Be found

Slam On The Brakes

It had taken about an hour for Connor's sobbing to calm down, and for him to ask - almost beg - Evan to hold him. He had never used to be so emotionally volatile, never used to cry in front of people. Barely even used to cry by himself. And now he was crying left and right, sobbing into Evan's shoulder all of the time, tearing up at the slightest word. Before he left, he had discussed it with his therapist, who had thought it was the result of years of bottled up emotion finally being given somewhere safe to be released.

It made some sense, but Connor was starting to get annoyed at his own teary nature, and couldn't imagine others weren't as well. Especially Evan, who usually had to deal with his sweaty, wet face, and his running nose, and the complaints of headaches after the fact.

Here, just about cradled in Evan's arms, it was easy to reflect on this stuff. With the calm. And the warmth, and the softness there to catch him when he landed, inevitably calmer, happier, having been as introspective as he needed for as long as he needed.

And that was the lovely thing about Evan. He waited to be told when to stop and start. He waited until Connor asked to be held, probably knowing how much it freaked him out to go from that angry and scared to the all consuming calm of his arms. He had to be told to stop asking for kisses, it still hadn't stopped half of the time. It was endearing, and showed he really cared about what Connor wanted, but sometimes, what Connor wanted was to get straight to the kiss, and skip the asking. He was still tentative and hesitant in the smallest of touches, still cocked his head in silent askance any time they did have the time and space to be intimate, checked in at any chance, grinned whenever Connor whined impatiently instead of answering, and Connor would never get that small, teasing utterance of "Use your words, Connor." Out of his head. Nor would he want it gone.

But here. Here. Now. He wanted to be present. Wanted to be here in Evan's arms, steadying his breathing, focusing on the way that Evan had just forgiven him, hadn't seemed shaken at all by his outburst. Instead had immediately tried to comfort Connor, had reassured him that he trusted him, that he loved him, that he wasn't going anywhere, wasn't leaving, when all Connor could focus on was that horrifying flash of anger in which he had felt ready to commit acts of violence. It not against Evan. Never against Evan. The wall, sure. Himself, absolutely. But never, ever Evan.

But there was a flash when he wasn't in control, and he thought he was going to- was going to- and his stomach rolled over and he fought his way out of Evan's arms and over to the trash can that lived under his desk as he retched.

Evan's hand rested now on his lower back, and his other hand was gathering Connor's long hair away from his mouth, and he could vaguely hear comforting, soft words in Evan's voice, but couldn't make out the specifics. He chose to close his eyes and focus on the cool air against his hot, sweaty skin.

"... You're okay. It's okay, Connor. Are you- is it- are you feeling better?"

Thinking for a moment he nodded and unhunched his back as Evan's presence left his side. He blinked - and must have done so very slowly - and Evan was back at his side with a glass of water, and soothing hands pushing his hair away from his face, cupping his cheeks, holding his shoulders firmly, as though to affirm that he was really there, really present. And his eyes were filled with worry, but not that self conscious worry he usually had.

Connor sipped the water, finding it soothed his now raw throat, raw from the screaming, the crying, and now this. He took another few sips for good measure.

"I- I'm sorry, Evan. That was- you shouldn't have had to see that."

"Hey, I'm your soulmate, I'm bound to see things like this. I'm just worried about you. How did it get to this? Who- what- you're seeing a therapist, right?"