This one is short, but the previous chapter was longer, so... This chapter was inspired by the song 'Forever and A Bit' by Mother Mother and it is dedicated to a couple of the friends I met through program. PTSD is not my cross to bear but I have been touched by it because I have been touched by these beautiful, strong women. They will never read this, they will never even know it exists, but it's dedicated to them.

Forever and A Bit

Matthew sat upright, blinking back tears and the echoes of a nightmare. His hands scrambled over the furs beneath him, looking for someone warm and finding no one. His heart ached.

He felt like he was drowning, suffocating.

"Gilbert…?" He gasped, choking on his name as well as the unspoken plea therein: Where are you? Please. Please, don't leave. Come back. Don't leave, don't leave me. Please. He reached into the darkness, clutching. Grasping…

He almost sobbed in relief when Gilbert cursed and rushed forward. He pulled his hand against his cheek and leaned into it. He kissed his wrist and whispered against the marks there, a mixture of old wounds and new cuts.

"Matthew, Matthew, shhh… Birdie, I'm here. Shhh… Everything is fine. I'm sorry. I didn't mean to scare you." It was strange, but he was the one who sounded scared.

Matthew crawled forward, settling into his lap and waiting arms. Gilbert tucked his head underneath his chin and rocked him back and forth. He kissed the top of his head, the soft dip of his temple, the freckle behind his ear.

"Where were you?" Matthew asked, tugging on his shirtsleeves. His voice quivered, trembled, warbled, and he hated it. He hated it.

He hated feeling weak. Useless. He hated waking up confused and disjointed and incoherent. He used to be someone, once upon a time, and now he could not even leave the house. He used to have hopes and dreams. Now he had 'episodes'.

Post Traumatic Stress Disorder. The four little words that had changed his life forever.

"I went to the washroom, just to the washroom, just down the hall." He muttered soothing words under his breath. "Shhh, shhh, it's alright…"

"I thought you had left…"

"Never. Never, I would never do that. I'm not leaving." Gilbert smoothed his curls and kissed up his neck. "I'm not going anywhere."

"… Why?" Matthew tried to swallow the question but it slipped past his lips before he could stop it, just as it had a thousand times before. And just as before, Gilbert answered with a sigh and a sad smile.

"Because," he explained, pulling Matthew closer, "I'm in love with you. I love you."

Matthew tightened his grasp and buried his face against his shoulder.

"But I'm broken," he murmured, kissing and licking the sweat from his skin. It tasted like home; Gilbert tasted like home. He snuggled further into his arms. "Ruined."

"You're not," Gilbert laughed, but the sound was perverted and warped. There was no delight in that laughter; it was a mixture of stubbornness and exhaustion and something deeper, heavier. But that fact that he could still laugh at all spoke volumes. He was strong in all the ways that Matthew was weak. "And even if you were, I would still love you. Dumbass. So stop asking."

The word 'dumbass' sounded light hearted on his tongue, almost charming. Affectionate. There were dark circles under his eyes, purple and smudged, and Matthew thought that he looked as tired as he felt. He wondered, yet again, why he stayed. He wondered why he bothered.

But he did not ask.

Instead, he curled against him and breathed in his scent.

Gilbert had found him twisted and bleeding in the gutter, barefoot and strung out on cocaine, and he had still fallen in love with him. He had still carried him home. He had cleaned his wounds and washed his hair and tucked him into bed. He had held his hand and hummed lullabies under his breath when Matthew hissed and thrashed and screamed.

He somehow managed to be accommodating and thoughtful, even beneath his brusque words and mannerisms. He was compassionate and considerate. He was beautiful.

Gilbert was a gift, one that he did not deserve. He was a miracle, truly. His saving grace. And Matthew would love him, however tainted and damaged and depraved that love might be, until the day he died.

"I love you too," he whispered against his skin. It sounded more like a promise than an endearment. Perhaps it was both. Maybe it did not matter.

Gilbert just held him tighter.

Author's Notes:

One of the women I mentioned at the beginning published her journal, titled 'Taming the Hamster' and written under the pseudonym of Dakota Jade. It might speak to you if you have ever struggled with mental illness.

I'll be out of the city for a couple of days but I should come back with some one shots and maybe even something worthwhile.