[ It's difficult to choke back sobs, after years of swallowing them down. He'd always told himself it'd be weak to cry, and he can't let people see him weak, knowing what they probably already think of him. Not when he failed to keep a promise to not weep, spilling wet gobs of tears over a crumpled letter and smearing the ink. Even now, he tries to stop himself, even if the dam is broken; clutching the other man close, he takes shaky, deep breaths, lips wobbling in a futile attempt to keep them shut.
Seeing someone else cry, because of him (because of his choices, as unintended as they are), it just...hurts. Hurting people is never his real intention, but protecting himself...it's always been the better way, at least in his eyes. Not once did he ever think somebody would cry over him again, no matter the reason. His shirt feels wet from a torrent of tears, both his own and not, and his face and neck feel uncomfortably sticky even as they continue to trail.
He isn't expecting the movement, finding his grounding grip slipping away as he becomes forced to stare at that stained face again. It's almost too much to bear, and he wants to tear his eyes away just so he doesn't have to look, a hand slipping back to the rumpled bedspread while the other slowly presses to the gentle touch currently cupping his cheek. The thumb that brushes his lips leaves the taste of salt, but he doesn't have it in him to complain right now. Not when he can see that look on Mike's face, this emotion peering through the pain that makes him feel so small.
Andrew lightly turns his head, a small choked noise escaping as a palm presses flat to the curve of his ribs, heart thrumming against them far faster than he'd prefer. He feels— embarrassed. Ugly. He doesn't want to show this kind of frail, vulnerable face, afraid of what would come of it. He thinks of the agonizing faces his mother would make when she thought he wasn't looking, like the weight of the world was pressing against her feeble back, and wonders if that's what he looks like. Suffering for love. What a funny thing to imagine, that the same thing is happening all over again, but this time almost stronger.
He listens, a small whisper trying to convince him that the blond wouldn't be saying these things if he knew what he'd done, but a stronger one pushes that voice to the back of his head. It just sounds too good to be true, and doesn't he maybe deserve this? Just once, hearing these types of things, isn't he allowed that after so long? ]
C...Can you...?
[ The cut-off earns a wet blink, shivers momentarily pausing as he stares up at the other's face as it hovers over him, smaller body almost caging him in. Being him, he can only stare in confusion at the red flush that starts to spread over freckled cheeks, the bob of curls only making his brows furrow.
Naive and embroiled in a deluge of emotions as he is, he doesn't pick up on any of the subtler signals, only registering the closing distance and the soft breath on his face as lips hover directly over his own. Andrew grows rigid, out of...confusion? Apprehension? This is something he's only done once (perhaps twice, but the other one doesn't deserve to be thought of right now), and he can't say the feelings there even came close to...this. His heart practically feels like a jackhammer pounding against his chest, and the realization earns a steady, slow swallow.
The light tremble returns, to accompany the slow rise of a pale, scarred hand. It settles on the other's cheek, thumb anxiously brushing the tip of a reddened ear as he takes another deep breath. This...he probably doesn't deserve this, but just this time he wants to be selfish. Selfish enough to push himself up just the slightest, to tentatively push his lips against the Acrobat's. It's not perfect, clumsy and still tasting of the salt that drips and soaks their clothes and the sheets below, but it feels so suffocatingly warm that he just really doesn't care. Not when he hasn't felt this safe in years, being this close to another in far more ways than physical. ]
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Seeing someone else cry, because of him (because of his choices, as unintended as they are), it just...hurts. Hurting people is never his real intention, but protecting himself...it's always been the better way, at least in his eyes. Not once did he ever think somebody would cry over him again, no matter the reason. His shirt feels wet from a torrent of tears, both his own and not, and his face and neck feel uncomfortably sticky even as they continue to trail.
He isn't expecting the movement, finding his grounding grip slipping away as he becomes forced to stare at that stained face again. It's almost too much to bear, and he wants to tear his eyes away just so he doesn't have to look, a hand slipping back to the rumpled bedspread while the other slowly presses to the gentle touch currently cupping his cheek. The thumb that brushes his lips leaves the taste of salt, but he doesn't have it in him to complain right now. Not when he can see that look on Mike's face, this emotion peering through the pain that makes him feel so small.
Andrew lightly turns his head, a small choked noise escaping as a palm presses flat to the curve of his ribs, heart thrumming against them far faster than he'd prefer. He feels— embarrassed. Ugly. He doesn't want to show this kind of frail, vulnerable face, afraid of what would come of it. He thinks of the agonizing faces his mother would make when she thought he wasn't looking, like the weight of the world was pressing against her feeble back, and wonders if that's what he looks like. Suffering for love. What a funny thing to imagine, that the same thing is happening all over again, but this time almost stronger.
He listens, a small whisper trying to convince him that the blond wouldn't be saying these things if he knew what he'd done, but a stronger one pushes that voice to the back of his head. It just sounds too good to be true, and doesn't he maybe deserve this? Just once, hearing these types of things, isn't he allowed that after so long? ]
C...Can you...?
[ The cut-off earns a wet blink, shivers momentarily pausing as he stares up at the other's face as it hovers over him, smaller body almost caging him in. Being him, he can only stare in confusion at the red flush that starts to spread over freckled cheeks, the bob of curls only making his brows furrow.
Naive and embroiled in a deluge of emotions as he is, he doesn't pick up on any of the subtler signals, only registering the closing distance and the soft breath on his face as lips hover directly over his own. Andrew grows rigid, out of...confusion? Apprehension? This is something he's only done once (perhaps twice, but the other one doesn't deserve to be thought of right now), and he can't say the feelings there even came close to...this. His heart practically feels like a jackhammer pounding against his chest, and the realization earns a steady, slow swallow.
The light tremble returns, to accompany the slow rise of a pale, scarred hand. It settles on the other's cheek, thumb anxiously brushing the tip of a reddened ear as he takes another deep breath. This...he probably doesn't deserve this, but just this time he wants to be selfish. Selfish enough to push himself up just the slightest, to tentatively push his lips against the Acrobat's. It's not perfect, clumsy and still tasting of the salt that drips and soaks their clothes and the sheets below, but it feels so suffocatingly warm that he just really doesn't care. Not when he hasn't felt this safe in years, being this close to another in far more ways than physical. ]