𝚢𝚘𝚞𝚝𝚞𝚋𝚎𝚛 𝚘𝚗𝚎𝚜𝚑𝚘𝚝𝚜

daylight can open my eyes (and you'll still be by my side) [g.h]

spifey/tapl anyone?

probably one of my favourite rarepairs honestly :D i love writing them.

fic title from ;; your love - glass animals

cws/tws ;; graphic descriptions of dissociating.

pairing ;; spifey/george + tapl/harvey

prompt ;; harvey has unwanted feelings, but george is there to help.

final word count ;; 1.2k

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sometimes it all feels like an extremely elaborate dream. like one day, harvey will wake up and george isn't there any more, all traces of him gone, like he never existed. sometimes, it feels like he's going crazy, knowing that deep down he was there, he was, but now everyone is trying to convince him otherwise. sometimes it's too much, all wrapped up inside his malfunctioning head, and he wants to burrow inside of his blankets and never leave his bed.

rationally, he knows it's all just in his head. he knows he can't give up and waste away in his bed, he's got a job and relationships with friends to uphold and actual important stuff to do, that doesn't involve him and his computer or laying down in a puddle of his own gloom. rationally, he knows this, but he's currently the opposite of rational, curled up into a ball and tucked underneath a blanket, shifting and changing positions every few seconds because he cannot get comfortable. it's unfortunate, surely, but it's not something he knows how to overcome by himself.

he doesn't know why he sometimes thinks like this. he's afraid to even close his eyes around george, as if having his eyes closed for even a second will wash away the memories, the sight of his beloved friend, the feeling of hands pressing into his own and gentle thumbs swiping across his knuckles. he's afraid of losing george, of losing what they have, what they could have in the future, what he knows he feels for him. he's afraid of finding out he feels all these foreign feelings for someone who doesn't even exist. it's truly terrifying.

deep down, he knows he could just call george, have him back at their shared flat in a moment's notice, but that would be selfish, and being selfish would make him feel worse, no matter how soothing george's presence is to him. it's confusing and weird and he hates himself for having such a fucked thought process, but he can't help it, he just has to live with it until he no longer lives.

and some days, it's worse than others.

to be quite honest, some days he doesn't even think he's real. that could be because he deliberately avoids mirrors and other reflective surfaces, avoids selfies and cameras and tends to look away from turned off phones and monitors whilst he turns them on, but then again, that's probably just his crippling self esteem issues. he doesn't know why he feels as if he doesn't exist, and to be frank, he doesn't know if he wants to know.

it scares him, the thought of finding out why he's like this. why does it scare him? he needs to know the reason to, but he's so afraid, every time he tries to search it up, he's stabbed with a cold knife, plunging deep into his chest, stealing the breath from his lungs. he spends so much time secluded, isolating himself away from people, acting angry and bitter so friends leave him alone for a while, and even if it's not healthy, he still does it. it's how he copes. he knows, deep down, he knows it'll hurt someone, if not himself, but if it's not the here and now, why bother with it?

his phone vibrates. he glances down at it, unfocused pupils suddenly sharpening as he looks at what's on the screen. not a message, a twitter notification, but he's too wrapped up in his mind to bother with responding, especially since it doesn't seem that important, so he thumbs it off the screen and goes back to what he was doing.

what was he doing? he furrows his brow, trying to remember. there's a blank space in his memory, and he's no clue what time it is, and he's no clue about absolutely anything.

he really can't do anything right, hm? the gears in his brain stop rotating, leaving his head empty and craving something for stimulation, but it's impossible to stimulate yourself when you don't want to be. sometimes he wishes he were normal, didn't feel like this, didn't feel so despondent and empty and useless all the time. he hates it, hates feeling this way, and he wishes there was something that could help him.

summertime nights now mean nothing to him. walking alone on the streets in the middle of the night, curling up on the couch and watching youtube, playing games, none of it is enjoyable anymore. ever since making youtube his full time job, now it just feels like a chore. he's not planning on quitting, no, he just needs space. he needs to collect the thoughts running rampant in his brain, ravaging his nervous system, turning him into a mess of parts that don't function correctly.

he's like a malfunctioning robot. exactly like a malfunctioning robot. hephaestus's first model of talos, stupid and disfunctional and unable to do anything without breaking down. whether it be from nerves, pure laziness, or anger, harvey never wants to do anything anymore.

fingernails dig crescents into his palms as he presses the heels of his hands against his eyes, coming back stained with tears. when did he start crying? he doesn't remember crying. to be fair, it's almost been three hours since he started getting lost in his own toxic headspace, and once you're lost, it's difficult to exit.

he lets his eyes slip closed, thoughts fading into mere background ambience, the birds' gentle chirping and the rustling of leaves in summer breezes lulling him into a somewhat peaceful state. he feels too overwhelmed to actually feel, more numb than anything; his heart still thunders against his ribcage, but breathing comes a little easier, tension releasing its shattering hold on harvey's chest. he tosses an arm over his eyes and lays there, unmoving, in the dark, the only light coming from small slivers of golden sun peeking through the half-open blinds.

a soft knock on his door sometime later snaps him out of it momentarily, but he's slowly fading away again, slipping back into the colourless void. at least, he was; cold fingers ghost against heated cheeks, thumbs brushing away tears he wasn't even aware were there, a soft voice, too faint for him to hear but he knows it's there. his eyes remain closed, squeezed shut, he's trying to maintain the gentle touches and hushed whispers. he can feel sunlight against his skin - it must be later than he expected - a delicate contrast to the phalanges against his cheekbones. 

"harvey, open your eyes, dear," george murmurs against his cheek, lips brushing against the skin stretched there, and he whimpers softly. he's afraid, but he trusts the voice, the whispers, the feelings, and so he reluctantly does, shielding his face from the light streaming in from outside.

george is there. he's real, he's sitting in front of harvey with the most radiant smile on his face. "there's my pretty harv!" he cheers softly, scooping harvey's face in his hands and brushing his nose against the other's. "you're so brave, you know that? i love you."

"i-i.. i love you too, geo," he croaks out quietly, humming softly when george presses closer, brushing his lips against harvey's ever so lovingly, and harvey lets out a shaky sigh, brushing unwashed hair out of his face and managing a small smile for george, which seems to make the brit smile wider. his heart swells - not with anger or depression, no, with love. he loves george. george loves him.

as long as george is here with him, he'll be fine.