"I can't believe it's supposed to snow," Jamie said, looking out the window. "It's freaking October."

"Yes, and they say climate change isn't real," Bennett said wryly. The weather forecast called for not only snow, but a blizzard—some of the news outlets prone to hysteria had reported predictions of up to eight inches.

At least a few flakes seemed inevitable at this point, though—the sky was iron gray and it was bitterly cold outside.

Bennett made coffee for them. It was a vicious cycle—he knew all the caffeine was only messing up his sleep, but he needed it to get through the day. Maybe over winter break he could commit to the misery of weaning himself off the stuff, when he could spend the entire day on the couch with a withdrawal headache and make Peter listen to him bitch.

They fell into a comfortable silence. The students in his seminars had just turned in the first drafts of their next major papers, and it would take days for him to pore through them all and give them the feedback they deserved. Luckily, it wasn't a chore—he liked these classes. The students were bright and highly motivated, and he was often impressed with their work.

"Oh, shit—" Jamie said, pulling Bennett out of his trance. He blinked. It had gotten darker, and the last of his coffee had gone ice cold. He looked up to see Jamie at the window and joined him there.

"Oh my god," Bennett said. In the hours that he'd been absorbed in his work, a thick blanket of snow had fallen, and more was coming down. Thick snowflakes swirled down through the darkness, and the campus looked like some alien landscape, all its edges smoothed out under the untouched snow.

"Shit," Jamie said. "I'd better get home before it gets worse." He scrambled for his bag, shoving his books and papers in. Bennett glanced back outside. One lone figure was trudging across the quad, huddled against the snow, up to their knees in the stuff.

"Jamie, wait," Bennett said, and Jamie paused. "Don't you bike home?"

"Yeah," Jamie said. He glanced out the window, looking a little helpless. "I'll just… walk it if the roads aren't plowed."

"The roads definitely won't be plowed any time soon. You can't walk home in a snowstorm—you live three miles away."

"Well, I don't really have any other options," Jamie said. He was getting flustered, his brow furrowed. "It's not like I'm going to die of hypothermia, it'll just suck a little."

Bennett sighed in exasperation. Jamie had a tendency to underestimate the weather—since the weather had turned cold, he'd frequently showed up in Bennett's office without gloves or a hat or a scarf. He insisted he had them—it just never occurred to him to actually use them.

"Do you have a friend you can crash with?" Bennett asked, beginning to pack his own bag. "On campus?"

"None of my friends live on campus," Jamie said. His cheeks were heated now—Bennett had embarrassed him somehow, on accident. "Look, I'll be fine, it's not the first time—"

"Jamie—"

"What?" Jamie snapped, frowning at him.

Bennett sighed and scrubbed a hand over his face.

"Look," he said, and even as the words were coming out of his mouth he knew it was a terrible idea. "I… live close to campus. On Montrose. It's barely a ten minute walk. Why don't you… just… stay at my house for a few hours, until the roads are plowed—" He trailed off. "What?"

Jamie's eyes were narrowed and he was regarding Bennett suspiciously.

"Are you being serious?" Jamie said.

It was Bennett's turn to blush.

"I’m sorry, you're right, that was inappropriate—I just meant if—"

"No, no—" Jamie interrupted him. The smile on Jamie's face was blinding. "Really? You'd let me come to your house?"

Bennett rubbed the back of his neck uncomfortably.

"I'm not going to just… let you freeze to death," Bennett said, not quite meeting Jamie's gaze.

"Can't believe you're finally taking me home for the night."

Bennett choked.

"Jamie," he said in a warning tone, and Jamie rolled his eyes.

"Oh, calm down, I'm just joking."

"Not funny," Bennett said, glaring at Jamie. He reached for his coat.

"A little funny," Jamie said. Bennett ignored Jamie's triumphant grin and pulled on his gloves and wrapped his scarf around his neck.

"Let's go before we need sled dogs to get across campus."

Bennett locked up his office and they made their way down the sweeping staircase to the first floor. Jamie pushed the large door open and a biting gust of wind hit them, a snowdrift skating in across the floor.

"Holy shit," Jamie said as they went outside. Bennett was chilled immediately, the cold seeping in deep through muscle and ligament and bone, and he bowed his head against the wind.

"You would not have made three miles in this," Bennett said. "Zip up your coat, will you?"

"Oh, yeah," Jamie said, zipping up his jacket and pulling the hood up. "The winters where I’m from were never… like this. I always kind of… forget I can be warm. It just never occurs to me to grab gloves or whatever."

"I'd noticed," Bennett said dryly. "What?" Jamie was grinning at him. His jacket was just a little too big, and he was lost under the hood, just that broad, boyish smile peeking out from underneath.

"Every once and a while you slip up and admit you care about me," Jamie said. "It's nice."

"Jamie," Bennett said.

"Aaand then you go and say Jamie—" He dropped his voice low in a ridiculous imitation of Bennett. "—and give me that frowny look. Yeah, that one you've got on right now."

Bennett brought his face back to neutral and instead of replying just reached out and shoved Jamie lightly on the shoulder.

"Hey!" Jamie said.

"You're making me regret this," Bennett said, not regretting it at all. Everyone sane had sheltered somewhere warm and dry by now, and the thickly falling snow made the world feel slightly apocalyptic, like they were the only two humans left alive.

"I love the snow," Jamie said. "Even after like, two and a half years it doesn’t get old."

Bennett, who'd grown up trudging through slushy Baltimore winters, grimaced.

"I suppose… in certain circumstances, it's not… the worst."

"Oh, come on," Jamie said, stopping in his tracks and grabbing Bennett's arm to halt him. He threw out his arm. "It's beautiful, admit it."

Bennett stopped and looked around. The whole campus was snow-hushed and soft, the lights of the paths and campus buildings casting rosy halos as the snow swirled down. For a moment, they stood there, not speaking, just listening to the almost imperceptible sound of the snow falling.

Bennett looked at Jamie and nearly staggered back under the force of what he felt for this impossible, incorrigible boy. Jamie's hood had fallen back, and snowflakes were collecting on his hair as he grinned up at Bennett like they were sharing the world's best secret.

A snowflake landed on his bottom lip, and Bennett had to stop himself from leaning in to kiss it away.

And when Bennett's eyes met Jamie's, he knew Jamie could tell exactly what he was thinking, exactly what he was feeling—he knew Jamie felt it too.

Bennett cleared his throat and broke their gaze.

"Uh, sure, I suppose it's nice," he said. When he glanced back at Jamie, Jamie was looking at him slyly, like he'd won some sort of argument. "Come on, before we freeze."

Jamie chattered away as they walked, telling Bennett about a snowstorm his freshman year when he and his roommate had stolen trays from one of the cafeterias and used them to sled down one of the steeper hills in the nearby park, a time honored Bellamy tradition. They fell silent afterwards, their labored breathing mingling with the snowflakes as they fought their way through the snow. Bennett's leg ached from the cold and the exertion.

"Here we are," Bennett said, when they'd at last reached his house.

"Whoa," Jamie said. "It's k-kind of… adorable." His teeth were chattering.

Bennett raised an eyebrow.

"What were you expecting?" he said as he went up the steps to the porch. There'd been a time, a few years ago, where just getting from the sidewalk to his front door had been a test of endurance.

"I dunno," Jamie said. "I don't think I had anything in mind. This looks like a little fairytale cottage."

The little house did look charming, all snuggled up under a blanket of snow. Bennett didn't think about it often—it was just his house, after all, but he tried to see it through fresh eyes.

He pushed the door open and flipped on the lights.

"Shit," Jamie breathed as he stepped inside. Bennett turned the heat up and hung up his coat. Jamie was standing in the front entryway, mouth slack, looking around.

"What?"

"It's just… really n-nice," Jamie said. He shifted his weight from one foot to the other uncomfortably. "Fancy." He rubbed his arms, trying to warm himself.

Bennett glanced around.

"Er, thank you," he said, slipping his shoes off. Jamie did the same, still lingering near the doorway. "You're… allowed to come in, you know. You don't have to just stand near the door until the roads clear."

Jamie took a hesitant step forward, sliding his socked feet along the hardwood floor. Bennett glanced down and realized his socks and jeans were soaking wet too.

"Do… do you want a change of clothes?" Bennett said and Jamie nodded eagerly.

"Yeah," he said gratefully, still shivering. "If that's not… weird."

Bennett snorted.

"Having you in my home is a bit weird, yes, but I'd rather have you here alive than dead of hypothermia. Hang on a moment."

He went into his bedroom and grabbed a spare pair of pajama pants, an old Bellamy t-shirt, socks, and a thick wool sweater. He paused for a moment, then grabbed a spare towel. He felt nervous, the same kind of earnest, excitable energy he felt before a first date when he was young.

He caught sight of his reflection in the mirror above his dresser.

This is a terrible idea, he told himself.

Out in the living room, he found Jamie hugging himself and looking at the books on the bookshelf.

"Here you are," Bennett said stiffly, holding out the stack of clothes.

"You have so many b-books," Jamie said, sounding rather awestruck. "Have you read them all?"

"Absolutely not," Bennett said. "I'd like to pretend I've read even a fraction of them, but I haven't."

Jamie smiled crookedly, taking the clothing and looking down.

"Oh, I love this sweater," Jamie said, and then caught himself. His cheeks were still bright red with cold, but he seemed to be blushing as well.

"Er—bathroom's down the hall," Bennett said. "You can shower if you need to warm up."

"That'd be awesome," Jamie said. When Jamie had disappeared into the bathroom, Bennett changed into dry clothing and went into the kitchen.

He stood in the middle of the room, surveying his domain. It had been a very long time since he had cooked for another person—when Peter and Mo came over, they always ended up getting takeaway, and Bennett subsisted mostly on coffee and leftovers. He and Jamie had been working for hours, though, so he figured he should probably offered his guest some food.

What is this? What are you doing? a shrill voice in his head demanded, and he shoved the voice away. It was too late for regret now. Jamie was here, in his house, in his shower.

He set about making pasta. He wished suddenly he were an accomplished chef, that he could whip together some memorable, fragrant meal that would warm Jamie from the inside out, instead of pasta unearthed from the back of a cabinet and store-bought sauce. He hummed to himself as he prepared it and set the kitchen table. When he was alone, he normally ate standing at the kitchen sink, staring blankly out the window, lost in thought, and he figured it might be best to at least pretend he was a functioning adult.

"Did you make me dinner?"

Bennett jumped—he hadn't even heard the shower water turn off, but there was Jamie standing in his doorway, hair damp, wearing Bennett's clothing that was just a little too big.

He padded into the kitchen and inspected the pot on the stove.

"I figured you might be hungry," Bennett said, and Jamie flashed him a brilliant, toothy smile. "You can sit down—it's about ready."

Jamie was looking him up and down.

"I've never seen you not in… fancy professor clothes," he said.

"I could go put on a bowtie, if that would help," Bennett said, feeling uncomfortably on display.

"Nah, it's just weird, you know? You look… like a regular human."

"Sadly, that's what I am at the end of the day."

"By the way, that's the nicest shower ever," Jamie said. He sat down at the kitchen table, curling his feet up underneath him on the chair. "The water pressure where I live is like someone's sort of… drooling on you, and the water never gets warm enough."

Bennett glanced over at him. It felt good to see Jamie in his kitchen, looking around curiously like Bennett's house was some eclectic museum.

"It's just pasta," Bennett said as he plated their meals. "Nothing fancy—I don't cook much."

"I should cook for you some time," Jamie said, and Bennett hated how much he wanted that.

"You cook?" Bennett said, setting the plates down on the table and sitting opposite Jamie.

"I'm not, like, amazing," Jamie said. "Actually, when I say cook I really mean bake. I'm good at making bread and baking stuff. And canning, we do a lot of that, too. My grandma used to bake a bunch and I'd always be hanging around the kitchen, and she said if I was going to be underfoot I might as well do something useful."

Jamie blew on a forkful of pasta and took a bite.

"This is really good, thank you," he said.

"It's really nothing special," Bennett said.

"You're welcome," Jamie said.

"Huh?"

Jamie was grinning at him.

"When someone thanks you, you say you're welcome. Not brush off whatever they say. You do that a lot, you know—you never let people say nice things to you."

Bennett paused, his fork suspended in mid-air.

"I… guess I'd never noticed that," he said. "Well, you're welcome."

They ate, the kitchen quiet except for the sound of forks against plates.

"Jamie, can I ask you a question?" Bennett asked after a little while. Jamie looked slightly apprehensive.

"Um, sure?" he said.

"You were raised by your grandma, yes? What—what happened to your parents?"

Jamie's expression froze, like he was carefully shielding some internal reaction from view. Bennett wondered if he'd overstepped—Jamie didn't owe him any information, but Bennett wanted to know Jamie, wanted to know everything from what he'd had for breakfast to whatever had happened in his past that had caused so much hurt.

Jamie hesitated, and just as Bennett opened his mouth to take back the question, he answered.

"I know I told you that my parents fought a lot when I was a kid. My dad, uh… wasn't a great guy," Jamie said. "He left when I was eight and my mom… didn't do too well by herself. So she moved us back in with her mom—my grandma."

Jamie paused. His head was bent over his plate, and he shoved the pasta around roughly.

"Jamie—" Bennett said softly. "You don't have to talk about this if—"

"No, it's not that," Jamie said. "I… want you to know. It's just kind of… weird to talk about."

"Is—is your mom still around?"

"She died."

"I'm so sorry, Jamie—"

"She, uh," Jamie said. "She killed herself. When I was fourteen."

"Jesus," Bennett said, before he could stop himself. Jamie looked up at Bennett and sighed heavily.

"See, that's why it's weird—there's no way to ever… tell someone that's not this huge awkward bombshell. And please don't give me that look, that pity look—"

"Jamie, I'm not—" Bennett said, trying to bring his shocked expression back to neutral. "I'm just—just surprised."

"I know it's… heavy, okay?" Jamie said, shifting uncomfortably in his seat. "She had a really tough life, and it's just—look, maybe—maybe we talk about something else—"

"Of course, I'm sorry I brought it up—"

Jamie scrubbed his hands over his face and let out a frustrated little growl.

"Ugh, I'm sorry, I didn't mean—it's not your fault—" he said, his words tripping over one another in their haste to get out. "I want you to know, it's just—I hate when people look at me like I'm this poor little orphan or something… My life is really good and my grandma is awesome and—but, sometimes, I feel like once people know, that's the only thing they see. They stop seeing me and just see… this shitty thing that happened to me."

He stopped short, looking down at his pasta.

Bennett was frozen, stunned. Somehow, in that jumbled monologue, Jamie had articulated something Bennett had spent years bumping up against in his mind without ever being able to name.

He opened and closed his mouth, willing words to come, but also too terrified to seek them out himself.

"So, um," Jamie said, looking up with a weak smile. "That's my tragic backstory, so, uh... now you know." He laughed stiffly, clearly uncomfortable.

"Jamie—" Bennett said, and Jamie blushed, clearly misunderstanding what Bennett was trying to communicate. Bennett pushed his plate away, no longer hungry, and ran his hands through his hair.

He willed himself to be as brave and vulnerable and beautifully earnest as Jamie.

"I… know what you mean," Bennett said, his voice unsteady. Jamie was watching him carefully and Bennett looked away, unable to bear the intensity of his gaze. "I've… had… some bad things happen, and… I don't talk about it a lot because people do that—they fixate on this… thing in the past and… it makes it harder to move beyond it."

He looked out the window, but it was pitch black outside now, and he only saw his reflection looking back at him, scared and surprised he'd managed to say that, to come that close to acknowledging everything that happened out loud to anyone but Peter.

Jamie was silent for a long, perilous moment, and when Bennett glanced back, he was chewing on his lip.

"I, um… know," Jamie said, blushing. "I sort of… googled you earlier in the semester. It was Milo's fault, really—he said you were a really famous journalist so… I… read your Wikipedia article."

Bennett couldn't prevent the short bark of laughter that escaped.

"I guess I'm not that surprised," he said.

"I didn't read the whole thing," Jamie said. "I stopped when I got to… I kind of thought…" He hesitated and glanced up at Bennett, his face shy and uncertain. "If you wanted me to know, I wanted you to be the one to tell me."

Bennett swallowed.

"I want you to know," he said after a moment. "I'd… like that. To tell you. But maybe not tonight, if that's okay?" His cheeks burned red, and he felt unbalanced, like trying to walk across river rocks slippery with moss.

He realized, too, as he said it, that not tonight was a promise that there would be another night like this, a promise of a future with Jamie. The thought was dizzying and delicious all at once.

Jamie's smile started slowly, unfurling across his face like the first rays of light at dawn.

"Really?" he said, his voice barely more than a whisper.

Oh god, Bennett thought. He'd just made a promise he wasn't sure he could keep. He wasn't sure if they were talking about Bennett's past or their combined future, if there even was one.

"I'm… not saying no," Bennett said, finding himself backtracking. "I'm… not ready."

"I understand," Jamie said.

They sat there for a moment, regarding one another. Bennett could hardly believe what he'd just said to Jamie. He felt flayed, naked, but for the first time in years, he wasn't filled with a dark, icy panic at the prospect of letting someone into his fractured life.

Bennett cleared his throat.

"There's—there's still more pasta, if you're hungry," he said, breaking the spell.

"Nah, I'm good," Jamie said. "Thank you again. I… really appreciate you letting me hang out here for a while."

"Of course," Bennett said. He stood up to clear their plates but Jamie stopped shim.

"At least let me clean up," Jamie said.

"You don't have to—"

"But I want to," Jamie said.

"Fine," Bennett relented. "But you won't do it alone."

"Good," Jamie said.

They washed up, standing side-by-side at the kitchen sink, Jamie washing the dishes and handing them to Bennett to dry. It was routine, comfortable, extraordinarily ordinary.

"I suppose I should… get going," Jamie said, when they'd finished. "Plow's probably been through."

"Oh," Bennett said, his face falling. "Right. Yes."

Bennett followed Jamie into the living room. Jamie peered through the blinds.

"Er… well, maybe not," Jamie said. Bennett joined him at the window. The streets were still empty, the division between the road and the sidewalk completely buried under the deep snow.

Bennett sighed, wishing he felt anything but unbridled joy.

"Why don't you just… stay here tonight?" he said. "You can sleep on the couch."

Jamie opened his mouth to say something, then thought better of it.

"Thank you for not saying whatever you were about to say," Bennett said, raising an eyebrow, and Jamie grinned.

"I'm predictable, I know."

Oh Jamie, Bennett thought. You're anything but predictable.

"So—yes, well then—" Bennett said. "I suppose I'll get some blankets—"

"It's like, not even nine," Jamie said. "It's a little early to put me to bed, don't you think?"

"Right," Bennett said, flushing.

"What do you normally do? At night, I mean."

Masturbate thinking of you seemed like an inappropriate answer.

"Read, sometimes," Bennett said. "That's the… interview answer. But if I'm being honest, I usually just watch reality TV."

"No way," Jamie said, grinning, glancing at the television. "I thought the TV was just for show, or maybe watching BBC documentaries or something."

"It's one of my vices," Bennett said.

"So what do you watch? Real Housewives or something?" Jamie said, flopping down on the couch like he'd lounged there a hundred times before.

Bennett sat down rather primly on the other end of the couch. His limbs felt awkward and too long, like he'd forgotten how to sit on a couch like a normal human being.

"I like shows about restoring houses," Bennett said. "It's satisfying. Seeing how a house can transform with new paint and light fixtures and a few repairs."

Bennett winced at himself—the symbolism was a little heavy-handed, but he hadn't noticed until he said it out loud. His subconscious was clearly not one for subtlety.

Jamie grabbed the remote and tossed lightly into Bennett's lap.

"Show me one," he said.

"You really want to watch?" Bennett said. "I have no idea what kids these days are watching but I'm fairly sure it doesn't include as many references to grout and insulation."

"I don't really watch TV, so who knows. I personally find grout fascinating."

Bennett rolled his eyes and threw one of the pillows at Jamie.

"Fine," he said, turning on the TV and queuing up a recorded episode he hadn't watched yet. "Don’t come crying to me if you're bored, though. You're stuck with paint swatches now."

They watched mindless TV in a quiet, companionable silence. At one point, Jamie shifted so he was laying down on the couch. His feet nudged against Bennett's leg, and then he shoved them into Bennett's lap.

Bennett glanced at Jamie, who was resolutely focused on the screen.

"Not my fault your couch is so short," Jamie said, and Bennett rolled his eyes. He could feel how stiff Jamie was—he was clearly bracing himself for Bennett to remove his feet—and tentatively, Bennett brought his hand to rest on Jamie's ankle.

Jamie slowly relaxed into him.

After that, Bennett didn't notice much about the show. His attention was laser-focused on that small point of connection—Jamie's feet against his legs, his hand against Jamie's ankle, warm through the flannel of the borrowed pajama pants.

Bennett stayed very still. His leg was aching from the cold and the long slow through the snow and because Mercury was in retrograde, or whatever other unpredictable factors made his old injury act up, but he didn't want to disturb the moment by getting up to get his meds.

The show ended, and when no commentary came from Jamie, Bennett glanced over to find him sound asleep on the couch. His mouth was slightly open, his face peaceful and young, and his chest softly rose and fell with every breath.

And finally, after minutes or hours or maybe even days passed just watching Jamie sleep, Bennett gently moved Jamie's feet and stiffly stood up, his leg cramping in protest. Jamie shifted slightly, curling in on himself, but didn't wake. He limped to the hall closet and pulled out a stack of blankets.

The sweetness of the moment, of carefully laying the blanket out over Jamie as he slept, was almost unbearable. Bennett longed to brush back that hair that was somehow always in need of a cut, to press his lips to Jamie's temple—or better yet, to wrap Jamie up in his arms and carry him off to his own bed.

Instead, Bennett turned off the lights in the living room and the kitchen, leaving the hallway light on as he always did. On his worst nights, he'd left the whole house blazing with warm light, as if that could somehow chase away the memories of the dank dark—

But tonight, just one light on was enough.

Bennett got ready for sleep and climbed into his cold, empty bed by himself. He took enough pain meds to quell the dull, thumping ache in his leg. He read a few pages of some book Peter had lent him, and against all odds, he found himself nodding off, the sentences spiraling off into vague, dream-fractured ideas as sleep pulled at the edges of his brain.

He put the book aside, turned off the light, and burrowed under the blankets. Sleep came mercifully quickly.

* * *

The room was pitch black.

Bennett sat up, not sure what had woken him. The hall light was off, and the familiar, wintertime hum of the heater was gone, replaced by a silence so oppressive it almost hurt.

Fuck, he thought. The power had gone out, probably snuffed out by some snow-burdened powerline miles outside of the city.

The blinds were closed, and his eyes couldn't adjust to what little light they let in—all he could see, all he could sense, was a staggering wall of darkness that seemed to close in, crawling down his throat and stealing his breath.

Calm down. You're in your bed in your house.

His heart thudded in his chest, throwing itself against his ribcage like a moth beating at a porchlight.

Twenty-three Montrose Avenue. Just a few blocks from Bellamy. Less than two miles from Peter and Mo. You're home. You're safe.

He brought his hand to the smooth, cold cotton of his sheets, trying to keep himself grounded, trying to keep himself tethered to the present moment. But that carefully constructed wall in his mind was splintering, cracking open, and old memories were slipping through—

A rough hand cracking across his face. Cold, rough stone against his back where he sat. The muffled sound of raised voices from somewhere high above and the sound of heavy boots stomping across the floor.

And darkness, always darkness.

His breath was ragged—he couldn't get enough oxygen and the edges of his vision were beginning to crawl with minute glowing shapes, and he felt hot and cold all at once.

His phone—he could use the flashlight on his phone, take his meds, and unearth some candles. He clung to this idea, reaching a hand out for his bedside table and fumbling along its surface with trembling fingers for his phone.

His movements were jerky, panicked, and he bumped something. With a tremendous noise that sent a wave of fear jolting through him, a water glass he'd forgotten about shattered against the floor and he heard the hard slap of what was obviously his phone hitting the ground.

Fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck—

He couldn't go groping for his phone in a sea of shattered glass—

The door creaked open.

"Professor Marlowe?"

Bennett started. He'd forgotten Jamie was here.

"Sorry to wake you," Bennett said, and he barely recognized his voice—it was weak and shaky. "Knocked something over."

"Are you okay?" Jamie said.

Oh god, Bennett thought. Please, please go away, let me have my meltdown alone—

"Yeah—"

"Your voice sounds weird," Jamie said.

"I—I'm—just go back to sleep—" He was practically gasping out the words.

He heard Jamie pad into the room.

"There's glass on the floor—watch out—"

Go away, please please please—

"What's wrong?" Jamie said, his voice soft and gentle. It felt like a ray of light, a beacon, something to guide him out of the dizzying, spiraling dark.

"D-do you have your phone?" Bennett asked weakly. Light, he needed light, he needed to see something other than the black that pressed against his eyes. "A light?"

"No, it's dead," Jamie said, gently, and Bennett heard Jamie's voice get closer, felt the bed shift slightly as Jamie bumped into the mattress.

"I—" His breathing was ragged, and suddenly there was Jamie's warm hand gripping his ice cold one.

"Are you having a panic attack?" Jamie asked, his voice the one solid thing in the panic whipping through him.

Yes. No. I don't know. Please go—don't see me like this—

"I—I think—I don't like—the dark—"

"Okay," Jamie said, as soft as rose petals. "I'm going to help you, okay—" The mattress sank and then Jamie was next to him. Bennett didn't even know if he was sitting or kneeling, only felt the heat of his body, the press of skin against him, Jamie's fingers tightly intertwined with his own.

"I'm here, Bennett," Jamie said. "Take a breath, okay? Really big, really slow. Hold at the top."

Bennett did as instructed, letting his clenching lungs expand as he took the biggest breath he could manage, until he felt like he might burst. He held it for a moment, until the need to exhale was greater than the fear zipping at odd angles through his mind.

"Okay, exhale—one… two… three… four…." Jamie counted slowly. "Good. Good."

Bennett let Jamie guide him through several more deep breaths. He had no sense of time, but eventually the sharpest edges of panic began to ebb, and he came back to himself, back to the moment.

And suddenly, he slipped back into the present moment with a jarring click, and the full weight of what had just happened hit him.

"Oh god," Bennett said, his voice low and tired, no longer tight with panic. "I'm—I'm sorry. This is… humiliating."

It was still pitch black in the room but Bennett could feel Jamie against him, a warm and grounding presence.

"Hey," Jamie said sharply. "It's not. You did the same for me, remember?"

"Yes, but—"

"Stop," Jamie said fiercely. He was still holding tightly to Bennett's hand. "Don't—don't do that. Don't act like it's a weakness. It's okay to need help."

That went against Bennett's fundamental modus operandi, but in that moment, he was too tired to argue.

"Thank you, Jamie," Bennett said. The words were so weak they barely made it past his lips.

"I'm staying with you," Jamie said, with a conviction Bennett didn't have the energy to argue with. "I'm not gonna leave you alone in the dark again, okay?"

Bennett paused for a long moment. He was weary, so weary—the panic had burned through every cell, a violent cleansing, leaving only a flat, buzzing emptiness.

"Okay."

"Good," Jamie said. Jamie let go of his hand, and there was the whisper of fabric against fabric as Jamie fought with the bedding, and then Jamie was there beside him. "Now lay down."

Bennett did as he was told, sinking back onto the bed. His whole body ached, and as soon as his head hit the pillow, Jamie was curled up against him, dragging Bennett's arm around his shoulders, nuzzling his head against Bennett's chest.

"I'll be here," Jamie whispered into Bennett's shirt.

"Thank you," Bennett said again, the two words a pale, pathetic offering compared to the immensity of the kindness, the safety Jamie had given him.

The darkness was still there, but Jamie clinging to him, and Bennett could feel the warm, vibrant thud of Jamie's heartbeat, as rhythmic as the pounding surf, pushing away any fear and leaving only a deep, even exhaustion.

Finally, he slept.