Fuck, that was a mistake.He usually doesn’t like to be touched—it was one of the first things I learned about him.With how much he’s opened up to me over the past few weeks with our cuddle arrangement, I just… forgot.The only thought in my head was that I wanted to help him.But if I had thought for half a second, I would have known it would be a mistake.But I didn’t and made things worse.
“Sorry,” I blurt.“I’m sorry.”My voice cracks on the last word, coming out more like a whisper.I need to make things better.“Shit.Okay, um, let me get you a towel at least.And do you want your robe?That way you can get out of those gross clothes on the tile so you don’t track anything onto the carpet.”
Nodding, he goes back to fighting with his coat.I wait for a beat, seeing him succeed in unzipping it this time, then spring into action.I rush to the hall closet and grab a fresh towel, then into our bathroom for the robe he hangs on the back of the door.By the time I’m back in the entryway, he’s out of his coat.He’s standing there, arms crossed, possibly waiting for me.Or perhaps he’s shutting down and can’t process enough to decide what to do next.I hold out the towel for him, and it takes him a moment to unfurl himself, but eventually he takes it.He scrubs at his face and hair a little more roughly than is probably necessary.But I’m not really one to judge; I’ve rubbed my skin raw more than once when caught in a cycle.
Once his face is dry, he drops the towel and goes for the buttons on his shirt.He glances up at me, still not meeting my eyes.Oh, right.Privacy.I jerk my hands up to hold up the robe between us, blocking my view of him.I also close my eyes for good measure.It's not much, but considering I don't want him to have to leave him alone again, it's good enough.
“I’m not looking, I promise,” I say.
He lets out a huff, something between a laugh and an uncomfortable whine.The sound nearly breaks me.I hate that he’s feeling so miserable, that I can’t fix it.Not that he needs to be fixed, I mentally amend.Even just the idea of someone hearing that thought and believing I think he needs ‘fixing’ gives me anxiety. I would never think that of him.He’s perfect just the way he is.I just wish I could fix this situation for him—make things so he’s not so overwhelmed.
I feel the robe being pulled out of my hands, so I let my arms drop to my sides.“Let me know when you’re, um, decent,” I say.
He hums, which I take to mean he is.It makes sense that he doesn’t want to talk right now.But I peek one eye open just to be sure, then open both once I know the coast is clear.My gaze drops to the pile of dirty clothes at our feet.His eyes follow mine, and he rushes to pick them up.
“No, don’t,” I say, waving him off.“I’ll take care of it.You go take a shower.”
He hesitates, still in a half-crouch, reaching for the pile.
“Go,” I tell him again.
He nods, then skirts around me and disappears down the hall.
The next half hour passes in a bit of an anxious blur.My focus narrows as I scoop up the dirty clothes and throw them in the washing machine.I tidy and mop the entryway, and pour the disgusting water down the kitchen sink.I scrub the sink since it’s where we put things we eat off of, and I don’t want city street grime contaminating our eating surfaces.Then, I wash my hands.I’m reaching for the towel to dry them when I feel a prickle in my brain—that feeling that there’s something still wrong, that I’m still dirty.It nearly has me reaching for the hand soap again, but I stop myself short and breathe.I’m fine.The mess has been cleaned up.I washed my hands.I take another deep breath, force myself to dry my hands, and then head back to the couch to finish my calendar—my brain needs something else to focus on right now.Besides, if I’m right in my assumption that he’s experiencing a shutdown, Reid probably won’t come out of his room for the rest of the evening.So I pick up my highlighter and continue planning out the rest of my semester.
About an hour later, my phone buzzes on the table.I glance over to see the screen lighting up with a text from Reid, and rush to grab it.
Reid
Sorry
Parker
Why are you apologizing?
Reid
I feel like I might have snapped at you.
Parker
You were shut down and couldn’t really talk.I understand.
Reid
But you were only trying to help and didn’t deserve that.So I’m sorry
The intrusive voice in my head chimes in that I did deserve it since I was only making things worse, but I take a deep breath and do my best to ignore it.Instead, I choose to believe Reid.He doesn’t say things he doesn’t mean, so if he said I didn’t deserve it, then I didn’t.
Parker
Thank you
How are you feeling?
Reid
Still shut down
