Archive of Our Own ^beta

SMG4 itched at his bandaged arm, grimacing as he tugged at the wrapping.
He let out a groan, aching for the day it could finally come off. It got in the way of his work, his everyday routines — and the relentless itching was driving him up the wall.

With a frustrated huff, he flopped back into the headboard, glaring at the offending limb as if sheer willpower could make the bandages vanish. His fingers twitched, desperate to peel the layers away, but he knew better. The last time he'd tried that, Meggy had burst into his room, screaming as she pounced on him.

He sighed, rubbing his head into the headboard as if he could fuse into it. "Just a few more days," he muttered to himself, gently-but-aggressively drumming his fingers on it. But even as he tried to focus on the scripts piled up in front of him, the itch crawled up his arm like a thousand tiny ants.
SMG4 ran his fingers through his hair, the itch crawling up his arm like it wanted to claim him whole. The room felt tight, the air heavy with the buzz of unfinished scripts and half-burned ideas. Just when he thought he might lose it, the door creaked open.

SMG3 stepped in, eyes sharp but calm, like a storm waiting to break but holding back. "The more you itch, the more it will itch"he said, voice low but teasing, a smirk tugging at his lips.
SMG4 glared but didn't answer. Instead, his fingers twitched near the bandage like they wanted to rebel.
SMG3 rolled his eyes, smirk prominent as he dropped down beside him. "You'll regret it. You always do."

SMG4 sighed, letting his head lean against SMG3. "I know. But it feels like the bandages are holding me hostage."
SMG3's gaze softened, just a little. "I'm going to hold you hostage if you rip them off." He teased, Pausing as a gentle laugh escaping SMG4's lips as he said it. " Maybe even for ransom. "

SMG4's laugh faded into a breath, a quiet thing he hadn't meant to let out. It surprised even him—like something buried deep had wriggled free, just for a second. He stayed there, head resting against SMG3's shoulder, and for once, SMG3 didn't shrug him off or make a joke about it.
Instead, SMG3 just sat there with him, still and steady. His smirk softened—not gone, just dialed down. "Y'know," he said, voice slower now, "for someone who's supposedly 'fine,' you look like a gremlin who hasn't slept in three days."
SMG4 huffed. "That's generous. Try five."
SMG3 raised an eyebrow. "So this is your descent into madness. Not with a bang, but with a scratch."
That earned a quiet snort. SMG4 shifted just a little, moving a bit but too stubborn to move away from SMG3.

So instead, he just shifted slightly, enough that SMG3 wouldn’t fall if he leaned more.
SMG3 didn’t say anything at first, just settled beside him, letting the quiet stretch out between them. After a few beats, his voice dropped low—soft, almost like he was checking a pulse.
“You look like you’re about to snap, but... not cry. That’s new.”
SMG4 let out a breath that almost was a laugh. “No,” he said. “I don’t cry when I’m tired. I just... stop functioning.”

“Well, that checks out,” SMG3 muttered as he glanced at the scripts scattered like fallen leaves and chuckled softly. “This is probably the farthest away from any tech you’ve been in days.”
SMG4 smiled into his shoulder, “Fuck you.” He said weakly, closing his eyes, presumably about to fall asleep.
SMG3 rolled his eyes as he looked at SMG4, blinking slowly as he pulled out his phone.
“Whatever you say man.” He muttered quietly, leaning onto SMG4’s head lightly as he scrolled— Subconsciously holding his hand.