Title: Empty
Genre: Hurt/Comfort/Friendship
Rating: T
Characters: Wilt Bozer, Angus MacGyver
Summary: It'd been around since the very beginning of his life. He had chemistry with it before he even knew chemistry existed. Something about serotonin and dopamine. Deficiency or whatever. And poor little MacGyver didn't see it, even with his boy genius brain. Until it went too far.
Pairings: No romantic pairings, Mac and Bozer friendship/bromance
Warnings: Swearing, depression, suicidal thoughts/actions
Word Count: 5,624 words, 12 pages on Google Docs
Author's Note: Fuuuuuck this story so much. I wanted to write it so badly, but I really needed to work on my angst/hurt stuff because you really need to use your imagination for this. I want to keep practicing, though. Maybe I'll get it right someday. Anyways, I really hope you guys enjoy!
This story is based on a tumblr prompt from an unknown user. It was inspired from a list of "Bed Sharing AUs."

"You're severely depressed these days

and I'm too scared to leave you alone

so yes this is the only solution

please accept my hugs."

It'd been around since the very beginning of his life.

"Are you sad?"

He had chemistry with it before he even knew chemistry existed.

"Bad day?"

Something about serotonin and dopamine. Deficiency or whatever.

"I'll be home soon."

And poor little MacGyver didn't see it, even with his boy genius brain.

"How are you supposed to take care of me when you can't even get out of bed sometimes?!"

Until it went too far.

"I've got you. I've always got you."

"Hey, Bozer!"

Bozer turned his head to look over his shoulder, spotting a small blonde boy darting his way through the crowd of middle school students in the too-narrow hallway. A bright smile had lodged its way onto Mac's face, and Bozer knew that smile meant mischief. Normally, he would've hopped on board before he even knew the plan, but today…Definitely not today.

"Hey, Mac," he responded, his voice much less enthusiastic than normal. He could barely muster up a smile – didn't, in fact – and he failed to ruffle Mac's hair to annoy the kid as per usual.

Mac caught it. Even at a young age, they had always been on the same page before they even realized they had the book open.

His smile faded away, and Bozer hated the fact that he had been the reason it disappeared. "You okay?"

Surely a smile couldn't be that much of an effort, but had his mouth always felt this heavy? The corners of his lips barely twitched upwards in an attempt to dissuade his young friend's concern as they navigated their way towards first period.

"I'm fine, Mac." God, couldn't he at least put some cheer into his tone, no matter how false it would be?

Mac's frown didn't dissipate. He didn't get this far by being stupid. He knew when something couldn't be right here. After all, Bozer's face represented one of the easiest math equations he had ever encountered.

Bozer minus happy smile minus cheery eyes minus laughter minus enthusiasm equals Not Bozer. Simplify the equation: Sad.

"Are you sad?"

Bozer wanted to bang his head against a locker. How had it taken this kid – this young kid – less than five minutes to figure out that Bozer just did not want to function today? Couldn't Mac believe that Bozer didn't get much sleep last night or something? Why did it have to be "Are you sad?" because goddamn, did that feel like a sucker-punch to the gut.

Bozer couldn't see a better way to explain it because he knew Mac wouldn't buy the whole "I'm fine, just tired" shtick. "Something like that."

"You're not talking as much today."

Bozer swallowed thickly, tried to form his thoughts into coherent sentences as they walked into their social studies class, sitting in the back row as they usually did. "I get sad sometimes."

"Why?"

Bozer shrugged. "No one really knows. It's just the way I am. But don't worry-" He conjured up the little energy he had to form the tiniest wink – "I'll be okay soon."

Mac dropped his gaze down to his shoes as he slid into his chair behind the desk. Bozer's tiny – fake – smile faltered as he looked on with worry at Mac's suddenly submissive state.

"Hey, what's wrong?" Bozer asked.

"Um, well…" Mac hesitated, blush creeping up his neck and seeming utterly awkward, out of place, and unsure whether to ask his next question. "When my mom died, I was sad, too, but my grandfather gave me a hug and I felt better."

Bozer blinked, surprised, maybe even shocked. Mac didn't speak much about his mother, and he definitely didn't initiate physical contact, so he couldn't possibly be thinking to-

"Can I give you a…hug?"

Bozer made a small noise in the back of his throat, caught off-guard. He shot a quick glance around the room. No one had arrived yet, not even the teacher, so nobody could tease them or blackmail them – middle schoolers were honestly the worst – and Mac didn't do hugging often, if at all. Why not?

"Uh, yeah, sure, I guess."

Mac sprung out of his seat and launched himself at Bozer, who wrapped his arms around his best friend with a startled "Oof." The hug warmed him, blocked him from the cold of the room's A/C, but it didn't change him. Sure, the hug felt nice, but his brain didn't fix itself, didn't alter. He remained the same, empty, lonely shell that had walked into school just a few minutes before.

But he would never tell Mac that.

Bozer rubbed his forehead in frustration. God, during graduation? The happiest moment in his life after the past eighteen years, only for it to be ruined by this dismal feeling inside his chest, ready to consume him whole. Couldn't his brain chemistry just fix itself for one day? One? Just one happy day without all-encompassing thoughts swirling in his head that told him he amounted to nothing, remained unneeded, unwanted. One good day without feeling like a husk of a man, a statue built just for the entertainment of others. One lovely day without feeling like a burden, a heavy weight on the shoulders of those around him.

"Hey, Bozer?"

Damn, that's right. He had told Mac he'd meet up with him to head to graduation together. He hadn't even gotten dressed yet.

Bozer opened his eyes – he didn't even realize he had closed them – and shot a glance to his best friend at his doorway, a concerned expression taking hold on the blonde's face.

"Hey, Mac." His voice came out as a soft murmur, not the excited greeting he thought he'd make.

Mac caught it immediately. "Bad day?" He crossed the room slowly, moving to Bozer's side of the bed and sitting on the edge by his friend's legs.

"Yeah, something like that." He stopped denying it once they finished freshman year. It never got easier to admit, though.

"Think you can make it to graduation?"

Bozer hesitated. He wanted to – at least he thought he did (he found it difficult to tell past the crushing feelings in his chest) – but he didn't think he had the energy or emotion to deal with his classmates, even if only for a couple hours. Still, he refused to keep Mac from his graduation just because Bozer and his damn brain didn't want to work.

"You go on ahead. I'll catch up later."

Mac frowned, clearly not believing his words for a second. "Yeah, I'm sure you will. Once we all have our diplomas and have left the school already."

Bozer tried not to flinch. Even though the statement had been said without anything near malice, it still hurt to hear because it manifested truthfully. By the time he found the motivation to get up, get dressed, head to the school, and interact with people, two days would've passed, and Mac would be packing to move to Boston.

And Bozer would remain in Mission City because he just couldn't do anything right.

"Just go without me. I'll be fine here."

Mac's frown deepened. He hesitated for a moment before pulling out his phone and firing off a quick text. Then, he got up and walked back around to the other side of Bozer's bed. Bozer watched with mild interest but complete confusion as Mac sat down at the edge, loosened his tie, kicked off his shoes, and laid himself down next to Bozer. Complete silence filled the room until…

"What the hell are you doing?"

Mac turned to him, a puzzled look on his face. "Spending graduation with you. What does it look like?"

Bozer feebly shoved at Mac in an attempt to push him off. "Go. Leave. Have fun at graduation."

"No," Mac replied stubbornly, "I don't even like anyone there besides you and Penny. You aren't going and Penny is going with her boyfriend. So what's the point? And I asked her to grab our diplomas for us-" His phone buzzed, causing him to look at the new text, a smile growing across his face – "And she just said she would. So all our bases are covered, and I can stay here with you."

Bozer didn't say anything in response. He couldn't. His mind failed to form a coherent and logical rebuttal to refute anything Mac said. Instead, he felt his eyes grow heavier. He hated this part, too: feeling so exhausted even though he hadn't moved a muscle.

As always, Mac saw it. He gave a soft smile and said, "Go to sleep. I'll be here when you wake up."

The thought should've warmed him, and, in some ways, it did. But it didn't fix him completely, no matter how much he wanted it to.

Bozer woke up to the feeling of a large weight on his chest, pushing down on him and removing all air from his lungs. Oxygen refused to enter him, and the weight pinned him to his mattress, leaving him unable to move. He thought about calling 9-1-1 - and he would have, too - if this hadn't been so normal. He should be concerned at how constant this crushing feeling had become in his life, but, at the moment, he couldn't feel anything except his own peril.

The worst part? He was alone.

Mac deployed to God-knows-where four months ago. They talked, but Bozer could count the number of times on one hand. Mac had to be the one to initiate the call for some reason - some security measure or whatever - and Mac had never been one to initiate anything. So what could he do except lie there, unable to go into work, unable to even call his boss and say he felt sick. He didn't feel sick, though. He felt empty. Couldn't he at least feel disgusted with himself like most other days, when he could actually move?

All he could think about was the last call between him and Mac. The two chatted about everything, but nothing. Nothing that mattered at least. Bozer didn't talk about his "rough days", and Mac didn't ask. The two remained content to avoid it and focused on Mac's deployment, even if the blonde couldn't reveal much about it. The only thing that Bozer really got out of it was, "I'll be home soon."

Bozer squeezed his eyes shut tight, tried to will away the weight pushing down on him. He couldn't do this, not anymore. He didn't have his best friend to help him anymore, only himself. Time to suck it up and move on, right?

Wrong. He spent the rest of the day in bed, not eating but not sleeping either. He just lay in his bed, thinking of nothing, but still thinking of everything. Everything wrong with him. And this time, he didn't have Mac beside him. He wouldn't for a while. For the first time in years, Bozer felt not just empty. He felt cold.

"Bozer, can you please talk to me?" Mac's eyes followed his best friend as the latter moved fluently through the kitchen, a controlled whirlwind with a knife and cutting board in his hands.

"I have nothing to say," Bozer replied, placing the cutting board down and placing one of the washed tomatoes on top. The soft and wet sounds of the knife slicing through the fruit filled the silence between them.

"I'm sorry. I wanted to tell you."

"Sure, you did." The sarcasm fell heavy in Bozer's words. "And, yeah, okay, I get that you couldn't tell me about your job, but I doubt you wanted to." Bozer huffed. "Big difference."

Mac threw his hands up slightly in frustration. "Whether I wanted to or not doesn't matter! I still couldn't-!"

"Doesn't matter?" The knife hit the counter harshly, the loud bang echoing. Bozer whirled around, a disbelieving expression coating his face. "Of course it matters! I'm supposed to be there for you, help you, take care of you! Can't exactly do that if you're hiding shit from me!"

He shouldn't have said it. As soon as the words fell out of Mac's mouth, both of them knew he never meant to say it. But he did. And Bozer couldn't let it go.

"How are you supposed to take care of me when you can't even get out of bed sometimes?!"

Bozer froze. A soft, incredulous scoff escaped from his lips as the words sunk in. Mac's face had dropped into one of horror and regret. Bozer knew Mac felt horrible for saying what he did, but he still said it, meaning, deep down, he believed it.

"Boze, I didn't- I don't- I'm so sorry-"

Bozer bit the inside of his cheek. "No. No, I get it. It's fine. I expected it. I was just wondering when it would finally come out."

"Wait, I'm sorry. I didn't mean it-"

But Bozer had already turned and left, exiting out the front door. The dinner remained unfinished and forgotten on the counter, Mac left behind in shell-shocked silence.

For once, Bozer didn't feel empty. He just felt cold.

When Bozer came back that night, Mac had already retired to his room. Bozer entered quietly, trying not to draw any attention. He didn't want Mac to wake up and for them to rehash their old argument. Bozer knew they had both said things they deeply regretted, but it didn't make the hurt wash away. Instead, he felt the weight again.

It spread across his shoulders, his back. It pulled at his legs, telling him to stop moving and to just fall. It told him not to fight, just give in. Bozer groaned inwardly. This couldn't be happening, not now. He had a point to prove to Mac. He couldn't lie down and give up because he'd be proving to Mac that he had always been - and always will be - a burden. He refused to lie down and take this.

Until he hit the bed, of course.

As soon as his head hit his pillow, the weight came crashing back down on his chest, pushing him into the mattress. He felt squished between an invisible but heavy force and what was supposed to be a soft and cushiony bed. No, no, no. Please, no.

Bozer felt tears prick at the corners of his eyes as he exhausted his last bits of strength to turn on his bed, to lie on his side. His back faced the door, and he stared blankly at his closed window curtains. Night lingered outside, furthering the darkness in his room. He hated this. He hated everything about it.

He barely heard his door creak open. He didn't even register the soft footsteps treading across his floor until the edge of his bed dipped down slightly on the opposite side.

"I almost didn't hear you." A soft sigh. "Guess that's what you were pretty much aiming for, wasn't it?"

Bozer didn't respond. Couldn't. Didn't even know if he wanted to.

"I'm sorry, Bozer. I didn't mean what I said. I was...I was scared, and I didn't want to lose you, and…" Mac paused. "You're not registering any of this, are you?" It took another moment of silence until Mac let out a soft, understanding sigh. "Oh, I see…Oh, Boze...Did I cause this one?" The bed dipped down further as Mac laid himself down, right next to his best friend. "I've got you. I'm not leaving this time. I have you."

And then, for the first time in so long, since Mac's deployment, Bozer didn't feel cold and empty. Just empty.

He didn't even feel it this time. It just happened. He slouched when he walked. He didn't smile, but he hadn't frowned either. He never participated in conversations unless he had been directly spoken to. He kept his head down, mouth shut, felt tired, dragged his feet, and failed to notice any of it. To him, the day happened to be gloomy.

Except it lasted, not one, but several days.

It had never lasted this long, and Bozer surprised himself with the ability to actually move around and work despite the fact that the weight on his shoulders seemed to be getting heavier and heavier every second, threatening to push him into the ground and leaving him unable to stand again. Honestly, he had come close a few times. It didn't take long to realize sitting in a chair could be considered dangerous - once he sat, it was practically impossible to get back up - so he opted for standing constantly instead. It had earned him a few odd glances, but he ignored them and focused on trying to live.

He didn't want to take his life - in the beginning, it had been an option - but he was getting really sick and tired of this overwhelming feeling to just...stop. Stop moving, stop breathing, stop thinking, stop caring, stop feeling, stop everything. Other days, he existed as a bouncing ball of energy. The rest of his days? A curled, unmoving mess on his bed. He could easily confirm which Bozer he'd rather be without hesitation. Even still, he couldn't help the chemical imbalance in his brain, couldn't help the weight crushing down on him. He wasn't strong enough.

So when Jack invited the team for a night out, Bozer quickly excused himself.

"You coming, Boze?" Riley asked, a grin on her face.

Bozer looked up wearily from the laptop resting on his legs. He was currently taking a short break from standing, and that alone was considered a risky move. "Uh, no. No, I think I'm just gonna head home."

Well, that caught the team's attention. Riley's grin disappeared from her face, and Jack raised his eyebrows in surprise. Bozer never turned down an invitation for a fun night out. Matty frowned, eyeing Bozer suspiciously, but her gaze paled in comparison to Mac's. The blond had narrowed his eyes and scanning Bozer top to bottom, taking in the exhausted look in his eyes, the slouched posture, the quietness Bozer had been exhibiting for the past week. Bozer saw in real-time the understanding dawning in his best friend's eyes.

"You sure?" Jack asked, pushing to see if Bozer would change his mind.

"Yeah, I'm sure." Bozer tried to give a smile, but he knew it had been weak, even without looking at his teammates' worried faces.

"Are you okay?" Riley prodded, moving slightly closer. "You've been off all week."

Bozer cleared his throat quietly. He wanted to leave this conversation now. The team did not need to know he literally could not function sometimes. "I'm fine. Just tired."

Matty let out a soft hum. Bozer wasn't sure if she had jumped to her own conclusions, but he didn't have much time to think about it when she said, "Take the rest of the day off. You don't look well."

Bozer opened his mouth to argue, but she cut him off. "The rest of your work can be done another time when you're at your best. Go home, sleep, eat, whatever. Don't come back until Monday."

Huh. So he had the rest of Friday and the weekend to - hopefully - get over whatever episode he'd been having. He supposed he could work with that. Certainly better than the alternative of him staying at work and looking as if he were auditioning for a role in The Walking Dead.

Absolutely pathetic. Can't even do your job, hide your weakness in front of your team. How can you expect to mean something if you don't offer anything useful?

Bozer attempted to push the thoughts away to the back of his head - a vain attempt, really - and nodded. "Okay."

Matty gave him one last surveying look before nodding in response and strolling out of the room. Jack and Riley followed hesitantly after, giving Bozer their own worried glances. Finally, Mac and Bozer were the only ones remaining.

"Boze-"

Bozer interrupted him, gave him a serious look. "I'm good. Really. I'll be fine."

Mac let out a deep breath, concerned eyes lingering. "You'll call me if you need anything, right? Food, meds, even just company?"

"Of course I will." The two had never heard a bigger lie, and there had been quite a few shared between them.

Mac nodded anyway. "Be careful."

"Always am," Bozer smiled. It hadn't improved since the last time.

Still not entirely convinced but having no other choice, Mac sighed. "I'll catch a ride with Jack. I'll see you later tonight."

"See you. Have fun." Bozer tried to mean it, but emotions failed to make themselves present in him. He closely related to a robot at this point, but at least a robot could actually function.

Once Mac left, Bozer packed up his stuff and headed out to the car. He didn't remember getting in, didn't remember driving - and he knew how dangerous that could have been -, didn't remember entering the house, didn't remember going to the living room, and didn't remember collapsing on the couch. Before he could even realize it, the weight had finally dropped full-force on him after days of gradually becoming heavier and heavier.

He let out a quiet wheeze as he tried to gasp for breath. Hyperventilation settled deep in his chest, and tears pricked at the edges of Bozer's eyes. It hurt - God, it hurt so much - but he couldn't move, couldn't lift his hand to pick up the phone. He could hardly even think about grabbing his phone. All he could do was lie there, crushed until the pain subsided.

Pathetic. You can't even get off the couch. Look at you lying there. Lazy ass, while your teammates work hard. You're a disappointment to everyone, even yourself. To your parents, to your team, to Mac. Fucking pathetic.

The thoughts raged on, made him nauseous. He couldn't bear to think this way; it hurt too much, but the words refused to subside. He needed something to ground himself. How had it gotten this bad? When had it gotten this bad? The pain never reached this level of intensity before and it...scared him? Was he in danger? Of himself? Did he think he was capable of…?

He should call Mac. He should really call Mac. Even in the midst of pain and suffering and despair, the part of him that grappled with the slightest bit of self-preservation told him this required outside help. The rest of him, though, said elsewise.

He's out with his friends, having fun, relaxing, and you want to interrupt that? For what? Because you're sad and lonely? How pitiful that you can't provide your own self with the company you crave. You're a problem. A stain to Mac's otherwise perfect life. He doesn't need you. He'd be just fine without you. The last thing he needs, or wants, is you calling because you're upset. Shut up, Bozer. You deserve to suffer. You deserve all of this.

Hm. Did those thoughts come with the chemical imbalance in his brain or was that something else?

Bozer drew in a shaky and shallow breath. This couldn't go on. He wouldn't last like this. He didn't want to live like this, not anymore. How many years had it been? He'd been feeling like this for decades. Will he have to live like this for decades more? He wasn't sure he could handle that.

So he made his choice.

His movements came slow, as if he had all the time in the world. He gasped for air rapidly as the weight persisted on his chest, clutching his heart and lungs in a vice grip. He knew it wouldn't let go. His feet touched the solid ground, but it didn't bring him back from his trance, his deadly vision. He stood from the couch, legs shaking and hands even more so. Did he even realize what he planned to do? Did this count as thinking at all?

One step. Then another. And another. Bozer continued forth, movements stilted and stuttered, like a robot caught in a glitch. From an outside perspective, he might've looked like a person under mind control, fighting to regain its body. Maybe that was the most accurate description he had, but he couldn't be sure. At least, not now.

The kitchen. Why did it seem so far away? By the time he made it to the sink, he felt like he had trekked the entirety of the Sahara Desert, rather than just a few feet from the couch. He peered at his surroundings, searching for...a knife. God, did he really want this?

Yes. Yes, he did. He wanted it so badly. He couldn't live like this anymore. He refused to go on like the mess he had always been. His time had come. He just needed to act on it.

The grip on the knife handle felt unfamiliar, despite having used it hundreds of times before. Maybe because he had never used it for such a purpose before. Bozer toyed with the knife in his hands. His thoughts became clearer with the object in his hands.

The English language was a funny thing. Context. It relied on context. A knife could be many things. If it had been used to make dinner, slicing vegetables, cutting meats, it would be considered a tool, right? If it had been used to take a life, end suffering, quiet noise, was it a weapon? Amazing how one thing could be referenced so differently to the point where it had more than one name.

Depression. What an ugly name. It sounded phonetically evil. While it may be because Bozer knew the definition, Bozer often thought that even if he didn't, it would still sound sinister. Could this be called something else, too? Could it be called sadness, melancholy? Or did those words mean something different? Did depression have a synonym, or was it just forever evil-sounding?

The knife weighed heavier in his hand, rivaling the pressure on his chest. Did any of this even matter? Who cared about names, about context? Bozer did. Context provided clarity. People should know that he didn't think about taking his life because he was suicidal. No, he thought about taking his life because he didn't want to feel so tired anymore, so lost, so empty, so...dead. How can someone die if they never truly lived?

The blade glinted obscenely in the light. It looked disgusting, revolting. No longer a tool, but a weapon. Never will Bozer use the knife to make dinner for him and Mac ever again. Mac would do just fine without him. Bozer knew that. If Mac could create a bomb out of a few paperclips and tape, he could survive just fine without a constant hindrance in his way.

Well, now or never…

Several things happened at once. The knife raised. The weight tightened. The front door opened. The weight disappeared.

"Bozer, I'm ho-!" The sentence cut off to the sound of keys hitting the floor, echoing in the silent house. For a moment, no one spoke. No one moved. Bozer refused to look in Mac's direction.

Finally, the silence broke with a soft, "Don't."

Bozer knew he didn't tell his hand to put the knife down, but the clatter still pierced his ears anyway. Later, he would ponder how committed he had been, but, for now, no thought entered his mind except, what have I done?

Quiet footsteps approached him hesitantly, as if scared that Bozer would rethink his decision and pick up the knife once more. It didn't fall far out of the realm of possibility. Gentle hands touched him carefully, not wishing to startle. One on his back, the other on his elbow, tenderly guiding him away from the counter, away from the knife. Soft whispers filled his ears, but none registered. Bozer didn't think they were supposed to.

He watched absentmindedly as Mac picked up the knife - weapon? Tool? - and slid it back into its original place. His eyes followed his best friend as the other man drew closer, seeing but not quite. His legs didn't seem to want to cooperate. Mac understood and did the work for him.

"Come on, Boze," he murmured gently, "You're okay."

Bozer's movements continued to be stilted and stuttered, but Mac waited patiently, guiding him towards Bozer's room. As great as sleep sounded - God, he felt exhausted - one question broke through the hazy fog in his mind.

"Why…?" Bozer's voice sounded quiet, despite the silence around them, "Why are you here?"

Mac hummed softly, preparing himself to answer. "I was going to go with the others, but...you haven't been yourself lately, Boze. I was worried about you."

Fuck, the weight returned. Heavier than ever, the weight crashed down on him, choking him, crushing his heart, sending spikes of pain through him. Bozer sucked in a sharp breath, tried to will away the tears forming at the corners of his eyes.

"Sorry."

"Don't be," Mac soothed quickly, "There's no place I'd rather be."

The two entered Bozer's room, making their way towards the bed as Bozer muttered, "You're lying."

"I'm not. I told you I wouldn't anymore. Not to you."

The two of them drew closer to Bozer's bed, and he had expected Mac to leave. Mac rarely ever did what he'd been expected to.

"Why would you want to be here when you could be out having fun with the others?" Bozer had never said so many words during one of his episodes. An honest miracle, but a devastating curse if the ensuing exhaustion said anything about it.

"Because you're my best friend. I can't have a good time knowing you're not." Both had sat down on the mattress. Neither said a word about how heavily Bozer leaned on Mac's shoulder.

"I shouldn't be taking time away from you."

"You aren't. I promise. I want to be here with you. If I'm being honest, I am way too tired to even think about knocking back a few drinks, especially with Jack."

"Could drink a bar dry if he wanted."

The sentence sounded devoid of any humor. Mac snorted anyway.

"And he would still be able to walk a straight line if asked."

Bozer didn't laugh, but he felt a small warmth flicker softly in his chest. That was new, different...welcomed.

Mac gave a small sigh, but he didn't sound as resigned or frustrated as Bozer thought he would, didn't sound that way at all. "Here, lay down."

Bozer complied, providing no semblance of fighting as Mac pushed him gently down on to the bed. Bozer expected him to leave. Mac rarely did as he'd been expected to. Instead, the blonde laid down beside him, closer than ever before. Sure, they had shared the same bed time and again, but this felt different. Everything seemed to be feeling different lately.

It took several moments until Mac spoke again. "Please don't ever think about that again."

Bozer didn't respond.

"You were just standing, knife in your hand, and I-" A deep breath escaped Mac's lips. "God, Boze, don't...Why didn't you call me?"

Several seconds passed.

"I don't know."

"That's not good enough."

"I never will be."

"Don't say that," Mac snarled, head snapping to the side as he turned to glare at Bozer. "You are good enough. You always have been good enough. Stop."

Bozer shook his head, or at least he thought he did. He wasn't sure. "A problem. Pathetic. Unneeded. I'm a mess."

"Fucking stop, Bozer," Mac begged. Did his voice sound hoarse, or was Bozer's mind just playing cruel tricks again? "You're not. You're not...any of those things. You're perfect. A great friend, an amazing brother. How can you not see that?"

"Why can't you? How do you not see everything that's flawed in me?"

"Because everything that's flawed to you is perfect to me. Your 'flaws' make up a part of you, and I care about every single part of you."

Bozer's throat clogged, burned from the strain of holding back a sob he had never been capable of having during his previous episodes. Why was this different? What was Mac doing to him?

"I don't want to live like this anymore," Bozer whispered, voice cracking and tears pricking at the corners of his eyes.

"Jesus, Boze…" Mac sighed before pausing, a slight hesitation. "Can I...Can I give you a hug?"

Bozer's response came in the form of a shaky nod. "Please?"

Mac's arm immediately snaked its way around Bozer's waist. His head rested on top of Bozer's, and when was the last time they had ever been this close? Middle school? High school? Bozer couldn't bring himself to care when, just that it was happening. it felt...nice.

"We'll figure it out, Bozer," Mac murmured softly, clutching his best friend tighter. "We'll do whatever it takes. I'll do whatever it takes."

"I don't want to be alone anymore." The first few tears fell. Once they fell, he couldn't stop the others, didn't think he wanted to.

"You aren't alone. You never were. I will always be beside you. Get that through your head."

"I'm sorry."

"Don't be. This isn't your fault." Mac stroked Bozer's side gently. "I've got you. I've always got you."

A small sob tore through Bozer's mouth, and Mac could only hold him tighter as the rest of the breakdown ripped forward. He still felt empty, Mostly, anyway, because now there was a Mac shaped residency in his heart. Coincidentally, that little area was where the warm flickers of a flame had nested. He felt mostly empty, and maybe he always would, but at least he wasn't alone, not cold. No, he was empty…

But he was warm.