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It's raining.
I... I don't know when it started raining but it's raining now.
I can't find it in myself to care.
Can't find it in myself to move.
So I continue to stare out into nowhere.
The rain has filled my glasses, with droplets that I can't see past.
It's okay, I wasn't really looking anyway.
The rain has soaked my clothes.
I already felt like lead was filling my limbs.
It's okay, I'm used to the weight pressing down on me.
The rain drums a beat on my head, on my back.
I feel so hollow, sound it too.
It's okay, I always loved the sound of music.
I've started shaking.
I... don't know when that started but I can't stop now.
How long have I been out here?
How long have I been sitting on this ledge?
I'm so tired...
My brain feels full of cotton, my limbs tingle with TV static.
I can't feel my fingers, my toes, my legs. Hell I can't feel anything at all.
Somehow, over the rain, I hear the scraping sound of someone sitting next to me.
I can feel their presence, they're not touching me but the closeness feels like a physical weight in the air.
I know who it is, or can at least guess who'd be crazy enough to be out right now.
I can't find it in myself to look though. Turning my head feels impossible, like my joints have locked themselves in place and my head weighs a thousand pounds.
There is a hand on my shoulder.
I don't know when he put it there but the little warmth he produces feels nice.
I think he might have said something but it hasn't reached me yet.
The next thing I know is I'm in his arms, strong, secure, solid.
The only things keeping me together right now.
We're moving, going down.
The only reason I can tell is the swooping of my stomach at the decent.
It nearly makes me cry at the attempt to not jostle me.
But that would be feeling something.
And I cannot.
I can feel the shift as he climbs through my window and gently shuts it.
It's so much quieter without the rain.
Even though he moves silently, I can still hear the quiet patter of water hitting the floor as he makes his way to the bathroom.
He sits me softly on the edge of the tub.
Droplets still cling to my glasses, the heat of the air fogging them up.
He slips them from my face as if they're the most delicate thing.
I can't see any better now than I could before.
I really wish I could.
He's knelt in front of me, untying my shoes and slipping them off.
The warmth of shame starts to creep up my chest, how can I not do something so simple as taking off my shoes.
But he does it so effortlessly, so calmly, that behind the shame burns something even stronger.
There's no other sound than him shuffling around.
He's not trying to make conversation, not asking questions.
The quiet is nice, calming, soothing something that's been begging to be understood.
He's maneuvering my arms.
Slowly feeding them through the sleeves of my shirt.
My eyes squeeze shut as the wet fabric crosses my face and he huffs a quiet little laugh.
I can hear the plap of it hitting the floor next to him.
He unzips my binder and I shiver as the air hits the dampness of my skin.
He sets it to the other side of him and quietly, in the back of my brain I hope he remembers it has to be hand washed.
He stands me up on shaky legs, guiding my arms to rest on the crest of his shell as he goes to unbutton my pants.
The tremors get worse when the air hits my legs.
I feel like I'm going to shake apart from the inside out, from the cold, from the tender way he's touching me, from the part of me that feels like I don't deserve this.
But he's doing it anyway.
Not because I asked, not because I had to plead and beg for him to be there for me, not because he expects anything in return.
And yet some small part of me is still so afraid to believe he cares.
Because, in my mind, that's dangerous. For both of us.
I can't get my hopes up cause he'll leave eventually, they always do.
But... he hasn't yet, hell he drops by uninvited all the time, sometimes for a reason, sometimes just to exist in the same place as me.
I'll let him down eventually and he'll see how worthless I am.
But he's only ever told me how I don't have to DO anything to be valuable, to be loved.
And he's proved it, being there even when I have nothing to offer him.
I've been so lost in my own head I don't realize I've been sat back down till I have to weakly grab the side of the tub for balance as he lifts my leg to take my pants and underwear off.
He glances at me, and though I can't really see his face, this is the first time we've truly looked at each other since he brought me home.
He looks for a second longer, a violent shake runs through me that I can't stop, and he continues with his self assigned task.
He makes a bit of a show plopping the garments with the shirt that earns him a huff.
He slips off my socks and they join the rest of the pile.
He reaches past me to turn the tub on.
And for a moment we just breathe in the same space.
He checks the temperature and stops up the tub.
And I realized, that despite how cold I am, how talking is out of the question, and moving on my own is not quite possible, I feel more in my body that I have in a while.
He gently picks me up and places me in the tub.
I shudder at the tickle of the water rising up my body and the temperature difference is a bit shocking.
But when I glance at the dial, he's barely put it past cold.
He then scoops up the clothes and wanders out of the room.
My gaze unfocuses again but I can hear him puttering about.
I hear him start the dryer and can feel how my brow scrunches a bit in confusion as to what in the world he could be drying so soon.
It feels like the first time my face has moved in centuries.
He comes back, a cup in hand, grabs a rag on his way through, and turns off the tap.
As he gets a bit closer I see he's removed most of his gear and most likely dried himself off a bit.
I feel I twinge of guilt that I can't help him the way he's helping me.
I'll have to repay the favor at some point, somehow, even though what he's doing for me feels so monumental and yet so casual.
Like this is just something you do for those you care about.
Like he cares about me.
The warmth fills me a bit with an ache of a muscle not often used.
I know he doesn't expect anything out of this, but I want to give back anyway.
To show I care too.
He's knelt by the tub and wet the rag, by the time I make it back to myself, slowly gliding it over my shoulders.
Guiding my head back, he takes the cup and pours water over my hair before turning me so my back is to him.
I hear the cap of a bottle being opened, the squeeze, and the lather of shampoo before he gently starts to massage my head.
I close my eyes and feel heat prick at the corners.
If he hears me sniffle he says nothing of it and simply continues working the soap in.
Turning me again, back facing the faucet, he turns the water on just slightly warmer than the tub.
Using the cup, and being careful not to get any soap in my eyes, he rinses my hair.
Leaving the water on, he wets the rag again to gently, oh so gently, wash my face.
And I feel a bit bad cause the tears have finally spilt over but he just keeps chasing them away with the rag.
Once done, he opens the drain and stands me up and rinses me with the warmer water before turning it off and helping me out of the tub.
He leaves and I stand there for a moment wondering if I'm supposed to be doing something before I hear the dryer door open and all at once the tears are back.
He brings back a freshly warmed towel and a set of comfy pjs.
He pats me down, scruffs up my hair, which earns him a wet exhale that could maybe count as a laugh.
Wrapping the towel around my shoulders he cups my face, lightly wiping away the tears to make room for new ones, and places the gentle press of a beak to my forehead.
He pulls away to grab my clothes, first offering me my comfiest pair of underwear.
Holding tightly to the warm towel still around my shoulders with one hand, I reach out with the other to grab him for support.
It's not till he turns around to grab my pants do I realize I did that all on my own, and surely he realized it too.
And yet he continues to help me dress.
I similarly step into the pants but this time with the knowledge I can move and the heat in my chest growing, slowly filling me up.
He takes the towel, rubbing it all over my face and hair for good measure before grabbing the shirt.
I reach out to take it but he just continues to stand there and I can tell, even though his face is nothing but a blur, that he has an eyeridge raised and a look that's not taking no for an answer.
So I huff and raise my arms, roll my eyes as I hear his small noise of victory, and sigh and sag once I feel the comfort of my old worn t-shirt.
I've stopped shivering.
He hands me my glasses, that he must have cleaned off at some point, and I blink a bit to bring the world into focus agin.
Taking my hand, he leads me to my room.
I notice he's thrown just about every pillow and blanket I own on my bed and I can't help the noise that escapes me at his antics.
He tosses me a smile before throwing himself into the middle of it and beckoning me to join him.
I find myself moving easily, if a bit jerkily, to curl tightly against his side as his arm wraps around my back.
He throws layers of blankets over me, fretting about till he gets them just the way he wants and gives me a light noogie as I rub my feet together like a cricket.
For a moment we sit in silence as he flips through the TV to put something on.
The rain still carries on outside, the occasional thunder making it through the glass of my window.
It's still raining... but I'm not alone.