Bobby is quiet.
That shouldn't surprise him, not really. It feels like stating a fact. The sky is blue, grass is green, and Bobby is quiet.
But this quiet is different, and Luke can't put his finger on why.
Lord knows Luke isn't quiet. But if Luke is a thunderstorm rolling across the sky, then Bobby is a sunrise in the winter, brightening slowly, some days darker than others, but when they shine, they can blind you. Luke had been blinded about 6 months ago, and he had finally accepted that he would never see anyone else again.
Today was one of Bobby's darker days - though in Luke's eyes, even his darkest days were beautiful.
He hadn't spoken to Luke since he walked into the studio. Hadn't acknowledged him, really, and that wasn't normal. Luke watched them from behind hooded eyes, not wanting to make them uncomfortable. Bobby wasn't an open book, but Luke had long since learned to read them, to read the small cues that most people would miss.
He noticed the way Bobby winced as he tuned his guitar. The way his fingers gripped just a bit tighter than they normally would. How his eyes flicked around the studio, never landing on any one thing for long enough to focus.
Luke decided it was a good day to take a chance, setting his guitar down carefully, making sure not to make the strings twang as he let go. Approaching Bobby slowly, so as not to startle them, Luke slowly lifted his hands to their temples. Waiting until they locked eyes with him, a slight incline of their head and a lowering of their lashes the only permission Luke would receive, he gently laid his fingers on their temples and started to massage, softly crooning under his breath.
Luke knew Bobby, had been friends with him for most of their lives, had been in love with him for the last six months. He knew that something had happened, that Bobby was on the verge of a mental breakdown. Knew that he wouldn't ask for touch, would consider himself a burden on his friends if he did.
Luke knew, because Bobby had blinded him – blindsided him, really – six months ago, and Luke simply had no desire to look anywhere else.
He knew that Bobby craved physical touch, even when he was spiraling. Knew that Bobby would welcome the feel of Luke's calloused fingers brushing his skin. Knew that Bobby would welcome arms wrapped around him, would lean into an embrace. Knew that his eyes would close, the tension would slowly leech from his body.
Luke knew, because he knew Bobby. Had studied them, learned them. Watched him when Reggie or Alex offered him affection, saw how they leaned in, soaked it up as though it might be the last time anyone touched them.
Pulling his hands down from Bobby's temples, he allowed his fingers to trail across Bobby's sharp cheekbones. Enjoying the smooth skin against his fingers, Luke slowly smoothed Bobby's hair from his face, tucking it behind his ears. Moving slowly, making sure that Bobby could pull away if they chose, Luke lowered his hands to their shoulders, gently tugging them forward, wrapping his arms around them.
With a shudder, a sharp release of breath, Bobby dropped his head to Luke's shoulder, tucking his head into the crook of Luke's neck.
Luke lifted one arm, carding his fingers through Bobby's hair, still humming softly under his breath, trying to soothe the demons he knew that Bobby carried everywhere with him.
Bobby was a winter sunrise, and he had blinded Luke Patterson six months ago. Luke wasn't complaining. He would happily revolve around the sun for the rest of his days.