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Tom groaned, turning over in his messy bed, getting further tangled in already twisted sheets.
He hated these late nights, the ones where sleep avoided him like the plague. The bed was comfortable, it wasn't too hot or too cold, but he just couldn't get his brain to shut up. Thoughts and whispers and memories clawed through his mind, with no daily distractions to keep them at bay. Sleep teased, but was too far away to allow the darkness to silence these pestering things.
It was just one of those nights.
Counting sheep? Thinking good thoughts? Psh. That never worked. At least, that never worked when he was sober.
After another annoying thought pulled at him, Tom finally gave up on just laying there. He sat up quickly, grumbling under his breath as he struggled to untangle his legs from his sheets. He needed a drink, or a distraction. Whatever came first by the time he reached the kitchen. He wasn't picky.
He didn't bother to turn on the light, just slipping on his previously stripped blue hoodie and dragging himself to his bedroom door. Tom didn't bother putting on pants, or even fix his messy hair. It wasn't like there was a point. No one would be up this late. Besides, it wouldn't be the first time Edd or Matt caught him in his boxers or with a drooping bedhead.
He pried open his door, but made sure not to open it too quickly.
The darkened hall greeted him, and he wasn't surprised. Tom licked his lips as he turned from his empty room, towards the kitchen, thinking of that bottle he kept in the freezer behind the microwavable burritos. His roommates knew it was there, but he knew they didn't like finding his alcohol staring them dead in the face. Since they had the decency not to pester him about it, he figured he could return the favor by keeping it out of their way.
Tom would've reached the kitchen, found nothing interesting to munch on, grabbed his Smirnoff, and retreated to his room to drink and stare at the ceiling until he slipped unconscious. But, he stopped before he reached the kitchen.
The bathroom light was on, and the door was wide open.
It wouldn't have been weird if Edd had gotten up to use the bathroom, it happened, but Edd always kept the door closed. Hell, sometimes he even forgot to turn the bathroom light on when he had a midnight bathroom break. And Matt? Matt never got up to use the bathroom in the middle of the night. Once he was asleep, as far as Tom was concerned, he stayed asleep until his alarm woke him up in the mid-morning. Tom couldn't remember ever running into Matt in the middle of the night, unless they had been having one of their movie marathons.
It was enough that it got his attention, so Tom stepped up to the bathroom door to see what was different tonight.
He didn't have to look for more than a second, when his pit eyes saw a certain ginger sitting on the bathroom counter.
"Matt?" Tom called curiously, wincing at the brightness of the bathroom.
Matt was sitting sideways on the counter, his back to the wall, with his feet casually resting on the sides of the sink. His knees were loosely curled up to his chest, and he seemed to be focused on something in his lap. He blinked rapidly at Tom's call, as if forced out of a daydream, and looked up.
"Oh, Tom," He breathed, looking tired, "Fancy seeing you."
Tom hesitated, staring at Matt blankly for a minute. Matt seemed to be wearing his pjs, lilac short sweats and a long loose night shirt, which caught Tom even more off guard. Matt often disliked leaving his room in his nightwear, and only tended to settle for it when he felt irritable, or during sleep overs. Even then, he seemed self conscious.
"What are you doing?"
Matt flashed a shy, weak smile, before bringing one of his hands up, wiggling his fingers.
"Painting my nails. I found a bottle that I forgot I had and decided I could use a touch up." Each of his nails was bright with a fresh coat of bright purple, gleaming wetly with each flutter of his fingers. Around his curled body were several other nail polish colors littering the tile counter.
Tom was unimpressed.
"Why are you doing that out here?" Tom asked, slouching a bit as he scanned his friend.
Matt's smile fell slightly, but he turned back to looking at his hands.
"The lights better in here." Matt shrugged, reaching out to grab the polish top. He moved slow as he dabbed the wand against the sides, and brought it up to finish his other hand.
Tom made a scoffing noise, but didn't say anything. He just sort of watched Matt.
He didn't shake or sniff, but each of his movements seemed tired, almost mechanical. His usually bright eyes were hooded, and his spiked hair was out of place and seemed to slump. Like his shoulders. Tom didn't really know why, but just seeing Matt's messy hair and the tiredness in his actions made Tom suddenly feel sympathetic. Perhaps what threw him off the most, was that Matt didn't seem to have enough energy to turn the tables on him and ask why Tom was up this late too.
"Long night," Tom mused, and the way he spoke could be taken as both as a question and a statement.
Matt glanced at him, and he let out a sad sounding laugh.
"I'm obvious, am I?"
"Yup."
"... You too?"
"Yeah."
"Oh, ha... Well, uh, would you like to paint your nails too? I mean, I could do it for you, if you want."
Tom thought for a moment, before shrugging, his face expressionless as he entered the bathroom.
"Alright. What colors do you have? Cause I am not letting you paint my nails pink."
Matt laughed, sounding a bit happier, as he retracted his long legs so that Tom could take the other side of the sink counter. Tom hardly hesitated before propping himself up, adjusting carefully on the opposite side of the sink. It was a bit of a cramped space, but both could sit comfortably enough.
"What about sparkles? I have some nice sparkles," Matt noted, but he still didn't sound like his usual self. A bit too calm, a bit too tired. Tom slipped his feet into the sink, ignoring the way the porcelain chilled against his legs.
"Fine, but I get to chose the base coat."
Matt nodded, moving to screw shut the nail polish he had been using and reaching for a few others. He had to twist a bit awkwardly as he searched for the ones he had scattered about on the counter.
"Okay, um, I think I have purple, and white. And, uh, this really bright red," Matt laughed tiredly as he listed the ones his hands found, "Also, a pink, that you already said you don't want. And a lime green, and- oh! Here, I do have a blue."
Matt leaned forward as he fanned out the bottles in his palms. Tom smirked a bit, but took the blue that Matt offered.
"Know me too well," Tom muttered, and Matt flashed another weak smile. So unlike him.
Tom shook the bottle and patted it against his hand, as Matt went about putting the refused bottles back down. They clattered a bit, and Matt bit down a laugh and a curse, not wanting to make too much noise. Tom let out a breathy chuckle. Matt smiled apologetically, shifting so that he could lean forward.
He took the bottle from Tom, his purple nails flashing. Tom could see a different stain of green polish around the edges of Matt's nails.
Tom made no comment, moving forward to meet Matt halfway across the counter, one leg slipping off the edge. Matt crossed his legs, as he unscrewed the bottle he held.
Tom braced his other leg on the edge of the sink, propping his arm up on his knee so that Matt had easy access to his nails.
Matt took his hand, keeping it stable with one of his as he brought the neat brush up. As he painted, he made a soft scolding noise that lacked it's usual sternness.
"You really shouldn't tear at your nails like you do, they're practically nubs," Matt murmured quietly, and Tom grunted in acknowledgment, but didn't argue.
Tom waited a moment, until Matt reached over to re-dip the brush in polish, then he reached up with his free hand flicked some of Matt's drooping hair out of his face. Matt jumped a bit.
"Want to talk about it?"
Matt huffed, but his eyes flickered away, as if caught in a lie. He shook his head a bit as he brought the brush back up and continued on with Tom's nails, moving slowly and carefully. Painting with a purpose.
Tom didn't push, didn't really know if he should, and simply just watched Matt as he painted. Minutes passes, so much so that Tom thought Matt wasn't going to answer, but he finally spoke.
"I have nightmares sometimes," Matt admitted slowly, "Sometimes, they're small things and I can just ignore them. But sometimes, they scare me so badly that I wake up terrified for my life."
Tom nodded, but didn't say anything. He wasn't really one for comfort; the only thing he could and was offering was an ear to listen. That was the best he could do. Matt knew that too.
Matt carefully tilted Tom's fingers as he continued, "When that happens, they can kind of linger and I end up being stuck in a nightmare even after I wake up. Most of the times, it's talking. Some yelling... Well, okay, a lot of yelling. But it's mostly just voices telling me I'm shit. In a bunch of different ways."
Matt laughed bitterly, not meeting Tom's eyes. Tom said nothing, letting him continue at his own pace.
"It's mostly insults, things I've been called. Things that I've only been called, like, once, years ago. They're stupid and I don't know why I still remember the lot of them..." Matt shook his head slowly, finishing up Tom's hand. He smiled sourly at the finished colors. He hesitated a moment before adding, "Other times, it's physical stuff... That's the stuff that I think is the worst."
Tom scowled. "Physical?" He repeated, dread filling his stomach. There was no way Matt was-
Matt shrugged, lightly blowing on Tom's nails. Or maybe, he just sighed.
"Not really physical," Matt answered, meeting Tom's eyes for a moment, "They're just dreams, after all, so I don't wake up hurt or anything. It's just really scary."
Matt picked up Tom's other hand, but didn't start painting. Instead, he just sort of held onto Tom's fingers. A frown had started dragging at his lips. A heavy moment passed.
"You know, it's not even the actual action, just the idea of it all, really. Sometimes, I just see a fist flying towards my face over and over again, but I never get hit..." His eyes seemed focused on something else for a second.
Tom paused for a moment. He had nightmares too, but he figured he handled them better than most would. Matt didn't seem like the type, though.
"Does this have anything to do with what happened," Tom started, slowly, but Matt blinked and shook his head.
"No, not at all. At least, I don't think so. I've always had trouble with nightmares, ever since I was a child." Matt moved to start painting Tom's other hand, one shoulder shrugging. "Though I've only had the trouble with sleeping as of late. That's mostly just because the nightmares are a little more often and they really put me out sometimes."
Tom thought about asking more, but Matt's expression hit him wrong. Matt was staring at his nails as he painted, but he seemed weighed down by tiredness. He even chewed on his lower lip, something that Tom could remember he only did as a teenager. Matt had stopped doing that when he found out it led to his lips getting chapped.
Tom looked away, to his already finished hand, examining the drying paint. The blue was almost the same shade as his hoodie, and Tom couldn't help but think that Matt must've bought it for that reason alone.
Tom decided to speak after another moment, "I can't sleep because my brain hates me. It won't shut up when I want to sleep, and listening to that gets old really fast, so I can't just wait it out."
Matt paused, looking up with sort of a open expression, as if caught off guard by Tom talking. Tom met Matt's eyes, and raised his brows as if to say 'you say something, and I say something'.
"Does it scare you?"
Tom turned his eyes back to his nails.
"I'm not easy to scare," Tom said, "but I think my brain takes that as a challenge."
He saw Matt nod out of the corner of his eye, and the ginger went back to finishing up his nails. It seemed he was just as good at 'comfort' as Tom was. Meaning, not good at all. Neither of them knew what to say, and couldn't say much anything to make their problems better. No advice. No solutions. Usually, Matt could just hug the pain away, but he didn't seem to have much energy. Besides, Tom wasn't very good at receiving that type of comfort anyway.
So, they just settled for a semi-awkward silence.
Then that passed.
Matt slipped and painted more finger than nail. He laughed a bit to himself as he whispered, "Shoot, sorry."
Tom huffed, mock irritation lining his features. "Way to go, Picasso. I didn't pay for my knuckles to get painted."
"You didn't pay for your nails either."
Tom's face was neatly blank. "What's your point?"
"My point is, you're lucky I'm doing it for free!"
"You're good, but you're not nail salon good, Matt," Tom answered coolly, and Matt made an appalled noise.
"How dare you!"
They playfully went back and forth. Tom would make a monotone comment that would make Matt scoff and joke right back. Matt made a few cynical jokes, and Tom ended up choking on his own breath as Matt slipped into one of his judgmental rants. Tom returned the favor with bitter and sharp comments that would make most uncomfortable, but Matt ended up giggling tiredly.
Tom tried to paint the top coat on Matt's nails, and Matt told him he sucked at it. Matt's purple nails were covered in dark blue sparkles as he finished Tom's nails with purple and pink glitter. Though Tom complained, he didn't sound actually bothered. By the time Matt finished, the both of them agreed to go watch a movie together on the couch. If they spoke over the movie the entire time, neither complained, and they both ended up asleep before the sun rose, for once.