where the scent settles
pairing✧˖°. riki x (f) reader
synopsis✧˖°. you've spent your whole life depending on a stuffed bear that smells like amber and musk to sleep, so when he vanishes from your jacket at a laundromat, you unravel into twelve sleepless nights, panic attacks, and a shame you can't explain. when you finally find him in the pocket of a stranger's jacket, you discover that the boy wearing your coat smells exactly like home, and maybe you've been looking for the wrong kind of comfort all along.
contains✧˖°. severe insomnia & sleep depravation ; vomiting ; hallucinations ; panic attacks ; anxiety ; attachment/dependency issues ; reader cries ALOT ; emotional dysregulation & distress ; angst ; fluff ; wc: 11.9k
notes✧˖°. okay... here's my big one! im not exactly sure if i like this because it does get very angsty and serious at times, but i tried to make a long story! so.. the stuffed animal is lowk based on one i have (sue me) i did make it a little more dramatic for the plot line, but yeah! i'll say it in the authors note, but guys PLEASE send me some sort of asks i beg!! it helps me stay motivated!! i hope you guys enjoy!! also @ptolemaeiia u asked to be tagged so here! (I LOVE YOU SO MUCH YOUR STUFF IS SO BOMB BRO)
many people have 'a thing'.
something that helps them feel at ease when they're down, something that distracts them from the real world, or something that they just love.
your thing was your stuffed animal, as childish as it may sound.
bear. that's what his name was!
a winnie the pooh, rattle toy stuffed animal, with a white shirt from another animal, that has faded more and more yellow as time passed.
you've had this stuffed animal for years, and it was your favorite! so much to the point where you brought it everywhere when you were a kid.
doctors office? dentist? your sisters band concert? bear was there for all of it.
now, you had many stuffed animals, but none of them really ever clicked with you like how bear did.
bear was just different. it was something about his smell.
you would hold him up to your face and inhale and be brought immediate comfort.
it smelt like home.
lately, though, you had noticed you had to press your nose harder into his fur to find the smell.
it was fading, slowly, like a photograph left in sunlight. you told yourself it was just because he was old, because you had washed him too many times, but the thought made your stomach tight.
you couldn't remember when exactly the scent had started to thin, only that now you had to inhale twice as deep to get that same hit of comfort.
you carried bear around all the time and kept him around all the time, all the way to your adulthood.
around your teenage years, you started to get embarrassed about bear.
it felt odd.. you felt immature.
everyone else around never had stuffed animals around 24/7. you'd go over to a friends house and the layout of their bed would be completely different. no stuffed animals anywhere.
it only got worse as you grew older.
people started caring less and less and less about their childhood toys, while you were still stuck.
you even tried to convince yourself at one point some random day in highschool.
"i don't need bear! i'm not even gonna sleep with him tonight" you thought to yourself.
you tried to sleep that night… keyword 'tried'
it was probably the worst sleep of your life. you couldn't sleep until 5 in the morning, and even when you did fall asleep, you'd stir yourself awake every 10 mins.
after that you gave up.
you never bothered to tell anyone about bear, but it was just a little secret you had. you needed him in order to get any sort of comfort.
cut to now, you're an adult. living a full life, with lots of friends. bear still always by your side.
one day, it was laundry day.
living in the apartment you had, you didn't own a washer or dryer, you had to go to laundromat in order to wash anything.
you stand in front of your hamper and stare at it like it's a problem to be solved.
it's overflowing. socks are spilling over the side like they're trying to escape.
you've been putting this off for eleven days now, ever since you wore your last clean pair of jeans to that party at mayas and spilled wine on them.
you look down at your jacket, hanging on the hook by the door. bear is in there. he's always in there.
you grab the hamper with both hands and kick the door open with your foot, maneuvering down the narrow hallway of your building.
the stairs creak under your weight. the third floor always feels higher when you're carrying three weeks of dirty clothes.
the laundromat is four blocks away. you walk there because the bus costs two fifty and you'd rather spend that on coffee.
the autumn air is sharp enough to make your nose run, and you burrow deeper into your jacket, your hand finding the front pocket automatically.
bear is there. you can feel the soft bulk of him through the denim. your thumb traces the edge of his shirt, that faded yellow fabric that used to be bright white.
you don't take him out. you never take him out in public anymore. but you know he's there.
the laundromat is called spin cycle, which you think is a stupid name but whatever. the bell above the door jingles when you push it open with your hip.
the smell hits you immediately. detergent and warm cotton and that particular steamy humidity that only exists in places where clothes are being dried. it smells like clean, which is different from how bear smells, but somehow related.
you set your hamper down in front of an empty washer near the back.
number fourteen. you have a preference for the back machines. less chance of someone seeing you talk to your jacket pocket.
you sort your clothes with the efficiency of someone who's done this many times. darks in one pile, lights in another. you check pockets out of habit, even though you know exactly what's in yours.
your hand hesitates on the zipper of your jacket pocket.
you could take him out. just for a second. just to make sure he's okay before you put everything in the machine.
but the door opens behind you and an older woman comes in with a rolling cart, and you drop your hand like you've been caught.
you stuff your clothes into the machine instead. jeans first, then sweaters, then the delicates bag with your underwear because you're not brave enough to wash those in public view.
you toss the detergent pod on top and shove four quarters into the slot.
the machine groans to life. water starts rushing in.
you stand there for a moment, watching your clothes disappear under the suds.
your jacket is still on. you never take it off at the laundromat. the machines run hot and the room gets warm, but you keep it zipped up to your chin. bear stays close to your heart that way.
your phone buzzes in your actual pocket.
it's a text from your roommate, sarah. she needs you to pick up her prescription while you're out. she'll pay you back. she even adds three pleading emojis.
you sigh and look at the washer. it has thirty two minutes left on the cycle.
you could wait here. sit on the orange plastic chair and scroll through your phone and try not to think about how your jacket is starting to make you sweat.
or you could be productive.
you check the pocket one more time, patting the bulge that is bear. he's there. he's fine.
you walk out into the afternoon.
the pharmacy is two blocks north. you pass a coffee shop and smell espresso and almost stop, but sarah said urgent, so you keep walking. your hand stays in your jacket pocket the whole way, fingers wrapped around bears soft body.
the prescription pickup line is four people deep. you wait. you shift your weight from foot to foot. you think about your clothes spinning in circles back at the laundromat.
when it's your turn, you give sarahs name and date of birth. the pharmacist is slow. she types with one finger. you try not to tap your foot.
finally, you get the small white bag with sarahs name printed on it. you tuck it into your purse and head back out.
on the way back to the laundromat, you stop at the corner store for a bottle of water. the clerk knows you and waves. you wave back.
you're gone for twenty three minutes total.
when you push back through the door of spin cycle, the bell jingles again. the humidity hits your face.
your washer is still running. you can hear it churning, that wet slapping sound of clothes being beaten clean.
you sit down on the orange chair to wait. you pull out your phone. you scroll through instagram for four minutes. you watch a video of a cat falling off a counter.
then you get up to check the time left on your machine.
and you realize.
your jacket is gone.
you stand there staring at the orange chair where you were just sitting, and your jacket is not there.
you left it there. you know you left it there. you always take it off when you sit, even for a second, because the heat is too much, and you draped it over the back of the chair, and now it's gone.
your heart starts beating in your throat.
you look around the laundromat like the jacket might have just fallen on the floor. like it slipped down behind the chair. like you're imagining things.
but it's not on the floor. it's not behind the chair. it's not on any of the other chairs or folded on the counter or hanging on the coat hook by the door.
someone took it.
or someone moved it.
you walk in a circle around the laundromat, checking every surface, every chair, every windowsill.
you stand in the middle of spin cycle laundromat and your washer beeps, signaling that the cycle is done, and you can't move.
your clothes are done.
your jacket is gone.
bear is gone.
you walk back to the orange chair and you sit down heavily. the plastic creaks under you. your hands are shaking so badly you have to press them between your knees to make them stop.
you try to think logically.
maybe someone moved it. maybe an employee put it somewhere. maybe it got mixed in with someone elses stuff by accident.
you get up and walk to the front counter. there's a girl there with blue hair and a nose ring, reading a paperback with a dragon on the cover. she looks up when you approach.
"hi," you say, and your voice sounds wrong. thin and shaky.
"did anyone turn in a jacket? navy blue denim? oversized?"
she shakes her head. "not that i've seen. did you check the lost and found?"
you nod. you checked. it was just a sock and a hanger.
she gives you a sympathetic look. "sometimes people move stuff if it's in their way. check the other chairs?"
you already checked. you checked everywhere.
you walk back to the orange chair and sit down again. the washer has stopped beeping now. your clothes sit in the dark behind the glass, wet and heavy and waiting.
you should get them. you should transfer them to the dryer. you should finish your laundry like a normal person.
you can't get up.
your phone buzzes. it's sarah, texting to ask if you got her prescription. you stare at the screen and your thumbs hover over the keyboard but you can't think of what to type. you can't think of anything except the empty space where your jacket should be.
you start to cry.
you didn't mean to.
you blink hard and press your palms against your eyes but the tears come anyway, hot and fast and embarrassing. you're twenty years old crying in a laundromat over a lost jacket. over a stuffed animal. over bear.
a woman folding towels nearby glances at you. you turn away and hide your face in your hands.
you stay like that for a long time.
eventually you force yourself to stand up. you wipe your face with your sleeve.
you go to the washer and pull out your wet clothes and carry them to a dryer. you put in quarters you can barely see through your tears. you start the machine.
you sit back down on the orange chair.
you don't know what to do.
you think about calling the police, but what would you say? someone stole my jacket and inside the pocket was a winnie the pooh stuffed animal and i need it to sleep?
they'd laugh. or worse, they wouldn't laugh. they'd look at you with that concerned expression that says they're wondering if you're safe to be around.
you think about going home without him.
the thought makes your chest tighten until you can't breathe.
you put your head between your knees and count backwards from one hundred. you learned that in therapy sophomore year when the panic attacks got bad. it doesn't help much now.
the dryer hums.
you sit there and you wait for your clothes to be done and you try not to think about where bear is right now.
if he's on the floor somewhere. if someone threw him away. if someone found him and is holding him and wondering why a grown woman carries a baby toy in her jacket pocket.
the shame burns hot in your throat.
but underneath it is something worse. something empty and cold. the knowledge that tonight you'll go home to your small apartment and you'll lie in your bed and you won't sleep.
you know this because you've tried to sleep without him before.
you remember junior year. the night at your grandmothers house.
you'd been so careful all evening, checking your pocket every ten minutes, feeling the reassuring lump of him against your hip. but when you got home and reached in to pull him out for bed, your hand met only empty fabric.
you'd left him on your grandmothers couch. three hours away. three days before you could go back.
that first night without him, you lay in bed with your eyes wide open and stared at the ceiling until the sun came up.
you counted sheep. you counted your breaths. you listened to every creak of the house settling, every car passing on the street outside, every beat of your own heart that seemed too loud and too fast.
you didn't sleep for one minute.
the second night was worse. your body ached with exhaustion but your mind wouldn't stop spinning. you got up and walked circles around your room at three am.
you sat on the floor and pressed your face against your knees and rocked back and forth like a child.
by the third night you were hallucinating. shadows moved in the corners of your vision. sounds came from inside your walls.
you'd tried to remember the smell exactly, sitting there in the dark at your grandmother's house, but you couldn't conjure it.
you could remember that it was warm, that it was sweet like vanilla and something else, but the specific scent eluded you. it worried you more than the sleeplessness, that your brain couldn't hold onto something so essential.
you called your grandmother at four in the morning crying so hard you couldn't make words.
you got him back on the fourth day. you slept for fourteen hours straight and woke up with his face pressed against your cheek and your pillow soaked with tears.
you can't do that again.
but you don't know how to fix this.
the dryer stops.
you sit there for five more minutes before you get up and pull out your warm clothes. you fold them mechanically. shirts first, then pants, then socks matched into pairs. you put them in your hamper.
you carry the hamper home through the darkening streets.
the autumn air bites at your cheeks. you didn't realize how late it'd gotten. the streetlights are on now, orange and humming.
you walk up the three flights of stairs to your apartment. sarah is home. she's making pasta in the kitchen and she looks up when you come in.
sarah sees the expression on your face, hers immediately becoming concerned. "are you.. okay?" she asks cautiously.
you nod and pull the white bag from your purse and hand it to her. "fine," you say. "i'm just tired."
she takes the bag but she doesn't look away from you. "you don't look fine," she says. "you look like you've been crying."
you turn away and hang your keys on the hook by the door. "i'm fine," you say again, but your voice cracks on the second word.
"hey," she says, softer now. she puts down the wooden spoon she was holding and comes over to you. "what happened? did something happen at the laundromat?"
you shake your head. you can't talk about it. if you try to explain you'll start crying again and you don't think you'll ever stop.
"i just need to lay down," you say.
sarah reaches out and touches your arm. "are you sure? you can talk to me, you know. whatever it is."
you nod and pull away gently. "i'm sure," you say. "just tired."
you go to your room and close the door.
you sit on your bed and you look at the empty jacket hook by the door.
you lie down on top of your covers still wearing your shoes.
you stare at the ceiling.
you wait.
the first night is exactly as bad as you remember.
you lie there with your eyes open and your hands clenched into fists at your sides. you try to slow your breathing. you try to relax your jaw. you try to think about nothing.
but your brain won't turn off. it keeps circling back to the same thought. bear is gone. bear is gone. bear is gone.
you get up at midnight and search your room again. under the bed. in the closet. in your laundry hamper even though you know you already checked. you go to the living room and look behind the couch cushions. you check the bathroom, the kitchen, the hallway outside your door.
you know he's not there. you knew before you looked. but you can't stop yourself from checking.
by two am you're back in bed and your heart is racing like you've been running. you press your hand against your chest and feel it thumping against your ribs.
you don't sleep.
the sun comes up and you haven't closed your eyes for more than a few seconds at a time. your body feels wired and heavy at the same time. your eyes burn. your head aches in a low constant throb behind your temples.
sarah knocks on your door at eight. "i'm heading to class," she calls through the wood. "are you up?"
you don't answer. you can't make your voice work.
you hear her hesitate. "y/n?" she calls again. "you in there?"
"i'm sick," you manage. your voice sounds like gravel. "calling in sick."
there's a pause. "do you need anything?"
you close your eyes and shake your head even though she can't see you. "no," you say. "just sleep."
you hear her walk away.
you spend the day in a fog. you lie on the couch and stare at the wall. sarah comes back at four and finds you there in the same position she left you.
she sets her bag down and comes over to you. "you still haven't slept?" she asks.
you don't answer.
she sits down on the edge of the couch and puts her hand on your forehead like she's checking for a fever. "you're burning up," she says. "but you don't feel sick. what's going on?"
"just can't sleep," you whisper.
"since when?"
you close your eyes. "since i lost something."
she waits for you to say more. when you don't, she asks, "what did you lose?"
you shake your head. you can't say it out loud.
sarah sighs and stands up. "i'm making soup," she says. "you're eating something."
you don't eat. you drink half the broth she brings you and your stomach cramps around it.
you go back to your room when the sun starts to set. you lie down and you wait for the second night.
the second night is worse.
now your body knows what's coming. it starts to panic before you even get into bed. your hands shake as you brush your teeth. your stomach twists as you pull back the covers.
you lie down and your whole body is tense, waiting for the sleeplessness to start.
it doesn't disappoint.
you spend hours staring at the ceiling. you try counting backwards from one thousand. you try naming every state in alphabetical order. you try to remember the lyrics to every song you learned in elementary school.
nothing works.
your thoughts race in circles. where is he right now? is he cold? is he scared? does he think you abandoned him? the thoughts are ridiculous and you know they're ridiculous but you can't stop them.
at four am you get up and throw up in the bathroom. there's nothing in your stomach but bile. you rinse your mouth and look at yourself in the mirror. your eyes are red and swollen. your skin is gray. you look like you've been sick for weeks.
sarah finds you there. she's in her pajamas, rubbing her eyes. "you're up?" she asks, then she sees your face. "oh my god. y/n. what's happening to you?"
"nothing," you say. "go back to bed."
"you've been throwing up," she says. "and you look terrible. i'm taking you to the hospital."
"no," you say, too fast. "i'm fine. i just can't sleep."
"for two nights?" she asks. "that's not normal. something is wrong."
you lean against the sink and close your eyes. "i just need to find him," you whisper.
"find who?" sarah asks.
you shake your head. you can't say it.
sarah puts her hand on your arm. "you're scaring me," she says quietly. "please tell me what's wrong."
you open your eyes and look at her. she looks scared. you hate that you're doing this to her. but you can't explain. it's too embarrassing
"i'm sorry," you say. "i just need to find something i lost. then i'll be fine. i promise."
she stares at you for a long moment. "what did you lose?" she asks again.
you push past her and go back to your room. you close the door and lean against it and slide down to the floor.
"i'm sorry," you call through the wood. "just please let me handle this."
you hear her hesitate. then you hear her walk away.
you get back in bed.
you lie there and watch the sky outside your window turn from black to gray to pink.
you don't sleep.
by the third day you're unraveling.
you try to go to work because you need the money and you can't afford to lose another day. you stand at the coffee shop counter and you can't remember what buttons to press. you stare at the register for thirty seconds while a customer waits and you can't make your brain work.
your manager sends you home.
"are you on something?" she asks quietly in the back room. "if you need help, we can get you help."
"i'm just tired," you say. "i haven't slept."
she looks at you and her expression softens into pity. "go home," she says. "get some rest. come back when you're better."
you walk back to the laundromat. you check the lost and found box. you ask the blue haired girl if anyone has turned anything in. she recognizes you now and her sympathy has started to turn into something else, something wary.
"no," she says. "nothing."
you put up a sign on the bulletin board.
lost. navy blue denim jacket. no questions asked. reward.
you put your phone number at the bottom.
you wait.
no one calls.
the third night is the worst yet.
now you're afraid to even try to sleep. the bed feels like a battlefield. you lie down and your whole body is rigid with dread. you know what's coming. the long hours of darkness. the racing thoughts. the way your mind turns against you.
you start to cry at eleven pm and you don't stop.
you cry until your throat is raw and your eyes feel like they've been scrubbed with sandpaper. you cry until your chest hurts and you can't catch your breath.
sarah finds you at two in the morning sitting on the kitchen floor with your knees pulled to your chest and your face wet and your whole body shaking.
she sits down on the floor with you. she puts her arm around your shoulders. she doesn't ask what's wrong. she just stays there.
"i'm sorry," you whisper. "i'm so sorry."
"shh," she says. "it's okay. whatever it is, it's okay."
you lean your head against her shoulder and you cry quieter, then, exhausted and empty.
she helps you to bed. she tucks the covers around you like you're a child. she sits on the edge of the mattress and strokes your hair until your breathing slows.
"do you want to tell me now?" she asks softly.
you shake your head against the pillow. "i can't," you whisper.
she sighs. "okay," she says. "but i'm here when you're ready."
she stays until you pretend to fall asleep. then she slips out and closes the door.
you lie there with your eyes open in the dark.
you don't sleep.
the fourth day you don't get out of bed at all.
sarah brings you water. she brings you toast. she sits on the edge of your bed and tries to get you to eat.
"just a bite," she says. "please."
you eat half a slice and your stomach cramps around it.
you stare at the wall and you think about bear. you think about his soft fur. you think about his smell. you think about the way he fit in your hand just right, the perfect size to hold against your heart.
you wonder if you'll ever sleep again.
the fifth night comes.
you've been awake for so long that time has stopped making sense. hours blur together. you can't remember if you ate today. you can't remember what day it is.
you lie in bed and you stare at the ceiling and you wait for morning.
your body is screaming for rest. your eyes burn constantly. your head feels like it's full of static, white noise that never stops.
but your mind won't let you go.
it keeps you awake like a punishment. like a curse.
you start to think that maybe this is just your life now. that you lost the one thing that let you rest and now you'll never rest again. you'll spend the rest of your existence exhausted and hollow and reaching for something that isn't there.
you get up and walk to the window.
you look out at the street below, empty and dark, and you wonder if he's out there somewhere. if he's cold. if he's alone.
you press your forehead against the glass and you close your eyes.
you don't sleep.
you don't sleep on the sixth night either.
or the seventh.
by the eighth day you're a ghost. you move through your apartment like you're haunting it. you don't eat. you don't speak. sarah has stopped asking if you're okay because she knows you're not.
she just brings you water and sits with you and waits.
she doesn't ask again what you lost. she just stays with you, her presence steady and warm, until the afternoon light fades and your room grows dark.
on the ninth day, sarah knocks on your door earlier than usual.
"i'm having some people over tonight," she says through the wood. "just a few friends. dinner. nothing crazy."
you don't answer. you're staring at the ceiling and counting the cracks in the plaster. there are eleven. you've counted them a hundred times.
"it would mean a lot to me if you came out," she continues. "just for an hour. please."
you close your eyes. the thought of being around people makes your skin crawl. you're so tired. you're so empty. you don't have the energy to pretend to be normal.
but sarah has been so patient. she has brought you water and toast and sat with you in silence. she hasn't pushed you to explain. she has just been there.
you owe her this.
"okay," you say. your voice sounds like rust.
you hear her exhale. "really?" she asks. "you'll come out?"
"yeah," you say. "i'll try."
you hear her smile. you can hear it in her voice. "thank you," she says. "just an hour. that's all."
she walks away and you lie there and wonder if you can do this.
you get up at six. you haven't slept in nine days and your body feels like it's made of glass, fragile and ready to shatter.
you go to the bathroom and look at yourself in the mirror.
you look terrible. your eyes are sunken and red rimmed. your skin is pale and splotchy. your hair is a tangled mess.
you try to make yourself look presentable.
you splash cold water on your face until your cheeks have some color. you brush your hair and pull it back into a low ponytail. you put on makeup for the first time in over a week, covering the dark circles under your eyes with concealer that's slightly too light.
you change out of the sweatpants you've been wearing for three days and put on jeans and a sweater.
you look in the mirror again.
you still look tired. you still look hollow. but you look like a person again. not a ghost.
you take a deep breath and open your bedroom door.
the apartment smells like garlic and rosemary. sarah is cooking pasta. music plays softly from her phone, something upbeat and indie.
she turns when she hears you and her face breaks into a smile.
"you look great," she says. she means it.
"thanks," you say.
she crosses the room and hugs you. she squeezes tight and you feel tears prick your eyes but you blink them back. you've cried enough.
"seriously," she whispers. "thank you for trying."
you nod against her shoulder.
the doorbell rings at seven.
sarah pulls away and wipes her hands on her apron. "that's probably maya and leo," she says. "can you get the door?"
you walk to the door on legs that feel unsteady. you open it.
maya and leo stand there holding wine and bread. they smile when they see you.
"hey," maya says. "long time no see. sarah said you've been sick."
"yeah," you say. "stomach thing. getting better now."
they come in and you take their coats and hang them on the hook by the door.
the hook is empty where your jacket should be.
you look away.
more people arrive. sarahs friends from class. a girl named priya who brings brownies. a guy named tom who talks loudly about his internship.
you stand in the kitchen and hold a glass of wine you don't drink. you smile when people look at you. you nod when they talk. you're performing being a person and you're not sure how convincing you are.
the doorbell rings again.
"i'll get it," sarah calls from the stove.
you stay in the kitchen and listen to the door open.
"hey," you hear sarah say. "i'm so glad you could make it."
"wouldn't miss it," a voice answers. male. soft. slightly rough. deep.
you don't think anything of it until they walk into the kitchen.
sarah enters first. then a boy.
he is tall. blonde hair. he's wearing a gray hoodie under a jacket that makes you stop breathing.
your jacket.
navy blue denim. oversized. frayed hem.
your jacket.
on his body.
you stare at him and the glass in your hand starts to shake.
"y/n," sarah says, "this is riki. he's in my art history class. riki, this is my roommate y/n."
riki looks at you and smiles. his eyes are warm and dark brown and he has full lips.
"hey," he says. "nice to meet you."
you force yourself to smile. "nice to meet you too."
you don't say anything about the jacket. your throat closed up. your heart starts hammering against your ribs.
when riki shrugged off the jacket to hang it by the door, you noticed he folded it carefully, smoothing the collar with his palm before stepping away. not the careless toss most people gave their coats, but something deliberate, almost tender.
you watch him from the corner of your eye all night. you watch him talk to maya about some movie. you watch him help sarah carry plates to the table. you watch the way the jacket moves on his shoulders, the way the front pocket bulges slightly with nothing in it now.
bear is not there.
you feel sick.
but you don't confront him. you can't. not in front of everyone. not when you're barely holding yourself together.
you make it through dinner. you laugh at the right times. you push food around your plate and pretend to eat.
when riki leaves, he shrugs into the jacket and zips it up and you watch him walk out the door and you feel like you're losing bear all over again.
but now you know who has him.
or at least who has your jacket.
you go to bed that night and you don't sleep. but now there's something else mixed with the exhaustion. hope.
the next week, sarah has people over again.
"rikis coming," she mentions casually while chopping vegetables. "he asked about you. said you seemed nice."
you freeze. "oh?"
"yeah. he's really into thrifting. you should see his apartment. it's like a vintage store exploded."
you nod and try to act normal.
when the doorbell rings, your stomach flips.
riki walks in wearing your jacket again. this time with a different hoodie underneath. he smiles when he sees you.
he looked at you differently this time, his eyes lingering on your face like he was looking for something.
"sarah said you've been sick," he said, and there was a note of suspicion in it, or confusion. "yeah," you said. "stomach thing." he nodded, but his brow stayed furrowed, like he knew you were lying but couldn't figure out about what.
he hangs the jacket on the coat rack by the door and you have to stop yourself from staring at it.
all night, your eyes drift to that jacket. you wonder if bear is still in the pocket. you wonder if he took bear out. you wonder where bear is now.
you don't sleep that night either. but you spend less time crying and more time thinking.
riki comes over again three days later. sarah invites him for movie night. he brings popcorn and wears your jacket again.
this time you sit next to him on the couch. you can smell the jacket from here. you can smell the musk, amber, and something warm.
it smells like bear.
it smells like home.
your eyes start to close during the movie. just for a second. the scent is so familiar. so comforting.
you jerk awake and riki is looking at you.
"you okay?" he whispers.
"yeah," you say. "just tired."
he nods and looks back at the screen. but after a minute, he shifts slightly and the jacket sleeve brushes against your arm.
you don't pull away.
the fourth time he comes over, you're ready.
sarah is in the kitchen making tea. the others haven't arrived yet. it's just you and riki in the living room.
he's wearing your jacket again. he wears it every time. it must be his favorite now.
you sit down next to him on the couch and your hands are sweating and your heart is racing but you have to ask.
"can i ask you something?" you say.
he looks at you. "yeah. of course."
"that jacket," you say. "where did you get it?"
riki looks down at himself. then back at you. "thrift store," he says. "downtown. why?"
you take a breath. "i think it might be mine," you say. "i lost a jacket just like that at the laundromat on fourth."
rikis eyes widen. "oh," he says. "oh wow. i'm sorry. i didn't know."
"it's okay," you say. "you didn't know. but... there was something in the pocket. when i lost it. something important."
riki stares at you. "something important?" he repeats.
"a stuffed animal," you say. your voice cracks. "a bear. he was in the front pocket. did you... did you find anything like that? when you bought the jacket?"
riki is quiet for a long moment, his brow furrows.
"there was something," he says slowly. "when i got home and checked the pockets. a bear. yeah. i remember."
your whole body goes weak. "you have him?"
riki looks at you. "i have him at my apartment," he says. "i didn't know what to do with him. i kept meaning to bring him back to the thrift store but i kept forgetting. i'm sorry. i should have turned him in."
you're crying. you can't help it. tears are streaming down your face and you don't care.
"can i have him?" you whisper. "please? he... he's really important to me."
riki stares at you. he looks confused but not judgmental. just curious. concerned.
"of course," he says. "i'm so sorry. i didn't realize. i can go get him right now. my apartment is only ten minutes away."
you shake your head. "no," you say. "you don't have to. just... next time you come over. please. bring him."
"i will," riki says. "i promise. tomorrow. i'll bring him tomorrow."
you nod and wipe your face. "thank you," you say. "thank you so much."
sarah comes out of the kitchen with two mugs. she sees your face and stops.
"...everything okay?" she asks.
"yeah," riki says before you can answer. "we were just talking about the jacket. turns out i accidentally bought y/ns lost jacket."
sarah looks between you two. "seriously?"
"yeah," you say. "small world."
sarah sits down and the conversation moves on. but riki keeps looking at you. not with pity. with something else. something gentle.
the next day, he texts sarah that he's running late but he'll be there soon.
you sit on the couch and wait. you haven't slept in twelve days now. you're beyond exhausted. you're running on fumes and hope.
the doorbell rings.
you answer it.
riki stands there holding a small plastic bag. inside is bear.
you make a sound. a sob. you reach out and take the bag with both hands.
"i'm sorry i kept him so long," riki says. "i really didn't know."
you open the bag and pull bear out and press him against your face.
but something was wrong. underneath the familiar notes of amber and musk, there was something else, something chemical and sharp. the thrift store, maybe, or someone else's detergent.
you pressed harder, trying to find the original smell, the one that had lived in his fur for years, but it was muffled, distant, like trying to hear a song through a wall.
but underneath bears familiar scent, there is something else. something that smells like musk and amber and warmth.
you look up at riki.
"you smell like him," you say.
riki blinks. "what?"
"like bear," you say. "like home."
riki stares at you. then he smiles slightly. "thats a weird thing to say," he says.
"i know," you say. "im sorry. i just... i havent slept in twelve days. and you smell like sleep. you smell like the only thing that lets me sleep."
riki steps closer. he looks at your face. at your red eyes and your pale skin.
"twelve days?" he asks quietly.
"not since i lost him," you say.
he is quiet for a moment. then he says, ""why do i smell like him?" he asks. "like the bear?"
you look at him. really look at him. at his warm eyes and his messy hair.
"i dont know, maybe its the jacket?" you say. "but you do. you smell exactly like him. like amber and musk."
riki smiles. "amber and musk," he repeats. "thats funny."
"why?"
"because thats what my soap smells like," he says. "my grandmother makes it. she sends me bars every month."
you stare at him.
"amber and musk," you whisper.
"yeah," he says. "weird coincidence, right?"
you look down at bear. at his faded white shirt.
riki is quiet. then he says, "so i smell like your childhood."
you look up at him. "yeah," you say. "you do."
he smiles again. this time it reaches his eyes. "thats not a bad thing to smell like," he says.
that night you sleep for fourteen hours straight.
you woke up once at 3 am, reaching for bear automatically. you pressed your face to his stomach and inhaled, but the sleep did not come back as fast as it used to.
the scent was there, but faint, like the last bit of perfume on a shirt. you had to bury your whole face in his fur to find it, and even then, it slipped away faster than it used to.
you wake up with bear pressed against your face and your pillow soaked with tears that you do not remember crying.
the sun is streaming through your window at an angle that suggests it is late afternoon. you check your phone. 3:47 pm.
you've slept through your alarm. through sarah leaving for class. through the morning and into the afternoon.
you don't care.
you bury your face in bears fur and inhale. amber and musk. home.
but underneath that familiar scent, you catch something else. something that makes your chest tighten with a different kind of comfort.
riki.
he smells like this too.
you lie there for another hour, just breathing. just existing in the softness of finally being able to rest.
when you finally get up, you feel like a person again. your eyes are still heavy but they do not burn anymore. your head feels clear for the first time in weeks.
sarah is in the living room when you emerge. she looks up from her laptop and her face breaks into a smile.
"you slept," she says. it is not a question.
"yeah," you say. your voice is rough but steady. "i slept."
she stands up and hugs you. she smells like lavender shampoo and coffee.
"im so glad," she whispers.
you hug her back and you realize you have not told her yet. you haven't explained about riki and the jacket and the soap that smells like your childhood.
"theres something i should tell you," you say.
she pulls back and looks at you. "about the bear?"
"yeah," you say. "and other things."
you sit down on the couch and she sits next to you and you tell her everything. about bear. about the laundromat. about the insomnia. about riki buying your jacket. about the amber and musk.
when you finish, sarah is quiet for a long moment.
"thats why you couldnt sleep," she says finally. "thats what you lost."
"yeah," you say.
"and riki... riki smells like the bear."
"his soap," you say. "his grandmother makes it."
sarah stares at you. then she laughs. not a mean laugh. a disbelieving laugh.
"thats insane," she says. "thats actually insane."
"i know," you say.
she shakes her head. "im glad you told me," she says. "i was so worried. i thought you were having a breakdown."
"i kind of was," you admit.
she reaches out and takes your hand. "next time," she says, "just tell me. even if it sounds crazy. especially if it sounds crazy."
"okay," you say.
she squeezes your hand. "and riki... hes a good guy. he was really worried about you too. after he saw you that night. he texted me asking if you were okay."
your stomach does something soft and warm. "he did?"
"yeah," she says. "he seemed really concerned. more than just polite concerned. like actually worried."
you look down at bear, who you are still holding.
there's a pause before sarah speaks again.
"..does he still smell like it? riki? does he still smell like... home?"
you think about yesterday. about standing in the doorway with riki in front of you. about how even with bear in your hands, you had wanted to lean closer to him. to breathe him in.
"yeah," you say quietly. "he does."
sarah smiles. "interesting," she says.
three days later, riki texts you.
you're surprised when your phone buzzes with an unknown number and a message
hey its riki. got your number from sarah. hope thats okay.
you stare at the screen for a full minute before you answer.
yeah of course. hi.
he texts back immediately.
hey. i was wondering if you wanted to grab coffee sometime. or if thats weird. since i technically stole your jacket and your bear.
you smile.
It wasn't weird until you said that.
his reply comes with a laughing emoji.
fair. but seriously. coffee?
sure, you type. when?
how about saturday?
saturday works.
you put your phone down and you feel something flutter in your chest. it is not anxiety. it is something lighter.
saturday comes and you meet him at a coffee shop downtown. not the one by the laundromat. a different one. quieter. with velvet chairs and exposed brick walls.
he is already there when you arrive. he stands up when he sees you and waves. he's wearing a different jacket today. a brown corduroy one. but you can still smell it when you get close. amber and musk. drifting from his skin.
you order a latte. he gets an americano. you sit at a small table by the window.
you learned he was gentle in small ways. when the barista called out your name wrong
riki didn't laugh or correct her loudly. he simply took your cup when it came out and said, "here you go, y/n" handing it to you with your actual name, soft and private, like it belonged only between you.
he stirred his coffee exactly three times, always clockwise.
"my mom used to say it made the sugar happier," he explained when he caught you watching, cheeks pinking. "stupid, I know." you thought it wasn't stupid at all.
"so," he says. "how are you sleeping?"
it's such a direct question. such an intimate question from someone who is practically a stranger.
"better," you say. "since you brought bear back."
"good," he says. "im glad."
he tells you about his classes. about his grandmother who makes the soap. about how he grew up in a small town upstate and moved to the city for school.
you tell him about your job at the coffee shop. about sarah being your roommate for two years. about how you’re studying graphic design online.
the conversation flows easier than you expected. he asks questions and actually listens to the answers. he remembers details. he laughs at your jokes.
then he set his cup down and looked at you seriously. "can i be honest?" he asked.
you nodded, stomach tight. "when i found that bear in the jacket pocket, i thought about throwing it away," he said. "i thought it was trash, or like, a weird mistake. and then when you asked about it, i thought maybe you were... i don’t know.. unstable." he said the word carefully.
"im telling you this because i want you to know that im trying to understand. but i don’t totally get it yet. is that okay?" you felt tears prick your eyes, but they were relief tears, or something close.
"that is okay," you said. "i don’t totally get it either."
when you finish your coffee, he walks you home. it is only six blocks but it takes twenty minutes because you keep stopping to look at things. a street performer playing violin. a cat in a window. a mural that is half finished.
he points things out to you. things you would not have noticed. the way the light hits a particular building at this time of day. the sound of a bird that should not be in the city.
"youre observant," you say.
"i like paying attention," he says.
at your door, he stops. "this was nice," he says. "we should do it again."
"yeah," you say. "id like that."
he smiles. "ill text you."
he does. the next day. and the day after that.
he starts coming over to your apartment more often. not just when sarah invites him. he texts you first. asks if you’re home. asks if you want to hang out.
the first time he shows up unannounced, you’re in your pajamas at two in the afternoon on a sunday. you open the door and he is standing there with a bag of bagels.
"sarah said you like everything bagels," he says. "and shes not here but i thought... maybe you'd want to share them."
you stare at him. "im in my pajamas," you say.
"i dont care," he says. "im wearing sweatpants."
he is. gray ones. with paint stains on the knee.
you let him in.
you eat bagels on the couch and watch a documentary about octopuses. he sits close enough that you can smell him. amber and musk. it mixes with the smell of your apartment. your candles. your shampoo. it starts to feel like he belongs here.
after that, he comes over all the time.
sometimes he brings food. sometimes he brings movies. sometimes he just brings himself and his presence.
you start to notice things about him. the way he runs his hand through his hair when he is thinking. the way he hums under his breath when he is focused on something. the way he always asks if you’re sleeping okay.
"and how is bear?" he asked casually, stirring his coffee. you looked at him, surprised.
"you never talk about him anymore," he said. "you used to carry him everywhere, secretly. now i never see him." you realized he was right. bear sat on your pillow now, untouched most days.
"his smell is fading," you admitted. "i think... i think he's getting too old." riki nodded, not judgmental, just observing.
"that must be scary," he said. "losing your safety net."
you nodded, throat tight. "but you’ve been sleeping anyway," he said. "without him, sometimes. i notice." you hadn’t realized he had noticed, or that you had been doing it. "yeah," you said. "i guess i have."
bear is back in his place on your pillow. but sometimes, when riki is over late and the three of you’re watching movies, you find yourself getting sleepy on the couch. your head drifting toward him. your body relaxing in a way that usually only happens with bear in your arms.
one night, sarah falls asleep first. she is in the armchair, snoring softly, her phone still in her hand.
riki looks at you. "shes out," he whispers.
"yeah," you whisper back.
you’re sitting close on the couch. closer than you were at the beginning of the movie. your thighs almost touching.
"does it bother you?" he asks. "that i smell like... like your thing? like your comfort thing?"
you look at him. his face is serious. his eyes are soft.
"no," you say honestly. "it doesn't bother me."
"does it help?" he asks. "when im around. does it actually help you feel better?"
you think about it. about the way your shoulders drop when he walks in the room. about the way your breathing slows when he sits next to you.
"yeah," you say. "it does."
he smiles. it is a small smile. private. just for you.
"good," he says. "im glad."
he reaches out and takes your hand. his fingers are warm. his palm is slightly rough.
you let him hold your hand until the movie ends.
after that, things shift.
he touches you more. casual touches. his hand on your shoulder when he walks past. his fingers brushing yours when he hands you something. his thigh pressed against yours when you sit together.
but one night, when you had leaned into him particularly hard, burying your face in his neck without thinking, he pulled back.
"hey," he said gently. "can you tell me when you’re doing that because you want to be close to me, versus when you just need the smell? i want to be here for you, but i also want to know if i am just... a pillow to you. or if im a person."
you froze, mortified. "you’re a person," you said quickly. "im sorry. i didn’t realize i was doing that." he softened, but his eyes were serious. "just check in with me," he said. "that is all i ask."
you start to need him there. not just for the scent. for him.
you text him when you’re having a bad day. he comes over. he doesn’t ask questions. he just sits with you. lets you lean against him.
one night, three months after he returned bear to you, you have a nightmare.
you wake up gasping. your heart is racing. the dream is already fading but the fear remains. you reach for bear and clutch him tight but the comfort is not coming. your body is still in panic mode. your mind is still spinning.
you lie there for an hour. two hours. staring at the ceiling.
you held him to your face until your nose hurt from pressing. you inhaled until you were dizzy. but the smell was gone, or nearly gone, replaced by something stale and empty. just cotton.
just old fabric. the magic had evaporated somewhere between the laundromat and riki's apartment, or maybe it had been dying for months and you had been too dependent to notice.
bear is not working.
you hold him to your face and inhale. amber and musk. but it is not reaching the place inside you that needs soothing. it is like the scent has lost its power. or your ability to receive it has broken.
you get up and walk to the kitchen. you get a glass of water. you stand in the dark and try to slow your breathing.
it does not work.
you go back to bed. you try again. you hold bear and you close your eyes and you will yourself to sleep.
nothing.
the sun comes up and you have not slept. your eyes burn. your head aches.
sarah finds you in the kitchen making coffee that you do not plan to drink. just something to do with your hands.
"you look tired," she says.
"didnt sleep," you say.
"bear not working?"
you shake your head. "not tonight."
she frowns. "thats weird."
"yeah," you say.
you go to work. you come home. you try again the second night.
the same thing happens.
you lie in bed with bear pressed against your heart and you cannot find the switch that lets you turn off. your mind will not stop. your body will not relax.
you get up at three am and sit on the floor. you press your forehead against your knees.
you do not understand. bear is here. bear is back. why is he not working?
the third night, you do not even try to sleep. you sit on the couch with all the lights on and you watch tv with the volume low. infomercials. cooking shows. anything to fill the silence.
riki texts you at midnight.
you up?
yeah, you reply.
can i come over?
you stare at the message. you don't want him to see you like this. exhausted. unraveling. but you need him. you need to know if it is just bear that is broken, or if you are broken.
please
you text back.
he is there in fifteen minutes. he is wearing a hoodie and his hair is messy like he rolled out of bed.
"couldnt sleep?" he asks when you open the door.
"no," you say. "three nights now."
he steps inside and closes the door behind him. he looks at you. really looks at you. at your red eyes and your shaking hands.
"bear not helping?" he asks quietly.
"no," you say. your voice breaks. "i dont know whats wrong with me."
"hey," he says. he steps closer. he puts his hands on your shoulders. "nothing is wrong with you."
"then why cant i sleep?" you ask. "i have him back. i have everything back. why isnt it working?"
he pulls you into a hug. you bury your face in his neck and inhale.
amber and musk.
and something else. something that is just him. skin and warmth and something clean underneath.
you breathe him in and you feel your shoulders drop. just slightly. just enough.
"do you want to try something?" he asks against your hair.
"what?"
"come to my place," he says. "tonight. just to sleep. my bed is bigger than yours. and... and maybe it will help. being somewhere different. with me there."
you pull back and look at him. "you want me to sleep at your house?"
"just to try," he says. "if it doesnt work, we can figure something else out. but... i want to help. and this is the only thing i know to offer."
you think about it. about going to his apartment. about sleeping in his space. about waking up with his scent all around you instead of just on bear.
"okay," you say.
his place is ten minutes away. you pack a bag with your toothbrush and a change of clothes and bear. you follow him in an uber because you’re too tired to walk.
the uber ride was too bright, the streetlights strobing across your tired vision in harsh yellow flashes.
you sat pressed against the door, your bag clutched to your chest, bear stuffed somewhere in the top where you could feel his soft bulk against your ribs.
riki sat in the middle seat, he'd insisted, saying he didn't mind, so he was close enough that every time the car turned, his knee bumped yours, warm and solid through the denim.
"almost there," he said, and his voice was pitched low, aware that loud noises felt like physical blows to your sleepless brain.
you nodded, not trusting your voice.
three nights without sleep had turned you into something raw and humming, a live wire dressed in sweatpants. your hands wouldn't stop shaking. you'd taken to pressing them between your thighs to still them, but then they'd start again the moment you released the pressure.
riki noticed. of course he did. he reached over and covered your closest hand with his own, pressing down gently. his palm was warm, slightly calloused, he'd mentioned once that he worked at a pottery studio on weekends, and now you could feel the evidence, the roughness of clay and stone against your skin.
"count the streetlights with me," he said.
"what?"
"count them. out loud. one, two, three. just until we get there."
"riki, i'm not a child,"
"i know," he said, and there was no pity in it, only steadiness. "but your brain is loud right now, isn't it? give it something else to say."
so you did. your voice came out rasped, broken, but he nodded along with each number, his thumb tracing slow circles on the back of your hand, and by the time you reached seventeen, you realized you'd stopped shaking.
his apartment building was narrow, sandwiched between a dry cleaner and a closed bakery.
the stairs creaked, old wood, old building, but he went slowly, turning every few steps to make sure you were still following, still there.
at the top, he unlocked three separate locks, the ritual of someone who valued the boundary of inside versus outside.
"welcome to my chaos," he said, pushing the door open.
it wasn't chaos. it was curated warmth.
the living room was small, dominated by a couch that looked soft from across the room, draped with a blanket that had been knitted in uneven rows, homemade, you thought. books stacked on the floor, not haphazardly but in towers, organized by color.
plants in every window, their leaves touching the glass, reaching for moonlight.
but it was the smell that made your knees weak.
amber and musk, yes, but layered with coffee grounds and old paper and the green, growing scent of the plants.
it smelled like a forest floor in a library. it smelled like him, amplified, concentrated, wrapped around you like a physical thing.
"you okay?" he asked, taking your bag and setting it by the door.
"yeah," you breathed. "it smells like..."
"like what?"
you shook your head, unable to explain that it smelled like the concept of sanctuary.
he showed you the bathroom first, clean, white tiles, a towel hung ready for you that was fluffier than anything you owned. then the kitchen, small but organized, a kettle on the stove. then the bedroom.
you hesitated at the threshold.
it was simple.
a queen bed with gray sheets that looked like clouds, a nightstand with a lamp that had a warm, low-wattage bulb already glowing.
more books. a window with curtains that looked thick enough to block out the sun. on the dresser, a small dish with loose change and a single, smooth stone.
"the bed is new," he said suddenly, and you turned to look at him.
he was standing in the doorway, giving you space, his hands in his pockets.
"i bought it last month. the old one was a twin from my childhood. i kept it too long. this one..." he gestured vaguely. "i wanted something that felt like a real place to rest. for when i was ready to rest."
you understood, then, that he was offering you not just his space, but something he'd built for himself. something he was still learning to use.
"i should change," you said, your voice small.
he nodded and pulled a t-shirt from his dresser, soft, worn gray, the collar stretched from use. "for sleeping," he said, handing it over. "it'll smell like me. if that helps."
you took it and went to the bathroom. changed out of your clothes, which felt dirty with exhaustion and anxiety, and pulled his shirt over your head.
it fell to mid-thigh, huge on you, and when you inhaled, it was like burying your face in his neck. you emerged with your own clothes folded in your hands, feeling vulnerable, exposed, but also wrapped in something that felt like safety.
he was in the bedroom, having changed into sweatpants and a thin white t-shirt. he'd turned down the lamp so the room glowed amber, matching the scent. he'd also, you noticed, placed bear on the pillow on the left side of the bed, propped up like he was waiting for you.
"i wasn't sure which side you preferred," riki said, gesturing to the bed. "i sleep on the right, usually, but i can move,"
"left is good," you said. "i sleep on the left."
"okay." he pulled back the covers. "do you need... i mean, is there anything? water? the window open or closed? i have a white noise app on my phone if the street is too loud."
you stood there, suddenly overwhelmed by his care, by the specificity of it. tears pricked your eyes, hot and embarrassing.
"i don't know," you whispered. "i don't know what i need. i've never... i've never done this. slept next to someone. not since i was small."
he nodded like this made perfect sense. "then we'll figure it out together," he said. "come here."
you climbed into the bed. it was firm but giving, the sheets cool against your overheated skin.
you pulled bear into your arms, clutching him tight, but you knew already that he wasn't enough tonight. the magic was thin, worn away by time and washing machines.
riki climbed in on the other side, keeping space between you. respectful. he lay on his back, his hands folded on his stomach, staring at the ceiling.
"tell me about the pottery," you said suddenly. you needed to hear his voice. needed something to follow into the dark.
"what about it?"
"anything. just... talk."
he did. his voice was soft, rhythmic, telling you about the wheel, about the way clay felt when it centered properly, smooth, responsive, like it wanted to become something.
he told you about the first mug he made that didn't leak, the first bowl that was actually round. he told you about his grandmother's soap, how she made it in her kitchen with lye and oils, how she'd send him bars wrapped in wax paper with little notes about the weather back home.
as he talked, you turned on your side to face him.
the lamp was still on, casting his profile in gold. you watched his mouth move, the way his adam's apple bobbed when he swallowed, the way his hands gestured slightly even though they were resting on his stomach.
"you're staring," he said, not looking at you, but smiling.
"sorry."
"don't be. i like it." he turned his head. his eyes were dark, soft.
there was a pause, the two of you just staring at each other.
"can i hold your hand?" riki spoke cautiously
the question was so gentle, so permission-seeking, that your chest ached. you nodded.
he reached across the space between you, still respectable, still careful, and found your hand where it clutched bear.
he didn't try to move the stuffed animal. he simply laced his fingers through yours, his palm warm and dry against your clammy skin.
"is this okay?" he asked.
"yeah," you whispered.
"and this?" he shifted, moving closer, slowly, giving you time to pull away. he settled on his side too, facing you, so that your knees were almost touching, so that you could feel the warmth radiating from his body.
close enough that the amber and musk wrapped around you like a blanket.
"yeah," you said again.
he reached out with his other hand, the one not holding yours, and touched your hair. just the ends, where it lay on the pillow.
"your hair is pretty," he said, and it was such a simple observation, delivered without expectation, that you felt something inside you crack open, something that had been clenched tight for years.
"riki?"
"mm?"
"will you... will you tell me if i'm too much? if this is too weird? i don't want to be a burden."
his hand stopped playing with your hair. he looked serious, intent.
"you could never be too much," he said. "and you're not a burden. you're..." he paused, searching.
"you're the person i want to give my best self to. the careful self. i haven't... i haven't wanted to be that person for anyone in a long time. it feels good. it feels like remembering."
you felt tears spill over, tracking down your temple into the pillow.
"i'm scared," you admitted. "i'm scared i won't sleep and i'll waste your night and you'll regret letting me come here."
"hey," he said, and his voice was firmer now, but still soft. still safe. he released your hand and reached up to wipe your tears with his thumb, a slow, careful stroke. "look at me."
you did.
"you're safe here," he said.
"whether you sleep or not. whether you sleep for five minutes or five hours or not at all. you are safe. i'm here. i am not going anywhere. i will be here when the sun comes up, and i'll make you coffee, and we will figure it out. okay? there's no failing here. there is only you, resting, however you can."
you nodded, sniffling, feeling foolish and cared for in equal measure.
he settled back down, but he didn't retreat.
he stayed close, close enough that you could feel his breath on your forehead.
he took your hand again, and with his other hand, he began to stroke your hair, slow and rhythmic, from temple to the nape of your neck, over and over.
"close your eyes," he whispered.
you did. the darkness was immediate but not frightening. his hand in your hair was anchoring.
his breathing was steady, a metronome.
time became liquid. you didn't know if minutes passed or hours.
you drifted in a half-state, aware of his presence, of the softness of the bed, of bear clutched against your chest, but also of riki's hand, still stroking, still present.
at some point, you realized you were crying again, but silently, tears leaking from closed eyes.
"hey," riki whispered, stopping his hand. "what's wrong?"
"nothing," you whispered back.
"i'm just... i'm relieved. i'm so relieved. i didn't know i could feel like this. safe, with someone else."
he made a small sound, something wounded and tender, and then he moved.
he shifted closer, closing the last few inches of space, and carefully, so carefully, he wrapped his arm around your waist. he didn't pull you against him, he asked with his body, and you answered by curling into him, tucking your head under his chin, pressing your face to the hollow of his throat where the scent was strongest.
his arm tightened, just enough. you could hear his heartbeat, steady and slow.
you could feel the rise and fall of his chest. you held bear between you, a soft barrier, but also a bridge.
"sleep," riki whispered into your hair. "i've got you. just sleep."
and because he was there, because the smell of home surrounded you, because his hand had resumed its slow stroke down your back, you did.
it wasn't immediate.
your mind still skittered, still tried to panic, still reached for the familiar spiral of thoughts. but every time it did, riki was there.
he hummed sometimes, wordless melodies that vibrated in his chest against your cheek.
he adjusted his arm when your shoulder twitched. he breathed slow and deep, and eventually, your breathing matched his.
you fell asleep to the sound of his heart, to the smell of amber and musk, to the feeling of being held like something precious.
when you woke, it was to golden afternoon light and the sound of rain against the window.
you were still curled against him, but sometime in the night, you'd shifted so that your leg was thrown over his, possessive and intimate.
bear had fallen to the side, nestled between your pillows, no longer needed as a shield.
riki was awake. you could tell by the way his chest moved differently, by the way his hand, still on your back, was tracing patterns now, letters maybe, or just shapes.
"hey," he said, his voice morning-rough.
"hey," you mumbled, not moving. not wanting to break the spell.
"you slept," he said, and you could hear the smile in his voice.
"yeah," you said, and then, because you needed him to know, "i slept because you were here. not just the smell. you."
he was quiet for a moment. then he pressed a kiss to your forehead, soft and lingering. "i know," he said. "i felt it. when you let go. i felt you decide to trust me."
you looked up at him. his eyes were soft, crinkled at the corners, his hair a mess from sleep. he looked beautiful.
"thank you," you said.
"thank you," he replied, "for letting me be the one."
you stayed there, wrapped in his arms, listening to the rain, breathing him in, knowing that you'd found something better than a childhood toy.
you'd found a person who smelled like home, who felt like safety, who would hold you through the dark until the light came back.
and for the first time in years, you weren't afraid of the night. because you knew where you'd be when it came.
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an✧˖°. i really hope you guys enjoyed this! i know it got a bit serious, but i needed to show the importance of bear. reblogs are ALWAYS welcome!! please any feedback is greatly appreciated :) also, PLEASE send me asks if you have anything you want to see me write, I BEGGG. i need inspiration in order to write something, or i wont be motivated!!!
