[He is standing on a rooftop with broken bones and screaming muscles and Damian is holding him, quietly. He is sitting in a hospital room and John's hand is on his shoulder, reassuring. Then, he's on a field full of blood and detritus and dead Black Mercy and Guy's arm is around him, as though afraid Kyle will slip away if he lets go (I know what your worst fear is). There's a fruit on his face and Zatanna is hugging him too (did anyone tell you you're kind of amazing).]
[His language is not words. These do not just... happen, for him; he lives in the quiet strokes of the brush, in movement, and in music. Where you can wrap up your sadness with greys and blacks, put hope in a small painting of a lighthouse by the sea (stop pushing paint around Kyle, none of this means anything). Where joy is the simple things like sitting on a sofa flirting with someone and not having to think about pain, or war, or the feel of intense heat on his skin as they tore Ion out of him and expected him to live with the silence in his mind, alone.]
[He needs to be pulled back. Usually, other people do it, but he's cognizant, now, of what's happening to him, and well. He fights everything. He might as well fight himself, too.]
[Out of sheer desperation, (because he can't find the words, he never had those) Jim gets wrapped in a hug. Kyle's fingers curl in his shirt; it's not a tight grip, but it is one that says I do give a damn. He rests his head on Jim's shoulder, steadying his breathing, taking what he needs. And he is still waters again, calm, neutral.]
no subject
[His language is not words. These do not just... happen, for him; he lives in the quiet strokes of the brush, in movement, and in music. Where you can wrap up your sadness with greys and blacks, put hope in a small painting of a lighthouse by the sea (stop pushing paint around Kyle, none of this means anything). Where joy is the simple things like sitting on a sofa flirting with someone and not having to think about pain, or war, or the feel of intense heat on his skin as they tore Ion out of him and expected him to live with the silence in his mind, alone.]
[He needs to be pulled back. Usually, other people do it, but he's cognizant, now, of what's happening to him, and well. He fights everything. He might as well fight himself, too.]
[Out of sheer desperation, (because he can't find the words, he never had those) Jim gets wrapped in a hug. Kyle's fingers curl in his shirt; it's not a tight grip, but it is one that says I do give a damn. He rests his head on Jim's shoulder, steadying his breathing, taking what he needs. And he is still waters again, calm, neutral.]
[At peace.]