He stirs to find the tip of a finger trailing up and down his side.
A careless kiss is planted into his hair, a muffled greeting is murmured into his shoulder, and he feels the warmth of sunshine pushing through the tent's fabric even though his back is turned.
The only words that come clearly across are I love you, and they aren't even spoken.
He reaches for a hand that has curled against his stomach, tracing the tanned edges carefully before settling it against his chest, still enclosed within his palms.
His fingers, even from both of his hands, can't quite cover the skin completely.
I'm smart enough to keep you here if I want you.
He can't quite bring himself to say the words that he's thinking of, the words he can't make sense of just yet, and instead settles for grazing his lips across the knuckles. He pulls his face away, and lets Tibarn's hand fall to the blankets under them both.
Hopefully I'll be strong enough to do the same when I need you.
He can never fully commit to any of the promises that Tibarn makes, can't find the truth in any of them; can't believe that he's good enough to compare, to get close enough in any aspect that he's thought of a thousand times already.
He looks at the burnt edges of his clothing, at the scars that poke out from under his sleeves, and doesn't bother to notice the strength in the ones that he can't see.
It's much easier to breathe when he doesn't think about it.
It's only a matter of time before he forgets the rhyme and rhythm of the words that have been repeated a thousand times before, and it's only a matter of hours before he can remember why they needed to be spoken in the first place.
When the images in his mind become too strong to bear, and his fingers twitch with the need to do something, to hurt something, to kill, something, to do anything, to try anything just make it all stop make them come back-
This is the moment that Reyson allows himself to be handled by darkness.
To be coddled by his own fleeting memories, to feel the ghost of an sting that never quite stays; he's known for a while that he can't handle things on his own, that it's only a matter of time before he eventually breaks himself. He's too weak, he's always been weak. A pretty face and no backbone to show for it.
His heartbeat pounds under his worries, a steady thunder roaring in the distance. A storm that carries on through midnight, through nightmares and the cold sweat that covers his skin when he awakes in the morning.
When his cries are finally answered, with a hushed whisper that has more meaning behind it than any of his pathetic whimpers could manage.
The words hang in the air, heavy and enduring and echoing against one another in a harmony that makes him want to grab them for himself. A masterpiece that he can't repeat alone.
It's when he surrounds himself in them, when the sounds of reassurance become so repetitive that they are only a ringing in his ears, that he can finally drown out his own thoughts. It's when he allows the aching in his chest to ground him to where he lies, that their melody guides him back into light.