he acts out and he gets low, low, low and he forces people to take care of him. and she's telling him this, telling him about how knox is a cycle, a broken record, rumpled aluminum. he can't be fixed and he can't be rewritten because she's tried and tried and it's just too much. 

captain sends a jolt to his fingers. don't pinch so tight.

he exhales and the seconds stretch on for eons and he feels so alone. and then the door opens and there's sam, still in his boxers, still wearing that look of concern on his face. knox searches for something else, anything else. 

he swallows when sam comes to the bed and that question burns in the back of his throat. what did she say to you? it's there in his eyes and in the slow, wary movement he makes as he curls against sam, good cheek resting against the pillow. 

captain rolls into a ball between them and snores on. 

"you're going to let me stay?" he asks, shoulders drawn.

samuel carter

☉

"knox, i'm never going to let you leave."

it sounds possessive, and by this point, maybe it is. he wants knox. he wants him badly. he doesn't want to take away his freedom but knox has caged himself in his own self-loathing so much that it'll take caging him differently to set him free.

or so sam assumes.

slowly he raises his hand, to brush knox' hair from his face.

"if you feel better when you wake up, we'll get a shower." it's not sex but maybe knox'll feel better with something a bit more intimate shared between them. "so i can wash you up."

knox prescott

and the way he says it with such surety, with such vehemence, has him pause. and it's with a different set of emotions that he thinks what did eden say? there's a warm glow in his chest and he could almost hum. 

but he turns his face to hide his smile, because he still feels terrible about all of this. he wants to argue, really, that he's just slept for however long and how can he sleep with sam nearly naked underneath him and how about they go get some painkillers so they can just fool around? 

but he recalls their text conversation, knox urging sam to sleep when he needed it, and he allows the boy to repay him in kind. 

almost, though, because he does turn to show off a grin when sam says that. "now how am i supposed to sleep?" he says. he raises a hand touches his cheek, and that smile flattens. 

"i don't know if i'll be able to," he says, softer now. "it's...i don't want to have those nightmares again."

samuel carter

☉

"what if i tell you a story," his hands moved to caress knox' face gently, softly. "about the time i was deemed worthy of being the keeper of the stars?"

it sounded like a fairytale, and perhaps it was a bit dramatic, but sam meant it. knox was as wild and chaotic as the stars. as bright and brilliant. he had a million different constellations in his person, and sam simply felt like an astrologist who couldn't get enough and kept finding new brilliantly shining bits of the night sky.

if it would help knox sleep, sam would talk until he himself fell asleep.

"or we can just lay here. i can get a book, read it to you. or maybe... music?"

knox prescott

if he gave in, it wouldn't take long for him to sleep. his body has been through the ringer and all it wants to do is give up and give in. and he doesn't say this, of course, but if sam weren't here and he were left to his own devices, he'd conk out in minutes. 

still, sam's lap is actually rather comfy. "no," he says, snuggling deeper into the pillow. "don't get up." 

he shuts his eyes and sighs, forces them back open. "tell me that story," he says. 

samuel carter

☉

and tell him he did. the night in the fog, how he noticed right away that this boy was different. how he could be his odd, philosophical, unexplained self and knox still wanted him.

"imagine how special i felt, knowing i was deemed worthy of a true fallen star."

knox was likely asleep by that point, but he didn't care. it was still the truth. he smiled softly and brushed some of knox's hair out of his face before slipping his own eyes closed and focusing on the sound of knox' breathing. his beautiful, seep, calm breathing.

which he hoped remained until knox woke.

knox prescott

it's a few strings in that he starts to doze, where sam's words really do spin a story for him. he watches the two of them (sam, brilliant and inspiring, knox - a bit kinder, a bit better than he truly is) and he thinks of how hopeful he is, how the word partner isn't really all that scary. 

when he slips into a slumber, he's back in a world of color. the black ink and the imposter are warded away. the morning sun comes and still knox sleeps on, until well past noon, where his body finally gives in and wakes. 

he's groggy as he comes to, and with what little painkillers he'd had in his system finally gone, he feels like shit. he opens his eyes slowly; the bruising is worse today, and one of his eyes is still swollen near shut. 

shit, he thinks when he sees the copperish stains on sam's pillowcase, where some of the residue from eden's handiwork smeared while he tossed. 

he reaches up to touch his nose and his breath comes back in a sharp hiss. "shhi-sorry. ah, good morning," he says and makes a noise in his throat.

samuel carter

☉

as knox stirs sam's eyes open. consciousness washes him, baptizes him into reality and washes the night away. he blinks his eyes twice before he hears knox hissing, and the day prior comes to him in flashes.

sitting up a bit, he looked over knox, looking a bit like a grumpy old canine that didn't quite know what was going on. the noise from knox' throat has sam shaking his head.

"as soon as you eat some breakfast, i'll give you some painkillers." with that, he leans forward to kiss a part of knox that isn't bruised. "any requests?"

knox prescott

knox goes to sit up, but his ribs don't want any of whatever the fuck that is. so he groans and just gives himself into laying on sam's lap, looking up at his disheveled hair and still-half-asleep eyes. 

he reaches out to touch sam's bedhead and yawns. "mm, percocets would be choice, but i'd even take fucking vicodin at this point." he shuts his eyes again because a massive headache is coming on at the mention of food. 

oh, wait, that's what sam was asking him. "quick and easy. doesn't have to taste good. i just want to eat," he says with a grimace. "please."

samuel carter

☉

quick and easily accessible to sam right in that moment?

"toast it is...you uh, have to let me up though."

sam teased knox by moving a hand through his hair, only certain parts because he knew knox's head hurt. which made him wonder if some of it was tension. so he moved his hand down toward knox' shoulders, pressing gently in some areas to see if any of it was particularly sore, or if it had a knot.

knox prescott

his stomach affirms that even toast sounds delicious right about now. he wants to let sam up, but his ribs really do hurt like the little bitches they are. and although they'd fallen asleep with knox's head on sam's lap, he sort of curled around him like a koala at some point during the night. 

so with a bit of untangling, he manages to free himself. but before he can sit up sort of sideways and shimmy away from sam, the boy puts his hands on his shoulders and it feels wonderful. 

it's not even about the massage. it's about being touched and coddled this early in the morning. and fuck, they're two for two. or, is it technically three? does waking up after nearly dying count as staying the night over? 

i'm glad you stayed. he almost wants to say it again, but that's silly. because he's in sam's house, in sam's bed. 

he wants to give in, really, because this is the first time sam has shown any desire to explore knox's body, but the pain and the hunger wins out. he sits up, with a groan and a lot of effort, and rests his back against the headboard. 

"oof. i feel like shit."

samuel carter

☉

sam tried to help knox, but as he took over moving to the headboard sam got out of the bed and headed toward the kitchen.

"i'll get the toast finished, do you want coffee?"

being that the living space of the reception area was small, the 'kitchen' was just a small area that wasn't considered the bedroom, attached by a half wall. he was already getting started on said coffee.

and he was already cold. he already wanted to go back to laying on the bed-- but he'd promised a shower after food and painkillers the night before. no, he hadn't forgotten.

knox prescott

knox, on the other hand, has forgotten. or, at the very least, it's not at the forefront of his mind (which is still a wonder in itself). he's too focused on the fact that his face has a heartbeat. 

he doesn't really drink coffee. he's never needed it to get wired, and mostly it just makes his hyperactive brain all the more flitting. but he sees sam already making it, and just like when he'd been offered it before, he doesn't want to say no. 

"coffee sounds great," he says idly and reaches for his phone. 

he flicks it on (low battery, of course) and is a bit...sad to see no new messages. so after perusing through the scarce conversation he'd had with eden, he opens his front-facing camera and finds himself grimacing as the grisly sight. 

he really did a number on me this time, he thinks sourly. it'll take weeks to fully heal.

his phone dies and he tosses it aside. and then he fidgets, but each movement makes him feel like he's being kicked in the stomach. so he stops and he runs his hands through his hair and he settles himself with watching sam. 

samuel carter

☉