oneshots ; gawsten

"you've always felt like home."

this is for one of my closest friend's birthdays. it's still the 24th for me, but they're from australia, so it's already past noon on the 25th for them. 

dylan, you mean the world to me. i don't know how else to put it. i'm so glad you're in my life. i love you with all my heart. this one's for you. (i hope it's not too sad)

(trigger warnings for anxiety and panic attacks)

oh yeah and this is another platonic jawn/aws. geoff's name isn't said once. 

enjoy. 

"you've always felt like home."

He doesn't know when he wakes up.

He doesn't register it, doesn't feel it, can't put a finger on the moment when his body shifts from fantasy to reality and the snarling demons stow their claws away and sink back down into the figments of his imagination. He doesn't know when it all goes away, when the world around him goes from dark to dim, when he stops drowning in the messy fabric and starts to swim.

He doesn't know much, really.

Everything still feels like it's floating, like he's drifting midair, somewhere between the realities of his fantasies and a world he's not sure he belongs in. It's hot. It feels heavy. The entire world does. It's a weight held by a rope and the puppet master is dangling it over his body, lowering it further and further, pressing it harder and harder into his body, keeping him down no gotta get out can't do this gotta breathe what's going on why is this happening fuckfuckfuck-

His vision is blurry. Everything looks fuzzy, with pliable edges inviting the black, the ink spots that seem to invade and eclipse like quiet intruders. They're not there until they are and now he can't seem to remember what the room looked like without them. He can't seem to remember anything. The world is different than when he last left it. He isn't sure why it looks that way or how to get it back to normal. Everything is fuzzy and blurry and messy and he doesn't know why.

He blinks, feels the wetness on his lashes, forces down the driest swallow he's ever taken in his life. It's one of those that hurts, that feels like the ache has grown roots and stretched out all across his throat. Everything hurts. His body hurts. He doesn't know what's going on and he doesn't know what to do and it all hurts why-

There's air but he can't reach it. It's like all the oxygen in the world has compressed itself into the shape of a carrot and he's the clueless rabbit running after it while the puppet master laughs and dangles it further and further away. It's right there it's right in front of his face but he can't reach it he can't breathe and it won't stop why won't it stop why can't he fucking breathe like a normal person why does he always do this why is he such a mess whywhywhy-

He doesn't even know what the dream was about anymore.

He was floating an then he wasn't he was running and screaming and crying trying to get away faster faster faster don't touch me please no get away I can't do this it's too much I can't be that please stop stop it stop don't touch me get away-

He was screaming himself out of a voice and running so hard it felt like his legs were no longer attached to his body, trying to get away, fight against, steer clear of the screaming and grabbing and oh my god they're everywhere this is never gonna stop this is the rest of my life I did this and this is the rest of my life what the fuck did I do what the fuck did I do what the fuck did I-

He coughs, squeezes his eyes shut and forces himself up and onto his elbows. Breathe. Stop it. Shut up. Breathe. His chest hurts and the room is spinning. Nothing will stop moving. His eyes are burning. It feels like thousands of whit-hot stingers have stabbed themselves into his skin, pressing in and bypassing the top few layers to descend right to his veins and sink their poison into his blood. It's blurry, like the switch that sends his stomach through his throat has broken in the "on" position and everyone is just waiting for the inopportune time.