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When Neil woke up, his heart was in his throat. He jerked awake so violently he had to twist layers of cover in between his fingers and squeeze them to not let himself stumble out of the bed. He breathed in, sharp. Lungs burning like they were punctured - were they punctured? Was he ok? Where was he?
Neil looked around. His fingers tightening. Where was he.
His eyes were swimming, it felt like he was drowning. He couldn’t pick apart if the vision he just came from were a flash of nightmares or memories from the night before. Was he breathing too hard? Neil tried to suck in a breath but it didn’t feel like he was getting it at all.
He was almost certain he was drowning. Why was he freaking out? Rather what he just woke up from was a nightmare or a realization of what he did last night, it doesn’t matter, it’s happened. He has no right to pity himself. He’s the one who got himself here, isn’t he? A lamb can’t cry when it offers its own neck. So why couldn’t he breathe. It’s his fault.
His legs were wrapped in covers so heavy they were trapping him. His throat felt heavy and like it was tightening so bad it would start to tie his head around until the bones of his spine crackled and he was finally allowed to actually be free. He doesn’t think he’s breathing. Maybe his lung had punctured, maybe he pushed the coach too far and the man beat his rib cage in before they played.
His hand gripped the fabric, pulling against it. There was another weight wrapped in it. Neil doesn’t know where his other hand is, his throat stings. He can’t tell if he’s making noise - oh god he’s dead. He’s dead. That crazy bastard fucking killed him and now he’ll never see his mom again.
He’ll never be able to tell her he loves her again.
The feeling of hands creeped up his sides, across his thighs. He’s dead and he was never able to make himself clean again. The feeling of large nails making light indents into his hips. The taste of dirt and that disgusting slide of salt and sweat being pressed to the tip of his tongue as flashes made him close his eyes and scrunch his nose. He was dirty. Filthy. He could never get himself clean again. He’d be going to hell, a dirty soul, nothing but a layer of the filth that man laid on his skin.
His fingers felt sticky. He tried to scream, to get rid of the feeling but that was the hand he couldn’t feel. An invisible hand only there to serve as a reminder, a hand not his. A hand that last night [years ago? When was it?] was wrapped around that man. That got coated in a substance he barely understood - the one he was made to lick up. He wanted to be clean.
He tried to get up, but he doesn’t think he’s in control of his body. He tries to scream, to beg for someone, anyone, anything to hear him. To save him.
His throat felt like it was lined with blood and Neil felt a heave rush through him. He didn’t know where he was, he didn’t know what to do. Another one wracked his body. What was he going to do, he thinks he feels tears gathering at his chin. He had to calm down - he couldn’t throw up, he doesn’t know where he is, what if he gets in trouble or - another one.
He thinks he feels a touch but he doesn’t know who’s or what it is. Maybe it was an Angel, telling him he’s ok; maybe it was coach, promising him their little game wasn’t as wrong as it felt. Maybe it was someone he’d never truly met before and he was about to get hit so hard his temple bleeds until it no longer can.
Another heave and he’s turning to the side [not sure which one, not sure where he’s about to throw up, but he picks the one that feels the best] and is pulling at the covers over him as he empties his stomach and then some. He gags so hard a noise like a creak travels up his throat.
It feels like it takes hours, but when he finally starts to be able to breathe, theres a pressure against his shoulder. He thinks he’s crying, his throat hurts worse and it’s shaking. His face feels wet, the hand he couldn’t find is warm.
There was a shushing noise from the lines that were supposed to look like a room surrounding him. He tried to focus in on it. The voice was much softer then Coaches ever got with him, and it felt familiar. He tried to calm himself away from the idea that he was in a random persons house. He just didn’t know where he was though.
The shushing was feeling louder and Neil was slowly able to piece together that he wasn’t drowning, nor was this an afterlife. The shitty lights in his apartment flickering to show as such - noises from outside the building flooding in like it was the first noises he had ever truly heard. His throat still ached and he still couldn’t tell what was happening - but he knew, somehow, he was safe. At least safer than he thought a minute ago.
He realized, slowly - unsure of how slow but it felt like time was dragging by just enough to make him re-question if he was in purgatory - that there was a voice with the shushing. A soft one that made him relax.
After another eternity and a half, one where he began gagging again and a hand was placed careful against his upper back, rubbing, patient. He finally could focus his eyes. Cringing so hard he jolted back at the sight of his own throw up over the edge of the bed - at least he had managed to actually turn to the right side and not throw up in the bed.
“Neil.. sweet boy?” The voice coaxed his attention back to the world, and he blinked, realizing abruptly how heavy his breathing was. How stuttery it had became and how wet his cheeks were. His skin felt sticky all above his bust. Sticky from tears and what he could only guess was blood from scratching himself.
He turned his head, eyes meeting shiny blocked grey-blue eyes. Brian’s glasses were tilted against his nose oddly, likely from rushing to put them on to help Neil. When his eyes met Brian, the blond gave a smile, worried and cracked but warm. “Hey sweet boy.. can you tell me where you are?”
Neil nodded, clicking his tongue in his mouth as he breathed in to speak. His tongue tasted like vomit and blood, be probably accidentally bit it at some point of his panic. “Apartment,” He answered, short and sweet, his throat strained against trying any farther. “Good. Can you tell me my name?” “Brian,” A nod was given. “And yours?” “Neil.” Another nod. A smile.
“Can you tell me how old you are?” That one was always his least favorite question. It would vary so easily, him and Brian both could end up feeling so young after moments like this. He blinked and let his eyes shift from Brian’s, to the hand Brian had clasped between one of his. Fingertips tacky and red with blood. “18.” Brian nodded at the response, smile warming as his worry lessened.
Brian was slow as he raised the hand from Neil’s back. They were always slow with each other. Not wanting to startle one another, protecting each other in those senses. Neil didn’t move away or tell him to stop, so Brian’s hand was cradled softly against his cheek. Brian’s thumb rubbed back and forth, collecting tears that were still spilling. Neil leaned into it, breathing in deeply and letting out a sigh.
“Nightmare?” Brian questioned after a long moment of silence, of Neil gathering his breathing until he didn’t sound like he was choking. He nodded, eyes fitting around Brian. “Want to talk about it, sweet boy?”
Neil could feel himself give a small smile. He loved hearing that from Brian. He wonders how the other did it, how he managed to take a name that used to make him so disgusted he’d shiver when he thought of it, to being his favorite noise. Brian’s voice whispering petnames was a noise that made Neil melt. A comfort he never thought he’d want, a comfort he was once determined to never need from another.
And now that he has it, he wouldn’t give it for the world. He squeezed Brian’s fingers, the ones warming his bloodied fingers, and shook his head. “Normal stuff. I’d rather not linger.” Neil answered, which got his own nod in response. Then after another slow minute of Brian letting Neil nuzzle his cheek against his palm, the blond spoke up again. “Do you want me to help you clean up?”
Neil let his eyes shift open, not even realizing he had fluttered them closed. His face scrunched for a second, in a confusion. “You’ve got blood on your neck, from the scratching.” Brian explained and Neil groaned, the sting along his neck becoming apparent to him. It was a habit he couldn’t manage to escape. Everytime he got into a flashback episode, he’d feel like he was drowning and he’d claw at his neck to try and be able to breathe. Brian gave him a sympathetic smile before pulling him up carefully when Neil nodded.
Neil was guided to the end of their bed, Brain shuffling himself off of the end, caressing the side of Neil’s face softly before stepping back from him. Fingers kept interlocked even as he did. “Will you be ok if I leave to get a rag?”
Neil didn’t answer quick, he was sure he would be, but the thought of being truly alone scared him more then he could word. Eventually though, he nodded, loosening their connected fingers. “Just don’t go running away.” He laughed, the noise was shallow and it lead to Brian giving a kiss to the crown of Neil’s hair. “I’ll be right back, I promise.” He spoke into the mess of black hair, lingering. Lips warm against Neil’s hair.
When he pulled away, Neil had to remind himself to not cling.
It truly only took a minute before Brian was back. One of those stupidly over soft rags he always insisted on them needing in his hands, dampened. His glasses finally on his face properly.
Brian held out his hand carefully, an invitation. “Can I wipe your fingers?” Neil nods, reaching his hand forward for Brian to take in his ever soft hands. Brian was always so gentle with him, sometimes it made him feel sick. He was the only one who’d ever been this soft, who checked to make sure at every turn that Neil was truly ok, who waited nonstop with an outstretched hand for Neil to feel safe enough to take it in his.
Brian wiped over the tips of his fingers and nail beds, pausing for only a second to push his glasses up again. Then, Brian carefully let go of Neil’s hand and let his vision shift up. “Neck?” Brian’s voice was some spot between an offer and a question, and Neil just nodded.
“Do I need to tilt my head at all?” He asked as Brian reached forward with his free hand to cradle Neil’s nape. Neil was mildly aware of the fact tears had finally stopped falling from his eyes, and he was greatful for it. Brian shook his head and the wet rag met skin, stinging it. Neil jolted and Brian pulled his hand back, worry flooding his eyes. He got that look he always does when startled or concerned, the one a cornered animal would give, eyes a deers as he stared at the black haired boy.
“It’s ok, you’re good. Just stings.” Neil reassured him, and Brian leaned his hand back in after a quick ‘are you sure?’.
After Brian got all the blood off of Neil’s neck, he also wiped up the throw up - as much as Neil insisted for him not to because he could get it, Brian gave him a look that made Neil stay sat on the bed as he got it. He felt awful, his stomach and chest churning and tightening. His throat felt tight again, all the way until Brian was crawling back into bed with him.
“Hm?” Brian hummed, studying Neil’s face. The black haired boy opened his mouth, then let it press closed. He knew the argument he’d get back from Brian if he tried to tell the blond that he didn’t have to do all that for him, so instead he settled on shaking his head with a sigh. “Thank you.” Neil whispered, feeling Brian’s hand carefully interlock with his again. Brian nodded, smiling at Neil as if he was something worthy of that smile.
“Of course, sweet boy.. do you want to try to get some more sleep?” Brian’s voice was soft and it held a string of tiredness that Neil only then noticed. He nodded, unsure if he’d actually be able to sleep, but more then willing to try. His own eyes stung from the tears and his head was a second away from pounding. Brian led them both into a lay, prying his glasses off and setting them aside on the pillow behind him.
He opened his arms, blue eyes holding Neil carefully. Blue eyes looking at him as if he was precious. Neil could never quite make out how much he could stand seeing that sort of love in Brian’s eyes - it made him warm, almost too warm. It made him feel worthy of something he wasn’t sure he was allowed.
Neil tucked himself into Brian’s arms quickly. Pressing his body tight against the blonds, tangling their legs together in a way that felt safe. A way that made him feel complete. He buried his face in the dip below Brian’s jaw, breathing in heavily, relaxing himself at the artificial smell of the cheap body wash the two of them share. Feeling Brian tilt his head until his lips were pressed along strands of Neil’s hair. The blonds arms wrapped around him tightly.
Neil let his own hands lay against Brian’s shirt, clinging to the end of it. Let himself get soothed back to a near sleep at Brian’s thumbs rubbing circles into between his shoulder and the middle of his back.
Neil let himself be safe, surrounded by Brian, he relaxed. Knowing the blond would never hurt him like others in his life always seemed to.