A month of Payjay fluff!

TW: IMPLIED SUICIDAL THOUGHTS(?) I'm not sure if it's enough to warrant that warning, but I mentioned it just in case. Stay safe out there :)

The first thing he noticed when he opened his eyes was that he felt oddly... empty.

And not the kind of empty he felt when the space next to him wasn't occupied, because his boyfriend always woke up before him to manage the hotel. Even when he'd gotten better, his lover still woke up early - he supposed it was just a habit.

No. This felt... cold. It felt like all his energy had been drained right out of him, from his very core, and there was nothing he could do now but sit there and watch as his life fell apart.

He wasn't in bed anymore, and his feet hit the cold, familiar surface of the void he'd grown so used to. It felt like standing on the ocean.

A still, motionless ocean. He hated the ocean, it could swallow him up whole; and if that happened, he'd drown in that sorrowful sea, and he'd never see the light of day again.

In the back of his mind, he heard his voice, calm, calculated and soulless.

"Why don't you just give up on him?"

His knees buckled, and he fell to the floor. His eyes shut tight, and when he opened them again he couldn't see anything other than that dull, barren space. There wasn't a speck of light to be found - just an endless expanse of utter nothing.

Nothing.

That's what he was, wasn't it?

"He doesn't love you. Nobody could love someone like you."

The voice shifts between his voice and that of his saviour, forming a distorted sound that somehow sounded like raspy static and burdened hope all at once.

It sounded offended, hurt, mocking him for his foolishness. Guilt carved into his heart like a twisted knife, dragged him deeper, deeper...

"He has better things to do than look after your whiny, needy, impatient ass. He doesn't need you, you know he doesn't. He just keeps dragging you along because he doesn't want anyone else to have to deal with your idiocracy."

He was under the surface now. He'd never been pulled this far. He could feel his page start to rip and dissolve, but it wasn't painful. He barely registered it at all.

The voice faded into warped warbles, but now he heard it in his own head - loud and clear.

"There's so many other objects better than you, and you know it. Save him the time... sink so deep that nobody will ever find you. Do him a favour; embrace the way your body goes numb, the way your mind goes..."

...Blank.

He couldn't move, he didn't have the energy to. That dying flame had been put out.

He accepted his fate, shutting his eyes once more as everything faded to black.

Paper sat up in bed, breaking the surface, a sharp gasp escaping him as he coughed and gagged in the dead silence of the night. It felt like his lungs were filled with water, but only air escaped his lips.

He looked around; the world was dark, yes, but not empty. He could see the faint outlines of the desk, a wardrobe, the nightstand... all faintly illuminated by the moonlight.

It didn't feel empty; how could it, with his lover sleeping peacefully beside him?

His eyes lingered on OJ, on how happy and still he was. He couldn't help but run a hand along that perfectly smooth glass. The touch always brought him comfort, even if OJ didn't think much of it.

His heart still raced in his chest, and he pulled his hand back... no. He couldn't. He didn't deserve comfort; he didn't deserve him.

He shuffled around, about to walk around a bit, but a hand stopped him from escaping the sanctity of their bed. A hand that wasn't his own.

The hand's touch soon spread into an arm, into two arms, into OJ pulling him right back into a cuddle against his chest.

"Mm... what's wrong..."

Shit, shit shit shit he was awake, he'd been too damn loud-

"Oh, it's... it's nothing, OJ, okay? Go back to sleep."

"Hmm... nuh-uh. I can tell something's... bothering you..."

His words were heavy with exhaustion, and Paper's guilt continued to pile. He should be resting right now.

"Orange Juice, I'm fine-"

"You're so shaken up and tense... tell me, hun, please... I want to help you."

Paper's lip began to quiver a little. He shouldn't... god, he really shouldn't, OJ didn't need to hear about his stupid self-worth issues...

But damnit, there was no point in hiding the tears in his eyes. OJ was an expert at figuring him out.

"I- I just... OJ, you d-deserve so m-much better... you work s-so hard a-and I... I'm so useless and forgettable... w-w-why do you even... p-put up with me...? You- the hotel i-is your real passion... you shouldn't l-love me, why do you-"

OJ shifted Paper around in his arms, an arm around his back and the other reaching up to dry the tears spilling out of Paper's eyes, before they stained his page.

"Hey, Paps... listen to me... I'm here for you, okay? You matter more to me than anything and anyone else in the world. You matter, and you deserve to be cared for and appreciated, every moment of your life."

His voice was soft, deep and soothing, and Paper felt his entire body warm as the honey in his words trickled into his ears.

"You helped me see the light in myself when I couldn't find it. You never left my side, no matter how much of a self-centred bastard I could be. You taught me how to be a better person, you helped me become healthier, adopt a sleep schedule, fix my eating habits... you reminded me that I deserve to be loved, just as anyone else does. If it wasn't for you, I'd have given up on myself long ago. You changed my world forever, Paper - and now, you are my world."

Paper was absolutely speechless.

...What could he even say to that?

OJ always knew what to say, when to say it... he always had such a way with words that made Paper question how there was ever a time in his life that he survived without the glass of orange juice that him close, kept him grounded... like his anchor...

"...I love you, you know that?"

"And I love you too. We complete each other, darling... never forget that."

A shaky sigh escaped Paper's lips, and he nodded. His face slipped into a gentle smile, wrapping his arms back around OJ and melting into his embrace.

An embrace much warmer than that of the cold, bleak emptiness he'd escaped from.