tender. [n alves] (Patreon)

synopsis / prompt: the sender hooks a finger and tenderly lifts the receiver’s chin, tilting it up so that they can look at one another.

N hates seeing you cry. They hate seeing anyone cry, really, but it hurts the most when it's you. There's a physical ache in their chest when they see you in pain, your body half turned away so they don't have to see you cry, your bottom lip stuck between your teeth as you try to hold everything back.

They hate it. It's one of the worst feelings, knowing someone you care for is hurting and you can't do anything to ease it. If N could take that weight off your shoulders they would. They would and would and would a thousand times over.

But they can't.

You sniffle. The two of you are sitting on your couch. You're facing the window as if the view can help distract you from your pain.

They wish they knew what this was about. You were quiet, too quiet when N came over to you. They knew something was wrong, but they didn't want to press it. Asking people if they were okay is often the trigger for most tears.

In the end, you couldn't hold it in.

"Please, N," you beg, "just leave. I'll be fine. I just need some alone time."

"Do you really mean that?"

You don't reply. If you truly wanted N to go, who were they to protest? As reluctant as they would be, they'd respect your wishes and go. But your silence tells N you want the opposite.

Stay. Stay with me. Hold my hand and comfort me.

They never had this lifeline when they were a child. When N would cry in their room, all they could do is squeeze their pillow into their chest, while their headphones played some sad music that definitely did not help make them feel any better. They had nothing. No one. And it fucking sucked.

They know they can't speak for everyone, but they don't want others to go through what they did. If they can help ease someone else's pain then that's all they ever want.

Especially since theirs never was.

"Come here," they whisper.

N's hand lightly touches your shoulder, turning your body to face them. You comply without protest, though N wonders if it's more so because you're too tired to rather than because you're actually letting them.

"N…"

"Shh. It's okay, love. You're okay."

N places two fingers at the bottom of your chin, lifting your head up so your eyes meet. Your eyes are glistening with tears—it feels like a stab to the heart. But N doesn't let any of that show. Their gaze is firm, their voice steady.

"Look at me. Look at me, you're okay. I know it's not easy, but you're going to be okay. We're going to be okay. Whatever it is, whenever you need me, I'll be here for you. Remember that."

Your bottom lip trembles. "N, I—"

"Shh. It's okay."

N reaches out and uses their thumb to brush the stray tears from your face. One hand holds your chin still while the other takes away the lingering offenders. Not that you don't look beautiful with the tears, just that you look better without. Better when you're happy.

They lean forward and press a kiss to your cheek, one for either side. Their lips brush against damp skin, but they couldn't care less. Heat blooms beneath their touch.

"I love you, you know that, right?" N asks.

They pull you into a hug while you're mid-nod, face pressed into your shoulder as they squeeze you tight. They hold you there as you shake, as the sobs begin to rack your body again. They hold you even when the tears seep through their clothing and into their skin. The entire time, they're whispering one thing.

You're okay. You're okay. You're okay.