nevertheless. He can’t do what Kyle wants right now. He can’t. He /can’t/.

The kisses trail up and down his collar and throat, Kyle’s attention focused solely on the expanse of Price’s flesh. Healed since the the last time and Gaz had marked every inch of skin he could reach.

He doesn’t think he’d be able to move his arm if he tried. Not even get up and make some sorry excuse that he’s tired and wants to go to bed early, or that he needs a piss so he can hide in the bathroom like some coward Captain who can’t even control his feelings for a few hours.

Stupid, selfish captain.

The two hockey players on the screen start fucking, Price moves his gaze to the wall behind the television. Not because he’s embarrassed— but because he’s nauseous. It’s becoming harder to control his breathing.
Is he drowning? His vision is swimming,

Because he feels like he’s drowning. He stares resolutely forward at the TV, feigning an amused rumble under the guise that he’s watching when he’s actually slowly sinking.

Or maybe he is drowning— because his limbs feel heavy. Like he’s moving through molasses— like deep water.

to make an excuse as to why his lungs felt like an elephant had taken refuge in the middle of his chest.

Something must happen in the show because the room is filled with Gaz’s soft laughter and Price can feel the way it shakes his lover’s shoulders.
Price can’t find any enjoyment in it.

But that’s just what he does, isn’t it? A nice calm evening— ruined because of him and whatever toxic cloud blanketed his brain. They get so little time together, even fewer evenings where they can just exist as Kyle and John.

Price wishes he /was/ actually drowning so he didn’t need

Price feels like he’s drowning. Realistically he knows he isn’t because he’s sitting watching some TV Show about two hockey players. Gaz to his left, curled up against his side with his head resting on his slouched shoulders.
Price knows he isn’t drowning, because the closest body of water is the

cup of cooling tea on the coffee table in front of him.

But he feels like he’s drowning anyway. Like each breath is not just a chore, but a challenge. One that he’s struggling to win. He doesn’t know why or where the mood’s come from and he wants nothing more than for it to go away.

"Captain's got your back."

Now and always. Kyle closed his eyes. He didn't have any more nightmares-- and even woke up to a fresh cup of coffee and a kiss. And practically moved into Price's room the week following.

Just like that. No shaming. No awkwardness or embarrassment. No poor attempts at comforting him. Just the promise of someone to hold him and chase the worst of it away.

Kyle whispered a thank you and buried as close as he could. Price pulled him closer-- kissed the top of his head.