sdmn one sh~i~ts

Bird And Back /minishaw

words: 875
warnings: little bit of depressy ⚠️

Simon's hand feels like an anchor.

The motions it makes when carding through Harry's hair are soft, but not careful; Simon knows better by now. He knows he shouldn't treat Harry like a precious vase that will fall and completely shatter when you give it a little push.

The hand stops on his neck and Simon's thumb brushes at the hair there before he lets it go back up to the top of Harry's head. His roots are drenched in sweat, all the way through, badly, another piece of the puzzle that makes up his mental state.

At least he showered today. Or was that yesterday?

No, it was this morning because Simon made him a cup of ginger tea, and had then pushed him to the bathroom with a towel in one hand and the other on Harry's back, guiding him, joking that if he didn't wash himself now the neighbours might start to complain about the stench.

"I'm tired," Harry says, for the fourth time today. It feels like he has become one of those old clocks out of which wooden figures would appear to dance every hour. The only difference to those happy smiles is that Harry feels more like the bird that comes out of other clocks, the one that caws for a minute and then retreats, but instead of shrieking Harry just simply states his exhaustion.

"I know," Simon responds, for the fourth time today. Harry is grateful he still responds at all, realises he would probably only sink deeper if Simon didn't.

He wants to tell Simon that he is grateful. For everything. For being there from start to finish every day, week, month, year. But it seems like one of those things that can't be expressed through words, and if it could, it would cost a lot, simply because Simon deserves fourteen dictionaries stacked on top of one another and then some more. Harry gets tired just thinking about how many words it would take. He hums, just once, loud because the room is silent even if it was meant to not be heard at all.

Simon scratches behind his ear and Harry leans into it, lets his eyes fall shut. He could fall asleep in Simon's lap like this, he probably will. He silently thanks Simon for urging him to change for bed and not just fall asleep on the couch in shorts and a t-shirt that will become too cold as the night continues to stretch on.

The bird within him wants to jump out and make another exclamation. Harry keeps it in his brain, lets another mention of being tired drag against the walls of his mind. It exhausts him even further, and yet he can't seem to help it.

He sucks in a breath, and with it enough energy to push out, "Could you?"

Simon gets it instantly, like he always does. He starts to talk about his day, names details and people Harry will forget but is grateful for right now. Simon talks in soft and quiet tones and Harry knows it will lull him to sleep, sooner rather than later.

"Thank you," He pushes out in a whisper, and right after, a quiet, "I'm sorry."

Simon stops in the middle of telling him how he had recorded that game show Harry likes so they can watch it tomorrow to instead say, "You don't have to be sorry Harry."

They've had this talk before, more times than Harry is proud of, but he guesses he still needs to hear it.

"I just feel..." He trails off, his throat closing up. "Bother."

Simon runs his nails over Harry's scalp softly like he knows the younger likes. "You are never a bother," He says. "You're just human, Harry."

"Yeah?"

"Yeah."

The room falls quiet again. Harry shifts his head, moves one of his hands under it so it can function as a self made pillow. His mind still won't quiet down, despite that tiredness clinging to every part of him, inside and out.

Harry's brain comes to a halt as Simon speaks again.

"The world might look ugly tonight, Haz, but I promise you'll see beauty in it again tomorrow."

The words make a little weight fall off of Harry's shoulders. Just the night. He just has to get through this one night.

"I do want to have your ginger tea again," Harry says, a small smile threatening to break out on his plump but chapped lips.

He can hear the smile Simon himself has when he responds, "It will be waiting for you in the morning."

"Yeah?" Harry asks again, feeling his eyes get heavier and heavier. He wants to give in, to let his mind shut up if only for a little while.

"Yeah," Simon whispers back.

Harry lets his body finally relax, he consciously releases his muscles from their tenseness.

Go, he's telling them, his body, himself. It's okay.

With Simon's hand still carding through his hair like an anchor to the real world, Harry lets the tiny wooden bird in him settle down into its nest, lets himself give in to sleep.

There is something he has to wake up for after all.