Work Text:
For all the time you've been together, you've never shown any sort of "weak" emotion. Jake's shown everything from ecstatic to down right sobbing fear, but the only things you can show him are happiness and anger. It's a defense mechanism. That's what Roxy thinks anyway. That you're shutting yourself down to keep from getting hurt. You secretly agree, but that would be weak, in your opinion, so you don't tell her. Even though she's seen you at your very worst, crying about something, opening up to her about feelings you didn't know about, confirmation about yourself is worse than all of that.
You only cry in front of Jake when he's asleep. He wakes up with his shirt damp far too often, but hardly ever says anything. He thinks you drool, bringing it up one morning. You laughed it off, agreeing with him, lying to him. In reality, you don't drool. You barely sleep. Staying up while he snores quietly, anxiety tripping through your head. You're afraid. Afraid he'll leave you. Afraid the girls will hate you. Afraid of being alone again. Years of living essentially by yourself has made you wary of everyone leaving.
It doesn't surprise you when a project is going badly. The programming isn't going well. Neither is the structure. You haven't slept in days, clutching tightly at Jake through the nights. He's a heavy sleeper, thank god. Anxieties hit you hard this week. You clutch at your hair, letting out a shriek of frustration. This results in you slamming your head down on the table, arms limp at your sides. You hear shuffling outside , and then a knock on your door.
"Dirk?"
Scrambling upright, you steady yourself at the computer before responding. "Yes?"
The door creaks open and Jake pokes his head through. "You alright in here?"
You nod, typing in a random code, hoping it'll work out correctly. It doesn't, and you let out a groan of annoyance, tipping backwards in your chair.
"You could take a break," he suggests. You jump up, momentarily forgetting he was there.
"Nah man I'm fine. Just gotta refocus what I want here. You don't need to worry about it."
You're avoiding eye contact. He can tell.
"I wasn't worrying about it until now, but I must insist you take a brain break. We could watch a movie or cook up some disgusting concoction, doesn't that sound good?"
All you can hear is a condescending tone. It's not really there, you know that, but it sticks in your head.
"I said I'm FINE, Jake. I don't need a break. I need to work on this."
He huffs a bit before giving in. "Fine. You'll work yourself to death, I guarantee it."
He turns and walks out of the room, closing the door with tight clack.
You subconsciously reach for him, but slap your hand down quickly. It's a lost cause.
Turning back to the project at hand is difficult. You'd love a break, but affirmative statements are horrible to get out. You've resigned yourself to saying no and hoping the person's persistent in whatever they want. Jake usually is.
It starts of with a few wrong key presses. Nothing big. You delete them and move on. Then it turns into a completely wrong code string. Or two. Then three. You note, somewhere in the back of your mind, that you should go talk to someone before this gets too bad. Of course you ignore this advice.
All of a sudden, you wonder if he's left for real. This is dumb, seeing as you can faintly hear his laughter. Then you think about how he just left. How he didn't try hard to get you to get away from your project. Is he getting tired of you? Does he just not care anymore? You grab at your head, trying to squeeze the negativity out. This just gives you a headache. Tears prick at your eyes as you breathe in quicker. Maybe if you exhale quickly the anxiety will leave. It doesn't. You draw up your knees, sniffling into your jeans. Jake starts talking outside of your door. A frightened spasm wracks through your body.
"Dirk? Love, I'm sorry for leaving you like that. I can see it was rude. It's not very romantic, saying stuff like that." There's a laugh, and a door knob turn. You attempt to make yourself as small as possible, curling more. He opens the door. "I mean, if you left like that I'd be... terribly... hurt."
You can feel him looking at you. Stupid you. Couldn't keep a handle on your stupid fucking emotions. You hear him getting closer. You let out a noise in protest, mentally cursing yourself for letting him see you like this. So weak. Breaking the shell you've let build up. A hand presses to your shoulder and you jump, jolted into a normal sitting position. Legs hanging off the chair, back straight, hands grappling for a grip at the edges of your seat. This is all very bad, swimming through your head, slamming at the edges of your brain, your heart, your lungs.
Jake looks worried. You try to reassure him you're fine, but all that comes out is a choked gasp for air. All of a sudden, there's arms around you. It happens too fast, too fast, and you let out a quiet shriek, stiffening your muscles to the point of discomfort. You register words, but the buzzing won't stop, it never stops. That constant, painful hum in your brain during times like these. The arms, correction, HIS arms, tighten around you, and you spasm. This touch is not good. It's comforting but not good. You shove, and he backs up. Knees shift up, hands over your ears, eyes shut tight. You feel guarded. More armored than you did before.
It takes a few minutes, five you think, before you get back to normal. Looking anywhere but him, you get up. The door is close, just three, two, one step away, but there's a hand on your shoulder, stopping you.
"Wait. Don't leave. Please just stay."
You freeze. Then turn slowly back towards him. His eyes are wide, but his brows are low in concern. A frown is plastered clear across his face. You grimace and croak out a "What."
"Dirk it's alright. You can take down your silly emotion barrier around me."
You stare blankly at him, stone face set, eyes trained on his. There's no response from you, the fear of showing any more pulsing dully at the back of your mind. Out of nowhere, his arms are tight around you. You're still jumpy, flinching violently. He lets you go but you drag him back, hiding your face in the space between his neck and shoulders.
"Um," he clears his throat. "How often do those happen?"
You pause. Should you tell him the truth, or keep up that barrier?
"Nightly." It's throaty and gross sounding, and you feel him freeze.
"It's not drool on my shirt then, is it mate." You shake your head no, pressing into him tighter. "Dirk why didn't you say anything?"
"Too scared."
"What of?"
You still have a chance, you still have a chance, you still have a-
"That you'd leave."
His arms are so tight around you. Almost cutting off air. Almost, but not quite.
"You idiot. You beautiful fucking idiot. Why would you EVER think I'd leave you for that?" You don't want to say because it's so obviously stupid, so obviously weak, that he might just drop you on the spot. He urges you. "Goddammit Strider, what did I do to make you afraid of that? Because I swear I'll never do it again."
Your shoulders have started shaking from the effort to keep quiet. "Not your fault." It grates your throat on the way out. Talking is a chore. You hate everything but him right now.
"Then why?"
"Too long alone," you want to scream it. Instead, it comes out as barely a whisper. He catches it regardless. Always catches you when you're near silent. There's a sigh, and then he's pulling you away from the room.
"Wait-"
"No. You're taking a brain break and there is no room for argument. So hush your babbling and come do something completely mindless."
You do shut up, relieved he's not taking no for an answer this time. Jake pulls you out to the couch, sets you down, and unmutes the television. Bad comedy skits are playing, and you can't help but to focus your attention on Jake. When he looks over at you, you turn your head, embarrassed. He just sighs again and pulls you onto his lap. You turn your body to face him, settling your head in his shoulder space again. A heavy hand rubs your back and you smile, whispering a thank you so quiet that even he can't catch it.