(A/N I don't want to bum y'all out, but this one will be kind of heavy. TW for self-destructive thoughts.)

- The ocean is looking more and more inviting lately. Trent didn't expect to think this when he first bought the beach house, but God, now that he's here, trying to write songs and sort through the murky waters of his mind, he does.

- He doesn't know if it's just one thing, though he highly suspects that it isn't. Saying goodbye to his grandmother was one very horrible thing, but there are others: everyone either expects something from him nowadays or is leaving because he isn't giving them what they started expecting a long time ago. Everyone wants more shows, more interviews, the next record, his valued attention, and he just doesn't feel like he can give it. This makes him feel like he's broken, not good for much of anything. 

- He had come here to try to combat that feeling, hoping the loveliness of the setting might stir up some inspiration, make him more productive, but it doesn't. It just gives him these terribly fascinating thoughts of what it would be like to explore those waters, everything so very blue. 

- He tries to shake it off, but it's a fixation, those fickle little things that come along with these horrible anxious feelings. He writes it down, but when he reads his words back to himself, they're so blatantly melancholy that they make him sick. He tucks these writings away, worried they'll be found.

- And that brings him back around full circle to another worry: you. 

- He doesn't feel like he deserves you. In fact, he feels that his failures even fail you; you were the one who flew back to Mercer with him, stayed with him in his childhood bedroom with his head on your chest, gently stroking his hair as you begged him to talk to you, please, baby, say something. You're the one who fends off all those ravenous people at parties and in the streets, somehow managing to tell them that he really doesn't want to talk right now without looking like a bitch, squeezing his hand to reassure him. You're the only one in the world that he really believes when you say you won't ever leave him, -- oh God, it scares him, how deeply he believes you.

- And he never feels like he gives enough back, -- he doesn't know that he even can. What good is he if he can't even talk to the person he trusts most in the world as his very being falls to pieces?

- If you found those lyrics, you'd freak the hell out. He hates to think about that, so he tries to put them where you won't see them.

- But he just can't seem to write it out of his system. Even now, in the dead of night, when sleep eludes him, he's tempted. Finally, he gives in; he pulls the covers back and heads towards one of the many windows, looking out towards the shining tide. 

- He hates it. He wishes he could stop looking, stop thinking, just stop doing everything he does now and start again, be better, be what everybody actually deserved. His heart begins to hammer in his ears as he thinks about it; his mind is racing, and he doesn't even know if he wants it to stop.

- And then it does when he turns back towards the bed, only to see you stirring slightly, disturbed by the absence of his body next to yours. That subtle movement alone makes him feel so terribly selfish.

- The thing is, you're not perfect, either. You've always been closer to whole than he is, but what makes you want to understand him so badly is that you know what it's like to be afraid, trapped within your own insides. You know what it's like to keep it all bottled up, and you love him enough to never want to subject him to that. 

- You adore him, you really do, need him, even. He knows this without even hearing the words. It's there in the three calls that you make to him whenever you can't go with him on tour, your faint sniffling on the other end and the way you sometimes tell him to come home soon. It's in the hand in his as you pull him through hungry crowds, in the tenderness of your touch, in your eyes when you look into his, that magnetic connection just before you kiss him that somehow makes it feel new every time. You'd fall apart if anything happened to him, and he would never want that to happen. 

- With this thought, he crawls back under the covers, back next to you, so close to your embrace. And he can't help it: he starts crying. 

- You wake as soon as you feel the trembling next to you, concerned. You go wide-eyed upon realizing what's going on before taking him into your arms, holding him as close as you can, asking what's wrong, what happened. 

- He simply holds onto you tighter, telling you that he'll tell you, just give him a second. You nod, eyes full of worry. 

- "God, I love you so much." He surprises you with a quick kiss on the lips, the most heartfelt one he's given you in months, you think. Then he looks you in the eye, taking a deep breath before continuing. "I'm thinking we should get away from the ocean."

(A/N I'm so sorry, everyone. 

There's more Protective Dad Trent coming tomorrow, though.)