Hurt/comfort. Unresolved ending. Pining. Inspired by vibes. Unbeta'd.
He barely registers the car drawing up to the kerb. The scuffed trainers padding softly towards him through the rain. There might be a voice. Then again, there might not. They have a habit of appearing when he really wants them to, but the air around him usually remains empty.
He jumps when solid warmth lands on his shoulder.
He hasn’t been able to find his voice in hours, choked by the weight in his chest, but words aren’t needed when those eyes, so rich, so gentle, find his. They command his muscles to move, and after hours clenched, they do. It’s almost unfair that his body obeys him more than it does himself.
He’s dripping water everywhere, shaking it off with each shiver, but the worn seat he falls into doesn't mind, and the tender touch to his cheek assuages all guilt. Then the engine thrums to life, and he loses himself in the swaying movements.
It should occur to him to question how he’s always found, even when he doesn’t know where he is himself. But with careful drying and warming charms caressing his skin, he’s just grateful he appeared.
The car rumbles to a stop, and he prays he’ll get another night like the last. He knows he’ll get a shower, some food, and a safe bed. He always has since this began. But last time— his eyes slip closed, stomach flipping giddily. Last time, he didn’t leave. Last time, when the smile didn’t quite reach his eyes, and the trembles didn’t stop, the bed beside him had dipped, and delicious heat had hovered just out of reach, before a cautious hand was laid in the centre of his back.
He hadn’t been able to hold back the soft noise he’d made in the back of his throat. Nor had he been able to resist melting, his name springing to his tongue in plea. He'd almost wept as arms had curled around him. Cradled him close.
The heartbeat, steady and strong neath his cheek, had lulled him to sleep too quickly, and he was sure he’d wake alone. Yet he was roused by gentle fingers tangling in his hair. Sleep-warm skin wrapped around him still.
Falling into those gorgeous eyes, he’d almost kissed him.
Now, stumbling on still-frozen feet, his soft encouragements sending spirals of warmth through his tummy, he fights not to lace their fingers together. To lean in to his chest. It’s not a battle he’ll win much longer if he keeps smoothing his damp hair back from his face like that.
“Let’s get you cleaned up, hm?” he murmurs, that gorgeous, kind smile twinkling in his eyes as he lays another lingering touch to his temple.
Can I keep you? He longs to ask.