Domestic - M Avery

“Does it scare you?” You ask quietly, watching the lightning arc across the dark sky.

“Sometimes,” Avery responds back, his voice hushed with something like reverence as he corrects himself, “Most of the time.”

“We can go inside,” You offer, “Lay down, maybe watch a movie.”

You could tune out the rolling thunder and the cracks of lightning that make him flinch each time they strike, you mean. Remove him from a situation that only seems to cause him distress.

“No, I…” He sighs, leaning closer, “I used to watch storms with my mother and my…”

He swallows the words, staring down at his hands with regret.

“It’s okay to be scared after what you went through.”

“I feel like a failure,” He says, “I’m not even sure why. No one cares if I can’t sit and watch a storm roll through anymore.”

“Pride, maybe?” You smirk slightly, nudging him in the side, “You do have a problem with that.”

He hums, “Oh, do I, now?”

“Very much so,” You say, “It’s alright, though. it suits you most of the time.”

He goes to respond, but another flash of lightning illuminates the sky. You see the reflection in his dark eyes, his face lit up briefly so you can see every detail with him so close. His freckles, his scar, the way he bites his bottom lip. He gives the sky a firm side eye, as if it might decide to fall down upon you both.

“Let’s go inside,” You bid him again, running a hand down his arm, “There’s no point in this.”

“I don’t want to be scared anymore,” He whispers the words like a confession.

“That’ll take time,” You say just as softly, “You almost died, Avery. By all rights you should have; taking that much electricity to the heart should have killed you. It didn’t, though, and you’re here with me. You have time. We have time.”

“We have time,” He repeats, as if he’s trying to convince himself, “We do.”

“We do,” You cup his cheek with your palm, brushing the pad of your thumb along his sharp cheekbone, “We can do this another night. As many nights as we have to until you’re not afraid. It won’t happen all at once, though.”

“No,” He mummers, “It won’t.”

He glances back up at the dark sky before breaking apart from you to stand. He offers a hand, pulling you up with him.

“I think this is good enough for now,” He says, faux nonchalance thick in his voice, “I didn’t have a panic attack so…improvements, I guess.”

“Come on,” You say, tugging him toward the door and back inside the house.

He never sleeps well when it storms out, so you hold him close on the couch and put on a movie. It’s some stupid 90’s comedy, just enough background noise to block out the rolling thunder. He curls into you, and you run your fingers through his thick, dark hair.

There are dirty dishes in the sink, there’s laundry in the dryer, and you still need to vacuum the rugs. You’re happy, though, in this moment. Content. So is Avery, despite the howling storm outside and the fear that runs through him like blood.

You have time and that’s all that matters. Time with each other, time to make his fear fade…and time to make you forget you’ve ever been anything but loved.