#makemearobot

"i love you." he states, like it's a lifeline. he watches archer's eyes squint open, like the sunlight streaming from the window is too much for his eyes. he pulls him out of the bathtub, grip gentle but strong. archer is easy to pull around. he's short, which has always made it a little easier. but he's also just pliable. he likes ben a lot. which does help with the whole i could toss you over my shoulder right now thing. he's so sweet, and he buries himself in ben's embrace. "i should've scheduled things better. you don't deserve this." and then archer's mumbling those soft words, and they're so sad his heart aches. god, ben should've been smarter. "no, baby, no–" he whispers, "you didn't do anything wrong." brows furrow and brown eyes lock on him. so maybe ben's not as categorically down as he usually is. but he's also kind of focused right now. so he's not thinking about it too much. "who said you weren't deserving ??" his voice is calm, despite the panic that is coiling in his chest. "i think – i think you deserve the best. and you picked me. and i love you."

ben is exhausted in a way he can't name anymore. he's so tired of everything. he's tired of talking. archer keeps asking what's wrong. he doesn't have an answer. he doesn't know if he ever has an answer anymore. is it going to be a studio night ?? every night has been for the past week. when was the last time he got any real sleep ?? days ago, he had taken too many of his sleeping pills, in hopes to drown it all out. he slept on the floor. please let it all just calm down. he hats this. honey, are you coming to bed ?? his voice had been soft. and he hated it. hated being handled. hated that archer was being too gentle with him. why won't it stop?? the heels of his hands press into his eyes, like if he shoves hard enough, he can finally relax. he's so tired. not in a sleepless way, although that keeps thrumming through his veins too. in a bone deep exhaustion kind of way. the kind that set in as a teenager, that never quite went away. "just –" it comes out as a whimper. he's so fucking miserable. every memory sits under his skin, heat of the blade used to run hot and familiar. he burns for something harsh to pull him back down to earth. old scars under tattoos, memory older than coping. "fuck –" his voice cracks, it all breaks in his head. "just fucking GO AWAY!!" it's harsh, angry and loud in a way he hasn't been in years. fuck – he just needs some relief. he just needs it to stop. PLEASE LET IT STOP !! his hands have never wholly gripped sanity. every painting around him is painted over or ripped. the wreckage of stretched canvas and broken wood surrounds him. h'e so fucking tired. please let this end. perhaps this was why ben sought out escape in the only way he knew how. with his blood spilling on tile, pooling in the grout and promising eternity to rest. god he's so tired. please, let him rest.

the first thing he did when he came home was take pocky out. well, to be fair, it was actually kiss archer and wish him a happy birthday. but THE FIRST TASK was taking pocky out. because it was archer's birthday, and ben has fucking plans. so he takes the dog out, and upon his return, the first thing he does is call to his favorite person who should have just finished his work day. hands meet hips, and he pulls archer close. he has so much to give in a way he often doesn't allow himself. tattooed hands lift, grasping at the line of archer's jaw. "baby," a beat, as murmurs against his lips, "i don't want you thinking all night." a beat, "i have a reservation and an outfit picked for you and everything. no thinkin' allowed." lips press into archer's cheek, and his hand gets tighter. "i've got some ideas about how to keep you fuckin' occupied too, baby."

the idle patterns archer traces in his chest feel like a tether, he's floating past the edge of relief and exhaustion all at once. there's something bleary and satisfied that coils in his chest, like everything is electric and comfortable all at once. god, he loves archer. he loves him so much. he wants him so desperately all the time. archer's voice meets his ears, and a calmness settles over him like the tide. it sits warm and heavy in his chest. brown eyes catch on the yawn, the sleepiness that settles into archer's feelings, and ben feels a smile playing at his lips. safety was always so complicated. but with archer settled into his arms, ben always felt safe. eyes flutter shut, and he breathes in the scent of archer, letting it settle over him like a comfort he's never anticipated. but then, archer's got this silly, playful look on his face, and then teeth meet his neck and ben gasps. soft, quiet, but undeniably there, and even more turned on, fuck archer is going to be the death of him. ben notices the sleepy look on his face, and archer's quirked eyebrow, and if ben wasn't sure before, he absolutely was now, because the question sounds like music to his ears. "i'd shove you into the wall again, but you look like you'd fall asleep on your feet."

frankie looked like she wanted to argue on instinct ALONE, mouth already parting around another apology before archer’s words caught up with her. for a second, all they could do was stare at him, fever-bright eyes glassy beneath the mess of their red hair. she hated this part — the needing, the being seen when she couldn’t turn it into a joke or a performance or a sharp little smile. archer had always been able to get past the noise, though. he never pushed in a way that made them feel cornered. he just showed up, like he always had, and made it IMPOSSIBLE for her to pretend she was fine. “okay,” they mumbled at last, voice rough from sleep and whatever awful cold had them curled miserably under a blanket. the word came out smaller than she meant it to, but she didn’t take it back. instead, they shifted just enough to make room for him beside them, one hand reaching out to catch his sleeve before he could move too far. “but if you tell anyone i let you take care of me, i’m DENYING it.” her attempt at a threat was ruined by how her fingers held onto him. after a beat, they added quietly, “thank you. i don’t… i don’t know how to be easy about this. but i’m TRYING.”

frankie had just kicked the door to the green room shut with the heel of her boot when she saw the flowers sitting on the vanity. not the cheap gas station kind either, but an ACTUAL bouquet, wrapped in brown paper and tied off like whoever bought them had taken the time to pick them out instead of panic-grabbing whatever was closest to the register. for a second, the redhead only stared at them, brow pinched like they were trying to solve a crime. then she spotted archer leaning against the wall with that stupid little look on his face, camera hanging from his neck like he hadn’t just committed an act of emotional terrorism. “oh, ABSOLUTELY not,” they said, pointing at him immediately. “you don’t get to be cute and thoughtful. pick a lane.” but the complaint didn’t land the way she wanted it to, mostly because her mouth was already betraying her, tugging into a smile she couldn’t quite kill. archer had a habit of doing that — getting past all their defenses before they even knew he was trying. somewhere along the way, between late-night tour stops, terrible diner coffee, bruised ribs after shows, and him catching every version of her through a lens without EVER making her feel exposed, he had become FAMILY. not the kind they were born into, obviously. the better kind. the chosen kind. the sibling she never got but somehow ended up needing more than she liked admitting. frankie set their guitar down and crossed the room, trying VERY hard to look annoyed as they took the flowers from the vanity. “you know,” she muttered, glancing down at them before looking back at him, “if you make me cry before soundcheck, i’m telling everyone you’re a deeply manipulative little freak.”

he pulls up in front of the building, and flips on the hazards. in an instant, he's rushing up to the door of his unit. the door opens, and he's grinning. "hey, baby, heard you might need a ride ??" a beat, "did you come up with a name ??"

- what your muse’s ringtone is in mine’s phone: someone to stay, vancouver sleep clinic  - my muse’s last text to your muse: if u luv me u will get more coffee on the way home