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 Posted: Mon Mar 14, 2016 6:57 pm
This should have been the greatest moment he’d had all week. After everything, finally, he was getting to take To - Rhys, now, sorry, getting to take his lover home. Not everything had been perfect, but in the end, his fiance hadn’t forgotten him, didn’t hate him, Fritz was - well, okay, that could have been better, but it also couldn’t have, because at least -
Hitch really should’ve wanted to come home. But it was honestly the last thing he wanted to do. Home was with T - Rhys, and what waited here was just - he’d subtly tried to get out of it. Offered Rhys some time alone with his brother so maybe he could go clean up a little under the guise of getting him clothes, or had them stay at Fritz’s to take care of the cat so he could sneak out in the middle of the night or something. Anything but taking Rhys, who’d already been through so ******** much this week, back to the mess Hitch had made.
He was trying to hide his shame, his anxiousness, his embarrassment, but he had a feeling Rhys could pick up on his hesitance, and he was almost sure, knowing him, that he’d assume it was there for the wrong reasons. So when they reached the door, abruptly, he whirled, catching one of the redhead’s hands in his. For a moment, Hitch floundered for words, glancing to the side and then back at him again, fidgeting with his piercing roughly between his teeth.
“I’m sorry.”
It seemed like the only thing he really could say, considering.
“I was - I mean - I can fix this, okay? So, please - ” Please what? Don’t be mad? Don’t judge him? Don’t cry? Reaching up and gently skirting his fingertips along Rhys’ bandaged cheek, the weight of his own guilt and shame too heavy in his chest, sighed, and turned to unlock the door. What a ******** mess awaited them.
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It felt...strange.
For one thing, the new name would take some getting used to. He had been Tolliver St. James for twenty-four years of his life; now he was Rhys Autenberry, which, while a pleasant sounding name, was not one that he was familiar with being associated with. Not being able to hear Hitch say Tolli again made his chest ache, though privately; he did not want Hitch feeling any worse about things than he already did.
The other thing was, unsurprisingly, the memory loss.
It was as though great chunks of his past had disappeared. Rhys remembered darkness and a haze of fuzzy images here and there, but none of them were clear enough to make any sense of, and the majority of them were nothing at all but emptiness. All he knew now was what he’d been told by Hitch - and a very exhausted, very injured Fritz - as they’d sat in the waiting room of the hospital, before they’d taken Fritz into the back.
You were one of the Negaverse.
You made a mistake, but it’s okay, we’ll fix it, we can fix it, it’ll be okay.
Everything will be okay.
Rhys did not know a great deal about what exactly the Negaverse was; there had been a brief rundown, a Cliff’s Notes version given to him, and that was it. They’d stayed to see how Fritz was doing - (another thing that had been painful, especially considering that Rhys could not remember the fight that had caused the injuries in the first place), and to get themselves patched up - and now.
Now they were going home.
Home.
It felt like a foreign word. Rhys did not know how much time had passed, exactly, but it felt like forever had come and gone since he’d been away from the little apartment that he shared with Hitch (still shared?). He felt a peculiar, frightening jolt of anxiety as he stepped up the staircase, closer and closer to the door.
His heart skittered as Hitch grabbed his arm, and the feelings - the blessed, beautiful feelings were still there. He had not forgotten Logan Hitchcock, had not ever lost the emotions that welled up in Rhys’s throat now, and he blinked rapidly, trying to ignore the sudden rush of tears that threatened to gather at the corners of his eyes.
His fingers tingled where Hitch’s touched his. Rhys opened his mouth to say something and then felt an entire eternity’s worth of longing as Hitch’s other hand rose, grazed over his cheek tenderly.
“S-sorry?” Rhys stammered, and his cheeks were pink. “For - for what?”
But he saw just what as soon as the door was pushed open, Rhys’s mouth falling open. He took a step inside, tentative and shy, and looked around at the chaotic disaster around him, sweeping over every broken piece, every shard of glass, every splinter of wood.
“What - “ His voice broke a little. “What happened?”
But he thought he knew, without having to ask.
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“Eurydike.”
Hitch’s cheeks burned as he stepped in behind him and shut the door behind him, his eyes locked squarely on the shards of glass beneath his boots. “I mean, I - was Eurydike, when - when you left. I happened.” When I told you to go. He felt another twinge of guilt for saying it that way, like he was hiding something from his lover, but did he really want to have to tell Rhys that he’d told him to get out? Did he really want to remind him of the fury that’d led to a hole in the wall by the door?
“I haven’t been back, “ he admitted, winding his fingers together for a moment before tapping them idly against his thigh, hair hanging in his face. “I’m sorry, I - kinda - I wish I could’ve - cleaned up or somethin’, I -” More or less everything was in ******** shambles bar the bed, and that was because he’d run out of steam by the time he’d gotten there, little more than that. Broken pictures, broken drums, broken plates, broken couch. “I mean, I will, I’ll - I’ll clean up, I - sorry.” Again, he couldn’t really think of a better word, even if it still didn’t feel like enough of one. It was like trying to fill a bucket of regrets with an eyedropper. There was just no way.
He fidgeted with the ring on his finger, the silver contrasting nicely with the worn bandaged on his knuckles.
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He’d awakened as Emrys with strangers - or, at least, that was what Rhys had initially thought. The names of Eurydike and Celsus were still very confusing to him; it was hard to imagine that they belonged to the two people whom Rhys cared for more than anything or anyone else in the world. He’d had to keep reminding himself that Eurydike and Logan Hitchcock were one and the same. And that Celsus of Chronos was the same as Frederick St. James.
It wasn’t easy.
Now he stood in the wreckage of what had once been their home, and a wash of guilt spread over Rhys, thick and choking. He didn’t remember leaving, or even being here as his other self; but clearly he had been, and clearly it had not gone well.
All because of me, Rhys thought miserably, as he slowly pivoted where he stood, a slightly shaking, bruised hand rising as he ghosted fingers across the indentation in the wall. He bit his lip and dropped his hand before his eyes fell upon the drumset.
Hitch’s drumset.
With a sharp inhale that was almost a sob but not quite, Rhys stumbled forward, hearing the crunch of glass and wood beneath his feet. He made his way slowly, shakily over to the remnants of what had once been Hitch’s prized possession and knelt down beside them, his expression one of overwhelming shame. His hand stretched out, as though to touch it, before Rhys curled his fingers in against his palm and dropped them to the ground, his shoulders hunched.
“I’m,” he said haltingly, his voice thick, “so sorry, Logan, I - this is all because I - “
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Hitch watched him take it all in, and the guilt was cloyingly thick. It felt like a physical blow when Rhys saw the drumset and uttered such a sound, making his way towards it like - like it meant as much to him as it had to Hitch, which he knew it had, and that just made it worse. Tolliver had always felt everything so strongly, and now he was apologizing, and no, no -
“No.” His voice finally broke through, hoarse and rough, thick with emotions that had no name. His footsteps fell heavier against the shards, less of a tinkle of glass and more of a heavy thump of boot clad feet, and he knelt down beside Rhys, hesitating only for a second before looping an arm around his shoulders. He wasn’t looking at the drum set, though; that still hurt too much. “No, it’s not. It’s because I didn’t know what the ******** to do, so I did it all wrong, an’ this was - was ‘cause of that -” And then it only seemed fair to be honest, “I told you to go. We could’ve just - just talked it out an’ - none of this would’ve ever -”
He laughed, suddenly, almost bitterly. “Honestly, I could’ve just ********’ told you what I was from the start. I could’ve ********’ told you when I came home wrecked that night. I should’ve. But I didn’t, an’ - there’s so much I wish I could’ve done different, babe, I -” His hand squeezed at Rhys’ shoulder, and he paused to draw in a long, harsh breath between his teeth. Even this didn’t feel good enough. Would anything, really? No. There was nothing he could do to wash away the kinds of mistakes he’d made.
“But.” Hitch bit down hard on his lower lip. “But you’re here now. That’s all that ********’ matters.” Even if the guilt was still suffocating. Even if his drums were still a broken mess on the floor. Even if he’d stupidly smashed some of the only photos he even had of him and his mother together. Even if he’d said and done so many things he regretted, even if - I have Tolliver. Rhys. He had Rhys. He had to remember.
“That’s all that matters.”
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He had done this, hadn’t he? He’d joined the Negaverse, even if he couldn’t remember doing so in the first place. He’d created a rift between his brother and Hitch deeper than he could have thought. He’d caused the pain in Hitch’s heart, made him think all of these terrible things, and now - now Hitch’s drumset, the drums that Rhys had walked by so many times, were shattered and broken.
He remembered being breathless with wonder when he’d first seen Hitch play. Remembered the passion, the adoration in his eyes, the rhythm of his hands, the shift of his body, every part of him alight with a fire that had spread outwards, burning through him as Tolliver St. James.
And he remembered as well, how Hitch had stepped out from behind them, taken his hand, and then let Rhys kiss him, for the first time since their initial night together.
An arm was around his shoulders, startling him. Rhys’s breath quickened, his heart clattering in his chest, and even the simplest touch meant more to him than words could express. He wanted to lean into Hitch’s warmth, wanted to bask in it -
-and also to run from it, because he didn’t - couldn’t possibly have deserved it anymore.
I told you to get out.
He felt the words hit, felt the agony of them. Rhys closed his eyes and swallowed hard against the painful lump in his throat, his fingers trembling.
It felt surreal.
“I left, though...didn’t I?” he whispered, and it wasn’t really a question. “I - I walked away, didn’t I? I can’t - remember, but I must have, I must have just...left you alone, why would I just - “
A hand lifted, and Rhys dug the heel of it into his eye, trying to suppress the anguish in his heart. He heard Hitch’s voice, low, and firm, in his ear, felt the weight of his arm, so achingly familiar, across his shoulders, and wondered if anything would ever be the same ever again.
Had he truly broken everything?
He couldn’t look at Hitch, Rhys disentangling himself from Hitch’s arm and rising, his face averted, the shame burning across his pale, freckled cheeks. He felt the tremors up and down his spine, knew that he was hunching again, on some subconscious level, Rhys’s fingers curling against the palms of his hands.
“Am I here, though?” he whispered, and it came out sounding thick with emotion. “I’m - I’m not T-Tolliver anymore, I can’t be, I’m - “
Please don’t give up on me.
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Hitch shut his eyes at the words, trying not to remember how he’d sat so close to where they knelt now, sobbing into his hands until there was nothing left and begging Tolliver to come back to him. “I made you,” he said honestly, his voice soft and sincere, although there was still an undeniable ache there beneath the surface. “I said a lot of things to you babe, things I didn’t mean, I - it’s not fair to blame yourself.” No matter how much Hitch had blamed him then.
It felt like a rejection. Hitch knew it wasn’t, he knew what Toll- Rhys had to be thinking, then, what would compel him to stand just then. He knew all that, but the pang of rejection was no less vivid, no less painful in his chest. He took a moment just to breathe, reminding himself it was the exhaustion. That he understood and this was okay, it was going to be because it had to be.
“You are.”
He needed to be. I wanted to die. You are what I’m living for. Those were words he could never say. He couldn’t admit how far he’d fallen this week, and kind of shameful face he’d shown to people unfortunate enough to give a damn. Olga, Quenton, Jarias, Kerberos…
Hitch stood up, approaching from behind and sliding tentative hands warmly around Rhys’ sides, linking his fingers around the front of him, resting his cheek lightly on his shoulder. “So your name’s different. You always thought Tolliver was pretentious anyway, didn’t you?” he teased in the gentlest way he could, nuzzling into the side of his neck - and trying so hard to keep it together, because god if he didn’t need this. To feel him, to be close to him, to - he’d needed this. He’d missed him, he’d been so - “I told you once before, you were already willing to change your last name for me. How’s this much different?”
His grip around Rhys’ middle tightened. “You remember me. That’s more than I could’ve hoped for, baby. That’s enough.”
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Every part of him hurt, though it was the mental pain that Rhys remembered. The cuts on his face, on his arms, on his chest, he remembered getting none of those, only flashes of red across his vision, the feeling of horrible, suffocating despair and frustration. It was like trying to listen to a badly tuned radio that kept going in and out, or trying to watch a movie where it was all blurred and no sound.
And it ached. It was painful enough to see what Hitch had done in his absence; learning that he had walked away purposefully - that he had willingly joined the Negaverse was like a knife in his chest, making it difficult to breathe. How could he even have done such a thing? How could he have gone with the people who had almost killed Hitch? They had told him, Hitch and Fritz, in Fritz’s hospital room, and just hearing it had made Rhys want to curl up into a ball and sleep for weeks, let alone understand that he had lived it.
But warm, familiar arms were sliding around his waist. Rhys felt his breath catch in his throat, felt as though his heart was about to beat out of his chest as Hitch rested his face against his shoulder, fingers linked together against Rhys’s stomach. It was a painfully sentimental gesture; he swayed slightly, trembling from head to foot, his head spinning with the weight of all of his emotions bearing down on top of him.
Hitch’s breath against his neck; Rhys let out a little sound, a half strangled sob, a sharp intake of breath. He wanted to lift his hands and press them against Hitch’s, but his body wouldn’t move, the guilt like a sharp edge against his side; you walked out, you left, you left home alone after all he’s done for you and now - now you think that you can just come right back and everything will be okay because you’ve forgotten the wrongs you did?
Even if you forgot, Hitch hasn’t.
Rhys’s head bowed, his hair falling against his cheek. A tremor ran through him, his fingers clenching into fists at his sides, and a shuddering gasp was bitten back, swallowed before it could escape.
“How,” he whispered, and it was taking a lot of effort to force the words out, to speak at all. ”How can you even - after what I d-did, how can you - “
How can you still stand me?
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“You did what you thought was the right thing.” Hitch’s grip tightened, and he could admit to it now; he’d been angry before, upset, called Tolliver things he really didn’t mean. “I sure as hell didn’t tell you any different, an’ neither did Fritz. We all just ********’ wanted to go on protectin’ each other from this s**t, an’ look where it got us. Some real Gift of the Magi bullshit.”
He tilted his head and very gently, delicately kissed the side of Rhys’ neck. “I don’t blame you for this baby.” The only person I’ve got left to blame is me. “You wanted to take care of me. You went to the wrong people, but it’s - it’s not like you knew that, an’ that’s not on you either. Please, baby, I’m just - ”
When he laughed, it was strained, more tight and emotional than he wanted it to be. “I never took the ring off, y’know. - I never stopped bein’ yours. I didn’t realize - no, I did, but -” Hitch burrowed into the side of Rhys’ neck with a heavy sigh, shutting his eyes.
“It was so hard, so hard not bein’ with you. An’ it was my fault as much as anyone’s, so shut up - but I don’t - I can’t do that again. Not be with you. Not see you every day. I can’t. I love you baby. An’ everyone we love makes some ********’ choices we wish they wouldn’t, ” and he glanced dully around the apartment, feeling as much of a hypocrite as he knew he was being, “but that doesn’t mean we don’t love ‘em. We both made some bad choices, but… but it’s okay, ‘cause it’s done now. We’re gonna be okay now.”
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He felt unbearably fragile; as though just the smallest touch would shatter him into a thousand pieces, as if he was balancing on the precarious edge of a knife and the first wrong step would send it cutting into his veins.
The touch of lips against his neck made Rhys jolt, made his breath shudder out of him; and beneath Hitch’s kiss, Rhys’s pulse leapt, rabbit fast against the pale, freckled skin. A flush drew itself across his cheeks, lashes fluttering, and it felt like it had been ages, been years since any sort of physical contact at all. A lifetime suppressed into however many days they’d been apart.
I never took the ring off.
The words - along with the others - seemed to melt into Rhys’s heart; the pulse that had beat so fast against the initial kiss now seemed to be frantic, as though his heart was attempting to push its way out of his body. He was hyper aware of Hitch’s breath against his neck and shoulder, of the tight grasp of his arms around his waist.
Of the fact that Hitch was still calling him baby.
Of the fact that Hitch was still saying that he wanted him.
Of the fact that Hitch still loved him.
A sound escaped Rhys, another half choked sob. One of his hands finally uncurled and lifted, pressed against Hitch’s where they lay against his stomach, curling around them. The other, his left, was held up, trembling.
On his finger was that silly snake ring, still coiled, and next to it, the matching engagement band that he’d gotten when he’d gotten Hitch’s ring. They were still in place, nestled together.
Rhys’s head was still bowed, and now he was shaking all over.
“I can’t - I can’t remember - “ he gasped out, and he clutched a little harder at Hitch’s hands. “I don’t - I don’t know what happened, but I - when I woke up, they were still here, they were s-still on my finger, so I don’t - I don’t think I ever t-took them off, either, and I still - I’m still so madly in love with you, Logan, p-please - “
Please don’t let me walk away again.
Please don’t let me do anything to hurt you ever again.
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Posted: Mon Mar 14, 2016 7:02 pm
The moment where Rhys clutched at his hand like that, Hitch let out a breath he hadn’t realized he’d been holding. Maybe because he’d been holding it all ******** week at this point? Did it even matter? None of it should. None of it should matter at all now. Except he still remembered, he still remembered it all, and he wished it didn’t matter, he wished but - not that it changed anything for them, that wasn’t it, but -
He was staring at the rings, at Tolliver’s - Rhys’ rings, and to hear he’d never taken them off either - he thought back to it again, that still-raw memory of Cerussite tugging Hitch’s hand out of his pocket to kiss at the space above his ring, lacing their fingers together for what they’d assumed would be the last time, to feel the cold chill of the winter air when he’d pulled away and left -
Hitch wanted to remain collected, warm, soothing. He wanted to be able to be strong enough to do that.
He’d been a lot less strong this week than he’d wanted to be. He wasn’t as strong as he wanted to be.
It started with a shudder. I’m still so madly in love with you Logan, in spite of everything, in spite of all his fears, his doubts, his knowledge that without any doubt that there was no chance someone like him would fall in love with him twice, somehow that was what remained, somehow he still had that, whether he deserved it or not, and - he pressed his face harder into Rhys’ shoulder, gritting his jaw even if it was a useless gesture. His eyes were already wet, and he was already just trying to bite back a sob. He’d failed at so much this ******** week, it was no big surprise that he failed at that too, choking hopelessly on his own tears and the knowledge that he’d very nearly lost him, or in a sense, he had lost him, he’d just found him again by sheer dumb luck and chance that somehow Tolliver had still wanted to give him a chance, and - it was relief, too, sobs of sheer relief that Tolliver was still ******** there at all, and -
He wanted to apologize, but he couldn’t even do that.
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He felt the first tremor and knew, without having to turn around, what was happening. It made his throat clog, the tears beginning to burn at the corners of his eyes, and a shuddering gasp escaped Rhys’s throat, thick and painful.
They had both known the risks - and Fritz as well - of taking him out of the Negaverse. It was what he had been told, what he believed - that even with the chance of losing the precious memories of his brother and his lover, he had still made the decision because it had been the right thing to do all along. It had just taken him too long to figure it out in the first place.
But he had not lost the memories - not those ones, at least, not the ones that had burned bright and hot inside of his mind for so long, and maybe that was why he had kept those; because they had been the strongest, the most powerful, the most meaningful.
Because behind those memories were Hitch and Fritz, and that was all that Rhys had ever wanted.
Hitch’s grasp was like iron now around him, and Rhys felt the sobs against his shoulder, restrained and bitten back but still clearly felt. He didn’t try to turn, not just yet, but instead just held on to Hitch’s arms and let them be his strength; let them be the thing that held him up now, when they both needed it more than ever.
His left hand lowered, found Hitch’s. Rhys pulled it from his waist and lifted it to his mouth, his eyes flickering over the ring - and in a gesture so similar to the one he had unknowingly given before, Rhys pressed his lips there, his breath trembling, his hand shaking. It was similar - and yet it was not, because it was not a parting kiss, nor one steeped in sadness and despair. There was an edge of desperation to it, but not because he was losing anything anymore.
“Logan,” Rhys whispered against his hand, and he closed his eyes, his face damp as he slid his own fingers in between Hitch’s, held them tightly as he pressed another soft, trembling kiss to that ring finger. “Logan, I - ”
His voice caught. He hadn’t realized just how afraid of the answer to the question was until it had come into his head, but he had to know, he had to ask because there was no moving forward without it.
“I know…” Rhys swallowed hard, his shoulders hunched over, and still he clung to Hitch’s hand. “I know that - that I’ve done s-some things, and that I’ve...caused you pain, and I can’t - I can’t t-take that back, even if I w-wish I could, but even so…”
His voice dropped lower and then Rhys was pushing out of Hitch’s arms, twisting around to face him, though he couldn’t quite look him in the eye, his hands gripping both of Hitch’s arms. He felt, ludicrously, horribly shy suddenly, terribly anxious - and maybe this was the wrong time to do this, maybe this was a bad idea -
-but if this was the wrong time, then when, exactly, was the right time?
For a moment, Rhys just stood there, his breathing shuddering out of him, every part of him on a knife’s edge of tension, his chest feeling so tight it was painful to draw in air.
And then, slowly, ignoring the twine his bad leg gave him, he knelt down on his good knee, his hands sliding down Hitch’s arms to grasp his fingers.
He still wasn’t looking up at Hitch, but rather the ring on his hand, his heart in his throat.
“Please,” said Rhys, very softly, a tremor in his voice. “I d-don’t know if I still deserve you, but you are all that I n-need and…” His fingers gripped a little tighter to Hitch’s.
“You have carried me out of the fire, and in your heart,” he said quietly, and every word shook. “And I - if - if you’ll have me, I still - I still - “
Just say it.
“Logan Hitchcock,” Rhys whispered. “I am still, and will always be, in love with you so p-please...will you still marry me?”
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Even if it was for different reasons - no, because it was completely different while being the same, a perfect reflection of where they’d fallen and how they could rise again - as ashamed as he felt, it just made Hitch sob harder, his breath catching in his throat and half-choking him, caught up between regret and relief, and knowing that Rhys would never remember why the gesture was as significant as it was - that he’d never have to live with the memory of that moment - that, he was grateful for, intensely, achingly grateful. That was a wound that would heal, he reminded himself, he could live with it, he could - he didn’t know if Rhys could have. He didn’t know if his lover could have done on with the memory of that parting kiss, the time on Eurydike, the times they’d fought, the times Hitch had called him stupid for doing what he thought was right -
Some part of him would always wonder, though; if he did remember, would things be the same now? If it have been Cerussite and not Tolliver he was facing now…
It felt so good to hear his name call from Rhys’ lips. It washed over him like soothing warm water over a wound, and still, he was so desperate for it that he choked on it.
He shook his head lightly at Rhys’ words, knowing the truth, I did, too, I caused you pain, too, you just don’t remember, but I know, I know what I - But his lover was pushing out of his arms, and Hitch watched him enraptured before remembering himself, trying desperately to wipe his hand again and again over his red and blotchy face, cheeks wet with tears he really wished he could stop. His attempts ceased suddenly when Tolliver - Rhys - dropped down onto one knee, and Hitch could do nothing for a moment but stare, his eyes wide enough to see the whites around the brown of his irises.
Abruptly, he dropped down to his knees, heedless of the glass, the wood, any of it, and his arms were back around Rhys again, dragging him in an unrelenting embrace, only facing him now, and he hadn’t stopped crying, because how could he? How could he after something like that? “Yes, “ because he knew Tolliver would need to hear the answer, even if they both already knew it - although really, what did they know for fact right now? After everything - “Yes, yes, a ********’ thousand times ********’ over, yes,” he hissed out in his choked, ragged voice. And whether or not he was saying too much, “I don’t wanna be in a ********’ world without you in it.”
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For a moment, it felt as though the world had stopped utterly and completely. Rhys was attuned to every sound, every sight, every slight movement, every intake of breath. He felt on the edge of a ledge, either ready to leap or ready to fly, and he didn’t know which one of them would happen. Suspended in a fraction of time, a second in which the world was either going to collapse around him or burst into color.
But then Hitch was dropping down - Rhys let out a startled sound, his eyes wide, and then Hitch’s arms were around him, and he’d pulled him into a hug so tight it felt as though he were being immersed in heat and familiarity everywhere and -
Yes.
He’d said yes.
The tears came, faster and thicker than before, and he couldn’t stop them, or the half choked sob of mingled shock and relief that escaped his ragged throat. He’d frozen in Hitch’s arms at first, but now he lifted them, slowly, shaking, as though he couldn’t believe that it was true; that he was hearing the words he thought he was hearing, because it was all he had ever wanted, all he had ever, truly, needed.
His fingers dug into Hitch’s sides, and Rhys buried his face in Hitch’s shoulder, holding onto him for dear life, his entire body trembling violently as the sobs overtook him. They were in a precarious place; there was broken glass and splintered wood everywhere, but he didn’t want to let go, and just held on tighter, just finally, finally letting out all of the emotions that he’d been so terrified of showing.
“Me either,” he whispered, and it was a pained sound, Rhys turning his face so that it was pressed against the side of Hitch’s neck, inhaling the scent of him that was so achingly familiar. “Me either. I don’t - I don’t want to be w-without you e-ever again.”
He couldn’t remember the time the’d been apart, but he felt it; felt the pain of it acutely.
He wasn’t sure how much time passed as they knelt there, holding onto one another. Rhys felt exhausted, mentally and physically, his eyes half lidded as he simply let himself feel.
“Logan,” he said quietly, hoarsely, after more time had passed. “I...can you...help me up..?”
The request made his face flush with embarrassment, but his leg - and the rest of him - had started to throb painfully, his chest tightening with each breath.
“I think...I need to lay down for a few minutes,” he mumbled.
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Whether or not it this was all Hitch needed to be okay, it was enough. Having Rhys cling to him like this, to echo his feelings, sobbing against him and holding him like they were the only two people in the world - it soothed him on a level he couldn’t comprehend, the darkness that’d lurked like a carnivore thirsty for blood on the edges of his mind easing back, not gone, never gone, but for the moment cowed. He felt like he could breathe again. He felt like he could see again, like the world slipping from monochrome to color. They could have stayed like that forever for all he cared, to be honest.
But life didn’t quite work that way, which was probably for the best. They had so much more left to do, although the thought of some of it daunted Hitch, made his stomach lurch just to think of it. Cleaning the apartment, dealing with the job situation (he decided then and there if he could, he didn’t want to tell Rhys about that until he’d gotten a new job - or two), everything to do with Emrys and Eurydike, telling Van about the drums (or even just seeing if she was okay), making things right with everyone he’d wronged -
Those things would come later. He had this. Everything else he could figure out. Everything would be okay, somehow. He had this, he had a lifetime with Tol- with Rhys again. The rest wasn’t half as daunting as that, was it?
“Of course, “ he whispered readily, worry thick in his voice because god if Rhys hadn’t been through hell today, too. Physically speaking, really, Hitch had gotten off the best of all of them - something else to feel guilty about - but that, too, could come later. For now, he looped his arms beneath his fiance’s, easily hefting him to his feet along with Hitch as he stood. Without missing a beat, he leaned down, not asking or waiting before sweeping a hand behind Rhys’ knees and simply lifting him up into his arms.
“You lost weight.” His lips pressed in a firm lip. Never mind Hitch himself looked like s**t warmed over. The worry in his face hadn’t changed in the slightest. “How the ******** did you lose this much weight in a week? - are you hungry?” he asked more softly as he began to walk towards the bed, slowly, gently laying him across it. Although he didn’t really wait for an answer; faced with Rhys, brushing hair away from his face and looking him in the eyes…
He thought back briefly to their last kiss.
Then leaned forward and stole one then, soft but heated, cupping at Rhys’ cheek and soothing tears away with his thumb.
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He wasn’t thinking about everything there was to come; the path that still had to be taken. Rhys’s exhausted mind could only focus on the present; on the feeling of Hitch in his arms, of his solid, immovable presence, his breath, his heart, his voice. The feel of his hands gripping him tightly to hold him steady, to keep him in place where he belonged, right here, with this man.
Getting up was a reluctant affair. He did not want to move, and his leg protested the gesture even more, Rhys wincing as he allowed Hitch to pull him easily to his feet. But he gave a little, startled gasp as he was swept up into Hitch’s arms, his own instinctively flying around his neck to keep himself steady. His heartbeat was erratic in his chest, going a mile a minute, and he couldn’t formulate proper words as he was carried over to the bed.
How familiar it was, this gesture. How achingly tender, sweet.
A part of him still felt like he didn’t deserve it. The other part of him wanted to hold onto it, desperate to remember it, because he couldn’t remember other things, and it was terrifying.
A flush was on his cheeks. Rhys opened his mouth to answer and found he had none to give, because mostly, it almost felt rhetorical; though Rhys suspected that the weight loss had something to do with anxiety and desperation and he didn’t want to think about that, either.
“No, I - “ he began, but his voice stuttered to a stop as Hitch set him down, Rhys leaning back on his hands. He found himself staring at Hitch, now, the touch of his hand as it brushed away some of his flyaway hair making him shiver.
And he knew the kiss was coming a second before it happened, his eyes fluttering shut, Rhys tilting his head up to meet him, a tremor running through him, a sharp intake of breath against Hitch’s mouth. Warmth spread across his face, the slow, soft, heated kiss sending spirals of emotions through him.
It felt almost like a first kiss. A precious, achingly tender moment.
When he drew away, his eyes were half lidded, his cheeks flushed. Rhys lifted a hand and pressed his palm against Hitch’s face in a mirrored gesture, thumb sweeping beneath his eye, a look of utter, raw adoration in his gaze that mingled with the overall anxiety.
“Logan,” he whispered, and his voice broke a little on the name, Rhys’s fingers trembling as he smoothed some of Hitch’s hair away from his forehead, lingering by his temple. For a few moments, he just traced the sight of him, memorizing it to his mind, every dip and curve, the line of his jaw, the sweep of his brow.
Rhys’s hand slid through Hitch’s hair, found the back of his neck and curled there. He shifted a little forward and leaned so that his forehead rested against Hitch’s, his eyes fluttering shut.
“Stay with me,” he said softly, barely audible. “Please, Logan.”
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Had he ever taken kissing Tolliver for granted before? He didn’t think he had. But he wondered to himself if maybe he shouldn’t have appreciated them more. Small kisses in passing, warmer for comfort, hot and deep for passion, and they had plenty of that to give.
If there was anything he missed in the world more than the sensation of Rhys’ lips against his, it was the way he looked at him. There hadn’t ever been, nor would there ever be, someone out there that looked at him the same way his fiance did. The way his eyes swept from one feature to the next, like he was in reverence of Hitch, like he was someone worth looking at. He felt something inside of him burn in the wake of that kind of look, shivering again at the sound of his name calling from his lover’s lips - the only one allowed to call him that, now. A name he didn’t want to hear from anyone else.
His eyes still burned. But he was anything but sad, not when he had his lover back in his arms, in his bed, imploring him in his soft way to stay, as if Hitch had anywhere else he belonged or wanted to be. He eased more comfortably onto the bed, although Rhys wasn’t so far off when he said it was like the first time - he knew where he wanted to lay instinctively, but there was something more tentative and delicate about it as he lay down beside him, their foreheads still pressed together, his hand coming to lay across his fiance’s chest, just wanting to feel him.
He kissed him again, then, a little deeper that time, not wanting to push his exhausted lover too far - but wanting to taste him, to keep letting that contact and affection soothe away the aches that lingered in Cerussite’s wake.
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Logan, was what he called him. And for a while, it had been Logan and Tolli; private names, for just the two of them to use with one another. No one else called him Logan, and Tolliver had not ever had anyone call him Tolli before; it had been new, exhilarating, precious.
But that was gone. He wasn’t Tolliver anymore and couldn’t go back to being Tolliver. He was not Tolliver St. James, but Rhys Autenberry, and there was no special nickname, not yet.
Except that Logan was still Logan. He felt a certain swell of affection and pride and desire accompany it, because it was still the same, even after all that they had lost together. Rhys had, perhaps, lost one thing - or several - but this one, shallow, superficial thing he still had, even with how simple a thing it still was.
They were both laying down now, nestled together, and Rhys felt his heart skitter, felt the anxiousness welling in his veins. The loss of his memories - in spite of not losing the ones of Hitch - were still frightening; gaps and blackness taking over where there should have been faces or scenes or anything at all. He felt terribly vulnerable; as though a part of him had been broken open and set on display for the world to see.
But Hitch was here. Hitch, warm and familiar, with his hand on his chest; and beneath his palm, Hitch would feel the rapid beating of Rhys’s heart, unable to slow down.
The second kiss was received with a hitch of breath; and he parted his lips without needing encouragement, his fingers delving into the hair at the nape of Hitch’s neck, holding securely. Rhys was still trembling, but the kiss was slow and passionate and just what he needed.
It was so achingly familiar and yet still felt new somehow; as though, in an effort to make up for the mistakes and the pain and the heartache, his mind and heart were giving them both this second chance.
He was tired; he was injured, and so was Hitch, but…
“Logan,” Rhys breathed out, the word shakily pressed against his lips. He had opened his eyes and was looking at his lover with a tremulous, anxious expression, his cheeks flushed, his lips slightly reddened and still parted.
“I…” How did he formulate words again? How had he ever been able to put into words all that he needed?
Don’t think. He’d done too much of that already; they both had, and now - now Rhys didn’t want to think.
He wanted to feel.
He reached for Hitch’s hand, drew it to his lips, and once again, kissed the finger that had his engagement band on it, Rhys interlacing their fingers; a lifeline, a security that he needed, that he craved. For a moment he just let himself hold onto that, his face pressed against Hitch’s hand, his breath ghosting over the fingers.
“I need you,” he said softly, and the tremor was still there, but the look in rhys’s eyes as he raised his own to meet Hitch’s was steady; there was no question at all what he meant.
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Hitch’s voice rolled in a hum in the back of his throat, and he knew his addiction hadn’t left him. He couldn’t have imagined going through his life without ever knowing that again, and where once the thought had left him aching and hollow inside, now, he felt full, warm, content, and above all else grateful. Rhys’ heart was beating fast, so fast against his hand, his fingers curled against the fabric of his shirt as though he could somehow soothe it.
Rhys looked so beautiful, then, even if he looked nervous - maybe because he did, with that flush spread across his freckled cheeks and his lips parted from their kiss. Hitch thought to himself idly that really, if Rhys had asked, he would have given anything. He’d almost been willing to give himself over to darkness for this man, and for everything, he didn’t know if he would have been able to say ‘no’ if Tolliver had asked him to corrupt. It’d never come to that, and for that, too, he was grateful.
A lance of heat swept through him at Rhys’ request, like his finger burned in the wake of his lips, his breath warm and soothing against his hand, and he nodded, already shifting, already easing closer to him - but he paused, propped over him with one hand on either side, a sudden wave of something like nerves flashing across his face - again, maybe not for the reasons Rhys expected.
“I’m ********’ terrible at this whole secret identity bullshit,” he breathed out, tongue flicking once over his piercing as he asked, quietly, “Would you mind if I - I mean - if I slip an’ say Tolli - ?” His cheeks burned, because it was a ******** ridiculous question, and he felt stupid for asking it. But he knew himself enough to know he should ask.
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It didn’t matter that he was injured - or that he needed, probably, a good, full twenty four hours of sleep to get back to his usual self. The physical was important - but so was the mental, the emotional. And right now - right now, with this horrible sense of vulnerability and openness, all he wanted was to be reminded that, in spite of it all, he had this. He had Hitch, even if he’d ******** things up, he still had Hitch.
Rhys felt his breath leave him as Hitch shifted over him, a rush of nerves and anticipation flooding him. He stared up at the suspended form of his lover and felt the weight, the warmth, of all that he was sinking into him like a physical wash of gentleness. His heartbeat was rapid in his chest, threatening to burst out at any moment, and he’d turned onto his back so that he could look at Hitch’s face, his eyes wide.
Fingers rose, trembling slightly, and pressed against the flush of Hitch’s cheek, feeling the heat of his blush.
“I would answer to anything if you were the one saying it,” Rhys said softly. “It’s just the two of us here. I don’t mind.”
His expression was tender, eyes half lidded.
“I just want you.”
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At the answer, it was maybe the brightest Hitch had smiled yet, his eyes still damp from before and rimmed with red, but there was no denying the glint of purely affectionate joy that slipped so easily across his face. “You too,” he murmured, looping his fingers beneath his fiance’s shirt to push it up, leaving it in a bunch around his collarbone. He didn’t try to take it the rest of the way off, seemingly content just to have that expanse of his lover’s chest exposed to him, leaning in with his hair hanging around his face to press his lips over Rhys’ furiously beating heart.
His smile broadened.
“Ditto.”
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