Archive of Our Own

Kyle's brain feels fuzzy. He knows it’s not fuzzy, of course, brains aren't fuzzy. He just feels fuzzy. His fingertips are tingling, his toes are numb, and he's sitting on the curb outside the bar he's just been kicked out of.

He doesn't remember why the bouncer suddenly decided he couldn't be in there, in the warmth, anymore. Maybe a drink too many? But he didn't start the fight—he was just there to drink. To drink, and forget the date, what happened on this day years back. He was there to forget. Forget, forget...

Sniffling, he drags the cuff of his long sleeve across his nose. He's gonna be disgusted later. Disgusted. Dis-gust-ed. Gust. Heh. Gust. Gust gust gust—he blinks, a sharp pain through the numbness that's climbing up his body, and notices his vision is blurry. Why? He was only drinking. He was just.

"Christ, Kyle," that voice. He recognizes that voice. "You're a mess, huh?"

For some reason, for some strange reason hearing that only makes his vision blurrier. Blurriest. Hiccuping, Kyle rubs his eyes with his forearm, the fabric dragging against the sensitive skin.

"mmmmmnot," Kyle gets out, keeping his forearm against his eyes. The sleeve is suspiciously getting moist. Kyle's gonna stay as still as he can just in case.

"You called me," the voice he knows tells him, but this time it sounds closer than before, not coming from up above.

There's something soft and warm suddenly wrapping around his entire back, draping over his shoulders. It smells like safety. It smells like... like...

"You're shivering," Hal says, and Kyle turns his head, dropping his forearm so he can see through the blurriness as the older man gets down on one knee by his side. "Put that on. It'll keep you warm."

Kyle can feel his lower lip wobbling. He sniffles again, feeling distinctly miserable, but has enough presence of mind to do as he's told. Carefully, making a conscious effort, he slips his arms into each sleeve, and the heat still irradiating from the jacket feels like a long overdue hug. The inner lining is so, so soft... and Hal’s cologne's wrapping itself around him, so intimately, more than when he wore the other’s ring.

It's not just his brain that's fuzzy now. The whole world is, with lights that have no defined edges, that distort and stretch. Kyle blinks and doesn't remember when Hal's hands got under his armpits, or when he stood up. When he goes to take a step forward, he ends up crashing face-first into Hal's chest.

"Jeez," Jordan chuckles, and Kyle can feel the rumble of it against his forehead, "they should've cut you off way before you got like this."

"Mmmn," Kyle says, totally not registering what's being said to him. He can't think. Hal’s chest smells nice. It's warm. "Lemme sleep here..."

"Not yet," Hal wraps an arm around the younger man's waist, half carrying, half dragging him away from the curb and the bar. "C'mon, Kyle. Let's get you home."