He lies in bed, wide awake. He can't sleep, not since…
He just can't.
Matt lies beside him, on his side, his back to him. He knows Matt is awake too, he can hear it in his breath, he can read it in the forced stillness of his body.
Frank knows Matt can sense that he's not sleeping and is wondering why. He's trying with all his might not to roll over on his side and hug him, not to bury his face in the back of Matt's head, not to hold him tight against his chest, because he knows that if he does he will break down, and he doesn't want that. He doesn't want the questions, the concerned looks, the awkward conversations.
He is strong. He will get through this. He takes a deep breath and closes his eyes. Sleep will come, eventually. If not tonight, tomorrow. Or the day after.
"Frank?" Matt's voice is soft. "What's wrong?"
"Go back to sleep, Red."
"I can't. I'm worried about you."
Shit. That's exactly what he doesn't want. Red worrying about him, Red asking questions he doesn't want to answer. That he doesn't know how to answer.
Matt rolls over to his other side, to face him. He rests a hand on his arm. The touch is gentle, yet Frank feels it burning against his skin. He pulls his arm away. He's thankful for the darkness in the room, so he can't see the hurt on Matt's face. He knows it's there.
"Frank." Stern. Concerned.
He wants to leave. He wants to get up from this goddamn bed and leave the room, the house, the fucking city. He can't. Matt's pull is too strong. He gravitates around this house like a fucking moon.
He knows what it means. And it scares the shit out of him. He lets out a sigh and passes a hand over his face. It feels good to close his eyes, even for a second. God, he's tired.
Matt reaches out again, his hand lands on his arm once more. Warm. Frank doesn't pull away this time.
"Talk to me, please."
"Red, I…"
"Please, Frank."
He can't tell him. He can't let Matt know of the dream he's had a few nights ago. The agony of watching him die, of living without him. The ache in his chest felt so real, the emptiness, the complete desperation and helplessness. He hadn't felt like that in a long time.
He'd woken up in this same room, his heart pounding, drenched in sweat, tears in his eyes. He'd been surprised that Matt hadn't felt or heard any of that, but he was still sleeping beside him, looking so peaceful, a lock of hair falling on his forehead, a hand on Frank's arm. It was so beautiful, and yet so terrifying.
He can't tell him what the true problem is. What that dream really meant. If he says it out loud he makes it real, he can't keep running from it.
Matt moves closer to him, his arm is now around his waist, his head on his shoulder. It feels so good. He wants to be held like this, he wants to stop thinking and fall asleep lulled by the warmth of Matt's body, by the sound of his voice.
He turns instead, rolls in Matt's arms until he's facing him, puts a hand on his cheek. Matt closes his eyes and leans in to the touch.
"Talk to me, Frank."
"I can't."
"Why?"
"I just can't."
Matt's hand is on his chest, above his heart. His pounding, stuttering heart. He knows Matt is reading him. He almost never does that; Matt knows Frank doesn't like it. It makes him feel vulnerable.
Not this time. This time feels like he doesn't have to say the actual words, it feels as though Matt can understand him as if he were saying them out loud.
Matt sighs and embraces him, his face is buried in Matt's neck, Matt's arms are around him, all he can feel is Matt's skin, Matt's scent, Matt's warmth around him. There's a lump in his throat. He swallows, it doesn't go away.
Matt holds him tight, in silence. Frank knows he can feel his heart, he can smell his anxiety, but Matt doesn't speak. He just holds him while the light outside turns grey and the first sounds start coming from the other apartments around them.
Frank doesn't speak for what feels like an eternity. Matt holds him and waits. Frank is taller and bigger than Matt, yet he feels safe in his arms. The lump in his throat won't go away. His eyes sting. Matt waits.
"I had a dream." The words are muffled, he's speaking against Matt's neck. He knows Matt can hear him perfectly.
"I had this dream, and you fell off a roof, and I couldn't save you. Again. I could do nothing to save you. I watched you fall, and I was too far, I couldn't get to you in time, and you just fell and it felt so real and when you hit the ground..." he stops for breath. His lungs feel empty, compressed. He's panting as if he's just ran a mile.
"You hit the ground and I heard it, Red, I heard your neck snap, I heard you die."
Matt's arms tighten around him. Frank tries with all his might to stop shaking. He clenches his hands and buries his face deeper in Matt's neck.
"Frank…"
He doesn't hear Matt's next words. The sound of his voice saying his name, calm and soothing, is enough. Frank breaks down, ugly, heavy sobs shaking his entire body. He's crying like a little kid, making a fool of himself, and he doesn't care. He cries against Matt's neck until it feels like he'll never be able to stop, and just as he begins to wonder if he will ever breathe normally again, his shoulders relax and the knot in his chest loosens a little.
Matt is still holding him, patiently waiting for him to calm down, for his heart to slow down a little, for his tears to stop. He's keeping one hand on the back of his head, the other running on his back, caressing him, soothing.
He places a light kiss on the top of his head. Frank gradually stops sobbing and shaking, until he is left drained and exhausted, still cradled in Matt's arms.
"I just can't Red."
"What?"
"Lose you. Lose everything I love, again. I can't. I'm not strong enough."
He feels Matt hold his breath for a split second. He's noticed the words. He knows. It's out there, there's no taking it back now, there's no more running from it.
"You won't. You won't lose me."
"You can't say that. You cannot know. What if…"
Matt's hold loosens, he's letting him go. He moves away from him, so Frank can see his face. Matt's pupils are fixed on Frank's, as if he can actually see him.
"I know. What if. That's what I think each and every night when you leave this house to do… what you do. What if. What if this is the last time I see him. What if he doesn't come home tomorrow. What if he gets arrested, or worse. I know. But every morning you come back to me, stinking of gunpowder, and sweat, and cheap coffee, and there's no scent I love more in the entire world because it means you're home. Then you leave again, and it all starts over. I know how you feel."
Matt dips his head and kisses his lips, a soft and gentle kiss. Frank sighs and returns the kiss, eyes closed, lost in Matt's warmth, his words still ringing in his ears.
"Go to sleep, Frank," Matt orders when their lips part, and he couldn't be happier to oblige. He hasn't been this tired since Afghanistan.
He rolls over to his side, Matt holding him from behind. It feels weird to be the little spoon for once, but he doesn't complain. He sighs and closes his eyes as Matt kisses the back of his neck gently.
"I love you, Matt," are the last words that escape his lips before he falls asleep.
"I love you, too," is Matt's reply, and for the first time in weeks Frank is not afraid of his dreams.