Genderless Y/N has a rough day and gets overstimulated at work. When they get home, Chan is there to help calm things down.
As the big hand on the clock joins its partner, the work day is officially over. That's normally good. Especially today.
It's been a particularly stressful day at work. Nothing insane had happened- it wasn't as if someone had a stroke in their office. But little things had piled up all day.
For example, you'd woken up late. Not having time to stop and get coffee from the shop near you, you decided to get some at work. You took a crowded, stuffy metro ride all the way to work, just to be met with a broken coffee machine. It was like that all day. Someone coughing too loud and far too near you. Having to rush through your lunch. A meeting running just ten minutes too long. Nothing particularly unbearable, but the overstimulation sank in fast. It was like your skin was burning but only on the inside. Every sound too loud, every smell too strong. It was unbearable.
So, usually, 7:00 would be a relief. But today it's a new worry. Rush hour traffic. Everyone's going to be on the train. It'd be just like this morning, except people would be even more annoyed this time. Pushing, snapping, more teenagers running around outside the stations.
Your hands tremble with mounting anxiety as your train speeds towards home. Three stops left. You think to yourself, white-knuckling the pole on your left. The train lurches to a halt. Someone steps on your toe and the pain is amplified, swimming up your leg like a neurotoxin. The man mutters an apology and bows his head a bit before hurrying off.
Two stops left. The person next to you is blasting their music too loud. Someone keeps swinging their foot- it's clipping against the ground. Yet another person coughs too loudly. You swallow harshly and screw your eyes shut. The train stops. More people get off, more people get on.
One stop left. You think, biting the inside of your cheek. Just one more... A baby starts crying at the other end of the car. Someone forgot to silence their phone- the tone is blaring from mere feet away. More coughing, sneezing. What if you get sick? Oh, God, you're going to get sick-
The train stops and you practically throw yourself off. There's no time to stay still. You make your way off the train, tap out of the station, and make your way up the steps in almost one fluid motion. Your legs speed up faster and faster until you're practically running up the stairs to your building. Fingers still shaking, you manage to get the key in the door, turn around and try not to slam the door as you shut it.
You take a deep breath, and immediately a small sense of calm fills your lungs. The neurotoxin that's wrapped its tendrils around your bones is being fought off by the faint, sweet smell of your boyfriend's apartment.
"Y/N?" Chan's voice creeps around the walls of your house. "You finally home?" It's slow, calm. It sounds like he's been relaxed for a while. You don't have the energy to wonder when he got home or why. All you know is that he is.
Instead of responding, you take your shoes off and place them on their designated rack. While you're fussing around with them, slipper-muffled footsteps creep up behind you.
"Y/N?" Despite being sing-songy, Chan's saying your name still makes you jump. You turn around to face him, unsure of how to react. He knows what to do, though, and hugs you. It's a happy hug, one that continues fighting off the blackness in your stomach. He kisses the top of your head and pulls back, holding your face in his hands. He smiles to himself, running his thumb across your cheekbone.
"Hi." He says, the smile on his face widening to a grin. You can't help but smile back. Despite how shitty you feel, it's impossible not to. That pretty dimpled smile... It's contagious. It's as if the gods took all the stars from the sky and put them in his eyes, where his teeth are. So warm and bright, no matter how big or small it is. So you smile.
"Hi," You manage back. You don't have much energy to talk, but there was so much love in that single word you couldn't help but return it.
"You're gonna wash up, right? After work 'n' everything?"
"Yeah, that's right."
"Cool. I'm gonna go back to our room." He pauses as if he's thinking of something else to say. When he can't find anything, he just kisses you again.
His lips feel perfect like yours. Pillowy, soft, still tasting of the cherry Vaseline he applied hours ago. He holds the kiss for a second longer than most gentle kisses are. His hand stays holding yours for a moment later. Even in such small movements, he's clinging to the softness, the innocence.
He can sense the anxiety that's mounted in your chest, your throat. He doesn't want to rush you into talking, he just wants his baby better. So he holds it. He clings to the calmness for just a second longer.
You pull back and smile at him. He nods and turns around, fingertips skimming the door frame as he walks back into your bedroom.
Washing up is fast but is in no way fun. Your soul still feels like it's scratching to get out. The smell of steam is the only thing in the bathroom, and without Chan's smell or the soft touch of his skin, the toxin is back in your bloodstream. You can feel each jet of water from the showerhead, each drop of soap, each plume of steam rising off your skin. You don't stay in that shower very long
You're able to bundle yourself in pajamas. Safe fabric, finally. Something soft, familiar. That worn-out t-shirt you stole from Chan. The shorts are a bit too stretched out but you can't bring yourself to toss them. Nothing too tight, too smooth, too rough. Everything's safe.
You run your fingers over the hem of the shirt as you walk into your bedroom, the cool fabric slipping between your fingertips.
Peering into the bedroom, you just sit and admire your boyfriend for a few seconds. It's clear he's going to go to sleep early. Despite it only being about 8:00 or so, he's already shirtless and partially under the blankets. He's lazily scrolling on his phone, a thousand-yard stare painting his eyes. And yet that bright, joyful smile hasn't left his face. It's more tiring now. Much more gentle. Much less upturned. But there's so much peace in his face. The faint magenta light that glows against his walls has painted his skin a beautiful mural of pinks and purples. He looks like something you'd find in a prodigy's photography portfolio.
You take a deep breath and walk in, clambering on top of the mattress. Without a second of consideration, you lie face down on his torso. Resting the side of your face in the middle of his chest, you slip your arms under his back, holding him close to you. He's smooth and warm, his typical gentle, warm smell filling your nose. You take a deep breath, letting your lungs fill with him.
Without a second's hesitation, Chan rests one hand on your back and the other on the back of your head. He looks down and kisses your, his lips brushing ever so faintly across the top of your head.
"Why, hello there, my pretty baby." He muses, his voice is high and playful. He may be tired, but he's overflowing with happiness at the mere sight of you. Being able to see, touch, and smell you. Each sense activated is another damn bursting with golden light.
Hi. You think. You don't respond out loud. You want to. You do. But there's no energy. With the overstimulation fading away, all you can feel is how tired you are and how shitty you feel.
Chan strokes your head lightly with his fingertips, trying to lull you into a calmer state of mind. It's working, thankfully, and he wants to make sure it stays working.
"You okay?" He asks you, his voice dropped to a whisper.
"Mm-mm." You manage, unmoving beneath his soothing hands.
"You wanna talk about it?"
"Mm-mm."
He sighs. You can't see it, but he nods.
"That's okay." He assures you. "You don't need to if you don't want to." He kisses your head again, this time longer. He holds your head a bit firmer, pressing you into his lips. "I love you so much, my baby." He sighs.
With that, he doesn't say anything else.
You stay like that for a while. The only sounds are the pitter-patter of an approaching storm against the window and the breaths of Chan beneath you. His warmth leaks into you, that golden love inside of him infecting you yet again. Sticky sweet honey that holds the two of you together.
Each breath you take in unison, every small circle of fingertips on the skin, all the tiny kisses you press into each other. With every minuscule act of love, you're pulled closer together. Closer to each other's souls, closer to sleep.
Eventually, the overstimulation and anxiety have completely leached itself out of your body. His fingertips no longer feel like hands. You're able to snuggle deeper into his chest, he's able to hold you tighter. He buries his face in your hair as you bury yours in his skin. He smells good. He smells like home.
Despite sleep dangling above your head like an anvil tied with twine, it's yet to knock you out. Your eyes are shut, and your body is still. Yet you still haven't passed out. No matter if you have it or not, it's comfortable. It's sweet. It's safe.
After a half house of this wake-sleep silence, Chan speaks up again. His voice is raspy and deep, indicative of someone about to pass out themselves. Still, he doesn't stop himself from speaking to you again.
"I know you had a bad day, and I want you to remember that tomorrow's going to be better. Even if work is worse, I'll be waiting right here when you get home. I promise. I'll be waiting right here for you. I'll always be here to make sure you're alright. You're the love of my life, Y/N. I can't just let you feel like shit." He takes a deep breath. "I love you, Y/N. Sweet dreams."
He presses one final kiss onto your head, and as his lips leave your skin, you're finally pulled under.
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