dichotomy ; gawsten

forty eight

hi. it's been way too long and i'm sorry. i struggled figuring out how to structure the end of this story (i've known how i wanted it to end for months but to fit that into the next three chapters was difficult) and a lot of personal stuff made writing this harder than i thought. this story will be wrapping up by the time i go back to college (september 2nd) so expect two more chapters in the next two weeks

not too triggering. enjoy.

"How bad do my roots look?"

"Hm?"

He tousles a lazy hand through Awsten's hair and lifts his head off the pillow just enough to kiss his cheek. Awsten smiles, squeezes his eyes shut at the sensation, and moves his head to rest back on his chest.

"They're kinda growing in," he says. The dark brown is poking through, very visible amongst the fading light blue strands. It's a deep contrast that doesn't look terrible – at least, to him – but most people would've gotten things touched up by now. It's kinda hard to realize how much they've grown out when you can't exactly see them.

He's always wondered about that. What's the point of dying your hair if you can't see the color? How long has he done it? Did he have colored hair before he went blind, or was it something he started doing after he lost the ability to see it? He's never wanted to ask, never wanted to stir the pot and bring back old demons; Awsten will talk if he's comfortable with it.

Awsten huffs out a sigh and picks his head up again, rakes his own hand through his hair. "I'll get Otto ta help me with it tomorrow or somethin'." He flops down and inches his body upward, far enough that he's resting his head on Geoff's shoulder and blowing warm puffs of air against his neck.

It's silent for a few moments. Geoff stays still, slips his hand under Awsten's shirt and begins to rub his back.

"Hey, sunshine?"

"Yeah?"

"You don't havta answer if you don't want to, but..." He trails off and bites his lip. His heart is racing. It shouldn't be. It's stupid. This is stupid. It's all stupid. He doesn't know why this keeps happening. He wants to not feel like he's doing to die for asking the simplest of questions, not have the switch flipped and the button pushed every time he says something that strays slightly out of his comfort zone. He's hot and cold and confused and it always happens like this why does it have to happen like this why can't he just be fucking normal- "Why do you...you can't see it so- why- fuck, I need to shut up, oh my god..."

"Why do I dye my hair?" Awsten supplies quietly. "When I can't see the color?"

"Ignore me," he says immediately. "Please, fuck, it was a stupid question, don't-"

"Breathe." He can hear something different in Awsten's voice. It's a hint of a smirk, a teasing note. He's smiling. He shouldn't be smiling. Why is he smiling what the hell is this why- "It's okay. I'm not fragile, Geoff. 'Member? When we first started talking and I made you ask how I went blind?"

"You scared the shit outta me," he confesses. The heat is turning to sweat, dampening his shirt against his back. "Made me think I was bein' such a dick..."

"You were so wound up," Awsten replies. "Even then. One wrong word and it looked like you woulda fallen apart. It's gotten so much better, god, I'm so prouda you." He feels fingers; feather-light and moving rapidly up his face. Awsten catches the side of his lip, finger walks over until he reaches his cheek, and then smiles wider, leans down and places his lips there.

He scoffs, rolls his eyes and turns his head away. It's gotten better. Sure, it has. That's why he feels like hornets are drilling holes into his bones and pressing their stingers up into his skin every time he's pushed even the tiniest bit out of his comfort zone. That's why his heart races after the simplest questions and ordering food at a restaurant feels like the world is going to open up from behind and swallow him whole.