- Neither of you have been sleeping. 

You know that it's selfish to assume that you are just as tired as he is, because, obviously, you aren't going through what he's experiencing, exactly. But dammit if you don't feel it at three in the morning, holding his hair as the two of you sit huddled close together on the bathroom floor. 

Sick, you repeat in your mind. This monster, this thing, has made him so very sick. Inside and out. 

When he's done retching, he practically falls back against you, hardly any deliberation to it at all, it seems. 

As you wrap your arms around his frail frame, trying to protect him from something you could never vanquish on your own, he burrows his face into your neck. Fretting over how clammy his skin feels to the touch, you're more than concerned when you feel his trembling growing more violent against you, -- only to find that he's crying, completely wrecked with exhaustion, pain, fear. 

You shush him, pulling him closer to you, almost afraid that he might shatter like glass in your grip. You just hold onto him, trying your best to be the support that he needs. You're his rock, you remind yourself. Even so, it feels like you're just a measly pebble, and he needs a whole damn boulder. 

It's about the best you can do not to let him know that you're crying yourself. 

- They cancelled the tour. It was hidden under a coverup, and with good reason: you can't have the media barging in, making everything worse, as it tends to do.

So they said that someone had gotten sick. So terribly ill, that they simply couldn't go on.

Everyone believed it, if only because they had no reason not to. The get well messages pour in every day... for Jerome. 

You almost wish that wasn't the case, you think, though you're awfully ashamed of yourself for doing so. And yet, when the love of your life seems to be in the midst of his darkest moments, broken, scared to death, and yes, sick as a dog, you wish you could say that he had a whole army behind him, rather than just you and the other handful of people who cared whether or not he got clean. 

You consider this as you watch over him, so relieved to see him finally drift off into a somewhat-peaceful sleep, even if it is in the middle of a day after three nights without a wink. 

Though you try your best not to disturb him, you find yourself placing one hand against the side of his face, stroking gently, inspiring a low groan from him, more misery than satisfaction at a loved one's touch. 

You pull away, settling to simply lie beside him. Looking at his sleeping face, you can't help but note how beautiful he still is: even lost and sickly, he's yours, still the man you met all those years ago. Still the person that you fell in love with. 

There's still life there, you decide. You've just got to re-light that flame deep within him. Help him keep going.

So quickly that you doubt he'll notice it, your lips brush lovingly against the edge of his jaw.

Get well soon.

- The two of you are making progress.

You're beyond anxious, leaving the house with him; if anyone recognized him, there'd be hell to pay, not to mention that there are so many things that tempt addiction out in public. 

You're starting small, you remind yourself. No large crowds, no strange food or drink. Just a walk in the park. 

You can tell he's apprehensive when you arrive. It breaks your heart a little bit, how everything seems to scare him so much these days. Maybe he's always been this way, you think. Maybe everything else he did just covered it up. 

Whatever the case, you try to reassure him with your gentle smile, taking hold of his hand. You're still here, and you want to remind him of that. 

A strange emotion, -- something like relief, -- floods over you as he takes that chance, stepping out into the sunlight with you.

...and so is he, you tell yourself. 

- This venture is much more pleasant than you expected. The park is calm at this time of the day, and you're almost tempted to tell him that he can take his sunglasses off. But you don't; you don't want to make him feel uncomfortable, nor to be reminded of the dark circles underneath his eyes. 

You're just trying to have a nice Sunday afternoon, you tell yourself. A day of peace. 

You don't let go of each other's hands as you leisurely stroll, seeming to both search for each other's reassurance and wish to enjoy one another's company. So you walk, chattering lightly, until he's too tired to walk anymore, ready to take a break. 

That's when you stop on a grassy hill, beginning to unpack the lunch you brought along with you. 

He smiles appreciatively, managing to polish off his meal rather quickly. Afterwards, the two of you stay there for a while, admiring the scenery. Spring is beginning, slowly but surely; the warmth of the sun being one of the many things that make you feel at peace in the moment. 

After a long silence, interrupted only by the chirping of birds, you lean in closer to him, allowing him to rest against you. He's still fragile, you think as he melts into your loving touch, but less so than he was before. 

Gently, you bring your lips to his in a sweet kiss. Careful not to cause a scene, you pull away, unable to help the slight smile that forms once you hear his slight whine of disappointment. 

Even in this state, he still wants more of you. 

You bring your lips close to him once more, if only to offer a low whisper. "Ready to head back home?"

- You've missed this. 

Sure, things aren't quite the same as they used to be; the party that you have going on in your living room is hardly what you would've considered it to be a year ago. There aren't any alcoholic drinks or other substances being shared by your guests, -- instead, your spirits seem to be lifted by the sense of joy in the room alone. 

New beginnings are all around tonight, it seems, you think as the New Year draws nearer. 

The band is back together, as you know them; Jerome, no longer 'sick with the stomach flu,';  Danny, happy to be able to entertain the masses once again with his personal brand of envelope-pushing; Charlie, excitedly rambling at the mere mention of new music being made ("come on, man, when?"); and Robin, looking on with a quiet expression of mixed concern and relief. 

Most striking is the one in the center of all, the one who has changed the most over the course of the year.

Trent. 

You're practically glowing with pride at the changes he's made over the past few months. He's hardly the person he was; he's truly himself again, back and better than ever. He's happy now, without the help of anything but the belief that you and his other loved ones have in him, and, slowly but surely, the belief that he's building in himself. Somehow, he brought himself back from the very thing that almost broke him completely.

You swear that you've never loved him more. 

- You've spent most of the evening pressed close to him, basking in his warmth. Halfway through the night, he had pulled you into his lap. You haven't moved since.

It makes things easier when the clock strikes midnight. As everyone else in the room cheered and cried out, you leaned in, kissing him so very passionately, only to have him respond with just as much vigor.

He pulls away just slightly, only to whisper to you with a smile on his face and a sparkle in his eye. "Happy New Year."

"Happy New Year," you echo, wrapping your arms around his neck. You lean in closer, as if you were sharing some great secret. "Now... what's next?"

"Hmmm..." He seems to think about this for a long time, his hand resting over yours. "Well... I suppose we could finally take the step and..." He lightly traces over your ring finger before pulling away with a sly grin. "Oh, I don't know. I wouldn't want to ruin the surpise."

"Mm-hmm." You give him a coy grin. "Then, after that, maybe we could finally.... oh, I don't know... expand the family..."

He laughs, tightening his arms around your waist. "...and adopt another dog? That sounds like a wonderful idea."

"Yeah, exactly. The pitter-patter of little puppy paws." You kiss him again before the smile fades away from your face, your expression going serious as you look him in the eye. 

"Hey," you start. "You know I'm really--"

"Proud of me?" he finishes with a smirk. "Yeah. I'm really proud of me, too." He kisses the hand that he holds in his before pulling away. "I can't see where we go from here."