Title: Desperate times call for desperate measures [Original]
A/n: Happy Birthday to thequeen451
BIRTHDAY GIFT NUMBER ONE
----
He wakes up, it’s the middle of the night and the room is dark. He looks across the room, over to your bed, and when he sees it empty he sits up. He sighs and runs a hand through his hair. He grabs his pillow and stands up.
He heads to the kitchen and even though the lights are switched off, he knows you’re there. He leaves the hall light switched on, and doesn’t bother switching on the light in the kitchen.
‘What are you doing?’ He asks, though he sees you sitting on the floor with a warm mug of something in your hand.
You raise an eyebrow, not bothering to answer his question. He shrugs his shoulders and he lightly kicks your ankle. ‘Well, budge over.’
You reach above your head, at the counter, and hand over a mug and he gives you a look. ‘Were you planning this?’
‘No,’ you say, ‘you always wake up,’ and you leave something unsaid. You’re smiling fondly.
He bumps shoulders with you, ‘Of course I do, you idiot.’ He takes a sip and finds out it’s warm chocolate milk. ‘Couldn’t sleep?’
‘Mm,’ you say, ‘My feet are cold.’ You lean against him and rest your head on his shoulder. You rub them against his and he kicks you lightly again.
‘It’s your fault,’ but he throws the pillow to your feet to warm up yours and his. ‘Want me to tell you a story?’
‘Sure why not.’
He tells you about a prince who can’t find his princess and you scoff because that is really like him. But he shushes you and you keep quiet. He talks about a knight and a dragon, about fairies getting out of hand and making too many mistakes. About a prince and a knight crossing paths, and maybe they just needed to be bestfriends after all.
You listen, and he’s not able to finish the story because he falls asleep. You smile and look up, ‘You’re lame,’ you say, quiet and fond.
BIRTHDAY GIFT NUMBER ONE
----
He wakes up, it’s the middle of the night and the room is dark. He looks across the room, over to your bed, and when he sees it empty he sits up. He sighs and runs a hand through his hair. He grabs his pillow and stands up.
He heads to the kitchen and even though the lights are switched off, he knows you’re there. He leaves the hall light switched on, and doesn’t bother switching on the light in the kitchen.
‘What are you doing?’ He asks, though he sees you sitting on the floor with a warm mug of something in your hand.
You raise an eyebrow, not bothering to answer his question. He shrugs his shoulders and he lightly kicks your ankle. ‘Well, budge over.’
You reach above your head, at the counter, and hand over a mug and he gives you a look. ‘Were you planning this?’
‘No,’ you say, ‘you always wake up,’ and you leave something unsaid. You’re smiling fondly.
He bumps shoulders with you, ‘Of course I do, you idiot.’ He takes a sip and finds out it’s warm chocolate milk. ‘Couldn’t sleep?’
‘Mm,’ you say, ‘My feet are cold.’ You lean against him and rest your head on his shoulder. You rub them against his and he kicks you lightly again.
‘It’s your fault,’ but he throws the pillow to your feet to warm up yours and his. ‘Want me to tell you a story?’
‘Sure why not.’
He tells you about a prince who can’t find his princess and you scoff because that is really like him. But he shushes you and you keep quiet. He talks about a knight and a dragon, about fairies getting out of hand and making too many mistakes. About a prince and a knight crossing paths, and maybe they just needed to be bestfriends after all.
You listen, and he’s not able to finish the story because he falls asleep. You smile and look up, ‘You’re lame,’ you say, quiet and fond.