Closure (bxb)

twenty-eight

and the silence is ringing

and i can almost feel your breath, I can almost feel the rest

night is young and we're living

hands move, moving steady

and the time is moving slower

i can feel we're getting closer

✧⋄⋆⋅⋆⋄✧⋄⋆⋅⋆⋄✧

A warm hand gently caressing his head is the first sensation Noah becomes aware of when he comes to. 

The second is the merciless, throbbing headache pounding his skull.

He opens his eyes, only to wince and squeeze them shut again as the bright, morning sun filtering through his bedroom windows only worsens the pain. Suddenly, the hand in his hair pauses.

"Oh, gracias a Dios," murmurs a voice next to him, soft and soothing. There's a rustling of sheets as Arlo shifts on the bed to sit up straighter. "You had me worried sick, bello. How are you feeling?"

A low groan is the only response Noah can manage, nuzzling the hand that has now continued playing with his hair. 

"Here." Arlo shifts again and the hand is gone. "Sit up and drink some water."

Noah feels like he weighs a thousand pounds as he raises himself on shaky arms to sit up in his bed, squinting as he accepts the cold glass of water from Arlo. He notices the small, grateful smile on Arlo's lips as he tilts his head back and chugs all the contents of the cup, his throat still somehow feeling dry and parched afterwards. 

"I feel like shit."

Arlo chuckles nervously. "That'll be the overdose. And the Narcan."

"How long was I asleep?"

"I found you around eleven o'clock last night," he replies. He smiles sadly, taking the empty glass back from Noah. "Happy New Year, by the way."

Noah remembers how he woke up on New Year's Day all those years ago - sore and confused and thirsty, still feeling the after-effects of the roofie and the violence the night before while Oliver slept peacefully at his side. He remembers lying there, staring at the ceiling, listening to Oliver's even breathing and racking his brain to try to gain some form of recollection of the last night's events. Did he and Oliver have sex? Is that why he's sore? Did he do something wrong? Is Oliver mad at him?

"Why are you here?" Noah asks, sinking back down into his blankets.

Arlo's brows furrow in confusion. "I wanted to make sure you were okay. I was going to call an ambulance if you didn't wake up by noon."

"I'm okay," Noah says dismissively.

"Bello..."

"I don't want to talk about it."

"I really think it'd be a good idea to talk about it."

Noah, petulantly, remains silent, staring at the ceiling while being able to feel Arlo's eyes on him.

Arlo sighs, but persists. "What did you take?"

"I don't know."

"You don't know?"

"Fuck off, Arlo," Noah grumbles, pulling the blankets to his chin to try and get rid of the cold feeling sinking into his bones.

There's a long stretch of silence, cold and uncomfortable, before the bed shifts again and Arlo stands up.