𝒇𝒐𝒖𝒓 ━━ you're attached, aren't you?
₊ ⊹☕˚୨

❝ stay? ❞

❝ of course ❞

The following day dawns with the weight of reality settling back in. The early hours are filled with a strange, almost surreal peace, the memory of the game the night before like a ghostly touch. Then, as the sun climbs higher, the peace is shattered by the first signs of Klaus' withdrawal.

They're subtle at first, almost innocuous. Klaus seems a little more restless, a little more on edge. His fingers twitch more, his eyes flicking around the room like he's seeking something without fully realizing it. But as the hours pass, the signs become more obvious. His hands shake a little more, his eyes a little more wild. He begins to sweat, small beads of perspiration dotting his forehead as the onset of the withdrawal sets in fully.

Shayan watches from the sidelines, a growing sense of helplessness in his chest. He knows Klaus is in pain, the signs evident, yet there's nothing he can do to help. He can only watch, a silent and impotent witness to the man's suffering.

The hours drag on, the withdrawal symptoms worsening. Klaus's movements grow more erratic, his hands shaking so badly they're almost a blur. He's pale, gaunt, his eyes red-rimmed and wild. He looks almost like a ghost of himself, a parody of the stoic man he usually is.

It's a slow, torturous process, the body's response to the absence of the substance it's become addicted to. Klaus' body is waging a silent war against itself, his brain and nerves screaming in protest against the lack of the substance it's learned to rely on.

Shayan can see the struggle, the toll the withdrawal is taking on Klaus's body and mind. The man is in so much pain, yet he's struggling to hold it together, his eyes squeezed shut, his fists clenched to stop his hands from shaking.

By mid-day, the symptoms reach a peak. Klaus is almost writhing in pain, his movements jerky and erratic, like he's trying to keep himself together through sheer force of will. His eyes are unfocused, his breathing shallow and ragged, small gasps escaping between his clenched teeth.

Shayan had yet to leave his side. He'd asked Janey to watch over the café for the day. The hours pass, the sun arching across the sky in a slow, steady march. Shayan stays by Klaus's side throughout, a silent sentinel watching over the man's suffering. It's hard, watching someone he considered a friend slowly falling apart, and he can feel helplessness and anger mixing in his chest, like a boiling cauldron of emotions.

"Here," he hands him a bottle of water, his hand moving to Klaus' forehead.

Klaus' eyes open, his gaze unfocused and dazed for a moment before clearing slightly. His fingers tremble when he takes the water, the muscles in his arm twitching involuntarily. His forehead is hot, dry, the skin fevered.

He takes several large, desperate sips of the water, the liquid slaking some of the unbearable dryness in his throat. His hands are shaking so badly he spills half of it down his front, the droplets staining his shirt, the dampness making the material cling to his skin.

Shayan leaves, and comes back with a damp and cold cloth he folds and uses to wipe Klaus' face. Klaus's eyes flutter shut at the touch of the cold cloth, a quiet, almost relieved sigh escaping his lips. The coolness of the cloth against his face is an immediate relief, a brief respite from the feverish flames that seem to be consuming him. He leans into the touch, his body seeking the cool comfort like a drowning man gasping for air.

The cloth moves over his forehead, down his cheeks, the coolness chasing away some of the heat and the sweat. Each gentle swipe is like a wave of coolness washing over him, a fleeting sensation of relief that is all too brief.

The cloth moves over his neck, his chest, each touch leaving a trail of coolness in its path. Klaus is almost boneless in his hands, his body limp and heavy, his eyes still closed. His breathing is deep and ragged, each inhale a struggle, each exhale a harsh gasp of air.

Despite the cooling, Klaus continues to shake, his tremors growing stronger with every passing moment. His muscles twitch and convulse under the skin, the withdrawal setting his body into a frenzied cycle of jerks and spasms.

Shayan's heart clenches at the movement, at the silent plea in Klaus's touch. It's so like watching someone drown, their desperate grasp at a lifeline, their last, struggling gasp for air.

He continues to wipe Klaus down with the cloth, the gesture becoming almost a slow, rhythmical ritual. He moves over his torso, his arms, each limb twitching under his touch, each muscle taut and tense. He can feel the heat rolling off of Klaus, the man's body like a furnace.

Klaus is barely responsive, his eyes half-lidded, his breaths coming in short, harsh pants. But he's holding onto Shayan's wrist like a lifeline, his fingers trembling against the pulse point, like he's terrified of letting go, of being dragged under by the storm of his body's reaction.

The cloth moves over his shoulders, his back, each pass leaving a cool, damp trail in its wake. Klaus is almost boneless under his touch now, his body heavy and limp. His head lolls against Shayan's shoulder and he can feel the man's sweat soaking through his shirt, leaving a damp, hot stain against the fabric.

He can see the tremors rippling under Klaus's skin, feel the way his body jerks and convulses with each wave of pain. It's almost like watching a car crash in slow motion, knowing there's nothing he can do to stop it, only offer this small, barely helpful comfort.

He tries not to let his emotions show, keeping his face neutral even as his heart is breaking. He can feel the heat of Klaus's body against his, the dampness of his skin, the tremors that rattle through him like distant thunder.

Klaus's eyes flutter open, his gaze still unfocused, his lashes leaving damp shadows against his skin. He looks up at Shayan, his lips parted around ragged breaths, a silent plea in his eyes.

"I'm here," Shayan murmurs, his voice a low, reassuring rumble. He keeps wiping Klaus down, the cloth moving in slow, steady circles across his chest, down his arms.

Klaus's eyes meet his, and for a moment, they're clear, almost lucid. There is something raw and vulnerable in his gaze, a silent plea for help, for comfort, for an end to this torment.

Shayan feels his throat tighten at the look, at the helplessness and the fear he can read in the man's eyes. He wants to say something, anything, to offer some comfort, some hope, but the words die in his throat. "You're doing so well." he manages.

Klaus's eyes flutter closed for a moment, his breath shuddering out in a harsh exhale. He nods weakly, the gesture almost invisible, a fleeting expression of gratitude in the midst of his pain.

Klaus is still weak, the withdrawal leaves him exhausted, his body boneless against the chair. He's not trembling anymore, but his muscles are still tensed, remnants of the tremors still shuddering through his limbs.

The withdrawal is abating, the storm slowly fading. Klaus's eyes are half-lidded, his breaths still a bit ragged, but less desperate, less pained. He's almost asleep, his body slowly succumbing to fatigue.

Shayan lowers the cloth, running a hand through Klaus's damp hair instead. It's a gesture of comfort, of silent support, a tangible connection between them in the midst of this ordeal.

Klaus's eyes open again, his gaze meeting Shayan's. They're clearer now, less dazed, some semblance of his usual self returning behind the haze of pain and exhaustion. He mouths something, his lips moving silently around a word Shayan can't quite make out. But the message is clear; thanks, or something along those lines.

Shayan nods, a small, sad smile tugging at his lips. He can see the gratitude in Klaus's eyes, the silent message of thanks, and it pierces his heart, guilt stabbing through his chest like a blade.

He's silent for a moment, the room heavy with unspoken words, the only sound the soft whir of the ceiling fan, the ticking of the clock on the wall. Klaus's eyes are drooping now, his lids fluttering, fighting against the exhaustion. His breaths are slow and deep, his body finally succumbing to the fatigue the withdrawal has inflicted.

Shayan starts to move, to let him rest. But as he shifts, Klaus's hand shoots out, grasping his wrist in a weak, but desperate grip. His eyes flutter open again, silently pleading for him to stay.

Shayan stills, his heart clenching at the silent plea. He hadn’t expected this, the silent request for his presence, and it sends an unexpected wave of mixed emotions through him. "Okay.." he says. "It's okay. I'll stay."

Klaus nods weakly, his body seeming to sag with relief at his words. He clings tightly to Shayan's wrist, his fingers trembling, but not letting go, not wanting to let go. It's a silent request for comfort, for closeness, for anything Shayan can offer. And it tears at his heart, a mixture of guilt and empathy welling up in his chest, making his eyes sting.

Shayan snakes his arms around Klaus, lifting him enough to pull him into his arms. Klaus goes willingly, his body boneless, almost seeming to melt against Shayan's chest. He rests his head against his shoulder, his breaths coming in ragged gasps against his shirt, his body shuddering against him. Shayan shifts, turning so his back is against the head board, and Klaus is nestled in his lap.

Klaus's weight against him feels unreal, a tangible reminder of the pain and suffering the withdrawal has inflicted. He's almost like a rag doll in his lap, his body heavy, his breathing still ragged, but slowly beginning to even out.

Shayan holds him tightly, his arms around the man's frame, almost cradling him, supporting his weight. Klaus's head rests against his shoulder, his hair damp against his skin, sticking to his shirt.

"You're gonna be okay."

Klaus nods against his shoulder, the movement barely there, but he seems to hear him, the words reaching through the haze of pain and exhaustion. He clings a bit tighter, his fingers gripping the fabric of Shayan's shirt like a lifeline.

It's clear that he doesn't have the strength to speak, but the nod is enough, a desperate reassurance that he hears, that he comprehends, that he wants to believe the words. He knows that Klaus needs something to focus on, something other than the lingering aftermath of the withdrawal. He thinks for a moment, trying to come up with something that can take his mind off the pain, even if it's just for a little while.

"You know," he murmurs, his voice low and soft in the quiet room, "When I was a kid, I used to think the sun followed me around."

The words feel a little silly, a bit out of place in the current situation, but maybe that's the point. He feels Klaus move slightly against him, his head turning a fraction, listening.

"Yeah, I was that self-centered," he continues, a hint of a smile in his voice. "No matter where I walked or played, I thought the sun was following me, like it was playing this cosmic game of tag."

There's a small, huffed breath against his shoulder that sounds a lot like a stifled chuckle. It gives him hope, that maybe his distraction is working, that Klaus is listening, that he appreciates the attempt.

"Then I got a dog, Buddy, and he used to bark at the sun, so I thought for sure something was going on."

This time, the huff of laughter is more pronounced, a definite, if faint, sound against his chest. It's progress, and it emboldens him, the realization that he may be reaching Klaus after all.

"And it became this whole thing," he continues, a hint of humor coloring his voice. "Buddy would chase the sun, barking and woofing like he was in a hunt, and I would help him try to outmaneuver it, ducking under benches and running through bushes, trying to stay in the shade."

The memory is a fond one, a nostalgic moment from his childhood that feels almost out of place in this current situation. But it seems to be working, as he feels Klaus shift against him, his body relaxing almost imperceptibly, the tension in his shoulders easing a fraction.

"The moon on the other hand, I couldn't get enough of. The moon was always my favorite," he agrees, the words coming easy now, a warm, fond reminiscence. "It was like the sun's cool, mysterious sister. Quiet and silver, full of riddles and secrets."

"I used to stay awake till late, just watching it through my window, marveling at how it seemed to glow with its own, dim light."

He can almost picture it, the image ingrained in his memory from countless nights spent gazing at the celestial body. "The moon was my secret companion, the only one who kept me company during the quiet, late hours of the night."

"I used to tell it my secrets, and confide in it like it was my best friend," he confesses, an old habit from his youth resurfacing in his mind. "It knew everything about me, my hopes, my fears, every little thing I was too shy to share in the daytime."

He remembers those nights, the hushed, whispering monologues he used to give to the moon, pouring his heart out under the soft, silver glow. They were an intimate ritual, a quiet connection shared under the cloak of darkness.

"Maybe it was silly," he muses, a hint of amusement in his voice. "Talking to the moon under my window, but it was comforting, in a way. I felt heard, understood, even when I knew the moon had no answers, no words to offer."

He feels Klaus move again, a slight shift against his chest, and this time the tremors have subsided, the tension in his body almost gone. It's a small victory, a reassurance that his distraction is working, that Klaus is listening, slowly responding.

He gently runs his fingers up and down Klaus' arm. Klaus seems to react, his body relaxing further, almost slumping against his chest. The repetitive motion of his fingers seems to help, the steady rhythm soothing, a gentle, comforting presence against his skin.

Shayan keeps up the motion, his fingers tracing patterns into Klaus's skin, gentle, soothing circles and lines. It's a silent reassurance, a non-verbal "I'm here, I'm with you" conveyed through touch.

Klaus seems to melt against him, his body going lax, his breaths coming more evenly, more naturally. He's relaxed, the tension finally seeping out of his frame, leaving him boneless and pliant in Shayan's arms.

Shayan rests his cheek against his head. Klaus seems to respond, his head tilting against his chest, his breaths soft and even against Shayan's neck. It's a silent moment of connection, a wordless exchange of comfort and reassurance.

Shayan closes his eyes, taking a deep, slow breath, the scent of Klaus's hair filling his nose. It's a familiar smell, a hint of cologne and something uniquely Klaus, a scent that is both comforting and stirring.

He takes a moment to relish the proximity, the simple act of holding Klaus in his arms, feeling his warmth against his chest, listening to the steady rhythm of his breaths. It's a rare moment of quiet intimacy, a moment of peace amid the chaos.

It's a strange, almost surreal moment, sitting in the quiet of the room, holding a man he barely knows in his arms, comforting him through the aftermath of the withdrawal. But he finds that he doesn't mind, the contact and the proximity strangely comforting, a connection he didn't realize he needed.

Shayan's ears prick, his attention shifting from Klaus for a moment as he cocks his head, listening to the sound. He can hear the soft, muffled thumps of someone approaching, their footsteps light but distinct.

The door opens softly, revealing Janey holding the phone. Shayan sees her and nods, his arms still wrapped around Klaus, his attention still mostly on the man in his lap. She steps closer, her eyes flickering between the two of them, a hint of concern in her gaze.

"Delivery guy," she whispers, holding up the phone. "There's a problem with the orders, he needs to talk to you."

Shayan nods, reluctantly shifting to get up. Klaus stirs, his body instinctively clinging to him, as if not wanting him to leave. "Hey, I'll be back," he whispers, his voice low and soothing as he pats Klaus's back. "I just need to take care of something real quick. Just lie back, okay?"

Klaus seems to understand, his grip on his shirt loosening slightly, his body slumping back against the bed. He looks exhausted, drained, his eyes half-lidded, but he manages a small nod.

"Good," Shayan mutters, gently extricating himself from Klaus's grasp. He rises, his legs a bit shaky after being cramped for so long, and walks over to Janey, taking the phone from her hand.

He walks out of the room, closing the door softly behind him. He can feel Janey's eyes on him as they walk down the hall, the silent question in her gaze. He glances at her, giving her a small nod to indicate that Klaus is okay, just tired.

They reach the living room, and he brings the phone to his ear. "Hello?"

The man on the other end of the line starts explaining the issue with the orders. It's a minor problem, something easily solvable, but Shayan listens attentively, his mind half on the conversation, and half on Klaus in the bedroom.

He gives the man instructions, his voice professional and calm, his mind still racing with thoughts of Klaus. He can feel Janey's gaze on him, still watching, still questioning. The conversation wraps up soon enough, and he hangs up, handing the phone back to Janey with a nod of thanks. She takes it back, looking like she has a million questions in her eyes.

He sighs, scrubbing a hand down his face. He knows she's going to ask, she has that look in her eyes. He mentally prepares himself, steeling himself for the onslaught of questions he knows is coming.

"Is he okay?" she asks, her voice soft, low enough that it won't carry to the bedroom.

"He's exhausted," Shayan replies, his voice quiet. "But he's coming out of the withdrawal. He should be fine in a few days."

Janey nods, her expression a mix of concern and relief. "And you?" she asks, her gaze scrutinizing.

Shayan blinks at the question, a little caught off guard. "Me?" he repeats. "What about me?"

"I know that look," Janey says, a hint of humor in her voice. "That protective, worried look. You're attached, aren't you?"

Shayan almost denies it. The words are on the tip of his tongue, a reflexive, defensive reaction. But the look on her face makes him pause, a sense of knowing in her gaze that makes him huff a small scoff. "Is it that obvious?"

Janey laughs softly, a knowing smile on her lips. "Oh yes," she says, her eyes sparkling with amusement. "You're head-over-heels, my friend. And it took you, what? A day?"

Shayan actually laughs at that, a short, incredulous sound. "A day," he mutters, shaking his head. "Yeah, it was about that quick. Can you believe it?"

Janey grins, a smirk playing on her lips. "Absolutely," she says. "When you're smitten, you're smitten. Don't even bother resisting, it's useless."

Shayan huffs, his hands going to his hips as he leans against the wall. "I don't know if 'smitten' is the right word," he mutters, the denial sounding weak even to his own ears.

"Denial isn't a good look on you," Janey teases, her voice light and airy. "Just admit it, you're gone for the poor man. You like him."

Shayan sighs, running a hand through his hair. "God, I do, don't I?" he groans. "I've known the man two days. I must be losing my mind."

"Or you've just found the one," Janey suggests, her smile widening. "Sometimes, when you know, you just know."

Shayan huffs, a mix of irritation and amusement in his response. "Don't start that," he warns, pointing a finger at her. "Next thing you know, you'll be talking about soulmates or something."

"Oh, I absolutely believe in soulmates," Janey says, lifting a hand to her chest in a dramatic gesture. "And I believe that you, Shayan, my friend, have found yours."

"Get back to work would you?" he says, but there's no real anger in his voice.

Janey laughs, holding her hands up in mock surrender. "Alright, alright," she says, backing away. "I'll leave you to your little love affair. But remember, you owe me details. All the details."

"I won't tell you a thing," Shayan retorts, pushing off the wall. "There will be no gossiping behind Klaus' back. That much I can promise you."

"Aww, you're no fun," Janey pouts. "But fine, keep your secrets. I'll find out one way or another."

"In your dreams," Shayan replies, walking back to the bedroom. He can hear Janey's soft laughter follow him, but he ignores it, his mind already on Klaus behind the door.

The bedroom's door opens silently, and he slips back inside. Klaus is still where he left him, his body slumped against the pillows, his breaths slow and steady. He's not sleeping, his eyes still half open, but he seems deeply relaxed, the tension gone from his frame.

Shayan walks closer, sitting down on the edge of the bed. Klaus acknowledges him with a slight shift of his body, a small tilt of his head, as if subconsciously seeking his presence.

Shayan reaches out, his hand finding Klaus', their fingers intertwining. Klaus seems to relax further at the contact, his hand squeezing lightly, a silent thank you. "Do you need anything?" he asks gently. "Another blanket, water?"

Klaus' eyes flutter open at the question, his gaze shifting to meet Shayan's. He shakes his head slightly, a thin, tired smile on his lips. "Just you," he whispers, so soft that Shayan almost misses it.

The words hit him like a punch to the gut. They're simple, a mere whisper, but they carry so much weight, so much meaning. He feels his heart clench, his fingers tightening around Klaus' hand.

"You have me," he says, his voice rough with emotion. He moves closer, his other hand coming up to cup Klaus' cheek. "I'm here, I'm not going anywhere. Okay?"

Klaus nods, a small, grateful look in his eye. He leans into Shayan's touch, his head tilting into the palm of his hand. For a moment, he just closes his eyes, allowing himself to soak in the comfort and warmth of Shayan's presence.

There's a moment of silence, a pause where the only sound is the steady rhythm of their breaths. Shayan uses the moment to simply look at Klaus, really look at him. The planes of his face, the curve of his nose, the slope of his chin...it all feels so achingly familiar already.

"You're staring," Klaus mutters, his eyes still closed. He's smiling faintly, a hint of teasing in his tone.

"Can't help it." he smiles softly.

Klaus cracks open one eye, his lip quirked in a lazy smirk. "Like what you see?" he asks, his voice still soft and drowsy.

"Very much," Shayan replies, his thumb sweeping gently across Klaus' cheekbone. "You're quite the picturesque sight, you know."

"No idea what that means.." Klaus murmers.

"It means you're pleasing to look at," Shayan explains, amusement in his voice. "You're attractive. Pretty. Beautiful, even."

Klaus huffs and cracks open the other eye, looking at Shayan with an almost pouty expression. "You can't just say things like that," he grumbles, his face heating up visibly. "I'm not beautiful."

Shayan frowns, his head tilting. "What? Of course you are."

Klaus scoffs, his cheeks reddening further, the blush spreading to the tips of his ears. "No, I'm not," he insists, his voice taking on a slightly petulant edge. "I'm... I'm handsome at best. Not beautiful."

Shayan smiles softly. "You calling me a liar?"

Klaus huffs, his eyes avoiding Shayan's gaze. "No, I just...I'm not used to being called...that." he mutters, the blush still staining his cheeks.

Shayan chuckles, his hand still cupping Klaus' face. "Well, get used to it," he says. "I'll be saying it a lot. And you'd better believe me when I do."

Klaus' eyes flicker up to meet Shayan's, and he swallows hard, the blush on his cheeks deepening. For a moment, he looks like he's going to protest, but then he deflates, a small, sheepish smile curving his lips. "You...you're ridiculous, you know that, right?" he says quietly.

"Ridiculous for calling you beautiful?" Shayan teases, his thumb tracing a light path along Klaus' jaw. "I think it's a very justified use of the word."

Klaus huffs again, his eyes rolling in a mixture of embarrassment and pleasure. He looks like he wants to argue, but the heat lingering in his face and the warmth in his eyes betrays him. "You're impossible," he mutters, his voice lacking conviction.

"Hey, you knocked on my door." Shayan smiles.

"Yeah, and look what that got me," Klaus grumbles, though his voice lacks any real heat. He leans into Shayan's touch, his body unconsciously seeking the comfort and reassurance that it offers.

"Oh yeah? If that's so, I have no problem leaving."

Klaus' hand shoots out, his fingers wrapping around Shayan's wrist, holding him in place. "Don't," he says, a note of desperation in his voice. "Stay. Please."

Shayan's features soften. "I wouldn't dare."

Klaus visibly relaxes at that, his grip on Shayan's wrist loosening, his hand falling back to the bed. He looks a mess, his hair tousled, his eyes still a bit watery, his cheeks still flushed. But he also looks...content, for lack of a better word. Like having Shayan here, close and warm, is all he needs to feel better.

Shayan straightens out the blankets, and joins him on the bed, hands still linked. Klaus makes a small, satisfied noise as Shayan settles in next to him, their fingers still intertwined. He tugs lightly on Shayan's hand, pulling him closer so that their bodies are almost flush.

Shayan rests his chin on Klaus' head, his arm wrapped around his shoulders. Klaus practically melts into the touch, his head burying into the crook of Shayan's neck. His hands clutch the fabric of Shayan's shirt, bunching the material in his fists, holding onto him like a lifeline. They lie there in silence, their breaths falling into sync, their bodies relaxed and warm.

For a long moment, neither of them speaks, the only sound in the room is the rhythmic beating of their hearts. But then Klaus speaks up, his voice quiet and slightly muffled. "I'm sorry I barged in on you like that," he mutters, his fingers toying with the buttons of Shayan's shirt.

"You have nothing to apologise for," Shayan says, his hand making lazy circles on Klaus' back. "I'm glad you came to me. I'm glad I could help."

Klaus hums, a small sound of acknowledgement. He presses himself closer, his body curving around Shayan, seeking as much contact as possible. It's like he's trying to fuse them together, meld their bodies into one.

Shayan can't help but smile, his grip tightening around Klaus. He can feel the heat of Klaus' skin, the press of his chest against his, the quick rise and fall of his breaths. It's a sensation that he's already finding addictive.

"I've got you."

Those three simple words seem to do something to Klaus, his breath hitching slightly. His grip on Shayan's shirt tightens, his body trembling, just a little. "Promise?" he asks, his voice almost a whisper.

"Cross my heart," Shayan responds, his hand moving up to brush a strand of hair from Klaus' face. "You're safe here, with me. I won't let anything happen to you. I promise."

Klaus doesn't respond verbally, but his body relaxes, the tension seeping out of his muscles. He burrows his head further into the crook of Shayan's neck, breathing in the scent of his skin. They lapse back into silence, the only sounds their steady breaths and the rustle of fabric as they continue to adjust their positions until they're impossibly close.

After a while, Klaus speaks up again, his voice so muffled against Shayan's neck that it's nearly unintelligible. "Can I ask you something?"

"Of course." he runs his fingers over the skin of his arm.

Klaus takes a shuddering breath, his fingers toying with the opening of Shayan's shirt. "Do you..." he starts, his voice still quiet and a little uncertain. "Do you really believe that...I'm..." He trails off, seemingly unable to bring himself to say it aloud.

Shayan smiles softly. "I do."

Klaus lifts his head at that, looking at Shayan with an expression that's almost bewildered. "How can you?" he asks, his eyes searching Shayan's face. "We've known each other for all of two days."

"That's true," Shayan replies, his gaze not wavering. He reaches up to brush his thumb lightly across Klaus' bottom lip, a gesture that's both soft and possessive. "But sometimes, you just know."

Klaus is silent for a moment, his eyes falling to Shayan's mouth, following the path of his thumb. He looks like he's struggling with something, his jaw clenching slightly before he finally speaks. "I─" he starts, his voice cracking a little. "I..."

Shayan doesn't push, doesn't pressure, just runs his fingers through Klaus' hair, a gentle, soothing touch. "Just breathe," he whispers, his other hand rubbing circles on Klaus' back.

Klaus nods, his eyes closing, his breaths coming slow and measured. It takes a few minutes, but little by little, he starts to relax, his body loosening, his grip on Shayan's shirt lessening.

"That's it," Shayan coaxes, his lips curving into a small smile. "Just relax. You're safe here. You're safe with me."

Klaus lets out a trembling breath, his body shifting again so that he's even closer, almost in Shayan's lap now. He looks like a drowning man, clinging desperately to his lifeline. "I—" he starts to speak again, but his voice fails him, his words dying in his throat.

He looks up at Shayan, and without thinking, he leans in. Shayan's eyes widen, surprise etched across his features. But he doesn't pull away. Instead, he slides his arm around Klaus' waist, holding him steady. They're close now, impossibly close, their breaths mingling, their lips almost touching.

Shayan pauses, until he gathers the courage to turn away. Klaus lets out a shuddering breath, his body practically vibrating with tension, his hands still clutching at Shayan's shirt. "Why...?" he whispers, the confusion and disappointment clear in his voice.

Shayan can't meet his eyes, sighing heavily. "You're going through withdrawal, Klaus, you're not in the right frame of mind."

Klaus' expression shifts, something akin to understanding crossing his features. But it's quickly overtaken by frustration, his hands clenching tighter in the fabric of Shayan's shirt. "So?" he demands, his voice cracking slightly. "I'm not a child. I know what I'm doing."

"I don't want you to do anything you'll regret," Shayan turns to him. "Just.. a few days, that's it."

Klaus' lips press together in a thin line, his jaw clenching. He looks like he's struggling to keep his temper in check, his whole body vibrating with pent up energy. "A few days," he mutters, and it sounds almost like a challenge. "And then what?"

"And then you'll be clear-headed enough to make rational decisions," Shayan responds, his voice soft but firm. "Right now, you're not thinking clearly. You're in no state to make decisions about anything."

Klaus lets out a huff, his eyes flickering away from Shayan's. He looks like he wants to argue, like he wants to defy Shayan's reasoning. But deep down, he knows that Shayan is right. He's not thinking straight right now.

"Just a few days," Shayan repeats, his hand still gentle on Klaus' waist. "That's all I'm asking. And I promise, I'll be here the whole time, I won't leave you alone. After that, we'll see where it goes, okay?"

Klaus' eyes dart back to Shayan's, searching for any hint of uncertainty or deception. But all he finds is a steady, unwavering gaze, and a promise of sincerity. After a moment, he nods, his eyes dropping to his hands, still clenched around Shayan's shirt.

"Good," Shayan says, allowing himself a small sigh of relief. He reaches up to run his fingers through Klaus' hair again, a gentle, soothing gesture. "Trust me, a few days will do you good. Clear your head. You'll see."

Klaus huffs again, but there's no heat behind it this time. He leans into the touch, his eyes falling shut. "I trust you," he mutters, his voice begrudging but sincere.

Shayan can't help but smile at that, his heart swelling a little in his chest. He continues to stroke Klaus' hair, his hand moving slowly, methodically. "You should get some sleep, it'll help," he murmurs, his eyes flickering over Klaus' exhausted features.

Klaus nods, his eyes opening to a mere slit, exhaustion clear in every line of his face. The adrenaline from earlier is wearing off, leaving him weary and more than a little vulnerable. "Stay?" he asks, his voice barely above a whisper.

"Of course," Shayan responds, adjusting their positions a little so that Klaus is more comfortable. He leans back against the headboard, pulling Klaus with him, guiding his head to rest against his chest.

Klaus goes willingly, burrowing into the warmth and comfort of Shayan's body. He relaxes against him, his body going boneless, his breaths evening out almost immediately.

Shayan wraps his arms around Klaus, holding him close. He runs his fingers through Klaus' hair, an absent gesture of comfort. "Sleep," he murmurs, his voice barely above a whisper. "I'll be here when you wake up."

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WORDS: 5760
© TOO SAD TO CRY