His head slumps again, and you try to hold him upright, but his weight is still new and unfamiliar, and you hate that it feels so awkward. You can see his bright blue eyes through his hair—and god, you think, hair. THAT’S fucking weird—and you know it’s him, you know, and that makes you hesitate for what feels like all the wrong reasons. You hate yourself. He deserves so much more than this. He taught you better than this bullshit you’re trying to pass off as acceptable.

You move your hands again, wrapping your arms around his waist. He stares at you, terrified, shaking, barely able to do anything other than open his brilliant eyes. You look back at him with an equivalent sort of desperation that you’re still trying to figure out. “…I’ve got you, man,” you whisper, and you’re shocked to realize that your mouth is trembling. “Like fuck I’ll let you fall.”

Lays down on the floor

screams

doesn’t stop screaming forever and ever