com· fort | \ ˈkəm(p)-fərt.
transitive verb
: to ease the grief or trouble of
.
xxi
winter
age twenty-four
.
Gray and Natsu end up staying.
"He said he feels safer here," Natsu explains a few days after the hospital. Him and Sting are sitting on the back porch steps, and Gray's napping in the guest room with Bella curled up next to him. Kelly just left with her follow-up photographs of Gray's injuries, and the dull look in his eyes when she'd taken them had been heartbreaking.
"I don't think he wants to be alone with me," Natsu says.
Sting's heart aches at the despondent expression on Natsu's face. "It's not you," he says gently. "I'm sure he knows you would never hurt him, but he's probably scared of being alone with someone right now. Even if it's you."
"I know," Natsu says, sighing and rubbing his face. "I'm trying not to take it personally." Frosche, who has meandered outside, meows and rubs herself against Natsu's legs. "Is it okay? If we stay?"
"Of course," Sting says. He tips his head back to look through the window at Rogue, who's baking cookies. Rogue must feel Sting's gaze because he looks up, smiling when they make eye contact and blowing Sting a kiss. The he nods meaningfully at Natsu, and Sting looks back at him. He looks exhausted and scared.
"We're here for you, too," Sting says.
Natsu looks over at him and frowns.
"This has been hard on you." Natsu starts to protest but Sting shakes his head. "It's okay to be overwhelmed. Just because it's worse for him doesn't mean it's not awful for you. Seeing someone you love get hurt like that…"
He trails off, thinking of showing up at Uncle Wes' house, cold and hurting, with Lector in his arms.
"I do," Natsu says. His voice is quiet as he kicks at a leaf that's drifted over to them. "Love him, I mean."
"I know."
"I feel so fucking stupid." Natsu drops his head into his hands. "I shouldn't have left, I should have—why didn't I try harder? I could have—"
"Could have what? Come here and wandered the streets looking for him? He changed his name, he looks different, and Joel was isolating him on purpose. You did everything you could."
"It wasn't enough."
"It was." Sting takes Natsu's hand and squeezes it gently. "You helped him find the courage to leave."
"He could have died."
"But he didn't, because of you." Frosche meows in agreement as she turns in circles and then settles in a ball on Natsu's lap. "He's here, and you're here," Sting says, "And we're all going to be okay."
When Sting gets home from work at three the next morning, he finds Gray in the kitchen. He's staring up at the cupboards above the stove, and it takes Sting's exhausted brain a few minutes to realize that Gray's looking for a drink.
"We don't have any alcohol."
Gray jumps at his voice and Sting reaches out to reassure him, then backs away when Gray flinches. When Sting flips on the kitchen light, Gray's panicked expression fades quickly, and he's left looking small and miserable, with his arms wrapped around his stomach.
"I'm sorry," Sting says, keeping his voice light. "I didn't mean to scare you, I just got home. You hungry?"
It's only once they're settled on the couch with ice cream and the cats that Sting digs into his pocket and pulls out his sobriety chip. He runs his fingers over the edges for a minute, then nods at Gray and says, "Catch," before tossing it over.
Frosche attempts to bat at it but Gray nudges her away and runs his fingers over the coin. It's clear he doesn't know what it is.
"It's a sobriety chip," Sting explains. He tries not to let shame take over at the words. Even after five years of meetings and saying I'm an alcoholic, it's still hard to admit. Those are strangers. This is something else.
It takes Gray a second to figure out what Sting means, but when he does, he looks up at Sting with wide eyes.
"You..."
Sting nods. "I know it fucking hurts like hell, but I promise drinking will just make it hurt worse."
Gray stares at the chip, bringing his other hand up to touch the marks on his neck. "I don't think it can hurt worse," he says, voice rough.
"You'd be surprised." Sting leans back against the couch as Lector makes himself comfortable, kneading Sting's sweatpants. "Ask Natsu about the first time he met me." Gray raises an eyebrow and Sting feels heat creeping into his cheeks. "I, uh... threw up on his shoes."
"Really?"
"Mm. I was a wreck."
Sting tips his head back against the couch and stares up at the ceiling. Sometimes it feels like he's talking about someone else – a broken, wayward boy who took all the wrong paths. Rogue had asked once if Sting had any pictures of himself as a teenager, and he'd been relieved to say no. He doesn't want to remember what he looked like when he was so far gone.
Gray makes a soft sound and Sting blinks, realizing he's gone silent. When he looks over, Gray has Frosche on his lap and he's petting her carefully, running his finger over her head and giving her a tiny smile when she bumps her nose against his palm. Then he looks back up at Sting with a question on his face.
Sting swallows as the tiny ball of anxiety in his stomach starts to expand. Gray is kind and understanding, but the question is always there in the back of Sting's mind – who could love me after they know what I've done? He exhales, pushing away the fear. Rogue loves him. Natsu loves him. Uncle Wes loves him.
He loves himself.
"None of it helped," he says quietly. "Drinking, drugs, hurting myself." He holds out his arms to show Gray the skin that will always carry the marks of his hurt. "I thought that maybe I could hurt myself worse than he hurt me, and that I'd be in control, but... that's not how it works."
Gray's quiet for a second, studying the scars on Sting's arms and then looking down at his own wrists. There's nothing there, but the look on Gray's face tells Sting that he's thought about it before.
"I feel so stupid," Gray says after a minute, rolling the sobriety chip between his fingers. "You all tried to help me. Before. And I just—I didn't listen, and I should have, and now it's just..." He shakes his head. "There's this stupid part of me that doesn't want him to get in trouble, that's still scared that he'll get angry at me."
Sting nods, reaching out and nudging Gray's foot with his own. "You can be scared and still go on," he says, remembering Rogue's words. "I haven't seen my dad in ten years and I'm still terrified of him."
"That's... not very reassuring," Gray says, and Sting quickly shakes his head.
"No, I didn't..." He looks up at the ceiling and chews on his lip. "I just meant you're not stupid. It doesn't matter how long it took, you left, and even if you hadn't, you still wouldn't be stupid." Sting's mind drifts to all the times he'd tried – tried to leave, to quit, to grow up, to be better. "I know it's not that easy."
Gray is quiet for a minute, looking down at Frosche. "If I hadn't left, he…" He sighs, shaking his head. "What if I'm never okay?"
Sting's heart aches at the expression on Gray's face – he's seen it so many times in the mirror. The angry desperation is almost a tangible thing, and if Gray wasn't so skittish right now, Sting might offer to hug him. Instead, he nudges Gray's foot with his again – I'm here. I know.
"'Okay' isn't really a thing," Sting says gently. "I still..." He pauses, torn between wanting to relate and not wanting to hurt. It's a fine line, and with Gray the pain is so raw and new. "Does it help, if I tell you this stuff?" he asks. "Or does it make it worse?"
"It helps," Gray almost whispers, keeping his eyes on Frosche. Sting nods, letting out a soft grunt as Lector stands up and stretches, then clambers up onto Sting's chest and makes himself comfortable again. He starts to purr when Sting scratches behind his ears.
"I still have nightmares," Sting says after a minute. The anxiety from earlier is quickly turning into a lump in Sting's throat that he can't push down. He tries to hold the tears in because this isn't about him. It's about Gray, and Joel, and the marks on Gray's neck, and Sting knows that, but for a second, all he can hear is his dad.
grow up
stop crying
don't be such a baby
Then he exhales, letting the memories go. He is grown up, and his tears aren't a weakness. Sting cries for lots of reasons – grief, fear, guilt, joy, empathy – and none of that makes him weak. He knows that he feels more than most people, but that isn't something that he's ashamed of anymore. It's what makes him strong.
"There's still things that set me off," he says, trying to keep his voice steady. "Little, stupid things. And suddenly it's like I'm this... I feel small. Helpless. Trying to figure out what I did wrong so I can make it right, even though nobody's really angry." The words run together, spilling out of him like the tears on his cheeks. "And that doesn't go away, but you get better at living with it. At recognizing when your brain is lying to you. At trusting people. And you can't do that if you're drunk or high or hurting yourself."
Gray makes a quiet, sad sound as Sting wipes the tears from his face. They lapse into a comfortable silence for a few minutes, and the only sound in the house is Natsu snoring softly in the guest bedroom down the hall. Gray seems to be processing Sting's words – Sting can see the tiny changes in his expression as he works through the information. Eventually he sighs, and the only thing left on his face is exhaustion.
"You should sleep," Sting says gently. He nudges Lector off him and shuffles off the couch, yawning and stretching before reaching out for Gray's hand. Gray stares at it for a second, then lets Sting help him to his feet. His hands are cold, and Sting squeezes them gently, taking back the chip.
"It'll get better," he says, hoping that the words don't seem empty. "But right now… it's okay to not be okay."
Rogue's still awake when Sting gets upstairs.
"Hey, love," he says quietly, yawning and setting his phone down on the side table. Frosche, who trailed after Sting up the stairs, hops up onto the bed and meows at him. He scratches behind her ears, then tugs his shirt and sweatpants off and slips under the blankets in just his boxers.
"Did you two eat all the ice cream?" Rogue asks with a half-smile and a raised eyebrow. Sting grunts noncommittally, cuddling up to Rogue and wrapping an arm around his waist. "Is everything okay?"
"As it can be," Sting says, humming when Rogue starts to comb the tangles out of his hair.
"Gray's lucky to have you," Rogue says, kissing Sting's forehead. "And so's Natsu." He runs his finger along Sting's scar. "How're you feeling?"
Sting doesn't answer right away, instead splaying his hand over Rogue's chest and feeling the soft, steady thump of his heart. Then he tips his head back and gazes at Rogue, giving him a soft smile.
"Safe," he says, leaning in for a kiss. He can feel Rogue's lips curve up as he kisses back, running his fingers into Sting's hair and pulling him close. Sting drifts his hand down across Rogue's stomach, curling his fingers around Rogue's hip and tugging him onto his side until they're facing each other.
"You are safe," Rogue murmurs between kisses. The moonlight spilling through the window makes his hair look silver and Sting tucks it behind his ear, moving to kiss his cheek, then his neck. Rogue shivers, letting Sting's hands guide him until he's straddling Sting's hips and gazing down at him.
"I know," Sting says, running his hands up Rogue's thighs. "I love you."
"I love you too," Rogue says as he leans down and rubs his nose against Sting's. Then he kisses the freckles on Sting's nose and adds, "You'll always be safe with me."