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Perpetua is floating in warmth.
For the first time in what feels like weeks, he relaxes not just his body but his mind. The frightened grip he keeps on himself lets go and he whines against Frankie's chest, letting all that isolation, all that frustration, all that fear come to the surface as his face screws up.
"Oh, little bat." Frankie coos softly, just a whisper above his head. "It's been a long road, huh?"
Somehow, that does it. This perfect moment, of feeling swaddled and cared for and safe, and that's when it pours out.
Perpetua turns his head more tightly against Frankie and sobs.
It's loud and wracking, his shoulders shaking with the force of it, his eyes and cheeks instantly hot and wet and uncomfortable as they linger in Frankie's quickly-soaking shirt. Perpetua winds his fingers into any bit of fabric he can find, clutching closer to Frankie in a childish, desperate way.
"Shh, shh." She says, and Perpetua knows without being told that it's a comforting noise, not one literally meant to tell him to be quiet. Frankie has never asked for Perpetua to hide himself for her, to make himself smaller just to be worthy of scraps of affection. Instead she's showered him with love, a strong wall of support.
So he clings to her, but he doesn't try to be quiet. He cries, eyes screwed shut and cheeks hot as he buries himself against the soft fabric of Frankie's day-off t-shirt.
He feels a pressure in the back of his throat, a wailing need that hurts even deeper than what his crying can reach. He got so good at being quiet, before he came here, before he was told to sing with his full voice, and he feels some of that trembling fear come back...
Frankie's fingers card through his hair, blunt fingertips rubbing his scalp. His mask is off, making it easier to cry, easier to tuck his face against her chest, easier to feel like he might be younger right now. It soothes him enough that despite his terror, he says what quivers at the back of his throat, wanting to burst out of him:
"Mommy." Hot and desperate tears seem to try to drown him. Embarrassment tears at his stomach, but in this moment, he finds that he trusts Frankie enough to reach out for her like this. "Mommy, please." He's never called her that before, even when they've softly dabbled with this kind of play.
Frankie gasps against him, but she doesn't go stiff with disapproving shock. She melts against him, pulling him even tighter. "Oh, baby." She says reverently, voice tight. Perpetua knows that he was right to try this, and it redoubles his sobs. "Yeah, Mommy's got you. Mommy's here. Shh, shh, my good boy, it's okay."
Perpetua is held tightly, the both of them collapsed innocently in Frankie's bed. Large, warm hands rub up and down Perpetua's back, soothing the muscles that are starting to feel sore from tensing up and crying. They pet along his spine, press between his shoulder blades, never going entirely still. Gradually it takes up more and more of his attention. The sobs naturally turn to silent tears, and eventually to occasional sniffles.
A hand runs up to cup the back of his skull, and he lets go of the weight of his head. His neck is supported, safe and sound between Frankie's hand and the pillows. He's safe.
"One second, baby." Frankie pulls away and then unceremoniously takes off her shirt, leaving herself in just a sports bra. When she comes back over, Perpetua instantly understands why — the cloying wet of his tears soaking her shirt are now gone, and he can cuddle against her dry shoulder.
She's warm. Her skin is soft, and when he briefly opens his eyes, he sees freckles and little moles and scars dotting even just the few inches of skin right in front of him. She pulls him in closer and he goes bonelessly with her, too tired now even to dramatically cling except with his fingers, which curl pleadingly against her upper arm.
"I think it's bedtime for now." She says, punctuated by a yawn. She doesn't say it unkindly — she isn't annoyed with him. Perpetua can feel that.
He nods in agreement. He's too tired to talk, or too young, or too all of the above.
"Go to sleep, love. I've got you." If Perpetua hadn't already cried himself out, he might shed a tear of wounded joy. As it is, he just curls up as tightly against her as he can, happy beyond measure that they're nearly the same height, that she swallows up his frame with her width and he feels so surrounded by affection.
"Thank you, Mommy."