Alex Turner/One Shots. (Smuts And Non-Smuts)

2 Prompts Blurbs (Fluff)

016: "I could never leave you, I love you too much!" But it's reader comforting Alex during an anxiety episode.

 It was difficult to pinpoint when all of this had begun, but it had started, and it was happening, and you were glad to be by his side to try to help. The place was calm and quiet, and the receptionists knew who you both were pretty well by now. You often brought a book or downloaded games on your phone to distract yourself, although you hardly used them; it felt futile. Restless, you'd tap your legs, waiting for him as if he might pass by the door without you noticing. As the appointment hours neared their end, just like in every other instance, you would rise and lean against the wall. As expected, the receptionist would give you a knowing smile and a friendly glance, indicating that he was on his way. Alex liked the knowledge that when he left he'd have you waiting for him outside.

At times, you thought you could do more, but Alex found your presence more than sufficient. With a friendly smile, you watched him walking to you. His eyes and cheeks were red, and he looked visibly drained, accompanied by the therapist who had been with him. You opened your arms solemnly, and he eagerly pulled you close, allowing your arms to envelop him, as if you could take away all his pain. The therapist bid her farewell, as pleasant as ever, and Alex wondered if you ever realized that, in many of those sessions, he talked about you with her. He shared how you made him feel lighter and improved his mood, and how he felt too burdened for you to handle at times. It wasn't that you weren't aware of his feelings; it was just that it had become so frequent and repetitive that he felt exhausting to others, particularly to you.

You clung to his waist, his arm draping over your shoulder. You could sense that he was still somewhat detached from the session, unsure whether it had helped or exacerbated things. His head seemed distant, his body tense against yours. As you thanked the people around you, you walked him out, the sunlight hitting your skin and the trees seeming unusually alive. Then, he needed space. Despite his seeming distance, you had learned to read him. You knew he liked your touch, especially when he wasn't feeling well. Even in his darkest moments, you could swear that his eyes held a fondness for you, warm and comforting. Alex wished the gods that you wouldn't tire of him.

"Take your time, there's no rush, baby boy," you smiled at him as he leaned against a tree. You held one of his hands, delicately stroking your thumb over his skin, and he seemed to find comfort in your touch. His eyes were unfocused, tears welling up with each passing moment, his breathing uneven, squeezing your heart even though not to the same degree as his own. He was about to raise his hands to his face, but you quickly took both of his hands in yours, gently squeezing to ground him in something other than what he was feeling. You had learned to avoid escalating his distress; it was challenging to control, and your eyes often welled with tears, fearing that you might not be able to help, despite your attempts to remain composed for his sake.

"Hey, try lookin' at me, babe," you whispered, your voice low and tender, meant only for him. "Can you focus on my touch? I'm holding your fingers, intertwining them with mine, slowly trailing up your arm..." you continued, deliberately slow. Gradually, you began to feel his fingertips moving in sync with yours, his sweet eyes returning to you. Holding his face, you kissed his tears away, tracing a path across his cheek and nose until his senses returned, and he started responding. You pressed your lips to his, exchanging slow kisses, the roles reversed. Seeing you affected by his state made him want to improve, to see you well, a notion that made sense in his head.

He pulled you into a hug, his hands fitting around your waist as he nestled his chin atop your head, a firm and precise embrace. It felt as though you possessed a healing power over him. "I'm sorry," he murmured so softly, sounding more like he was speaking to himself than to the world. You shook your head, still sounding utterly adorable and caring in his ears. Though it didn't bother you, it still made him feel unworthy of you at times.