(Untitled)

[dingdongdoodily]

It's late at night and the rock star can't sleep, so he's taken to writing.
Again.

Pickles has a pen and his notepad, and a considerably smaller bottle fortress than usual, smoking considerably less than usual.

He's waiting for someone.
A hippie, perhaps.
One that likes to wonder where his boyfriend wandered off to, in the middle of the night.

(

Comments

[cheevy]

He hadn't been able to sleep, either. It was cold. It was a sort of cold even cuddling up against Pickles hadn't helped. So Miniver had squirmed carefully out of bed and tucked Pickles in to keep him warm and come down to the bar to get a glass of warm milk.

Thing is, the milk wasn't doing the trick, either. So after he'd finished the glass, he had asked for a glass of brandy and is just heading back up to the room when he spots Pickles.

Squeak?

He scoots over, wearing fuzzy pyjama pants and a knitted atrocity of a sweater he could probably get lost inside of.

"Hi. Sorry, I'd tried not to wake you up..." He plops into the seat beside Pickles with a yawn. "Came down for some milk. Didn't work. Just goin' back up."

[dingdongdoodily]

Pickles was wearing a pair of pajama pants with skull prints. They were Old Him's.

"Hrm? No, y'didn't wake me up, I was just.. y'know, restless." He wrapped an arm around Miniver's waist.
"Sure, we'll go up, just one more line." He said, writing the line down, before nudging Miniver. "C'mon. Sleepin' is better'n bein' down here middle of the night."

It was spooky-sorts of quiet. And that bothered him.

He stood, and kept Miniver close as they padded back upstairs.