Work Text:
It was a swift, silent, and maybe even deadly downward spiral. My ribs felt like a cage trapping my hollow lungs, my heartbeat a deafening, dreadful bell tolling in my ears, like I'd ran a marathon fleeing a demon I couldn't see.
Moments ago, I had been sat at my desk staring at a computer screen until the letters stopped making sense. I actually was still there, I hadn't moved. Yet the world had somehow become foreign, shut out as I silently sank into my own head, trapped in the eye of the storm of my own thoughts.
I couldn't make out any of them... some, maybe, but only the worst of them. Like my mind was selectively picking out the worst of each racing thought and lobbing it at me, letting it disappear into the abyss before I could make sense of it.
Worries, grievances, insecurities, guilt. So much fucking guilt. For what I could, for the moment, only describe as “everything.”
The screen's light reflected on my unseeing eyes, flickering faintly in the dim room, bathing nearby items in grey light.
Someone behind me called out my name. Hobie. He'd been sat on my floor, skinny jeans draped over his lap and sewing kit in hand.
He's been body doubling for me since I told him it helped me get things done. It was working both ways as well, he'd been putting off sewing this patch on for ages. But my silence was setting off a different kind of spider sense on him.
I tore my gaze away from the screen for a second, looking downward instead. "Mh?"
Hobie paused, voice soft when he spoke again. "You alright mate?"
I chewed on my lower lip for a second too long, throat closing up, eyes stinging. My voice came out hoarser than I liked. "Yeah."
To Hobie, mind you, that was the equivalent of throwing up a blinking neon sign with an arrow pointing down at me saying “NOT ALRIGHT”.
"I don't buy that," he flashed his eyebrows as he stuck his sewing needle into a pincushion and gave a purposefully long, loud sigh.
There was the faint rustling of him moving around behind me. "Peep the time," he nodded, "Let's take a break. We've been at this for a while."
My eyes darted to the numbers at the bottom right of my screen. 21:55. I didn't answer.
Hobie's joints popped as he stood on his knees, stretching his lanky arms out to the ceiling. His lower lip jutted out into a gentle frown. "Something wrong?"
He scooched over to my chair and placed his big hands on my knees, squeezing lightly. "You know you can tell me," he assured lightly.
"I know. It's just," I trail off, staring at my fidgeting hands. My throat closes up the moment my mouth opens again. And I try, I really do... but speaking suddenly felt like a monumental effort, and all that came out was a weak, shuddering breath. I tried again, but this time it was a sob, which then turned into a fractured, pathetic"I'm just.. I'm sorry, I... I'm sorry—"
I just broke down, unable to get anything else out, dropping my head in my hands. It was something about the way he looked up at me—all furrowed-browed concern and hooded-eyed softness, rubbing circles on my knees with his thumbs—that delivered the killshot.
"Hey... nothing. It's nothing. Don't be sorry," I heard him say softly, his hand soothing down my shoulder. It helped that he didn't rush to coddle me–had he done that, I only would've felt worse.
After a couple minutes of me just sitting there weeping and smearing tears all over my sleeves, Hobie finally spoke up. "We could talk about it if you want."
He didn't press when I shook my head into my hands, just said "okay." Quickly after, he asked, "how about we move to the bed at least?" And I took a little pause, taking the numbness of my ass into consideration, before nodding this time around.
Being horizontal with my face in his chest and his arms wrapped around me was much better. I was now in a cocoon, out of the indifferent, unforgiving world's reach. It was just me, Hobie, and the bed. And the music humming from my mini stereo, maybe.
"I've been so.. I don't know... so eurgh," I muttered into his shirt, closing my eyes. Words, as it seemed, were still rather difficult. Hobie didn't seem to mind, though. He just... hummed lowly, a deliberate sound that helped slow time down.
It got to a point where I was muttering whatever came out, really. Something about “being tired but not in a corny way” , a couple more apologies (because of course), small but frustrating events that happened in no particular order. I could feel Hobie's occasional answering "mmyeah" rumble against my cheek. It was drowning out the tiny voice in my head telling me "you're overreacting, it's not that big of a deal," or some stupid shit.
Then, when I ran out of things to say, he didn't comment on it or anything. We just laid there with our legs tangled together, holding each other.
I listened for the thud of his heartbeat, wrapping my arms around his back. Squeezing him like a lemon was very tempting, all of a sudden, but just as I was able to tamp down the urge and settle for a plain hug—
"Bring it in..." —Hobie clocked my hesitation like a hawk, pulled me closer and straight up squeezed me first. I couldn't help but squeak a little, since his hugs were always so... encompassing. (wow, big word) Like I could be crumbling apart in his arms, and he'd still be able to hold me together.
"...Thank you," I managed hoarsely (but not painfully), rubbing my forehead against his shoulder while clinging to him for dear life. "No worries," he rasped, a fond lilt in his voice; and a knot I didn't know was wound so tight came loose in my chest.
Honestly, take it from me... everyone could use someone like Hobie in their life.