Whenever Jason’s feeling down, he shows up at Roy’s place unannounced. The latter takes one look at him, and doesn’t ask. He just tosses him a beer, turns on the TV, or pulls him into whatever he’s working on. Within minutes, Jason feels lighter. Roy has that effect on him.
But one night, it’s Roy who calls. Jason is half-asleep until he hears Roy’s voice. It's too quiet. Too... weird.
“Jay, I… I don’t feel so good.”
It’s not an injury. Jason can hear it in the weight of his words. The way they sound so hollow scares the shit out of him.
The drive is a blur. He barely remembers pulling up before he’s unlocking the door with the key Roy gave him months ago. Inside, he's on the floor, his arms wrapped around himself, staring blankly ahead.
Jason sits next to him to better search his face for anything that says this isn’t as bad as it looks. His hair’s a mess, and when Roy lifts his gaze, Jason sees the emptiness. Not pain, not exhaustion. Just… nothing.
It terrifies him.
His hand finds Roy’s wrist, hesitant at first. When Roy doesn’t pull away, Jason grips tighter. He moves closer, pressing their sides together. No reaction. Jason swallows hard, then does something he never does; he tucks his forehead against Roy’s shoulder.
Still nothing.
So he pushes further, pressing in, nuzzling against Roy’s neck without thinking. His breath is warm against his skin. If words won’t fix this, maybe this will. Maybe if he holds on tight enough, Roy won’t slip away.
Roy exhales, and Jason finally feels him lean in.
“I got you,” Jason murmurs. He tightens his hold. “I got you, okay ?"
Roy nods.
