dichotomy ; gawsten

forty six

trigger wise - mild anxiety/panic attacks. nothing too bad.

feelings wise - strap yourselves in lmao this one's a lot

"Here. For his head."

He shifts Awsten in his arms and brings a hand up to steady his head so it doesn't flop all the way to one side, before reaching up to take the damp washcloth. "Thanks," he murmurs. He forces a smile and folds the cloth in half, lays it across Awsten's forehead and then presses his lips to his hair. Awsten snuffles but doesn't wake, breathes out warmly against his chest and then settles once more.

Otto climbs onto the bed next to them and reaches out to stroke Awsten's cheek. "He's gonna have a real bad headache tomorrow."

"Yeah." He can't – doesn't know – what else to say. There are no words left. The air is thick. He can feel it draping over them, the blanket of gas that sits heavily over everything.

He doesn't know what to say. He doesn't know how to articulate a heart that has collapsed, shattered to pieces and piled into debris at the bottom of his chest cavity. He doesn't know how to articulate the bleeding, the ache and the burn and the bleeding, the way it feels like his entire world is crumbling beneath him and all he can do is watch.

Awsten has such a large piece of his heart. Almost all of it, as if he's physically climbed into the muscle and claimed a portion like an excited child this is mine all mine mineminemine!

He's never getting any of it back.

And up until now, he was okay with that. More than okay. His heart was Awsten's and everything felt light and airy, like he was walking on water, floating through life on a sparkly cotton candy cloud. He was warm and everything was warm and it was all he knew and everything felt okay.

Nothing is okay.

The world is different. There's a sharpness to it now; a jaggedness, like it's pointed, baring its thorn-like teeth and daring anyone to dive back in.

He's always known the world as some level of that; some level of dark and heavy and jagged, stingers digging into his skin and knives stabbing his organs, feeling like he was being pulled in every direction, stretched like silly putty and about to snap. He always knew hollowness, the feeling that someone had scooped everything out of his chest and left him empty. He was running on fumes without any gas to start with, fighting a losing battle from the beginning.

The good times, the times he felt like there was a crack of light in a sea of dark, when the shadows lessened and the tides let, when everything finally felt light and airy and floaty...those times were rare.

He wasn't prepared for just how rare they were.

Meeting Awsten felt like a tsunami.

The best kind of disaster.

For the first time, every day felt like one of those good times, like light and softness and warmth were what he was supposed to live in.

And it was, light and airy and soft and warm. It was everything he didn't even dream about, the cotton candy skies and roller coaster highs, like the world had finally had its way with him and the dust was finally beginning to settle, like it'd said enough, we've put him through enough, it's time for everything to be good.

It was.

"...he's not damaged, y'know. This doesn't make him broken or damaged or fragile. He's strong. This makes him really fucking strong."

Otto's voice is wavering by the end. It sounds choked. He's not looking up, but his hand is shaking and his lip is quivering. Geoff swallows, feels the tug in his heart and the weight pressing further down into his chest.