Status Updates From Freedom in Falling

The pain in his voice undid West. He had helped put it there. Maybe not the root, but the flower was his.

Fleeing was the best option, clearly, but that took a stunning lack of pride and two legs that would hold him.

Crying and an anxiety attack were good for one thing. He was completely wrung out, all excess emotion squeezed out, and his thoughts ran smooth again. It was better than a factory reset.

He laughed once, but it felt like sandpaper. "Sweetheart, I am a nuisance. You hated me when we first met. And it's fine, I'm fine with it. I was an asshole. Hell, I'm a bigger nuisance to myself than anyone. And it drives me crazy that I can't just..." He sighed.

Surprisingly, he didn't mind being treated like a living mannequin. The careful touches anchored him, reminding him that he didn't have to be himself in this place. He didn't have to be in complete control. He only had to be present, and Noah would take care of the rest.

"What have you been up to?" was what you said while waiting in line to buy movie tickets to keep the silence from getting awkward. And to the outside observer, it sounded benign, especially delivered as it was in his father's bland monotone. Not at all like it was swaddled in years of silent judgment.
Noah's throat closed up immediately.

He was still torn between the desire to fall to his knees with a cry of "please, God" and the equally insistent desire to bludgeon the beautiful man for speaking to him that way. In public. Without warning.

Noah is such an anxiety disaster baby and I love him.