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The walls Dirk has up are extraordinarily high, even with those he loves, the ones he cares for doesn't see him ever, really turn off.
Always thinking, brain analyzing, toeing the line of a breakdown because his brain doesn't stop. It's exhausting, the blonde feels it in his bones, in the way his shoulders tense, in his hands when his grip gets too tight. Knuckles turning white.
There is no off button for his mind, as much as he'd like to program it, maybe cut into his own brain and get the voices to shut the fuck up for once. It'd be easy, probably. Making robots and impossible shit happen is his thing. Or, a darker part of himself thinks, just to pull the plug so he can solve it and be done with it.
Mind jumbling, he doesn't register your knocking. Your head peeking through the door when you receive no answer.
When you start to bug him at night, he's a bit annoyed. Not enough to kick you out, but behind his shades he can't help but roll his eyes.
You've always clung to his side more than you did with the others, wordlessly finding him. He gets it a bit, the cool guy facade he uses has that effect. But it works a bit differently with you.
You've always been a worrier, always trying to take care of others before yourself. You can see through him better than he'd like to admit, and thus stick close. Traits he loathes and loves in equal measure.
Deep down, he's pleased at the thought that you seek his company. (Enjoys the fact you seek him over Jake, over Roxy and Jane. Let's it fuel his ego just a hint.)
This is a normal thing friends do, however Dirk has never been able to meet or understand fully the expections of friendship, just barely scraping by. He has no idea how he managed this far.
Eyes burning, but he still keeps tinkering. if his fingers keep moving, and his brain is calculating just how to make this stupid fucking contraption work, it'd be great.
Rather focus on this meaningless project than spend a moment thinking about himself, he grinds his teeth together, until you shuffle in close, leaning into his space from over his shoulder.
"Dirk?"
He takes in a breath, and exhales softly, dropping the tools down and popping his knuckles in a vain hope to release tension.
"Yeah? What do you need?"
"Don't need anything, its just-" your eyes squint at the clock in the corner of his room.
"It's 12am buddy, I think you need to sleep."
"I don't think sleeping is the move, I have certain things I need to do, shit that can't wait." He shrugs, not paying your concern any mind.
Dirk doesn't need a babysitter, he raised himself. All that stupid shit the human body needs.
No one knows, or will ever know how he would avoid the kitchen for days on end, how he'd pass out and find himself on the floor, head throbbing, blood specks littering the ceramic tile, lingering in the grouts. The way his teeth would bleed when it occurred to him that 'hey, maybe I should brush my disgusting teeth', hair roughly combed by a brush, only to be snagged on matts. Half assing the bandages on his arms from where he got too overzealous, andthe lack of care he treated himself with when the bandages get soaked through with blood.
He figured it out, didn't he?
He doesn't need your care.
No one really argues with him anymore about it. No one can't make the Dirl do what he doesn't want to do. Many people have tried and failed.
Striders are stubborn and it is best to let them do whatever the fuck they please.
"Dirk, when was the last time you slept?" Your voice is soft, like you're trying to avoid upsetting him. But it does the opposite effect, his guard raises. Teeth baring.
"What does that matter to you exactly? Shouldn't you be in your bed and not botherin' me? No one else awake to hear you talk about pointless shit?" Playing into an insecurity. Great.
The man winces internally the second the words come out his mouth. He sounds like a fucking asshole, but he doesn't apologize.
Doesn't take it back, not even when you flinch a bit, you look at him with those big wide eyes and it feels like he just kicked a puppy.
He expects you to leave then, for you to scoff and roll your eyes and walk out the door. It'd be better, Dirk thinks. Less chance of him ruining things even further. It's a good calculation.
Doesn't play out though, your eyes narrow and glare into him, and suddenly he feels the back of his white tee being tugged, hard.
"Okay, so you wanna do this the hard way? Fine. Let's go."
"Excuse me?" His brows raise high, your only indicator that he's shocked.
"You heard me whiteboy, let's go."
With a startling amount of strength he did not realize you had for such a small thing (He's 6'1, it isn't rare for people to be smaller than him) and a lil shocked by the audacity of you, he lets himself be dragged
Up off the chair, through the doorway and then to his bedroom, you kick the door open, grumbling under your breath.
He towers behind you, taking in the warmth of your hand, the way your fingers curling around own with a death grip. It's rare that he doesn't have his black gloves on. It's strangely intimate, for his palms to touch yours.
It feels pathetic, to even admit that he feels something akin to nerves (butterflies more like) about touching you like this.
The small gnawing part of his brain starts to think, 'wow, you don't deserve this don't you? Why would they of all people, spend their time worrying about your wellbeing? You must be so pitiful, that's it. They must've been sent by Dave or some shit to check on your miserable ass, your disgusting hands, do they even know what you are?-' incessant spiraling, the second he is left alone with his own thoughts.
Dirk blinks, and the next thing he knows you've pushed him into bed, his back against the soft material and he groans, feeling it deep in his chest.
It has been awhile since he's slept on it, passing out at his desk more often than not. The muscles in back and neck lose tension, he allows himself to sink into it. To allow himself a crumb of comfort.
Bringing a hand to rub the numbness from his face, the stubble rough against his palms, scratching against the scars and small scabbed over cuts. It stings a bit.
"Sleep." You lean over him, your eyes narrowed into slits as you have your arms crossed. Trying to look intimidating.
You don't, not to him anyways. His eyes drink you in, the way your hair hangs a bit, the way your right eye twitches a bit in irritation. He doesn't deserve it, you should be doing this with anyone else. Surely the others need you, they'd appreciate you the way you deserve. Yet you're here. With him. He'd laugh if he had the energy.
"I can't." Simple and to the point, he doesn't think it'll work.
"Why not?" Yeah. Figures.
"Not tired." He's reminded of the stinging of his eyes.
"Bullshit, your bags are fucking huge, I can see them from underneath the shades." You wave your hands gesturing to his face.
"Why are you looking so hard? Hoping to see somethin? You think I got weird shit under here?" Deflect, deflect and deflect some more.
"Like what? Your eyes? Dirk, you haven't slept for days. Stop trying to ragebait me and at least try." You groan, grabbing his only pillow and proceeding to beat him with it, you have half a mind to press it to his face.
Suffocating would help speed up the process at least.
Dirk makes no move to stop you, just laying stark still.
"You done yet or are you still gonna keep this stupid shit going. I need to get back to my desk."
"Fuck you. Scoot over." Dirk moves a bit to the side as you crawl into his bed, body tense as it registers your warmth next to his. His jaw ticks, and he forces himself and every nerve in his body to relax. Wants to run, to lock himself in somewhere away from you. It's like you don't understand, he doesn't know how to have human contact, despite these years later. His childhood or lack thereof still seeping its way in and reminding him of how fundamentally different he is.
"Is this a sleepover? At our age? You're seri-"
You pay him no mind this time.
"Yes I'm serious. I'm staying here until your ass goes to sleep." You start to get comfortable, turning onto your side and staring at his face, curled into a little ball.
He briefly registers it as cute before he moves on.
"Dude, cmon. This is too much even for you."
"Don't care, maybe if you took care of yourself we wouldn't be here. This is your own fault."
Dirk feels your hand move to slap him in the chest, and his own shoots out to grab it, keeping it against him. Selfishly taking in the feeling of you. "You're a pain in my ass."
"Yeah whatever," you move to play with his fingers since he's keen on not letting you go.
He prays to whoever it is up there that you don't feel the shaking, how his breath is a bit shaky.
You click the bedside lamp on, leaving a soft glow around the room. It soothes him little, knowing you won't be able to see all of him clearly.
"Talk about something at least. It's boring to just lay here."
So you do, filling the room with your voice.
Staring up at the ceiling, he listens to you talk about random things on your mind, some fictional man, a new video game that let's you create little avatars of anyone you want, the drama happening in said game. Eyes fluttering a couple of times before finally shutting for good, breath evening out. His fingers finally releasing, allowing you to get some circulation back into them.
You shuffle a bit in the dark, gingerly grabbing his shades with a delicate hand, knowing how important it is to him, and placing them on the side table.
These are the only times you get to see him with the barrier, a full unobstructed view of his face. Lashes longer than they have any right to be, the scars littered around his face, the one that runs horizontally across his nose. Freckles that kiss his skin.
"Goodnight Dirk."