𝚠𝚑𝚢 𝚍𝚘𝚗'𝚝 𝚠𝚎 | 𝚋𝚡𝚋 𝚘𝚗𝚎 𝚜𝚑𝚘𝚝𝚜

i'm only human | dorbyn

dorbyn

warnings;
- mentions of suicide [nothing graphic, but it is talked about]
- a sort of prolonged panic/anxiety attack
- it's long woops

~

when corbyn wakes, he already knows it's bad.

the first thing he notices is his headache. it's dull and it barely hurts but it's there, and he can't help but be aware of it. then he notices how heavy his limbs are, like they're made of lead and how easy it would be to just never move again and how much he wants to never move again. and then there's his chest, tight and uncomfortable, almost like he has a chest infection and it makes it just that tiniest bit harder to breathe. except he's not sick.

not physically, at least.

he shifts, letting out a low exhale and that's when he feels something move behind him.

"good morning, baby," daniel says and corbyn feels him bend down and press a kiss to his cheek.

and corbyn knows today is a really bad day when that just makes him want to cry. when just that simple, loving gesture is so overwhelming that corbyn cannot handle it right now. and then when daniel brings his hand gently to corbyn's shoulder he flinches away as if it burns because it does and he hates that but he can't help it.

daniel is leaning over him, looking down at him and corbyn is putting all of his efforts into not crying because daniel doesn't need to deal with his shit. not again.

"baby?" daniel whispers. he seems to have taken the hint, though, and he's not touching corbyn at all. "are you okay?"

corbyn's voice catches in his throat. he doesn't know what to say. it's been a while since it's been this bad, but... he sees what it does to daniel. he sees how horrible it makes daniel feel because daniel is usually powerless when it comes to making it better. it doesn't help that corbyn doesn't know what daniel could do to help, either.

so he turns his head into his pillow in case he does start crying and lets out a small whine and he hopes that daniel understands what that means because he doesn't know how to put it into words. he never does.

daniel hops out of bed and comes around the side, kneeling down in front of corbyn's face. corbyn still can't find the courage to look at him. daniel is either going to be upset or disappointed and corbyn doesn't want to see either of those things.

"look at me, baby," daniel says.

his voice is soft and corbyn has never been able to resist him. he breathes slowly, his chest tingling, and forces himself to turn his face to daniel. and fuck, his heart breaks.

daniel has his head tilted just slightly, and he has the smallest, sweetest smile tugging at his lips. he has styled his hair and he's dressed, which means he's been waiting for corbyn to wake up for who knows how long, and that realisation is not helping.

"is it a bad day?" daniel asks.

corbyn half-expects daniel to reach forward and brush his fringe from his eyes and he braces himself, but this is daniel and daniel reads him so easily that he'll know that corbyn can't handle touch right now. and he still can't find his voice. he still can't just man up and say it's a horrible day because he doesn't want to admit it. he doesn't want to admit that, for absolutely no reason whatsoever, he feels like shit.

but daniel just smiles at him, and it hurts corbyn's heart. "okay, sweetheart," he says. he tilts his head further, his eyes shining. "do you think you can get out of bed?"