Standard disclaimer applies because I don't feel happy enough to think of something witty.

Comfort

So loud, no matter what he does, he is always so vocal. It never fails to annoy me, maybe because I know that I would never be able to be like him. Because I have to admit that his voice is truth. He can never lie, because his loudness is his honesty and I can never voice it all out like him.

Perhaps that is why I keep him by my side. He is something I can never be, so I want to protect that pristine heart, or rather, what is left of it.

He is crying now, softly, probably so I can not hear. Nonetheless I did. I can understand all too well that posture, crunched up in the corner of the room, in hopes of remaining unseen unheard and unnoticed. His arms are wrapped around his upper torso, as if trying to ward off the cold. But I know better. It is not physical cold but fear. Fear that once he closes his eyes, everything will repeat and he will be just as helpless as before. That is the feeling that makes him unable to move, to call out for help or to cry aloud without restriction. Fear and pain so intense that it stops time, playing the memories over and over and over again obscenely in his head. But he can only remain silent, frozen.

And I wish he will cry loudly as he always did over the smallest things. I wish he can tell me, as usual, how he feels and whine for my comfort. But he did not, could not. And I am not brave enough to approach and console him in the usual way because I know he desires no pitiful contact from anyone, because to comfort him is to face his reality and my past. I do not have the courage, maybe never will. I doubt I am strong enough to dispel his nightmares.

He has them, bad dreams, that is. I always watched through half open eyes as he awoke in cold sweat, panting and gasping. Then he would look at me, checking to see he had woken me up, and maybe half hoping that he did. But I kept quiet and scrunched my eyes shut. Then I could hear the sound of water cascading upon him as he attempted to wash off inexistent dirt. But he can never. I know that and so does he.

Maybe if he had asked me outright to console him, I might have…I don't know. I would be torn between doing so and running far, far away. Away from his pained countenance. But when he stepped out with pink skin, he did not. He did not ask and so I did not answer even though part of me ached to.

I tried once, a compromise. Feigning slumber, I turned over and put my arms over his shoulders and neck. But he pulled away and tears streamed down silently once more. So, in that way, I lost count of how many times he awoke that way, how many times he cried silently, yet tried to hold off the tears while I watched without his knowing.

But tonight, I find myself stepping towards the bathroom. The light is off, but melded within the music of water pouring over him are the lyrics of his hiccupping sobs and I almost turn around and walk back then. But I am unable to do so for as I set eyes upon him, the ache within me seem to multiply tenfold. He stood there, under the shower with his clothes still intact. His shirt stuck to his torso and amplified his slim frame. It must be uncomfortable but I know he did not feel that. His mind is on other things as he scrubs madly at exposed skin. Looking at him like that, I could have cried for him but did not. He gave the feelings and I provided the silence. That is how it is, because I always fail to find the words to voice out to. Instead I can only walk over and stop him.

His skin is so red it must be painful. Blood threatens to rise forth over skin scrubbed one too many times. His hair is matted over his head, giving him such a lost look. I can no longer distinguish the difference between water and tears, and I do not think I want to. I can not even bring myself to look deeply into his eyes, because I know they would be devoid of everything except fear, pain and self loathing. With every sob and shudder that ran through his shaken form, I can feel myself die a little inside.

I can do nothing, not because I do not know what to do, but because I do not know how.

"Yuki…" His voice is so broken, and I am helpless. I cannot find the correct words to say so I just pull him out gently as I could and wrap a towel around him. The lump in my throat seemed to intensify but there is nothing I can do just as I cannot protect him.

He knows that too. Perhaps that is why he did not ask. And because he did ask, I cannot answer. That is how it is because he is the one who voices it all and I can only comfort him if he does.

Quietly, his sobs levels to deep even breathing and I can only hope that slumber will be kinder to him. I can not do anything else except to offer what I already had. I am a coward that way because I know that to comfort him is to face myself, my past and my lies.

So I can not do anything. I cannot cry for him or help him wash away the filth that is never there in the first place. All I can do is pull his slumbering form into my arms, hoping to warm him up.

Then tomorrow morning, everything would be normal again. He will shout and be loud and I will be quiet and annoyed.

Till night comes.

Author's Note

I know, I'm crazy and this ficcie is not something that makes you cry, but I did when I was writing it, mainly because I had lost a really good friend over something I could not even understand. From there the question of 'how do you comfort someone when you don't know how? How do you accept other people into your heart without ever being hurt? Why is it that whichever way you choose, whether to comfort or leave him / her alone, you would always get hurt in the end? Is this even worth all the pain that you are going through now?' haunted me.Through writing this and crying like an idiot while typing it, I realised that it is literally impossible to not get hurt whether in the process of being a good friend or lover. But to be unable to comfort someone but sitting there with him / her is much better than leave the person alone. But too bad for me, it is just too late. Maybe I just am not a good person or friend, but it is because I don't know how.

Anyways, I transfered my sadness and helplessness by writing this ficcie. Hope you will enjoy it and maybe give me a few comments.