Note: Since my beta is out of town, this is unbeta'd. All mistakes are mine.
I came home after a long night of work-all-day and fuck-all-night to…nothing. No grabby little twinks, no loud music, no food. I glance up at the clock; it's only one. He should still be awake…I sigh and shake my head. I must be getting soft in my-he's just around too much that's all. Only reason why I'd notice something as trivial as his sleeping habits.
Bored, as only I could be considering my current trains of thought, I let out a small 'Justin?' and wait for a response. Not a thing. Maybe he's not home. Did he say whether or not he was staying at Daphne's tonight? I think back to our daily conversation at the diner this morning, full of nods and small talk, and questions about your day. No…he said he'd be here 'with bells on' may I add...
"So where the fuck are you twink?" I mutter out loud, startled when a small groan is given in exchange. I look up and around, my eyes wider than Justin's or Gus' on Christmas, I'm sure. "Is that you Sunshine?" I hear another grunt in response, so I take my chances that it isn't someone trying to kill me and head towards the bathroom, and then stop. The door was shut.
We never shut the door unless company is in. There's never any reason to. Why it's shut perplexes me until I realize why I was heading over in the first place, and I knock slightly.
"May I come in?"
Not hearing anything, I knock louder. "Justin!" The pure pain and misery that I hear in his voice when he replies with my name has me wanting to break down the door to get in the same room as him, but I open the door and gasp.
"Justin, what the fuck happened?" I kneel down, regardless of the polished-and-way-too-shiny leather pants and my mind goes into a start of fuckfuckhelphimhelpJustingottadosomething panic that has my breathing almost as hard as he is.
"Migraine...hand hurts…meds…" He gasps out, and my panic freezes into outright worry.
"Shh…you'll be okay." I do my best to consol him as I attempt to get the meds out of his hand. It takes a while, time that I-we-don't have, but I get it. And then I get something else. That I am truly freaking out about him. This means that I care….a lot. Too much, even. But I brush any thoughts not needed to deal with my…Justin and pop the lid off the meds, taking out the right amount and giving them to him.
"Water…" He croaked, and I hurried to get him a glass of it. Go Kinney…you're spazzing out too much that you couldn't remember water?...Wait…did I just say spaz? After he finishes, I pick him up, as gently as I can, and take him to our-my-whatever-the-fuck-bed. His head rolls a little and I panic a little until I realize that he's grinning and I grin back and the world just…stops.
"You okay sonny boy?" I try so hard to keep my voice even, calm, cool, collected, but the slightest bit of worry pops through and he sees it, smells it, loves it…and says nothing.
"Give me your hand." He frowns slightly, hating to be taken care of, still the independent, stubborn drama princess of a man that I lo…love. And I frown right back. He eventually gives in and I softly rub it, while he grins a low wattage version of his trademark smile that still gives my butterflies in my stomach, even though I've seen it infinite times. And I realize that I've given in. That his talk of love and romance and the void have sucked me in until I'm so far gone that he's the only thing I see.
After the impromptu massage is down, I look up at him and he still has that grin on his face, but his eyes…they're no longer a swirl of panic, or glaring proof that I've somehow failed to help, to protect what's mine…what's ours, but calm, sedated, and the last words uttered in our-yes our-bed this night are: You sooooo love me. And all I can do is…nod.