it's all for love

by reiofheart

Summary:

John hates winter.

He hates what causes winter. What it does to Bob.

or,

Bob suffers from seasonal depression and John doesn’t know how to help.

Notes:

It's all for love, when chaos turns into comprehension.
It's all for love, comprehension terminates pain.

WayV, All For Love.

In a corner of the apartment, the strumming of a guitar echoes.

John stands frozen under the threshold, groceries still in hand and the December chill seeping even into the hallways of his building, caressing his back, startled by the sudden music after coming home for weeks and being greeted by nothing but silence. So he waits, swallowing hard.

The sound is beautiful, very beautiful, his boyfriend has a natural talent for the guitar, but the tone, the notes, are low and melancholy, leaving him in a limbo where he doesn't know if it's a good thing or a bad thing to hear him play the guitar once again.

John slowly closes the door, leaving the winter cold where it belongs. His left arm begins to ache from the weight, so he divides the bags and heads to the kitchen where he places them on the counter.

Unhurriedly, he puts the groceries away where they belong while the guitar continues its melancholy melody. The cans go on the shelves, the hygiene items go in the drawers by the stove, the cereal is placed on top of the refrigerator. His movements are leisurely, slow. He deliberately takes his time, pretending that with each strum of the guitar strings, his heart doesn't ache.

His gaze wanders down the hallway that leads to his room, where Bob is probably hiding. He doesn't want to face him, doesn't want to see him yet, it's always painful, so he takes his time, pretending that doing something as simple as putting away the macaroni needs his full attention and that maybe the meatballs in the freezer are past it's expiration date even though he can't see it clearly until he's already put everything away and has no more excuses to give.

"Robbie?" He calls first, but his pretty boyfriend doesn't show up and the guitar strumming doesn't stop. John hesitates about what his next move should be. He hesitates if he should approach, even if he doesn't want to, hesitates if maybe he should call his name again because maybe he didn't hear it before. He hesitates.

John always does.

Moments like those are always unsure and hesitant. It leaves him with a bitter taste in his mouth and a suffocating weight in his heart. He never knows what to do, never knows what is the right thing to do. He feels inadequate and hates it.

John hates winter.

He hates what causes winter. What it does to his Bob.

He hates how the emotion fades from his face, like he's a porcelain doll, beautiful but empty, and very cold. He hates seeing him lock himself inside his own mind, with his destructive thoughts as his only company. He hates not knowing what the guitar strumming means, whether it is finally a sign of improvement or is an indication that he should not leave him alone.

Because when Bob is alone, in that state, bad things happen and John can't stand another call from Yelena like that.

He thinks, maybe, should call Yelena or Ava. She, they, should know, know what it means, if Bob is ready to get better, to see spring come, but as soon as he has the thought, he dismisses it because even considering it feels like an insult. 

They've been dating for four years and even if Yelena doesn't say it, he can see it in her eyes, the judgment. Shouldn't already know him, know Bob completely?

The first thing he sees when he enters his room is his profile.

Bob has his back pressed against the bed frame as he watches through the window. His apartment is at the top of the building, so he's glad to know that his boyfriend isn't exactly seeing the streets covered in white or the snowflakes falling, but he still has that empty, beautifully sad look on his face as he looks out into nothingness, or maybe, he sees something in the thick fog surrounding the windows of his bedroom, something John can't see. 

He guesses that's what seasonal disorder does. 

There's no need to see it to feel it.

His hands wander across the frets. As an expert, there's no need for Bob to look at the chords as he plays, and it looks as unreachable as it does beautiful. It would be nice, John thinks, if only it were spring. 

If only it were any other time and not bloody winter.

It's bad, he appreciates, because the tune is one he's already learned enough to play with his muscle memory, not something he finally creates after suffering his block, because Bob has no notebook around him, and most of all, he doesn't seem to have moved since John announced he was going to the convenience store.

"B?" He repeats softly. His boyfriend doesn't seem to notice his presence. Too lost in thought to notice. "Robbie." He insists, straining to stop the smile on his lips from trembling, to keep from bursting into tears.

He doesn't want to scare him. He doesn't want to make him feel like any of this is his fault. Or that John can't deal with it.

He swallows through the thick knot and it's almost a relief that he doesn't notice it yet, because he can pull himself together before Bob finally turns his gaze to him.

John tries hard, no one can say otherwise. Not even Yelena, who doesn't really hate him (she's just worried about her best friend just like Bucky cares about him), John tries very hard to be a support and not a burden. He tries hard to be what Bob needs and wants.

But sometimes, he suffers during those bad days, sometimes it's so hard that he just can't take it anymore. Sometimes it hurts like hell to see him in that state and he needs to leave the room to cry silently. Sometimes he gets tired of trying, because nothing he does seems to have the expected effect. 

Sometimes he wishes it was him and not Bob, because maybe he can handle it better.

"Oh?" Finally, the strumming stops and the pretty blue orbs turn to him. Eyes that remind him so much of the ocean, a deep, lonely, cold ocean. But they also remind him of a calm ocean, with stars reflecting on its waves. On his lips, there is the ghost of a smile. Tiny, barely visible to someone with eyesight as impaired as he is, but just enough for the pressure in his heart to ease, for a sigh to escape his lips.

Lately all he does is sigh.

For disappointment, for patience, for sadness... For love.

Always for love.

"I'm sorry... I didn't mean to..." He hesitates. He hates to hesitate. He has to try harder, the last thing he wants is for Bob to notice how much he hesitates these days. "I didn't mean to disturb you." He finishes as if he never doubted his own words.

But Bob notices. Because he also seems unsure about what to say. He licks his lips as his fingers absentmindedly touch his guitar, then raises his eyebrows, as if finally noticing that he had it in his hands in the first place.

"I lost..." He hears him speak in that sweet tone he loves so much, but so fragile, so small that it hurts him. "I lost track of time." He confesses. And John doesn't mind, because at least he's talking to him. Because that little sentence has been more than what he told him last week, when the first snowfall started. So he prays that Bob keeps talking. "Did you buy what you needed yet? Did you... I would have helped you put away the groceries, did you... call me?" his brow furrows as he tilts his pretty face. 

John doesn't have the heart to tell him that he did and Bob, like so many times since winter began, didn't answer.

"It's okay." He lifts his shoulders carelessly. Telling white lies is easy for him, his ears no longer redden as it used to. And if it does, he can blame it on the weather outside. "I didn't even buy that much, just enough to make some nasi lemak, and maybe some laksa, though I might try to make some Italian dish, of course, I'd need you as my assistant..." Sometimes, John fills the silence of their bedroom with ramblings.

He rambles about what he does at his job, about what he sees on his way home, about what he does at meetings with his friends, about what he will do tomorrow, about what he plans to do in his future. He rambles as much as he can. It gives him a small sense of normalcy.

In the previous spring, Bob confessed that even if he can't remember what John talks to him, he likes to hear his voice. Makes him feel less lonely.

"If you would like that, of course, I need you to judge if it's good enough. I don't want a repeat of what happened when I tried Japanese cooking. God, Ava almost strangled me, remember? It was a disaster." When he gets close enough to touch him. He runs his hand through the pretty brown locks and leans down to kiss his forehead in greeting. "Did you shower?" He asks in surprise when the scent of jasmine floods his nose. A soft smile spreads across his lips. It makes him proud that Bob heard him before John left, but he can see Bob's face darken and his shoulders deflate a little more. He's about to lose himself in his thoughts, in that hyper awareness.

John knows his thoughts.

He knows exactly what kinds of thoughts Bob has.

He's heard those in the middle of their arguments, when he can't pretend anymore, when Bob catches him, when they both cry and scream because they're tired, because sometimes it hurts so much that it's all they feel and it overshadows every other emotion. 

Thoughts that Bob actually has throughout the year but that take on more force when December arrives.

"That's good, I'll be sure to shower before I make dinner, do you think we still have hot water?" He hurries to say as if it's nothing, pats his shoulder, changes the topic and continues to ramble on. "Although, you know, I was actually craving crab but the price was absolutely ridiculous, some people would think that price inflation only happens when it's not in season, because of course it's harder to get, but it's not, even on vacations the price is exorbitant." John can afford it. He can afford as much crab as he wants, his salary is enough to not suffer through a ridiculous three-figure dish, and actually, he doesn't even like crab as much as he claims, but beside nasi lemak, it's one of Bob's favorite dishes, so he had made sure to buy frozen crab to make some soup for his boyfriend if he had the craving.

When his brain runs out of more ideas to ramble on about, he decides to keep the conversation about meeting Mel that morning to himself for the moment in case he needs it. John sits next to Bob on the bed, placing one hand on his thigh. The free hand he brings to his cheek where he gently caresses. He offers him the meekest smile he has to offer, praying inwardly that Bob's brain doesn't translate it to condescending.

"How are you feeling?" He asks finally. He needs to know. He needs to know what he has to deal with, how he can help him.

This time, it's Bob's turn to hesitate.

"I feel... okay." He hears him whisper. He doesn't lie, Bob never lies. But John needs something more than just ‘ok'. 

An ok can be different, an ok can be fine.

"One to ten?" Bob's nose wrinkles. His boyfriend hates the number system but it's what helps them the most during the cold Winter days. It's easy to put a number when you can't find the right words to begin to express the massive destruction that rages in your mind, to measure the sadness that floods you.

Therapist Cho suggested it in their second year of their relationship, not knowing that simple suggestion would save their relationship. The second year was the hardest of all, unlike the first year where they just got to know the good parts of both of them and hide the parts that terrified them.

It took John a whole year to recognize and understand the severity of Bob's disorder and how bad it could get (in his nightmares, he still hears Yelena's voice, hears her screaming her wishes for hell to open up beneath his feet and swallow him whole, berating him for his ignorance, because why did you think leaving him alone was a good idea? Begging him to come back and take them to the hospital because the ambulance is taking too long and why wasn't she enough to stop Bob from feeling this way? Why can't she help him? John relates to her feeling of helplessness. And sometimes, on the baddest days, he hears Bob drowning in his own blood) of knowing the detonations and the right way to deal with his attacks without making it all worse, having the beginner's mistake of confusing dissociation with disinterest.

"Three, maybe." Bob lets him take his wrist, see one of the scars he got as a teenager on a December 24th. His first suicide attempt, but not his last.

John smiles. He tries hard not to cry.

The last time he answered was a one. After that, Bob stopped moving, stopped talking. He slept and woke up in the same position. He would cry silently and pick at his old scars. John made sure to clip Bob’s nails when he saw the first trickle of blood wrap around his wrist.

"Maybe a three and a half? Showering... Showering really helped." Bob licks his lips, bites them hesitantly. He visibly struggles with what to say but it's progress. Real progress. "Maybe... maybe I can help in the kitchen, and then... then we can go out?" John resists the temptation to laugh, as much as he resists his urge to cry. To laugh and cry at the same time. He can see how forced Bob's suggestion is.

But he is trying hard. His mind insists on reminding him.

He's trying hard because he knows it's not simple to deal with someone like him, because he must consider that being locked up is driving him crazy taking care of a boyfriend who barely wants to talk or much less move.

So John shakes his head.

"I'd like to stay with you, watch that new Netflix show, B... ‘L-Lexei recommended it to me." He hides Bucky's name with fake coughs that he covers with his fist and mentions the name of the men he hasn't spoken to in weeks. 

In spring, Bob tolerated Bucky more than he did in winter.

"Are you sure...?" Bob releases his grip slowly, as if trying not to offend him by pulling back. Unfortunately, he fails in his task and hurts John. He leaves him looking down helplessly, wracking his brain to think of what to say, what to do.

"The weather is not good." He merely confesses. It is not good. It is never good. Not in winter. Never in winter. John runs a hand over his face, trying to push the tears away. Not again. He doesn't want to. He doesn't want to fight again.

He doesn't want Bob to insist on something that clearly makes him unhappy. On something that will set back the hesitant three to minus ten.

Every night, John prays. Even if he is not a believer. Even if his faith can be measured in a number system. He still prays, because that's all he can do. He prays for Bob to get better, for new ideas, for spring to come quickly.

Because winter feels as sad to him as Bob feels.

Because it's so lonely even when they're next to each other.

Because he feels like a failure, inadequate. Not enough.

He knows that Bob knows, knows that Bob has listened to him on the phone, holding back his tears and sobs because he doesn't know what else to do. Bob knows that Bucky is the one who mainly advises John to break up with him, just as his mother advises him, his father, his best friend, and how John turns a deaf ear to that advice, pretending they never said anything. Bob knows that even his therapist has recommended a colleague because the winter is taking its toll on John.

Just as John also knows that Bob, in addition to the emptiness, also feels anguish, for him, for his inability to control his emotions, for thinking if the day will ever come when John will say enough is enough.

John knows it.

He knows that Bob cries for him, that he strives to be okay before winter wins the battle. He knows Bob hates himself for not being 'normal', for not being able to give him what a normal partner does in a relationship. He knows Bob despises himself for not even being willing enough to take just his medicine, for having John after him forcing him to do something as minimal as eating or showering.

Bob hates himself.

Bob hates what he turned their relationship into.

John makes sure to tell him how much he loves him in spite of everything.

I love you, he says.

I love you, he says when Bob stays silent.

I love you, he says when Bob yells at him.

I love you, he says when Bob, between sobs, begs him to leave.

I love you, he says when Bob cries in his arms and clings to his shirt, pleading for forgiveness.

I love you, he says even when it hurts.

I love you, he says even when it's hard to do so.

Because John loves Bob. 

John loves him in the beautiful spring days and the harshest winters.

He loves him so much, a lot. Even if sometimes he gets tired of not being enough. He loves him in spite of his insecurities. He loves him because Bob is the most beautiful thing in his life, even with his flaws, with his problems, with his upheavals. 

John loves him.

"Come on, Johnny." John hears Bob mutter. "I don't trust you to cook the rice properly."

The small smile Bob offers John, is enough to make his terrible winter turn warm.

 

---

 

There is a guitar strumming that brings him in as cautiously as the first time. A melody he can't quite identify.

John tries to hold the strap of his bag over his shoulder and keep the pretty plant in its pot that Alexei gave him that morning.

A gift in solidarity, says the older man, with that charming Russian accent.

They had become incredibly close after Alexei called him one early morning on the verge of having a breakdown, asking how John was handling it.

Apparently, Yelena’s mother, Melina, had the same disorder as Bob and Alexei was desperate to get advice. It got worse when Natasha died.

And although John assured him that every relationship was different, that it might not work out, Alexei still wanted to try. John admired him for that.

Their breakfasts became recurring and a great comfort.

In the midst of the storm they find a friend who understands what they are going through. A confidant.

Sometimes it gets hard, he found himself confessing even though he didn't want to. Even though his heart took it as a betrayal to Bob.

But talking about how hard it was wasn't proof of his inadequacy, he wasn't betraying Bob. He wasn't making an unhealthy competition about their misfortunes, who suffers more and can express that suffering and who doesn't deserve to complain because they suffer less. It wasn't making him love him less. He was learning that with his therapist.

Dr. Banner was a good therapist.

Sometimes you feel like you want to run away, he continues, sometimes you want the snow to swallow you like it swallows everything around it.

Sometimes Bob cries. He cried the night before.

It was one of those nights.

Those nights he begs John to leave, to be happy, but he also begs him to stay. He screams, on those days Bob screams a lot. He screams until his throat tears, until his voice becomes a whisper. It's not fair, he sobs into his lap.

It's not fair to John. It's not fair that he has this horrible disorder. It's not fair that they can't live a normal life.

And John listens to him, as he always does.

And he repeats to him that he loves him, as he always does.

He loves him when his heart is filled with joy.

He loves him when his heart aches.

He loves him. Period.

But also, he makes sure to let Alexei know, sometimes it's not so bad, sometimes you just know it will pass, because winter always comes to an end and spring always comes. Sometimes you can smell it in the air, sometimes you open a window and breathe even though it's a bad day, because you realize it's not forever. It's never forever. Spring comes, Alexei.

All couples have their bad days. John knows that. All couples argue, have their problems. Some break up, some strive to work together.

John and Bob strive to work. To stay in a solid three. They don't sleep until crying exhausts them from the guilt they feel for each other, they talk whenever they have to and ask how they can make it better, though John lets Bob process his emotions as long as he needs to. John also makes sure to process what he feels and thinks deeply about what he wants to say when the time comes, because missteps always happen even if they are not his intentions.

They both talk, they both feel, they both express themselves. They are making progress, really.

They use numbers to measure, they use their words when they are ready.

The air feels lighter, as he walks through the hallway. There's a strange glow around him, it's clean. It smells clean. It's shiny. He's not sure if it's his doing.

"B?" He asks. He almost expects the strumming to continue, but actually, it stops.

Bob is sitting on the small single couch they placed in the corner of his room. He has a pencil in his mouth and two notebooks on the floor, three more on the little table next to him. On the other small table, the folding one, there are two plates, one is almost empty while the other is full. It's Spicy Pork. And in the pretty vase Ava gave them when they moved in is a tulip.

John smiles. It's the first time he does it without wanting to cry.

It's his favorite food. It's his favorite flower.

"Six." He says without hesitation, nor waiting for John to ask. He seems eager to share the information. "I'm fine. Good." He is. He has a nice smile on his lips. That makes him happy.

John is happy.

"Eight." John replies. He walks into his room sitting on the floor. He picks up his plate and takes a moment to inhale the delicious aroma. "Do you want to tell me about your day, baby?" The notebooks are filled with his messy handwriting, although he manages to read his name in the frame, surrounded by little hearts.

Take Your Time.

"Oh, well, I didn't really do much but Lena came by this morning and brought Ava with her, so..."

The snow slowly fades away. It crunches under his step and leaves a wet patch behind.

The sadness leaves even more slowly. They will still have bad days, it is inevitable not to have them but now they are more prepared to deal with it.

The days, as John has learned, are no longer cold and become warm.

Spring is finally coming.

Notes:

So... I found out that someone stole all my works to feed their AI and also published on a russian platform without my consent. I felt very discouraged and thought about deleting everything, I even changed my username and hid the rest of my fics, but while reviewing what I had written before, I discovered that this OS fit very well with VoidWalker, so... enjoy.

If you're interested in staying in touch, you can follow me on tw! I'm reiofheart <3 also don't forget to leave a kudo or a comment, I'd really appreciate it.

PS: If you find any spelling mistakes, remember that at least you can be sure that a human wrote this and not stupid AI who takes advantage of someone else's effort and creativity. I will edit the typos as soon as I can, thank you for reading!