That breathing you hear.
🌼For @privateerstudies to help cheer them up🌼
Aramis grips the sink one more time, avoiding the reflection that would stare back at him if he looked up. The night is warm, and the sky is still a hazy sort of orange out the window; they’re staying at d’Artagnan’s family farm for the long weekend, just as they always do every Summer. It’s supposed to be time for them all to relax as a family unit, and chase away the stresses from their everyday lives back home; their high demand jobs and such.
He exhales heavily; although it’s not exactly heavy at all. It’s a sort of weak and deflated groan. When you’re born, he thinks, you don’t know much. You learn to walk, talk and do all sorts of things. But the one thing you know from the moment you enter the world, is how to breathe. In fact, it’s one of the very first things you do. But, his body? His body doesn’t even know how to do that properly. He’s feeling too sorry for himself, he knows that, but it’s not as if he can just switch it off. The few days reserved for relaxation has turned into ruminating concerns that he’s about to ruin everyone’s trip by needing to stay inside. Porthos will want to watch over him— Athos too. He can’t let them miss out on another weekend of fun just because of him. He’ll be fine on his own, he always is.
Brushing some curls out of his eyes and splashing a little water on his face is his next plan of action; not exactly a miracle cure, but it’ll do for now. The cottage they’re staying in is beautiful and quaint, and the decor is the typical Grandparents sort of theme. His room has little pictures of animals hung on the walls, and those are the images Aramis tries to focus on as he attaches the mask to his face. Trying to put it off for as long as possible in some sort of attempt to act like everything is fine was no longer working; and so here he is. He’s pretty sure both Porthos and Athos are still awake in the living room… he can hear faint voices and laughter. Raoul went to bed a little before he himself retired to his room, and d’Artagnan was asleep against Constance’s shoulder when he left. His family. He should be out there with them.
The next thing he knows is that there’s a hand carefully guiding the mask away from his face, and everything feels… heavy. He must’ve fallen asleep with the machine running, because now there’s a rather concerned Athos looking him in the eye; and his natural reaction is to just close his own. He didn’t want to face anybody tonight, let alone like this. “I can still see you,” Athos mutters. “That’s Raoul’s best trick.” A quiet chuckle falls from his lips, and then Aramis hears Porthos’ voice in the distance— at least, it feels so far away.
“Here,” the voice is getting closer. “Rosie made you tea… she saw us coming in here and peeked in; ‘m sorry. Didn’t mean to leave the door open.”
He opens his mouth to talk, but decides promptly on shaking his head instead. It’s alright. D’Artagnan’s Grandmother is a lovely woman, and despite Aramis’ forever wishes to stay hidden and not be perceived by anyone when he’s like this, he doesn’t mind all that much. (Especially if it means that she puts their home harvested honey in the tea.) He isn’t really thinking about anything right now except… fuzz, but soon the warmth of the tea cup is brushing against his fingers and he somehow remembers how to hold out his hands to take it.
After some time of drinking, the two pairs of eyes staring at him are starting to make Aramis very aware of himself. “Athos,” he whispers. “Porthos… I’m okay. Stop looking at me like that. Please.” The last part sounds much more pleadingly pathetic than he ever meant it to.
“Are you going to tell us what is wrong?” Athos questions, an eyebrow raised as he repositions himself on the bed; so that he’s sitting beside Aramis instead.
There’s a shrug at that. “The heat? Grass? Nothing?”
Porthos chuckles, and the sound alone makes Aramis smile. He feels the weight of the other body sitting beside him, and a yawn leaves Aramis before he continues to talk. “It’s fine, it happens sometimes. You know it does.” His head is finding its way upon Porthos’ shoulder.
“We do know,” Athos chimes in. “And that is why we are sitting here, asking you what is wrong, so that we can help.” A hand reaches to feel Aramis’ forehead underneath the curls, but he feels only warm. That’s good.
Aramis doesn’t think they can help. Not much. And, he doesn’t really want them to either. He wants them to enjoy their days off, and to spend time with everybody else; out in the meadows or on the boat. “Well,” his voice is fading. “I don’t know.”
There’s a hand from his other side finding it’s way into his hair, and gentle motions of his curls being toyed with seem to calm the moment of aggravation. “I’m sorry,” he turns to Athos, gaze cast downwards. Why must he feel so uncomfortable every time this happens? It’s not as if it’s the first, and Aramis knows it will not be the last.
“No need,” comes the gentle reply. “Sleep, Aramis. We can stay.”
Those are the words that make him only wake up more, handing his now empty mug to Porthos and turning around once again. “You have plans tomorrow. The picnic, yes? Raoul will miss you too much if you’re not there.” His brow is furrowed and genuine concern is written all over his face.
Athos quietly hushes him before he loses his voice any further, and gently guides him down onto the pillow. “Tomorrow is tomorrow, and we will see what happens then. We can take it in turns staying here— I am very sure Rosie will bring you more honey in the morning too.”
“Don’t worry about tomorrow,” Porthos reiterates in a comforting murmur. “Let’s just get through tonight. You deserve to be helped, Aramis. You aren’t burdening us, alright?”
Their voices are a little like honey too, Aramis thinks to himself. And, the sweetness creates a smile on his face. The gentleness of their tones begins to lull him back towards dreamland; and soon the room is filled with slightly strained snores. The pair on either side of him are not going to leave, and they’ll stay to keep him comforted. All through the night and well into the morning.
Because that’s what people who love you do.
