silenttrainbaby | When Grief is like an Ocean

Somewhere between getting a birthday, birthday parties full of easy, shared emotion, between meeting the man who could understand his thoughts, to Yuuko's statement that he could talk again if he was willing to pay the price for a fulfilled wish, to all the people disappearing and coming back, it is belatedly, yet suddenly, too much.

It isn't even that day, or the day after, or even two. Nearly a week after all of this occurs; that is when the wave crashes over Grey in the dead of night. It is as if he can't breathe, as if his chest is too tight, as if the very sky is caving in on him.

He doesn't wake Curtis, doesn't take the cat, doesn't go to Rat - the silent boy doesn't wish to bother anyone in this moment of most intense, sharp grief. In the rank coat he hasn't worn since the train, he runs like the wind on quiet streets to the beach.

When he feels the sand around his shoes, he slows, walking toward the water he can hear but only barely see. When he gets close enough, he crouches down, rocking on his heels, arms around his knees, making him as small as he used to on the train when he was little, when it all got to be too much.

He wants Gilliam. It's a kind of petulant, vicious, immature tantrum-like reaction that is entirely unlike anything he's felt before, any emotion he's experienced. He remembers Edgar acting like this sometimes in what seems like a lifetime ago.

Grey doesn't want to give up all he has here, not at all. He doesn't want the train back. These things he knows with a certainty in his very bones. But how Gilliam explained things, how he understood what Grey meant or wanted: that is what he wants. Even if only for a moment. It wears him down knowing so little, feeling so much.

Gilliam. Even just so he can say goodbye. So that the last image of his mentor and lover isn't him being shot, falling to the floor of the train car.

He cries out to the sky, though he makes no sound. When the sobs finally die away, he stays still, feeling the salt of the tear tracks drying on his face even long after the sun has risen.

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They can 'talk' when Grey needs to. If he needs to. That's who they are.

Rat is his best friend, perhaps after Curtis, if only because he's known Curtis his whole life. But what they share, Grey doesn't share with Curtis.

In bed, he combs rough fingers through Rat's hair.

Rat closes his eyes and leans his head forward, submitting to Grey's touch, arms sliding around him.

"I'm here. I'll be here."

He writes, then, on Rat's back, along the scars. Leave?

Rat doesn't, so much, want to leave anymore?

"I still don't trust this place," Rat says. "I don't know how I got here and I don't like being unable to control what happens but...If I never came here, I wouldn't have found you."

If he never came here, Grey would be dead.

A kiss, then. Because they are here, because they are together. Because they love each other, even if they don't say the words.

Rat returns the kiss and grips him tight. He knows hat Grey's brought into his life The warmth, the understanding. The stupid cat.

The list of what Rat brought to Grey's life is huge. It would take so long to list all the things. Arms and legs wrapped and tangled, Grey feels like he's breathing Rat in.

"I love you," he says, learning against him. Because why lie? The feelings have already been exchanged.

Pulling back, eyes wide, Grey looks at him. He nods, then and mouths the words.

I love you.

Rat smiles and pulls the blankets more snugly around them, warding off the outside chill.

Saying it was easy. It's so plain and true, even though it's only been a few months.

In the warm coccoon they've created, Grey touches, his hands skimming over warm skin, muscle and bone. He knows Rat's body by heart.

Rat sighs, welcoming Grey's touch, the long familiar brush of his fingers in every single of his sensitive spots. It makes him sigh out and lean forward.

When Grey finally reaches between Rat's legs, it's with a sigh, not a sharp spike of pleasure but a warmth that spreads all the way to his toes. He strokes slow.

Rat moans, low in his throat, and leans forward for another kiss. As he does, he cups Grey's hip, hand slowly working inward.

It's not a whine so much as an exhale that's pressed into the kiss. This feels like a consummation of the day. Yet another way to express what they feel.

It's slow and leisurely, but not from lack of passion but lack of rush. The time is theirs. Rat tilts his head and starts kissing and biting at his throat.

He earns another gasp: Grey likes the marks he might wear in the morning. Signs of a kind of ownership. He strokes slowly, evenly, wanting only to prolong the pleasure.

Rat groans against his throat, murmuring Grey's name in pleasure. This is...good. So good.

It is. Sweet and good. As the pleasure ramps up in him, Grey breathes harder, his forehead against Rat's.

Rat grins a little, squeezing at Grey. "You feel good?" he asked quietly.

Hissing, Grey nods almost compulsively. He feels very, very good. And Rat? He twists his wrist around the head of Rat's erection.

When he does that, Rat's response is choked off as he leans forward, kissing him deep. He won't last much longer, but that's okay.

They'll come together. There's the slightest whine into the kiss. Grey can feel his body start to tighten.

Rat groans, feeling the pressure coiling in. It's good. They're both good.

"Please," he sighs out.

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