening to me?
My eyes are still tightly closed; I'm too much of a coward to open them. I have no idea what I'd see this time, when space and time lose their meaning completely. I just hope I'm still in my bed and not somewhere else — I've already experienced accidentally teleporting to random places.
It will end soon. It will end soon. It has to end soon. The thoughts come by themselves; my brain needs to cope somehow. I'm supposed to have full control over these episodes by now. Why, why the hell is this happening again after so many weeks of peace?
A small, soft hand suddenly closes around mine while another removes my sleep mask, making me flinch. The hard pressure on my wrists vanishes as a grounding touch brings me back completely. My eyes snap open. I can still see blurry colours here and there, but at least I'm not watching the world end in real time.
Everything still feels like it's spinning, the colours etched into my eyelids even when I try to blink them away. My stomach feels flipped; maybe I want to vomit. But at least I'm back, and the sensation of the bed under me is something I'm grateful to feel. It's more grounding, more comforting, than the infinite abyss of possibilities and dimensions.
"Zixuan." He calls my name, his voice like a lullaby; hearing it makes my chest clench — not uncomfortably. My heart floods with deep relief instead. His voice. I needed his voice. "Zixuan, I'm here."
Then his other hand is on my face, cupping my cheek tenderly as he comes into view. He looks blurry; my eyes aren't quite capable of focusing yet. Still, I can see him — between flashes of glitches and blocks of colour, I can see him, and there is nothing more beautiful to know than this. My fists finally unclench; my muscles, coiled tight until now, relax under his tender attention, once they've made sure there's no threat.
"It's okay. I'm here, you're here. This is your apartment, this is your bed," he says, and offers what I guess is a soft smile. My own hand is finally able to move, just to close around his, which is still holding mine tightly, anchoring me to the only reality that truly matters. "Seriously, one of these days you're going to give me a heart attack. You can't start shaking, curling up and setting your surroundings sparking with colour in the early hours of the morning. You're a lucky bastard — my sleep is very light."
"Lucky bastard… huh?" My voice is rough, and I'm surprised the words don't come out shaky at all. I offer a little smirk of my own. My eyes are finally managing to focus again; some lights and colours still flicker in my peripheral vision, but I choose to focus on the important thing occupying all of my world. "I surely am."
He huffs softly. It's adorable. His warm breath hits my face.
"Don't try to act tough now. You're all sweaty and your shoulders are still tense." He scolds me, and I couldn't be more grateful for it. His hand pinches my cheek; I let out a small squeak before laughing softly. "How can you be this calm? Damn you."
"Looking at you is the question. Having you here is the answer," I say, leaning into the touch like a starving man. And to be honest, I am.
He blinks, frozen for a few seconds, before chuckling softly at my words. Usually I'd take it back, or flush, but perhaps my brain is still lost enough that I simply accept the words that came so easily out of my mouth.
"Cheesy. Hopelessly cheesy. I like your sincerity at this hour," he says, leaning down to nuzzle his nose against my cheek, overly affectionate. I don't mind. I never do.
My hands fly to his waist, hauling him up over my chest. He's light, and the pressure of his body on mine is enough to make my breath hitch and my cheeks warm. My dear guilty pleasure will always be having him as close as possible — close enough that I want our souls to fuse, until our physical forms cease to exist and we become a simple concept drifting around the cosmos. Though that might be a little too much.
I'd never say it out loud.
"Just shut up and stay close to me." Letting out a deep sigh, I settle his weight properly over me. Perhaps his warmth is all I need to remember which one is my reality, where I truly belong. Especially after seeing so many different variants, after warping space and time so thoroughly that sometimes I lose the sense of how it was supposed to be.
I just know this is exactly where I wish to return, every single time.
(comm by @9fillet ! I love my sleeping strawbunny... we ignore the fact that here X fell asleep with his glasses /silly)