"There's a few dozen of us," Momoe is explaining as she holds open the heavy weight of a gate for Abe and Mihashi. She's been talking since Abe got his tears under control and was helped to his feet. His ankle proves unwilling to take his weight when he tests it, and though there are others in Momoe's group who look better able to support him, no sooner is he upright then Mihashi's fitting in against his side, catching Abe's arm over his shoulders without any discussion at all. Abe would take more of his weight himself if he could, if only to save Mihashi the effort, but even he can't hide the shooting pain that runs up to his knee every time he tries, and without any other choice left to him Abe is finding Mihashi's shoulders to be stronger than they appear.
He's been thinking about that for the painfully slow walk back, more distracted by the steady pace of Mihashi's breathing so close to his ear and the oncoming promise of safety to follow much of Momoe's explanation. He is listening, at least, hearing the words if not taking in the meaning; he can think about them later, after he's rested, after they're safe, when it is no longer Mihashi bearing the brunt of his safety.
The sound of the gate slamming shut is one of the most welcome sounds Abe has ever heard in his life. For a moment his throat goes tight, another surge of emotion catching him through the ever-widening cracks in his defenses, and he has to stop to lift a hand to his face and compose himself. Mihashi stumbles to a stop as soon as Abe does, turns in as much as his role as support will allow him as he stammers, "A-abe-kun?"
"I'm fine," Abe snaps, somewhat more roughly than he intends, but Mihashi doesn't flinch as he expects him to, and behind the cover of his hand there's the moment of blessed silence he needs to collect his facade back around himself.
He's ready to continue when he drops his hand, but Momoe has stopped talking, is standing in front of them looking from one to the other.
"You don't look like you've slept in weeks," she says bluntly, and the words could be for them both if her eyes weren't so sharp on Abe's face. "Were you trying to keep watch all by yourself?"
Abe can feel the blush sweep out across his cheeks, burn hot into his skin with self-consciousness he hasn't had the luxury of feeling for what feels like an infinity. Mihashi is looking at him, he can feel the other's hazel eyes fixed on his features, but he doesn't look back, doesn't have the courage to face down whatever expression is on the other's face.
He's spared from answering himself by Momoe offering confirmation on his behalf. "You were." Her hand comes out so quickly Abe would flinch if he had any strength left to do so, but her hold on his shoulder is kind instead of judgmental, steady and reassuring in a way Abe had all but given up on ever feeling again. "Well. I can't say I don't understand that. I'll fill you in on the rest of the details later, after you're more rested."
They aren't given a chance to protest, even if such were possible. Abe thinks he might be on the verge of tears again, the relief of true rest such a lost hope he can hardly take a breath for the burn of gratitude. Momoe is apologizing, he realizes at some impossible distance, promising real rooms eventually once they get more building materials as she gestures towards a handful of unrolled sleeping bags in the corner of the barricaded space, but Abe's not listening. His body is trying to shut itself down, like proximity to a bed is dragging him down into unconsciousness where he stands, and when Abe slides off Mihashi's shoulder to land on his knees it's luck as much as intent that lands him atop one of the rolls. He doesn't take off his jacket; there's just the pull of gravity, irresistible and insistent, dragging him forward until he's fully prone on the impossible softness of the material under him.
He's asleep immediately, instantly unconscious under the weight of exhaustion. It's only the sound of Mihashi's voice that pulls him back, "Abe-kun?" faint but familiar enough to drag him back to some semblance of awareness.
"Mihashi?" He sounds lost, drunk and hazy on the promise of relaxation, and there's something pressing against him, tugging on his arm until he rolls onto his side and lifts it.
The warmth gets him to open his eyes. There's heat against him, the comfort of a living body pressed in close, a tiny tremble humming against him like a lullaby. When he tips his head down there are soft curls just against his shoulder, a tentative hand touching his hip, and that's when Abe realizes Mihashi is fitting in against him, breathing more slowly and calmly than Abe has ever heard him.
"I want." There's a pause, a inhale like Mihashi is collecting himself. "Because we c-couldn't."
There's pieces of that missing, major segments of coherency as absent as Abe's focus. But it's enough for him to understand, he thinks. Maybe it's just that he feels the same way, that for once he barely needs the medium of words to link his comprehension to Mihashi's sentiment. He hasn't let himself even consider this before, the simple comfort of someone else against him, of Mihashi safe in the curve of his arm as their breathing falls into heavy slowness together.
It's the first time they've ever been able go to sleep together.