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Waking up from his afternoon nap on the sofa, Percy’s first action was to cover his eyes from the light peaking through the window blinds.
How long was he asleep this time? He wondered.
His watch said Monday, three in the morning, last time he checked it was a Sunday afternoon.
Percy groaned, his neck cricking from its long and awkward rest on the wooden arm, he tried to move a little then gave up after two failed tries. It was not the kind of pain that would merit a curse, but it was a damn near one.
He grabbed around for his glasses on the living room table, the one he and James had bought from a flea market when they first moved in together. He found empty bottles and a dirty plate of left-over pizza instead.
“Shit,” he said, finally, and closed his eyes.
Percy was hardly a strong contender for the most foul-mouthed agent in Kingsman, but whenever James heard him curse, a rare occurrence it was, he’d giggle like a child caught gossiping in class by his teacher. He loved seeing James’ smiles, any smile of his to be honest, whichever could make his husband scrunch his nose and put tiny wrinkles around his eyes was Percy’s favourite. But James wasn’t here now, so no one would laugh at his curse.
Percy’s hands came back to rest on his chest, feeling a soft kind of material there, was it fleece? Did they buy a fleece blanket? Did he bring one to the living area without remembering? Was it him who put it there?
Those were the insipid questions his hung-over brain could properly come up with at the moment. It was when everything around him was slightly blurry and alarmingly dull, and when he could hear the traffic noise from far away coupled with the easy breeze that was trying to get inside. It was as if someone had sucked out the life of the entire house when he was sleeping.
Percy choked back a sob and bit his bottom lip, fingers clutching at the warm fleece blanket covering his upper body.
“James,” he called to no one.
A sound of something with weight leaning on the back of sofa, a tiny creak, went directly to his ears, a sound so soft it could be entirely constructed by hopes and deliberate ignorance within his mind.
Cold lips touched the smooth skin of Percy’s forehead. He didn’t dare to open his eyes, not for the entire time he felt the firm press and linger.
He breathed in, said, “James?”
“Yes,” came a reply.
“Why are you here?” Because he wasn’t supposed to be here, not today.
“Because you called me.” Percy could hear the amusement tinged in the softness of his words.
“So you came?”
“Of course.”
He sniffed. “Why didn’t you wake me up?”
There was a pause. A brief silence that if given the chance, would break the walls Percy’d so carefully pulled up.
The man called James giggled. The way he used to, the way he had always done.
“Because I like watching you sleep, buttercup.”
“Don’t call me that,” he said, blushing a little. It was a stupid thing to do.
“It’s been well over a decade, get used to it.” Fingers were gently playing in his soft hair, he leaned into the touch, just a little, only this moment, then he’d stop.
“I’ve been waiting for you, you know.” He lifted his head, eyes not opening.
“I know.” The fingers in his hair stopped to start tracing slowly on the line of his jaw, Percy opened his lips to say something else, he wasn’t given the chance.
When they broke apart, he asked, “Will you be here when I wake up?”
Another short pause, then, “I’ll always be by your side, you know that.”
It was enough a confirmation, and Percy knew that it was time to let it go.
“I do,” he said, smiling. And with that, he drifted back into sleep.