Chapter Text
The papers hit the floor, scattering with light hissing sliding sounds all over the floor of Henry's office. He sat there, paused, uncomprehending... ah. His arm had hit the stack. Every bit of his body protested raising himself up out of his chair and spotting where the sheets had flown, but he did it anyway, intent on getting back on track. Much to do. No time to waste on crouching down, picking up two sheets at a time with one hand and cradling them in the other, to waste on struggling to get his fingers around one particular sheet under the desk, to waste on shifting in place and lifting the papers already picked up for balance, to waste on dragging it forwards when he knows he ought to have got up and walked around his desk to simply collect it directly from the floor, no time. His head was swimming, lurching. He curled up over the stack he had assembled and breathed. no time - he pushed himself up with a sharp inhale and a burst of energy and stumbled and tipped over, lightheaded and blind. He couldn't catch himself - he barely cushioned his fall with the arm holding the papers which crinkled as he clutched them against his chest, horizontal and disoriented. His arm throbbed a bit, and he blinked at the ceiling, the shadows cast over the shelves and the glass and the pretty poisons.
What would someone say, if they found him like this?
It was fine. after all, no one would come for him. he just couldn't hold on any longer
so he didn't, letting the feeling swamp him. sinking. in the murk his arm didn't hurt anym
--
"...idn't see, not really. not where it counted. i only cared about what you might be hiding from me, not... if you were actually okay."
There was a hand running through his hair as Henry fuzzed into awareness. Gentle but idle, as if the action was not the focus of the owners mind. probably not. If he were to guess, the familiar voice he heard was the one doing this, as known as his own. It was too soft, too kind, too starkly contrasting what he'd known for the past however long. Was he dreaming? Something in him ached at the thought. If so, why of this? Was he that desperate for comfort?
The hand paused as the voice seemed to mull over what to say next. "I know you wouldn't blame me," was what they appeared to settle on. The warmth from the palm seeped into his scalp, and he froze as to not push up against the feeling. "You're too good for that. that doesn't stop me from wishing id done differently."
... Robert?
"No, not just that. I wish... you could see how important you are. Not what you do for anyone, just you. I wish you'd stop trying to fix everything alone, because when you hurt yourself like this..." a whisper now... "I almost can't handle it."
The words sunk in slowly, becoming unbearable. heavy with exhaustion, yet driven, he spoke, thoughtful automatic, on habit:
"... I'm sorry."
It was quiet, scratchy, full to the brim with exhaustion. He realized this, but he'd said what he wanted to. His eyes squinted open, sliding over the walls, the bedroom door, settling on Robert at his bedside, curls and all. His shirt was untucked and his hair was a mess, and his expression was one of someone who hadn't expected to be heard and responded to. He just hoped he would be understood. Judging by the look in Roberts eyes, though...
"Please, don't be." not fully. Henry pushed up against the thick feeling of just having woken up from a deep inadequate sleep, struggling upwards. Robert didn't shift, holding him down, unconsciously gentle.
"... What would you have me be, then?" Henry asked, a little desperately.
That look just got worse. It was painful to see, but then it resolved, Robert's shutters coming back up. At this point Henry could see through them like glass.
"... Asleep, for right now. you need it," he said, affecting a dry wryness, leaning back and crossing his arms. Henry missed the warmth terribly, abandoning his attempt to rise, falling back with a soft thump.
Robert was still confused, still a little afraid, but if that would make things better...
His eyes slipped closed.