screaming hold my hand (but please don't touch me)

Sterling's not sure where he is when he first opens his eyes.

The sun feels too close and too bright and the world is spinning just a little too much to properly come into focus.

His stomach heaves. Ugh, he feels like shit. Last night must have been particularly brutal. His head is still swimming as he forces his eyes open— and is face to face with the stack of cardboard boxes he left towering in his room.

Fuck.

He's at Henry's. Well, Mia's, he supposes, technically, though he still doesn't know her well enough to be comfortable here, in her house. 

Everything is still up in the air.

He can't go back to the city. He can't. He doesn't want to, and it was so hard to leave the first time that if he goes back now, he doesn't know if he'll be able to ever leave. 

He pushes himself onto his back, struggling to settle his stomach as it lurches. He slept on the goddamn floor.

He can't go back, but he can't stay here. Henry and Mia have something here. They're building a life together, and it's not fair for Sterling to crash in and ruin it.

Even if that is his speciality. Ruining things is all he seems to be good at.

He can't stay here, with them, but he doesn't have anywhere else to go. He just wants to go home. 

He's not sure where that even is.

Henry is already at work, by this hour. He knows Mia will still be here, somewhere— probably puttering around the kitchen, waiting for him to wake up. She'll make him some unfairly delicious and adorable meal while he avoids eye contact in shame, and eventually she'll ask him about last night and the drinking and he'll politely tell her he has to get going.

Mia is very sweet, but she doesn't actually want him here, and he knows that. He's not stupid enough to trick himself into thinking she's happy he's crash landed into her life. She's cute, and he knows she means well. He just can't bring himself to actually talk to her about anything.

He can talk to Henry. Talking to Henry comes easy with so many years of practice under his belt. They were raised like brothers; he can talk to Henry.

Well. He could talk to Henry. If Henry wasn't always fucking working.

He knows he can't wallow forever, so he pushes himself to his feet (even though his entire body is screaming— what the hell did they do last night? He needs to ask Shane, because he feels like he's been hit by a bus). He almost throws up, but doesn’t, and he lets that small win carry him down the hallway and into the kitchen. 

The fridge is well stocked, as always. A refreshing change from his own back at his apartment, with it’s one moldy onion.

His former apartment. It still hasn't really sunk in that he’s never going back.

He grabs the carton of milk and takes a long swig, praying it will settle his stomach. He still feels rough, and pretty hungover, though the growls of his stomach probably mean he could hold down a meal. He sips from the carton, digging around for leftovers, grabbing an apple from the fruit drawer as he goes.

“If you’re hungry, I can make you something.”

He drops his apple, and almost drops his milk, spinning around to come face to face with Mia.

“Ew.” She squeals, eyeing the open milk.  “Use a glass! Gross.”

“Shit, Mia, you scared me.”

“Sorry.” She smiles, moving towards the fridge. “I didn't mean to.”

He puts the milk back into the fridge, ignoring the look Mia gives him and settling in to rest his forehead against the cool surface of the kitchen table. He can smell the pie sitting on the counter— Mia must have baked it fresh this morning. Blueberry probably, or maybe apple. Mia is always doing domestic things like that— baking pies, tending the garden. It caught him off guard when he first came here. It still catches him off guard, days later. He didn’t think people like that actually existed.

“Do you want some pancakes? I could make up a batch, if you’d like.”

He does, obviously. Mia makes some of the most delicious food he’s ever tasted, and her pancakes are to die for. 

“No thanks, sweetheart. I’ll be alright.” 

Mia gives him another look, and huffs out a sigh. “Okay, well I’m going to make some anyway. Will you have some?”

His stomach answers before he can, grumbling loud enough that it makes Mia giggle. She sets about mixing ingredients together, and he watches her movements, following the process as she eventually pours the batter into a pan. He wishes he could lean into the feeling of being taken care of, but all he can feel is the guilt. 

Eventually Mia puts a plate of bear shaped pancakes in front of his face, and he avoids eye contact as he grabs a fork.

“Thanks.”

“No problem, Sterling.” She says, settling in next to him with her own plate and a steaming cup of coffee. 

She puts a cup down in front of him, too. 

Sterling laughs. “Uh, Mia? What is this?”

She’s giggling when he looks at her. “I ordered it online and it came this morning. I think they're funny.”

She’s made him his usual coffee exactly the way he likes it, because she’s perfect. She also happens to have made it in an absolutely garish mug, with a god awful oversaturated picture of an old timey motorcycle, with huge pink text proclaiming that “Sterling is best bike boy”.

“I have one for me and Henry, so I wanted to get you one too. We need to have a matching set!”

It’s... it's an incredibly ugly mug. It has his name written in comic sans. The cartoon clipart picture of a bike doesn't even look real— it’s like someone drew it from memory without ever seeing one.

It’s horrible.

“You and Henry have one of these?”

“Well, not exactly like that. Mine has pies, and Henry’s has a picture of Max. They’re cheesy, but it’s fun. I wanted you to have one, too.”

He feels like he might cry.

“I, uh—” His voice cracks, and he’s holding the mug with both hands, and he knows he looks ridiculous but he isn’t sure how to stop. “You got this for me?”

“Yeah.” Mia answers, concern all over her face. She puts her own mug down, and places a careful hand on Sterlings elbow. “You don’t have to use it.”

Sterling sets his coffee down, gently. “That’s... nice.”

It’s maybe the nicest thing anyone has ever done for him.

He clears his throat in a pathetic attempt to pull himself together, and shoots Mia a smile he hopes comes off as charming.

"Thanks."

Mia smiles. "Of course, Sterling. This is your home now, for however long you choose; you deserve an ugly mug too."

He laughs, tearful and ugly, because he's crying over a fucking mug and this is all so ridiculous, but it's been an emotional and exhausting week, so he figures he's earned it. He spent a decade in the city wishing anyone gave a shit about him, and now he's here , and he barely knows this girl but maybe she cares about him more than anyone in the city ever did, and it's all too much.

He wipes his eyes and grabs his fork, taking a big bite of his pancakes. 

They really are unfairly delicious.