Work Text:
Tick. Tick.
Treavor glanced towards the ornate clock hung on the wall, ticking away the minutes–no hours Martin had been gone. His partner had told him he'd only be an hour ( at the most he said!) late home and that he'd bring back something special to make up for it.
“What a load of shit,” Treavor huffed to himself. He understood Campbell was the kind of asshole to unload all of his work onto his assistant (getting Martin to quit was nearly impossible and it ‘paid well’ he had said), but it was nearly midnight and his bed seemed more and more inviting each moment the clock ticked.
A loud boom suddenly shook the small house and fat rivulets of water began to flow down the windowpane. Treavor ran a hand down his face. Just what he needed.
Just what Martin needed.
Treavor blinked at the realization: Martin is stuck out in the rain and he's going to get hurt. Or worse–he's going to die out there and it's all my fault for not begging him to come home–
Another violent reverb of thunder snapped Treavor from his thoughts, the brewing storm outside seemingly growing worse by the minute. The rain’s pattering grew louder and drowned out the softly playing television– some crime drama rerun that was only vaguely entertaining. Treavor’s leg bounced erratically and his nails dug crescents into his palms, the fear of Martin not returning home or worse, being hurt, playing like a broken record.
Tick. Tick.
Treavor looked at the clock again, registering the time as 12:27 and bit at his lip. He had talked about this with Doctor Hypatia, the constant panic, the “overthinking” as she kindly put it, the way he still thought people were out to get him.
Martin and Treavor had moved away from the Pendleton estates years ago, cutting contact with his entire immediate family. Though, that hadn't stopped his father from trying to put his son back under his thumb, threatening texts and letters being sent to his workplace–his own wedding being interrupted by the man. It was exhausting. His brothers couldn't care less about where he had gone off to, gladly taking up their respective parts of the Pendleton’s generational business, jewelry ( and less than legal arms dealing ).
His brother’s had never been the kindest, in fact, he would say they were quite cruel to him for his entire life. Any attempt at happiness being squashed by Custis’ scheming mind and Morgan’s willingness to enact his twin's cruel ideas–not to say Morgan didn't have ideas of his own, he had plenty Treavor experienced firsthand.
Though there were moments… Moments when the twins didn't seem so nasty and treated him as almost-human with small forms of kindness. Custis helping him with a hard math worksheet (or just outright doing it for him) and showing young Treavor how calculators could do most of the math for him. Morgan teaching him how to make perfect red velvet cupcakes; Treavor overfilled his batch and sat at the table pouting until Morgan claimed they still tasted amazing and helped his younger brother wolf down almost an entire pan of cupcakes (decorated messily in cream cheese frosting).
But that was years ago. Years when Treavor couldn't remember how to tie his shoes or count by twos. Years when leaving his family seemed wrong even when he couldn't bear to look at them in fear of attracting their attention.
Treavor let out a short breath from his nose, thinking was something he could save for tomorrow, or later tonight at the worst. He felt around the sofa for the television’s remote, shutting down the system and padding to the bathroom. Flicking the light switch on was an action Treavor regretted immediately, the fluorescent yellow practically blinding the short man.
Maybe Martin’s right, I should be wearing my glasses. They have tinted lenses anyways.
Treavor’s stomach curled again at the thought of his lover stuck out in a storm, soaked and almost one hundred percent in a horrid mood. Treavor reached towards the shower’s knobs, twisting one and letting his hand rest under the slowly heating water. That moment, his phone buzzed on the counter next to him, the screen lighting up with a message from Teague <3
Traffic is shit sorry. I’ll see you soon.
He really was in a terrible mood. Martin hardly used formal language with him and it made Treavor’s heart sink. Was Teague mad at him? Did he say something earlier when they were on the phone?
Treavor’s heart sunk into his curled stomach, the endless possibilities of what he could've done to upset his husband. Was his tone too harsh? He did hear Teague sigh pretty heavily after he asked him to hurry back… Maybe he shouldn't have rushed him so much? How stupid was he?? Rushing someone home so late at night, of course Teague was upset with him! The answer seemed so painfully obvious once he really thought about it. Of course it was his fault.
Treavor barely flinched when he finally noticed the scalding temperature of the water, steam pooling around him and fogging the mirror. His hand quickly reddened and that was the cue to finally step in, quickly shedding his shirt (a shirt he had stolen from Martin months ago) and dropping it carelessly onto the floor, narrowing his eyes at it before sighing and bending down to toss it onto the sink.
Socks and briefs removed, Treavor stepped under the boiling spray of water, eyes drooping and practically melting into the wall. The idea of actually cleaning himself became less and less appealing as thoughts began to weigh on Treavor’s mind. He slid down the shower’s wall and seated himself on the barely warmed up, tiled floor, water pouring over his head and soaking his short hair. Treavor placed his head on his drawn up knees and stared blankly into the skin of his legs, the bathroom’s bright lighting making his skin appear more sickly than it already was.
He looked up at the ceiling and stared at the various water stain patterns, the only gross thing in this bathroom and Treavor happened to be staring right at it.
Ironic.
Rivulets of water seeped into Treavor’s nostrils but he couldn't find it in himself to truly care even when his sinuses began to burn and eyes watered, he continued to focus his attention on the ceiling above. Maybe drowning himself would be better for the both of them, Martin would be free of Treavor’s burdensome overthinking. He would be able to quit his job to explore the unknown charts of the world like he always told him he would. And Treavor could be free of thought, free of the memories of his plagued childhood.
But did he really want Teague to come home to his dead body? Would it really be better if he was gone? How many sleepless nights would his husband endure in their now too-empty bed? Mornings where Treavor wouldn't kiss him goodbye because Teague had to go into his office everyday and Treavor worked from home.
The thought of his husband awake and alone in the nighttime made tears spring up in Treavor’s eyes, rolling down his cheeks in thick floods. He sniffled and sent more water into his nose, snapping him from his daze and making the young man splutter and cough.
Treavor reached towards the shower handle and abruptly turned it, the shower head trickling to a stop. For a moment, Treavor continued to sit on the floor and stare blankly before deciding to get off his ass and go to bed. Stepping out of the tub and shuffling to the small bathroom closet, he pulled some random folded towel out and wrapped it around himself. He checked his phone for a brief moment and saw no new notifications causing the wet man to purse his lips and turn the phone off again.
Drying off was a quick ordeal with Treavor simply running the towel over his chest and legs before slipping on his previous clothing and picking up his phone, his hair still a sopping mess. He opened the door and was hit with a rush of cold air, raising goosebumps on his exposed arms and legs. Treavor began the trek up the stairs to his shared room, his feet dragging on the wooden floor.
Reaching the door seemed to be a challenge but turning the knob seemed to be the hardest thing he'd done so far (something he cataloged away for deprecating himself for later). But when it finally turned and the door creaked open, the bed was a comfort he fully planned to indulge in, even if he knew he didn't deserve it.
It was still a tangled mess of sheets and comforters with Treavor’s extra blankets sprawled about and the pillows were still rumpled from previous sleep. Waking up that morning proved to also be an exhausting task, even before the storm and Martin’s late stay at work. He should've known it would be one of those days.
Treavor crawled into bed and felt the sagging relief of the dipped mattress and soft blankets, a cloud of pure, fleecy, heaven. The small man turned onto his side, looking at the empty spot beside him and extending his hand to feel the cold sheets. It wasn't fair how the bed was only warm when Martin was in it. Treavor reached his hand upward towards his lover’s pillows, grabbing one and holding it close and taking a deep inhale of the pillowcase. The smell of Martin’s bay rum soap permeated the soft object and Treavor drank it in, committing the scent to memory.
His phone buzzed softly on the nightstand but Treavor didn't notice, mostly asleep and hugging Teague’s pillow close. The blankets were nested around him and the rain’s pattering quickly lulled the young man to sleep, his earlier mood fading away as drowsiness took over.
A soft dip on the other side of the bed roused Treavor awake, making him squint into the oppressive darkness.
“Oh, love… I didn’t mean to wake you,” Martin’s voice whispered softly close to his face. Treavor groaned groggily and wiped his eyes, turning his head to the source of his husband's voice. He also noticed the pillow he'd been hugging was still in its rightful place in his own arms. Embarrassed, Treavor pushed the pillow back at Martin who placed it behind his own head and entwined himself with Treavor, throwing a hand over his lover’s side.
Treavor could feel Martin’s warm breath on the back of his neck and placed his hand over the arm on his waist.
“... Teague?”
“Mm?”
“Are you mad at me?”
The words made Martin stiffen before relaxing again and propping himself on his elbow, looking down at the dark silhouette of Treavor.
“No, baby of course not… Why would you think that?”
Martin’s voice was calm and bogged down with sleep. The answer almost made Treavor cry again, previous thoughts of self-blame almost completely forgotten by the soothing words.
“I just- just thought you sounded upset earlier.” There was a short pause before Martin responded,
“I was upset, yes, but not with you, darling. Work was awful today and uh, the rain didn't make getting back home to you any easier.”
His words ended with a short chuckle and he shifted to lay back down on the bed again. A gentle kiss was placed on the back of Treavor’s neck and then his cheek, he craned his neck to finally meet his husband's lips, sweetly kissing him. Treavor could feel the small tugs of a smile forming on his face and turned back around to let Martin hold him again.
“I love you, Treavor. Goodnight.”
The rain outside splattered on the windows and pulled Treavor back into the oblivion of sleep.