Page 100 of The Sound of Him

If I wasn't so tired, I'd probably laugh. The sound that comes out of me is a heavy sigh instead. “Yeah, okay.”

He hesitates before just walking away with a shake of his head. I think I hear him mumble something likekept him, but decide it's not my business. Not tonight, at least. I'll check on him tomorrow.

I'm halfway to the stairs when I decide to double-back to the living room. There's an oversized throw blanket that usually hangs out on the arm of one of the chairs or along the back of the couch. It's slightly heavier than a usual throw, soft and warm. I grab it, just in case.

I enter my office quietly, knowing Matt is inside by the fact that both locks were engaged. He's lying on the couch, head on the throw pillow and legs curled a little more than necessary. His blue bunny is out of his hiding spot, tucked safely under Matt's chin instead. I can't stop the smile that appears at the sight. I wouldn't want to even if I could.

“I grabbed a blanket,” I tell him when he blinks his sleepy eyes open to look at me. “Do you want it?”

He nods, adjusting half-heartedly like he's considering getting up. “It's alright, just stay comfortable.”

He listens, relaxing back into the couch and remaining that way even as I hover over him to drape the blanket across his body. He does a little shimmy beneath it once it's settled, like he's trying to burrow. I gently tug the top up until it's curled around his shoulder, brushing lightly against his jaw. He sighs, soft and sleepy, and clumsily brings a hand to his chin to thank me.

“No problem. Just throw something if you need me. Uh-” I pause, looking around for something he can throw since he’s currently using his pillow and I’m not sure where his notebook ended up. I’d hate for him to have to resort to his bunny. Even if the little guy has bad taste in music, he doesn’t deserve to be yeeted across my office.

I head back to my desk, opening the second drawer on the right and digging around until I find one of those toys Adam bought me when he moved in.Fidgets, he called them. He said they’re something I desperately needed as a teenager and am lucky enough to have as an adult. I’m supposed to play with them when I’m feeling anxious or can’t concentrate. I forgot about them until now.

The softest thing is sort of like a stressball but filled with jelly instead of foam. I feel like it wouldn’t hurt too much if it was lobbed at me or my computer, so I bring it over to Matt and set it on the coffee table in front of the couch. “There. Go ahead and throw that at me if you need something, alright?”

He glances at it before just closing his eyes and visibly relaxing into the couch. I barely catch myself from reaching out to run a hand through his hair. The urge came out of nowhere - or… everywhere, maybe. I clench my hands into fists, forcing myselfto back away to my desk before I get any other sleep-addled, crazy fucking ideas. Then I force my gaze away, too. Just to be safe.

I check my phone for the first time in a little too long, wincing when I see the missed calls and texts from Keaton. He’s not pissed yet, just worried, so I hurry to text him back and let him know that I’m not alone and won’t be for a while, but I’ll call him when I can. The single emoji he sends back is grumpy, but resigned. I’ll take that in a heartbeat.

I crack open another energy drink as I finish entering information into Mica’s file before closing it out and submitting it to the database as completed. Matt is still sleeping peacefully on the couch, not having moved an inch as far as I can tell. I reward myself with a few minutes of just sitting back and relaxing, taking sips of my drink and letting my eyes wander to Matt over and over again, no matter how many times I drag them away.

He looks so unbelievably peaceful.

Safe.

Maybe I let myself sit a little longer than just a few minutes appreciating that, but it’s not like it’s hurting anyone, right?

When I catch sight of Nolan on the security feed, awake and sneaking out of Maison’s bedroom and downstairs to the kitchen, I force myself to stop being lazy and head down to talk to him. He’s likely my best chance to keep the peace in the house today, with Travis back and already with Carter.

Maybe that’s not fair to put on him, but it’s not like I’ll come out andsayit. I won’t even imply it. I’ll just give him the information and let whatever happens happen. He’s a smart man. If he cares about Maison like I think he does, he’ll take things from there.

Then again, if Maison is as stubborn as I think he is, there might be no hope, regardless of what the two men are starting to feel for each other.

I decide to stick around after I’ve given Nolan the warning that Mica is dead and Travis came back upset before going to Carter’s room to see him - and not coming back out of his room, as of now. He’s clearly nervous about the news, deep in thought as he makes a small plate of food and asks if there’s a paper and pen around so he can write a note. It’s not my finest moment when I let myself be nosey and peek over his shoulder to see that it’s a note about eating and seeing the doctor ASAP.

It isn’t until he’s headed upstairs with the note, food, and a bottle of juice all balanced on a baking sheet he’s using like a tray that I realize it might not be a note for Maison.

It might be for Matt.

Does Matt need to see the doctor? Should I go wake him up? Should I let Nolan know where he is?

He comes down just a minute later, though, no tray in hand. Considering he doesn't look worried, even giving me a gentle smile as he passes by toward the sliding glass door that leads outside, it must have been for Maison after all. There's no way he'd be this calm if he couldn't find Matt -unless Matt left the office while I was down here?

But then that would mean Matt really is the one that needs to see the doctor.

But… for what? Why? His speech? His diet? Is he malnourished? Is he making himself sick? Is he already sick and that's what's making it hard for him to eat? Could I help? Should I do something?

I have to close my eyes for a minute, dizzy with all the worry. Or maybe with exhaustion. Or… hunger.Shit, when was the last timeIate?

There's a mental checklist in my head, existing whether I like it or not. Always existing. It's flooded right now with top priority tasks - preparing for the possibility of Travis and Maison fighting again, preparing for how that will affect Carter, preparing for how it will affect the others, returning Keaton's calls, likely having to talk to him about letting go again now that Mica is handled, dodging any and all inquiries he may have into my end of our self-care deal, checking all my traps for anything on Elliot, rewriting my algorithms if they're all empty, researching high-calorie options for snacks, looking into text-to-speech technology, making sure there's more licorice coming in the next supply drop - oh, and a shit ton of Epi-pens.

But… me eating a real meal is surely tucked in there somewhere, crushed betweengo the fuck to sleepandcry into your pillowor some shit.

I could probably use a good meal, actually. Especially with how bad of a day I'm likely about to have.