Work Text:
Depression
The sun shone warmly on the terrace, casting bright spots on the floorboards and making the edges of Ace's blanket glow golden. It was a peaceful afternoon, filled with soft sounds—a sprinkler in the distance, a bird call, the muffled sound of Teddy's paws on the lawn.
Ace sat in the chair like a shadow of his former self. His legs drawn up, his gaze fixed on the dog, who was unwaveringly chasing his stuffed ball, over and over again. Teddy ran, jumped, spun around—and Ace watched. Silent. Motionless.
He barely felt the sun.
His body was there, but it felt foreign. Heavy. Stiff. The medication that was supposed to help him control the darkness in his head made him tired. Weary. Everything inside him had become dull. Thoughts came as if through thick fog, every step took effort, every day was another step through an endless swamp.
He hadn't cried. Not today. Not anymore. Eventually, all that remained was this deep, gray silence.
His heart was beating. He was breathing. But none of it felt alive.
Teddy barked, threw the ball in the air. The sun shone on his fur as if it had forgotten that someone was sitting in the shade who could no longer feel it.
Ace rested his forehead on his knees. Just for a moment.
“I'm tired, Teddy,” he murmured softly. “So tired that even sitting hurts.”
The door opened.
Ace didn't lift his head. He knew it was Marco. He recognized the sound of his footsteps immediately—that quiet, steady tread.
“Hey,” Marco said softly.
Ace lifted his head slightly, but not completely. His voice was hoarse from silence. “You're early.”
“It was quiet in the ER. I thought I'd come home. I wanted to see you.”
Marco stepped onto the terrace. He was still wearing his white coat, half open, sleeves rolled up. His forehead glistened slightly, his eyes immediately searching for Ace.
“How was it today?” he asked cautiously.
Ace slowly shook his head. “Just like yesterday. And the day before. I wake up and hope it will get better. And then I sit here and wonder how I even got into this chair.”
Marco sat down next to him. Said nothing. Just silence. Understanding in human form.
“I take the pills like they said. And I feel like... like I'm underwater. Everything is dull. I hear you, but it sounds like you're far away.“
”I'm here,” Marco said quietly.
“But I'm not here anymore.” Ace looked at him now, his eyes tired. “I know you still love me. But I also see how you look at me. And how much you miss what we once had. I... I've been thinking for days about whether I should tell you that you can. That you can find closeness somewhere else.”
Marco breathed in slowly. Very slowly.
“I don't want to forbid you, Marco. You shouldn't stay here out of pity. I'm not the whole version of myself anymore. I'm just... the rest.“
”Ace.” Marco's voice was calm, firm, warm. “You're not the rest. You're my home.”
Ace's lips twitched, but it wasn't a smile. More like a slight tremor.
“I hardly feel anything anymore. Not the sun, not myself. And you... I don't feel you the way I used to either. I want to. But I... I can't."
Marco took his hand, very gently, as if it might break. ”Then it's enough for me to hold you. For as long as you want. For as long as you need. I don't need a replacement for you, Ace. I need you. Just the way you are. Tired, quiet, broken – yes. But you're still here."
Ace squinted against the light. The sun was still warm, still golden. He couldn't feel it. But Marco's fingers... he could feel them.
And for the moment, that was all that mattered.
Ace closed his eyes for a moment. Marco's hand lay warm in his, calm, still—but with a strength that held him together when everything else inside him was falling apart.
The world remained sluggish, dull, as if behind glass. But there was something real in that one touch. Something that wasn't drowned out by medication, wasn't overshadowed by exhaustion.
“Sometimes I wonder if it will ever get better,” Ace whispered without looking at him. ”Or if this is just my new life. Get up. Take pills. Feel nothing but pain. Go back to sleep. Feel nothing and pain again.”
Marco didn't answer right away. He rested his forehead on Ace's shoulder for a moment, then looked at him. “I don't know,” he said honestly. “I can't promise you that everything will be like it used to be. Maybe it will never be like it was. But I promise you that you don't have to go through this new thing alone. You have me. I'm staying.”
Ace slowly opened his eyes. “Even if this is all I have left to give?”
“You give more than you think,” Marco said. “You fight. Every day. And you're still here. Do you think that's nothing?”
Teddy came running back, dropped down at Marco's feet, breathing heavily, and looked up at Ace as if to remind him: You're still here. And so am I.
“I almost lost you, Ace,” Marco said, his voice a little hoarse. “Your heart almost stopped.” His fingers closed more tightly around Ace's hand, trembling. “And I saw everything during those hours in the intensive care unit. I felt everything. I had already said goodbye. And I hated it. I screamed when you were almost gone. And now you're here, and I'm supposed to find someone else just because you can't feel yourself anymore? Never."
Ace blinked. His chest tightened. ”I just want you to be happy. And I know how much you miss intimacy. I can see it.”
Marco raised his hand and gently placed it on Ace's cheek. “I want you. Even now. Right now. You think I'm the one who's giving something up. But I have you. Every day. I wake up next to you. I see your eyes, hear your voice. I'm not empty, Ace. I'm grateful.”
Ace looked at him, long and silently. And then a barely audible, almost incredulous whisper came from his lips. “I thought you were only staying out of guilt.”
“No,” Marco said softly. “I'm staying because I love you. Because you are my home. And because I lean on you, just as you lean on me.”
A breeze swept across the terrace, warm and gentle.
Ace shivered. Very slightly. Then he slowly removed the blanket from his shoulders and leaned carefully against Marco, resting his head on his chest.
“I'm so tired,” he whispered.
“Then rest,” said Marco, wrapping both arms around him. “I'll hold you. As long as you want.”
The sun was still in the sky. Teddy dozed in the warmth. And on the terrace, between shadow and light, there was finally a hint of peace. Not complete. Not whole. But real.
Ace closed his eyes. And for the first moment in days, there was something—very quiet—that felt almost like hope.
++ ++ ++
The days grew longer, the air carried the scent of blooming lavender and freshly mown grass. It was mid-July, and although the heat shimmered outside on the terrace, Ace sat in the shade of the large parasol and breathed in the warmth as if it were a rare comfort.
Together with the doctor, they had decided to slowly wean him off the antidepressants. It was not a spontaneous decision, but a cautious, well-considered step. Ace had hesitated, afraid of the crash, of returning to the darkness. But Marco had listened to him, supporting every thought.
Now it was day five without medication.
And each of these days was different.
The fatigue had changed—it was no longer the paralyzing gray that had enveloped him continuously. Instead, it was now like a heavy fog that came and went. And sometimes, very briefly, there was light.
Ace felt more again. Not always pleasant things. The pain had become more pronounced—a reminder of the destructive force of the infection that had almost killed him two years ago. The doctors had called it “post-septic pain syndrome.”
Sometimes his joints burned, especially his knees and elbows, as if the fever had never completely subsided. Sometimes there was a dull throbbing in his chest, an echo of the battle his body had lost and yet survived.
Today it was particularly bad.
Ace sat with a heating pad behind his back, a thin blanket over his thighs. Teddy lay at his feet, his head on one paw, watching him with quiet loyalty.
Marco came out of the kitchen, a glass of water in one hand and a small bowl of sliced apple in the other. “You need something in your stomach,” he said gently, sitting down next to him.
“I know.” Ace took the glass, holding it in his hand for a moment as if he had to remember its weight. “I'm just not hungry.”
“Just a few bites. Only if you want to.“ Marco placed the bowl between them on the table.
”It feels like my body has forgotten how to do it. Eat. Sleep. Walk. Just be.” Ace frowned. ”And when I try, it hurts. As if it's telling me I'd better not do anything at all.”
Marco was silent for a moment. Then he asked quietly, “Do you want a painkiller?”
Ace shook his head. “Not again. I want to know how I really feel, at least for a moment. Even if it sucks.”
"Then I'll be with you. Even if it sucks.”
Ace turned his head and looked at him. Marco's eyes were tired from duty, but alert with concern. With love.
“I can feel the sun a little today,” Ace whispered. “Not much. But enough to notice it.”
Marco smiled gently. “That's enough for me. For now.”
A light breeze blew through the garden, causing the leaves on the old cherry tree to rustle softly. Somewhere in the neighborhood, a radio was playing quietly, the sound of something Italian, soft, almost like a memory.
Ace slowly reached for a piece of apple. “I want to be more than just the guy who was sick.”
Marco put his arm around him. “You're already much more than that, Ace. You're my heart. And it never stopped beating—no matter how often it skipped a beat.”
Ace closed his eyes and leaned carefully against Marco's shoulder.
“It hurts,” he whispered.
"I know.”
“But it also hurts to look at you so often and not know how I can still be close to you."
Marco said nothing. Instead, he kissed Ace's temple gently, long and silently, and let his forehead sink against his.
And there it was again, that tiny flame. Not a fire. Not a sea of light. But a warm, flickering point in the darkness.
A beginning.
++ ++ ++
Ace breathed slowly, feeling Marco's warmth at his side, the pressure of his shoulder, the weight of their shared silence.
“Sometimes I dream about how it used to be,” he whispered. “How we lay in bed, entwined, you kissing me as if I were made of light.”
Marco lifted his head slightly, looked at him, but didn't interrupt him.
“And then I wake up... and my body feels like it doesn't belong to me anymore.” Ace swallowed. ”I see us, but I don't feel us anymore. I know how it should feel — but I can't get there anymore. It's like I'm... disconnected.”
Marco took Ace's hand and stroked the back of it with his thumb. “I remember every one of those nights,” he said quietly. “Not because you were healthy, but because you were you. Soft. Bright. Full of closeness. And you still are, Ace. Even if you can't feel yourself, I can feel you.”
Ace closed his eyes.
“I want to be touchable again. Not just with my skin, but with my heart too. But sometimes…” He faltered. ”Sometimes I feel like I'm just a memory of myself.”
“I know what it costs you to say that. That you still show yourself despite everything—that's so much more than you think.” Marco's voice was soft but firm, like a bridge over dark water. ”We don't have to find everything again at once. We don't have to go back there right away. We'll start here. Today. With this touch. With a piece of apple. With a summer afternoon on the terrace.”
Ace leaned against him again, letting Marco's words sink in like warm water.
“I don't want to fight myself every day anymore,” he murmured. “I want to trust again. Myself. You. Us.”
Marco looked at him for a long time. Then he gently lifted Ace's hand to his lips and kissed it—not demanding, not fleeting, but like a promise.
“Then let's learn slowly. See again what we have. Breathe again. Feel again. And when you're ready one day… only if you want to… then we'll reach out for what we thought we'd lost.“
Ace trembled slightly beneath his fingers, but this time it wasn't from cold or pain. It was a tremor of emotion.
”What if I never find my way back?”
Marco rested his forehead against his. “Then I'll go with you. No matter where it leads. I love you, Ace. Not the healthy you, not the strong you, not the old you — you. Now. And always.”
A bird chirped loudly above the garden, and Teddy lifted his head briefly, as if he were a silent witness to the words.
Ace slowly opened his eyes. The sun touched his face. Warm. Tangible.
Very, very quietly, barely audible, he said, “Then hold me. As long as I can't do it myself.”
Marco pulled him close. And between the pain, the fatigue, and the fear, there was something for a moment that was deeper than words.
Tenderness.
And the beginning of something new.
++ ++ ++
The sun was shining mildly in the sky, golden and clear, even though it was December. Palm trees rustled softly in the warm wind, and the gentle sound of the waves carried a quiet gentleness that one would hardly expect at this time of year. It was Christmas Eve, somewhere in the south, where winter consisted not of cold, but of light.
Marco and Ace sat on the small terrace of their vacation apartment, which looked directly out onto the sea. The air was soft, carrying the salty smell of the water, tinged with memories of sun and summer.
Ace wore a loose linen shirt, his feet bare on the warm stone floor. He held a cup of tea in his hand, steaming, fragrant with mint and honey. And he felt it. The steam on his skin. The sun on his arms. And Marco's gaze on him.
Teddy had stayed with Marco's parents, who had happily taken in the old, faithful dog—a little Christmas with lots of liver sausage and walks through the snow. Ace had found it difficult to leave Teddy behind at first. But he had realized that this trip was for them. Only for them.
A space without everyday life, without hospital corridors, without medication, without pain protocols, without the heaviness of the last few years.
“It feels wrong that it's Christmas today,” Ace muttered as the sun tickled the tip of his nose for the first time. “Too bright. Too warm. No tree, no bells, no thick socks.”
Marco laughed softly. ”I offered to pack some for you.”
Ace smiled crookedly. “But you were right. I didn't need the tree. I needed the sea.”
Marco stepped behind him, put his coffee on the table, and gently wrapped both arms around him. “And I needed you here. Far away from everything. From shifts. From memories. From that old sadness in your eyes.”
Ace leaned against him. The warmth of his body, his secure grip—everything was there. And for the first time in a long time, he wasn't just there, he was also... open.
“Do you remember how we spent Christmas last year?” Ace asked quietly.
Marco nodded. “On the sofa. You in your bathrobe. Me in surgical shoes because I'd come straight from work. And you were so quiet, so distant, that I was afraid you'd never come back.”
Ace was silent for a moment. Then he whispered, “I think I really was almost gone. Not physically. But everything inside me was too tired to stay.”
Marco kissed his temple. “But you stayed. You didn't leave me alone.”
Ace slowly turned in his arms and looked at him. The deep calm in Marco's face, the gray in his beard, the fine lines that had formed around his eyes—all of it spoke of worry, love, of carrying the weight of the world.
“I never thought there would be another moment when I could look at you like this,” Ace said. ‘Not through the darkness. Not through the veil of medication. But... really see you.’
Marco took his face in both hands, tenderly, determinedly. ‘I've never seen you any other way than I do now.’
The sun was now low on the horizon, the sea glistening like liquid gold.
Ace placed a hand on Marco's chest, feeling the steady beat beneath it.
“I'm not quite there yet,” he said. “But I want to come back. I want to come back to life with you.”
Marco nodded slowly. “Then come. Step by step. I'll take each one with you.”
Ace looked at him for a long time. Then he stood on tiptoe and kissed him—carefully, softly, like the first time. No rush, no obligation. Just tenderness.
When they parted, Marco smiled. “Merry Christmas, Ace.”
“Merry warmth,” Ace whispered back. “Merry love.”
And for a moment, under that southern sun, Christmas was just that: a day of closeness, of hope, and of quiet return.
The night came quietly. No cold winter sky, no snow-covered darkness—just a velvety, warm blue over the sea, interspersed with the flickering glow of scattered lanterns along the coast. The open window let in the scent of salt and flowers, and the curtains moved gently in the wind like breaths.
The apartment was quiet. No television, no radio, just the occasional creak of the old wooden floor and the sound of waves in the distance.
Ace lay on the large bed, the window behind him, a thin blanket over his legs, his chest rising slightly with each calm breath. It had taken him a long time to undress—not just his clothes, but also the invisible weight of fear, shame, the long months in which he had not trusted his own body.
Marco sat next to him on the edge of the bed, still in shorts and a T-shirt. His hand rested on Ace's stomach, not pressing, not demanding—just there.
Ace placed his hand on top of it. “I don't know if I can do it. I don't know if it will hurt. Or if I'll shut down again, suddenly, in the middle of it.”
“Then we'll stop. Immediately. If you have even a second of doubt, Ace.” Marco's voice was soft, deep, warm. “We don't owe each other anything. We owe each other nothing except what we want to give freely.”
“I want to,” Ace whispered. ‘But I'm afraid my body won't keep up again. That I'll show myself to you and then… disappear again.’
Marco leaned forward slowly, kissing him first on the forehead, then on the cheek, then gently on the neck. ”Then I'll go with you. And when you leave, I'll wait. And when you stay, I'll hold you.”
Ace closed his eyes and let himself sink back. His skin had become thinner, more sensitive. His muscles weak. But he felt Marco's touch – like a warm current flowing gently through him.
Marco caressed him gently, his hands slowly exploring old paths on new ground. No pressure, no goal. Just closeness. Just rediscovery.
He kissed Ace's collarbone, feeling the slight tremor beneath it. “Breathe with me,” he whispered. “Just that. Nothing more, nothing less. Just breathe.”
Ace did. Deeply. Hesitantly. Then again. And with each breath, a little more of the tension eased.
Marco's hands continued to move—over his ribs, over his hips, over the scars that remained. He kissed each one with quiet respect, as if to say: I see you. And I love you just the way you are.
Ace's eyes were moist. “I can feel you. Not just on my skin. But... really. As if I were there.”
“You are there,” Marco murmured. “You were never gone. You were just protecting yourself.”
He slowly pushed back the blanket, kissing his way down in gentle, loving stages – asking with his eyes, his breath, his touch, if it was okay. And Ace nodded, once, softly but surely.
It wasn't a night like before. Not a heated one, not a wild one. It was a slow, tender rediscovery. Two bodies cautiously encountering each other again, in soft movements, in the rhythm of trust.
Marco was reserved, gentle, letting himself be guided by Ace's reactions – every sigh, every touch of his hand, every opening of his lips was an invitation. No pressure, no demands.
When Marco finally entered him deeply—with all his patience, all his mindfulness—Ace held him tightly. No pain. No fear. Just the gentle breaking down of walls, the crying that came not from suffering but from relief.
“I missed you,” Ace whispered in his ear. “So much. I thought I had lost you.”
Marco moved slowly, tears in his eyes, pressing himself deeper into him. ”Never. Not for a single day. I carried you, Ace. And you carried me.”
They made love for a long time—not loudly, not stormily, but in waves. Sometimes quietly, sometimes trembling, sometimes with tender laughter between kisses. And when they lay next to each other later, foreheads touching, breath still warm on their skin, something that had been silent for a long time was healed.
Ace looked at him, a little exhausted, a little uncertain—but radiant in a way he hadn't been in years.
“I didn't lose myself,” he said softly. “I was just deep inside myself. And you found me.”
Marco kissed him one last time on the forehead, pulled the blanket around them both, and whispered, “And I will never let you go.”
++ ++ ++
In the morning, the light was soft. Not harsh, not demanding—but like a warm hand resting on the rumpled bed. The waves glistened outside in the golden sunrise, and somewhere in the distance a seagull cried out, sounding like an echo from another world.
Ace lay awake but still. The blanket was pulled up to his chest, his hair tousled from sleep, his eyes still slightly reddened – but open, clearer than on many days before. He turned his head slightly and saw Marco lying next to him, one hand stretched out over the mattress as if he had reached for him in his sleep.
Ace watched him for a long time. His chest rose and fell evenly, a faint smile on his lips, looking as calm as if he too had found something in the night that had been missing for a long time.
Ace carefully raised his hand and ran his fingertips over Marco's cheek, his stubble, the small wrinkles around his eyes. And then he quietly moved closer to him until their foreheads were almost touching.
“You didn't give up on me,” he whispered, barely audibly. “Not for a second. And I had to hurt you so many times. With my silence. My coldness. My withdrawal.”
Marco slowly blinked awake, his eyelids heavy with sleep, but when he saw Ace—so close, so open—a gentle recognition came over his features.
“You survived,” he said softly. “You carried more than any human should ever have to carry. And you didn't let go, Ace. Not really. You were always there. I felt it.”
Ace shook his head slightly, tears welling up in his eyes. “Sometimes I wanted to push you away. I thought you'd be better off without me. Without the wreck that was left of me.”
Marco slowly sat up, propping himself up on his elbow and brushing the tear from his cheek with his thumb.
“I didn't want anything else. Just you. Not the perfect, strong Ace. Not the one who carries everything with ease. I wanted the real one. The one who shows himself. Even with pain, with fear, with weakness."
Ace closed his eyes, letting the words sink deep inside him. And for a moment, he didn't just breathe in – he breathed out. Really. As if he had been holding his breath for two years.
“I was afraid you would find closeness elsewhere,” he said after a long pause. “That you wouldn't wait forever. That you needed a body that wouldn't push you away. I even wanted to tell you that you could...”
Marco interrupted him with a kiss. Tender. Firm. Then he whispered, ”I waited because I knew you would come back eventually.”
Ace took a faltering breath, then fell into Marco's arms, pressing himself against him as if he needed to be saved a second time.
They stayed like that for a long time. Without words. Just heartbeats. Warmth. Breath.
And later, as they sat together on the small terrace in the late morning, the sun mild on their skin, tea and fresh fruit on the table, Ace suddenly said in a calm voice:
“I want to go back home. But differently. I want to live again. Not just function. And I want us to stop being silent about everything that hurt."
Marco nodded. He reached for his hand and held it tight. “Then we'll talk. And we won't be silent anymore. About anything.”
Ace smiled. It was small, cautious, but genuine.
And while the sea roared beneath them and a small child laughed somewhere, a new chapter began. Delicate. Quiet. And full of life.
++ ++ ++
Summer came like a promise. Not loud, not intrusive, but gentle and warm, like an old friend who quietly opens the door and simply sits down. The heat shimmered over the patio slabs, the grass in the garden was lush and tall, and Teddy lay stretched out under the old tree that had always provided shade.
Ace stood barefoot on the soft lawn, hands on his hips, gazing up at the sky. His face was narrower than before, his shoulders no longer as strong, but his gaze was clear. No longer veiled by darkness.
He turned around and saw Marco sitting on the terrace, wearing light pants and a linen shirt, the newspaper on his lap, coffee in his hand. His sunglasses were crooked on his nose, and he squinted over the rim at Ace.
“Your expression says there's a plan,” Marco said with a grin.
Ace nodded. “There is. We're not doing anything today. Nothing at all. No appointments, no news, no laptop. Just us. Just sun. Maybe some cherries from the garden. And a barbecue in the evening.”
Marco laughed softly and reached out his hand to him. “Finally, one of your summer days again.”
Ace went over to him and sat down on the edge of the terrace, his feet in the grass. Teddy briefly raised his head, yawned, and sank back into the shade.
More than half a year had passed since that night by the sea. Since that first, tender step back into a life they had almost lost.
Ace had changed. Not back to his old self, but grown into a new version of himself. He was no longer pain-free—the infection had left its mark. On bad days, he could barely climb the stairs, sometimes the strength in his hands failed him, sometimes exhaustion came like a fog out of nowhere. But he was alive. And he was taking up space again.
They had slowly weaned him off the medication, under medical supervision. Not overnight, not recklessly. There had been setbacks, tough weeks full of fatigue and doubt. But then the light had returned.
He was painting again. Not like before—large-scale, wild—but quietly, in sketchbooks, with fine lines. In the spring, Marco had set up a small studio for him in the conservatory, where the light was particularly soft.
They had grown close again. Not every day, not like before – but genuinely. In their own way. With tender moments, with cautious nights, with a deep understanding of each other.
On this summer day, Marco finally put the newspaper aside, got up and sat down behind Ace on the terrace, gently pulling him close.
"Do you know what I'm thinking today?”
“Hmm?“ Ace leaned against him.
”That I have never loved anyone in this world more than you. Not despite everything. But with everything.“
Ace closed his eyes, letting himself sink into these words.
”I know,” he said quietly. ”And I love you too. With everything I am. Even with what I have lost.”
Marco kissed his shoulder, smelled the warm scent of his skin, the slight saltiness brought on by the sun.
“And you know what?” Ace murmured with a small smile. “Tonight... I just want you to hold me. Nothing else. Just that.”
Marco nodded. “As long as you want. As tightly as you want.”
And later, as the sun slowly set, Teddy snored softly, the grill crackled quietly, and the light fell golden across their terrace, they sat next to each other—two men who had gone through pain, through doubt, through darkness—and yet had found each other. Again and again.
And the summer was quiet. And good.