Good Things Fall Apart

Articulation

Victor wakes with a welcome weight on his chest, the gentle sensation of another ribcage expanding and contracting just two layers of skin and fabric from his own. He doesn't know what time it is. He doesn't care.

Benji is still fast asleep, his hair disastrously tangled, cheeks ruddy and his mouth slightly open.

Victor blinks away tears as he smiles and stretches, his bones and muscles aligned in a way they haven't been for what feels like months. He pops his knuckles. Sunlight streams in through the window, less lemon yellow, more golden.

How long have we been asleep?

Besides him, Benji stirs. He makes a little cooing sound in the back of his throat and turns in the bed, still asleep, reaching out for Victor.

With a muffled giggle, Victor reclines again and turns away from Benji, allows the other boy to wrap his arms around Victor and pull him close. It feels like he's being pulled home, animal magnetism drawing his body in, down, into the solid warmth of Benji's body. Admittedly, the cast on Benji's left wrist doesn't do much for comfort, but it clings tight to Victor, presses against his torso and against his heart, and the pressure is welcome.

Benji grunts and shifts behind Victor. He cranes his neck to see what the disturbance is, and what greets him is a pair of hazel eyes, lidded with sleep but glimmering. "G'morning," he murmurs.

"Morning," Victor says and rotates to face Benji, making sure to keep a reasonable distance between them. "Well, it's probably late afternoon by now."

"Mm," Benji hums. He stretches through a yawn and Victor yawns in turn. "Were we asleep for long?"

Victor nods. "Think so. How do you feel?"

"I..." Benji says, his eyes fluttering to Victor's neck, his chest. "I don't know."

Propping up on an elbow, Victor leans away. "Oh. Um."

"No! No, it's not like that again," Benji says and mirrors Victor. "I told you, that...that's not happening again. It's just. I don't know what we're doing," he says with a single huff of a laugh.

An odd sort of weight takes roost in the hollow of Victor's chest. "I don't either," he admits. "But that's okay, right? I mean, we don't have to figure everything out right now."

"Of course," Benji says. He pushes his teeth into his bottom lip.

Victor wishes he could lean forward, replace Benji's teeth with his own lips, kiss him hello, good morning, kiss him forever. But he refrains. "We can take things as slow as you want, remember? I mean, I want to take it slow too. I don't think we can go back to what we were before right away. Or ever, maybe."

Benji bows his head and sniffles. "Why did we hurt each other like this, Vic?"

The question is a javelin in Victor's gut. "I...I don't know. But I've learned now that hurting you is hurting me, Benji. I never want to hurt you again."

"I want to believe you. So badly, I want to believe you. But—" Benji snaps his mouth shut, shakes tears out of his eyes. "How are we supposed to just move on from this point?"

Victor grips the sheets around him in an attempt to hide the fact that his hands are quaking, his whole body tectonic, crumbling. "I don't know," he says in a broken whisper, because that's all he can manage at the moment. "But I want to try. I have to. If I lose you again..." He trails off, because he can't even think of the words to ascribe to this feeling, this inherent necessity for Benji to be in his life. Benji has become a bough on Victor's trunk, strong, sturdy, and as if the process of reattaching the branch won't be painful enough, Victor isn't sure he'll survive another detachment.