Beelzebub (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
gluttoning) wrote2023-08-28 10:39 am
gluttoning) wrote2023-08-28 10:39 am
SATURDAY NIGHT FOOTBALL (The World)
[FOOTBALL NOISES
aka this for IRL football watching or any communications outside Fragment. Yay football. :)]
[FOOTBALL NOISES
aka this for IRL football watching or any communications outside Fragment. Yay football. :)]
no subject
His fingers curl and brush along the underside of Barrett's eye before he lets his hands slip away, carrying away what's left of the wet lingering there - taking in, for a moment, his red-eyed, wet-faced gaze; better now, he thinks. He wonders how often Barrett lets himself cry.
Then he abides by the charmingly eager tug and he pushes himself up and into the bed. It's a quick and easy motion, slipping in just beside him - against the chest, just under the arm - a little snug, but comfortably so. He's thankfully petite enough to Tetris in. As he comes to settle in against him, cheek brushing against his chest (not really sitting up, but not fully lying down yet, either), he is quiet for a moment; past the familiar sterility of the hospital and its familiar fabrics, he feels... )
... You're warm.
( He says, gazing up at him. It's a tone of surprise, and positive regard. To Mithrun, who runs a little stuff and cold, and for the both of them sat in the off-kilter cool hospital, Barrett might as well be a radiator. If he thinks back on it, he thinks he may have vaguely noticed this before, on the occasions Barrett has picked him up, but he's never totally registered it like he finally has now. )
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With Morgan up on the bed, Barrett's arm threads back to curl against the smaller man's arm and waist - an idle rest more than an actual hold, given how much is still attached to Barrett for equipment. The comment cuts through the whir of machines, earning a chuckle that vibrates through his chest as he rests his free hand against his own stomach.]
You too, huh...
Booker says that, too. Something about me being a good place for naps, I guess.
[A pause, a glance down.]
Is it bad?
no subject
If the awkward and smushed-up positioning of the bed, the equipment, and the Barrett bother Mithrun, he doesn't seem to indicate it; or, mind if he does, as with most things.
Naps, huh... )
... No. You're comfortable.
( Hmm!! He sets his cheek against Barrett with a contemplative expression, as if to test it. (He may look too seriously thoughtful considering the levity of the subject matter.) Hadn't he done this before at the picnic? He was a little tipsy then, he thinks... Had he fallen asleep then? Was that because of the alcohol, or Barrett? )
... I can't really sleep, normally. I usually take medication for it. ( Sleeping, like eating and The Basic Human Instinct To Remain Alive, is also a thing he lost. ) But I feel like I might've fallen asleep against you last time...
( :thinking: )
no subject
[The anti-Booker...... well, he supposes it makes sense, given what else Morgan struggles with. But sleep was an odd one. It felt so overpowering natural so long as you were tired enough and comfortable enough.
Maybe he just didn't remember how to be comfortable? But, no, he just said... hm.
Hmmmmmmmm. His brain creaks open, slowly, groggily. Test? Is this where you'd offer that?]
Booker falls asleep on me all the time. So I'm used to it. I guess I didn't notice at the picnic...
You wanna give it a try? It's, uh... not the nicest place to sleep right now, but... [He shuffles a bit to adjust one of the several hospital blankets draped around him, tucking the textured fabric against Morgan as best he can.]
I don't mind. It gets cold in here. And... it's easier, to sleep when you're not all alone. Sometimes, I mean.
[...]
I'll stay with you. Until you fall asleep. Just like before. [Just like when their positions were reversed, thousands of miles away over nothing but a phone, Barrett wrapped in the cold of night while Morgan slipped off to the drone of hospital monitors.
The touch at Morgan's waist curls a little.
He likes this. Not being apart this time. Even if this isn't a good situation... he likes the good in the moment.]
no subject
It isn't lost on him, the familiar echo of their situation - a mirror of some week ago, an inverse of the day before; it isn't lost on him, the warming sensation of his firmer hold. )
... Sleep too, if you're tired.
( He closes his eyes in quiet affirmation that he'll see if he can get some rest against the gentle radiator that Barrett is. He shifts - not so much getting comfortable but finding some closer position, arm curling up over Barrett's chest as he rests against him - and seems to settle there. )
I'll be back tomorrow, too. As long as you're here.
( He's not going anywhere. He couldn't tell you why or what for; he just simply has decided this would be true, and so he will be here.
His breathing remains steady for a time; the same, quiet breaths in his same, slow rhythm. Conscious, not really minding the silence; not needing to talk, even if it's what he likes. Being here is all right. And in the quiet depths of his relaxed mind, there is some part of him that finds relief in this; he doesn't realize how exhausted he'd been, all wound up and upset over Barrett.
Eventually, his breathing starts to slow. It's a gradual gradient. It languishes in its pace, but it flows its way to restfulness eventually. His expression relaxes, and the tension in his muscles goes soft.
Mithrun doesn't really dream; and he doesn't either, this time. But the darkness that finds him now is something more comforting, more safe than he's found it in a long time. )