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His silhouette cuts the pale, dusty moon as he sits on the base’s roof, face tilted to the stars. He doesn’t have to turn to know you’re there, watching his shoulders rise and fall with ease. All he has to do to hear your feet pad across the metal is pat the empty spot beside him, your bare legs coming into view before you lower to sitting. Neither of you glance at one another; instead enjoying the gentle glow of the stars, pinpricks in the blanket of night.
“We used to be able to nap just about anywhere.”
The statement startles him, voice resonating in the peace. He’s quiet, remembering the preposterous places on the Mother of Invention that you and he’d fallen asleep; his favourite was always mid banana in the mess hall.
“It was easier back then,” he replies gently, guiding your head to his shoulder, fingers playing absentmindedly with your hair.
You laugh, a rasping breath of air that’s easily mistaken for a cry. “We didn’t care back then, you mean. We were the good guys.”
You snuggle closer, arm winding around his waist and clinging to the hem of his shirt. He doesn’t speak, holding you and rocking.
“Do you think villains have trouble sleeping?”
It’s another question that surprises him; souring the air in his mouth as a tentative kiss brushes the top of your head. “You think too much.”
“I think just the right amount,” you argue, face tilting to meet his sorrowful smile and deepening bags.
“Thinking’s what keeps you awake,” he rejects, bringing a hand up to your cheek and brushing smooth circles across your jaw. “You need to learn to switch off.”
“How?”
“I don’t know,” he admits, eyebrows quirking at the soft laugh escaping your lips. Bending down he meets them, comfortable and warm. “How about we start with that, and work from there?”
You smile, tensions releasing from your shoulders. He pulls you close, and you shuffle to curl into his lap, feeling his hand work away your worries with each pass it makes over your hair. “Just watch the stars.”