Work Text:
Rhett buys a small house after college and this time, Link moves into it.
It’s been nearly ten years since Link has wanted to cry with the sheer irrational anger caused by prolonged insomnia. He was an anxious kid- anxious in the way he would flinch so hard when the teacher tapped her ruler on the desk that she had asked Link if everything was okay at home- and he’d stay awake for hours into the night with his airplane duvet tucked tight around his arms and every single bad scenario in the world in his head. When the time came that he could no longer talk himself out of the idea that the chair covered in clothes was a monster, well, he’d wail as loud as he could until his mom came running.
He can’t wail now.
Of course he can’t. He’s twenty two and working a full time job at IBM and he’s just tired, that’s all. He can’t cry. Except-
Link sniffs hard, rolls onto his side and buries his head into the pillow and shudders out one frustrated sob. Immediately his eyes flicker toward the door and he waits to see if Rhett heard him- Rhett who lives in the room across the hall and is probably sound asleep right now.
He doesn’t come running, so Link returns his eyes to the cooling wet spot on the old cotton pillowcase and lets his frustration out with reckless abandon.
-
“Were you crying last night?” Rhett asks casually around a mouthful of cheerios Link is pretty sure belong to him, actually.
“No,” Link snaps, settling down into the old chair across from his housemate. It's seven in the morning and decidedly too early for this conversation.
If he’d have thought about it for two seconds it might have dawned on Link that that’s an obvious lie; it’s just the two of them here. Rhett owns this old house, the eggshell white of the crown molding now a touch-and-go yellow dyed by the last owners smoking inside. Link had scowled the first time he saw the inside, but now it’s got a huge tweed couch Rhett found in a salvage store parked right in the living room and some of Link’s posters on the walls and hey, it feels like home.
“Okay,” Rhett shrugs, returning his chin-strap beard to the frothy bowl of circles below.
Link furrows his eyebrows and twitches in his seat and fights the urge to correct- “Maybe I was.”
Rhett pauses mid-bite and looks up with incredulous eyes. “Why?”
Link shrugs, not thinking he’d get this far when the words slipped out of his mouth. “Just couldn’t sleep.” He waits for Rhett to call him a baby, or laugh with that horrible half-smirk that makes Link feel two feet tall. He doesn’t.
“‘Could’a knocked on my door,” Rhett says instead.
“You had work in the morning.”
“So do you,” Rhett lifts his face and frowns. “Speaking of, I should get going.”
“I guess me too,” Link looks away, the burning in his eyes returning for some reason he can’t place. “Want to go to Sears with me after work to get a Christmas gift?”
“A gift? Just the one?” Rhett asks.
“Yep, only got my mom. Maybe Louis, but he doesn’t get me anything,” Link shrugs.
“Yeah, okay,” Rhett agrees. “If you’re not tired.”
-
Link parks his old truck outside of the mall to which the Sears is attached. He steps out and shoves his hands into his faded bluejeans as he looks around for Rhett’s car.
There’s nobody here, it’s only the first of December after all. Link always gets his mom’s gift this early: he’s a natural born planner and a proud mama’s boy. He pats his back pocket to make sure he grabbed his wallet and peers out over the overcast parking lot.
Rhett’s not here. This concerns Link because Rhett works a little closer and takes off a little earlier- and he might not be a planner like Link but he’s not a tardy person either.
“Rhett,” Link mutters under his breath, anxiety gathering in his fingertips as he adjusts his glasses. “If you’re dead I’m going to kill you.”
And it’s absolutely ridiculous the level of ease that washes over Link when he sees Rhett’s car pull off of the main road and roll over every speed bump too quickly until he turns into the spot right next to Link.
“You’re late,” Link accuses the second Rhett locks his door and slams it behind him.
“It’s the first, I told you I had to stay and do an end of month report for November,” Rhett rolls his eyes.
“You did not,” Link walks in-step a little closer than usual, feeling much calmer about the state of his shopping trip now that Rhett has arrived.
Rhett ends up near the tools within fifteen minutes and Link leans against the metric bolts, watching Rhett stare at screwdrivers.
“Who’s that for?” Link directs at a particularly blue Craftsman Phillip’s head turning in Rhett's palm.
“Cole, maybe. Or dad. Or grandpa,” Rhett shrugs like he’d rather buy it now and figure out the nametag on the box later.
“Can we go into the home goods section so I can get my mom new bath towels for the guest room?” Link’s tired and he resents the grumpiness seeping through him. He’s too young to feel this worn down.
“That’s for you, man. Guest towels are the lamest. You should get her something shiny for the kitchen,” Rhett suggests as he puts the screwdriver in their basket.
“She’s always working, you know she doesn’t cook. Besides, Tucker ruined all of the guest towels.”
“I guess so,” Rhett heads toward the home goods section with Link in tow. “Maybe we can get some new towels too."
Link hides the smile that follows Rhett talking about their home like it's really a home, a home that deserves nice towels instead of a simply being a bachelor pad or a quick investment.
-
Link picks out some nice pale pink thick bath towels with little flowers embroidered on the two ends. It’s difficult to not want a set for himself, and Rhett, but almost everything is tempting in this section.
“What do you want for Christmas, Rhett?” Link murmurs as he messes with a set of silverware.
“Not silverware. We’ve got all the forks we stole from the dining hall freshman year- at this point they’re an institution in the Rhett and Link house,” Rhett grins.
The only thing Link likes about that sentence is the Rhett and Link house bit. He sighs and puts back the box with a borderline comical wistful last glance. Rhett doesn’t look back, absorbed in a pig-shaped egg timer that his mom is going to love.
(Link knows she won’t.)
-
The pile of new towels on the chair in Link’s room doesn't look like a monster. He squints into the 2 am darkness and wonders what they do look like in some desperate attempt at finding entertainment at this hour.
“Ugh,” He says aloud as the silence gets to him. The bags under his eyes are heavy and dark, storm clouds perched on his cheeks. He slides from bed and pads out into the living room, finding solace in the big tweed couch. The whole thing feels like the cold side of the pillow and he falls asleep eventually, the steady clock in the kitchen providing him a monotonous lullaby.
-
“Link?” Rhett’s voice startles Link out of a half-sleep.
“Rhett?” Link blinks into awareness, met with a business casual Rhett staring him down in the fresh morning light.
“Am I late?!” Link panics, sitting up and immediately searching for his glasses.
“Yes, and you’re on the sofa. Why’s that?” Rhett hands him his glasses from where Link must have left them on the side table.
Link shoves them onto his face and runs for the bathroom, saying as he goes, “Couldn’t sleep!”
Rhett watches him run off with furrowed eyes, hands absently messing with his too-tight necktie.
Link manages to get ready in six minutes and out the door in another three, starting his car and flinching when the sound it makes initiates a pounding right behind his eyes. A headache is the last thing he needs right now, not when he’s already so exhausted.
He ends up leaving work early because of the headache; apparently telling your boss that you need to go lie down in the break room doesn’t sound great. Frankly, Link’s too tired to care. He pulls into his spot in the driveway and all but crawls into the house, taking a few sips of water before he returns to his bedroom and lies down.
He can’t sleep. It’s like his body is fighting the mere notion that shutting down for a bit might help him, because god forbid anything help Link Neal. He sits up abruptly with a low growl and creases his eyes so tightly it makes him see stars.
The front door opens.
Link suddenly lies still, his bedroom door open, and waits for Rhett to come find him. It’s winter, which means it’s already unsettlingly dark outside. The tension and the darkness are enough to make Link’s heart beat fiercely as he waits to be found- because It’s just an understood thing that if a car is in the driveway but the man is not on the sofa, he must be found. And sure enough a tall silhouette appears in his doorway just a few minutes later.
“Are you sick, or what?” Rhett asks unkindly.
Link glares at the form in his doorway. “I’m not sick, I’m just tired.” He wonders at what axis do those become one.
“Then sleep!” Rhett barks, upset for a reason Link doesn’t know and is far too exhausted to try and figure out. He wants to cry about it.
“I can’t!” Link sobs back against his own will. His stomach growls low in his torso and breaks the resounding silence.
“Then come lie down in my bed and we’ll watch a movie,” Rhett says resolutely.
Link doesn’t have the energy to argue that they should stay on the sofa. Besides, Rhett’s TV is nicer than the living room TV. His parents gave it to him just a few months ago for his birthday, and Link’s more than happy to go watch Forrest Gump in slightly higher definition.
Link changes into a t-shirt and joins Rhett in his bed, immediately accepting another pillow to clutch to his chest as the beginning credits of the movie roll.
That’s the last thing Link remembers. He wakes up when Rhett tries to escape the bed around eleven pm, amazed to discover that it’s been five hours. He feels briefly like a time traveler, one with crusty salt in the corners of his eyes.
“Don’t go,” Link begs, his voice tight with sleep.
Rhett rolls his eyes and says, “I have to piss. I’ll be right back, you baby.”
There it is , Link thinks, but he can’t find it in him to be hurt because Rhett is coming back to bed.
-
Work goes much better when Link is well-rested. The nearly twelve hours he got last night transforms him into a model employee, quick to respond and well-spoken in the weekly engineers meeting. For the first time in a while, he actually decides to eat lunch.
“You’re eating, skinny bones?” One of his coworkers jabs.
Link nods profoundly, “I’m practicing for Christmas.”
“Going home for the holidays?” The other man asks.
Link nods again, this time more slowly. His mom almost always volunteers to work the Christmas Eve shift at the hospital because she’s a different type of loving that Link can’t be selfless enough to understand. Even as an adult, he’s going to be lonely. Surely he’s used to it at this point, but he thought he’d be used to the lack of sleep as well.
-
Link wants to rip his hair out later that evening when he feels a pang of sleepiness after a plate of Rhett’s famous (store bought sauce and store brand noodles) spaghetti. He glares so intensely into the plate of pasta that Rhett looks over and appears mildly offended.
“Is it bad?”
“No, I’m just tired,” Link says for what feels like the hundredth time this week.
“Movie night again, then?” Rhett says so casually that Link wonders if he heard him wrong.
“Sure, if you want,” Link shrugs like it means nothing, like his body doesn’t relax a little further into the sofa at the promise of sleep tonight.
So that’s how Link ends up crashing on Rhett’s bed for the second night in a row. He manages to stay awake for the first half of Home Alone, almost drifting off each time until Rhett laughs and it shakes the bed just enough to remind Link that he’s not alone.
-
Link’s frustrated for an entirely new reason when Rhett goes home with a girl at the bar Friday night. He goes home alone, silently in the dead of night, as if he can fall asleep if he tricks his body out of thinking about the insomnia.
It doesn’t work. The few shots of vodka he’d taken at the bar are long worn off by the time his head hits the pillow and he bites a scrape into his lip in sheer anger at the universe for keeping him awake. He gets out of bed and wraps the towels for his mom before tidying up the top of his dresser.
He’s scrubbed the shower and wiped down the microwave before he starts to feel nauseous from still being awake.
“Then sleep, you son of a bitch,” Link says to himself. He bites back more harsh words directed at his own ability to be a functioning human and forces himself to go lie down.
He tosses and turns and eventually the sheets feel damp with sweat and like they’re suffocating him. He gets up in a panicked, fluid motion and crosses into Rhett’s room without really thinking about it. He kneels into Rhett’s bed and groans with the tidal wave of comfort that washes over him.
He tugs the duvet over himself and it’s not as instantaneous as when Rhett is there, but he falls unconscious only twenty minutes later and it floods over him like rain.
-
Rhett’s hands are big. Big and cold, like he just came from outside. Link rolls away from the touch, a cold chill passing through him as he huffs a sigh into his- no, Rhett’s pillow. He remembers what happened last night and sits up quickly, cheeks warm to the touch.
Rhett’s just laughing softly in the corner now, stripping off his walk-of-shame clothes and spraying deodorant under his arms. “How’d you sleep, brother?”
“Well,” Link clears his throat in some attempt to be dignified. “I slept.”
“Good. Is it time to rent your room on Craigslist yet?” Rhett raises a joking eyebrow and Link feels thwacked with the weight of it in his chest.
“I’ll get better soon, I don’t know what’s wrong with me,” Link whines, climbing out of Rhett’s bed and feeling rather guilty for the warm depression in the smack middle of the mattress.
“My TV is better, I get it,” Rhett murmurs, giving Link an easy excuse for the rather embarrassing fact that he slept in Rhett’s bed by himself last night.
Link should be grateful, but he disappears into the shower without another word. He thinks about how Rhett was with a girl last night when all Link wanted was for Rhett to be beside him instead. He looks down at chest, covered in suds, and wonders why he can’t sleep anywhere but his roommate’s bed.
-
It’s half way through December when Link decides that he needs to spend more time in his own room. He washes his sheets and invests in a noise machine that he plugs into the wall and sets delicately on his bedside table. He takes a hot shower and scrubs at his skin diligently until it’s raw and red, soft and smelling of whatever body wash Rhett bought last week at CVS.
“I’m going to bed!” He announces loudly after he finishes sampling one of Rhett’s Christmas cookies he made for an office Christmas party.
“I’ll be in in a second, I want to let these cool first,” Rhett nods.
“No, I’m-” Link pauses partially because the cookie burnt the roof of his mouth and partially because he's giving up something important, “I’m going to my own room tonight.”
Rhett looks up with shocked eyebrows. “Really?”
“It’s time Rhett,” Link says dramatically, striving for levity and falling flat.
“Well,” Rhett shrugs, out of words to say about that.
And maybe it’s for the best that Link has gone through so much preparation, because preparation is his favorite thing in the world, after all, and maybe the sheer force of being properly ready for sleep will send him to dreamland.
It doesn’t.
It doesn’t and Link is mad about it, really, his shoulders tense and his hips sore from lying in one position for too long. He's stressed for reasons that can't be fixed or changed right now, if ever. Christmas is quickly approaching and this whole adulting business seems far too intense and tedious for how little money he has after paying rent. This weighs on him too, the fact that his mom deserves the world and she’s only got a stack of towels for compensation.
He hears Rhett finally go to bed and a part of his heart sinks knowing that this is really it- the end of his chance at sleeping next to the guy. He steadies his resolve and tucks back into the clean sheets, all of his thoughts focused on sleep.
A tree outside blows in the wind, crackling against his window and throwing spindly shadows onto the opposite wall. It’s less scary and more unsettling, but it makes Link ache for comfort in the way he used to at seven years old in his childhood bedroom.
He won’t cry this time, but he quickly realizes that sleep is far from a reality. Even the tweed couch is too cold as he settles onto it as the clock ticks one. Around two he finds himself nibbling cookies in the kitchen, stealing from Rhett’s messily saran-wrapped pile by the stove.
He walks back to his room after that to get his socks and then returns to the kitchen for milk, and then to the couch for-
Rhett’s door opens and he stomps groggily down the hallway until he snatches the TV remote out of Link’s hand. “Come. To. Bed,” He hisses, taking Link’s forearm and tugging him toward the room he just came from.
Link wants to back away on instinct, fight against the steady and overpowering tug of his best friend, but the part of him that is running on cookies and milk wins and he follows without a fight. It’s different this time, for some reason, because Rhett drags the duvet over the both of them and nestles their bodies flush together, in what Link can only assume is an act of sleepy delirium.
It’s warm though, and Rhett smells intoxicating. Link presses back into the touch and his eyelids flutter closed with the taste of milk in his mouth, his lips falling open as his breathing evening out as he drifts off.
-
“Mama, of course I’ll be home. Christmas eve, I told you,” Link covers the phone receiver and rolls his eyes at Rhett across the room, “ No, I have to work until the 23rd. I know, I know. I can’t ask for more time off, I’ve only been there six months!”
“Tell her I say hi!” Rhett grins.
“Rhett says hi. Yes, he’s also only coming home the 23rd. I don’t know what Mama Di thinks about that! No, he’s not bringing a girl home either. Gosh, mama, I’ll call you later, okay? Okay. Bye! Bye. Bye!” Link hangs up the phone on the wall and groans in frustration.
“Be nice to her, man.”
“I can’t, I’m running on empty,” Link frowns and crosses his arms. It’s been about three days since Link has given in and slept with Rhett again, and in turn he is feeling about as cross as ever.
“You wouldn’t be if you’d have come to bed like usual. Don’t know what you’re trying to prove sleeping alone, you didn’t sleep until like five am, Link,” Rhett stands and crosses the room with a purpose, taking Link’s chin into his hand. “You’ve got bags under your eyes.”
Link backs away from the touch and rubs his face, feeling out the exhaustion with his fingertips. “We’re not a couple, man. It’s weird that we’re sharing a bed every night.”
“Who cares! It’s helping you sleep, and frankly you’re so much nicer to be around when you’re rested!” Rhett’s frustrated, and Link knows it’s because of him, but he’s angry at the whole situation at this point and loses his temper.
“I don’t know!” Link shouts, raking his fingers up through his hair. “I don’t know who cares! But I do know that it’s weird if I can’t fall asleep without you beside me, and if that means I have to suffer through a few sleepless nights to get over it, then so be it!”
“Oh,” Rhett pauses. “Fine, then. I’ll leave you alone.”
Link goes to bed with red eyes and no expectations of sleep. Work was nearly debilitating today, and the only thing getting him through it was the thought of seeing Rhett when he walked through the front door. That alone makes him ache for a body next to him, a 6 foot 7 body with a stupid beard and lanky arms- Link starts to cry again, hot, angry tears.
“Link,” Rhett’s voice sounds from the opposite side of the door. It sounds sorry, and pleading.
Link bites back an audible sob and waits for Rhett to walk away, not allowing himself to make a single noise until Rhett’s door shuts and the house levels out quietly.
-
Christmas Eve-Eve comes with a mess of wet flurries all over the east coast. Rhett and Link admire the mountain of chocolate-covered things from various holiday lunches and coworkers with too much free time and cellophane on their hands. Eventually, the two men are packed and finishing up last minute gift wrapping and fridge-clearing after they get home from work.
“I’ll see you on Christmas day, you know that my mom likes to go over to the McLaughlins and exchange cookies and whatnot,” Link manages a sleepy smile as he drains the milk into the sink.
“Yeah, of course. Can’t escape me for long, Neal,” Rhett smiles and grabs his weekend bag.
Link watches the door shut and almost trips over himself rushing to Rhett’s room to throw himself into Rhett’s bed. It’s made this time but the sheets smell just like his friend and it almost knocks Link out immediately.
He registers that it’s dark when the phone rings from the kitchen and wakes him. He eases from bed and goes to answer it only to find out that it’s his mom calling.
“Hi mom. No, I just wanted to take a nap- I’m headed out soon. Yes. I know he’s already home- I know! I don’t know why I didn’t leave when he did. I’m just- mom! I’m just freaking tired, okay?!” Link snaps, immediately bringing his index finger and his thumb to the bridge of his nose in tangible guilt. “I’m sorry. I’m tired, is all. I’m leaving in ten minutes, I’ll see you soon.” He hangs up the phone and leans his forehead against the wall, desperate for five more minutes of sleep.
He gets home a little before eleven pm and falls into his mom’s arms.
“You’ve aged ten years since I saw you at Thanksgiving!” Sue gives a sad smile. “Being an adult is pretty hard, isn’t it baby?”
“The worst,” Link whimpers, feeling too tall as he dips his head onto his mom’s shoulder.
“Well, it’s bedtime for your mama. Looks like you need sleep, too, dear,” She rubs his back comfortingly and he wants to claw his eyes out at the prospect of another sleepless night.
“I do, mama, you have no idea,” Link whispers.
-
He doesn’t sleep, not in the way a man needs to. He tosses and turns and ends up backwards in his childhood bed with his feet up against the wall the way he used to do as a kid. He feels all of his childhood anxiety rushing through his veins even with the soft red and green glow of Christmas lights outside of his window.
All at once he longs for Rhett’s smell, and his stature, and his arms long and protective around his torso. It’s Christmas Eve tomorrow and he’s not sure he’ll make it to see the actual holiday if his body doesn’t give in to sleep eventually, but he can’t force it.
He’s spent the last month trying to force himself to sleep, to lie still and submit to the drag of unconsciousness. It’s not that he resents enjoying Rhett’s company to fall asleep- it’s everything else that cascades down with it. He never used to desire Rhett’s company like water in the desert, but here he is.
All the Christmas cheer in the world can’t make him forget the way his nerves drain away when Rhett holds him. Link curls into his pillows and tries to imagine those firm hands on his forearms, tries to imagine that warm breath on his shoulder until the sun comes up.
-
Christmas eve is fine. Link helps his mom decorate Christmas cookies and dance around the kitchen in a dress she scored from T.J. Maxx the week before. It’s lovely to see her so happy, even with the way his eyes burn from exhaustion. Louis shakes Link’s hand and tells a story of something that happened at work and Sue rolls her eyes like she’s heard the story a hundred times by now.
“You don’t seem like yourself, darling,” His mom asks with concerned eyes and flour-coated hands once they’re alone again.
Link just nods slowly, his eyes focusing and unfocusing on the lines of stone in the granite counter top.
He’s an adult now, so he shouldn’t be so surprised when she accepts what he gives her and doesn’t ask any more questions. It stings straight through him and he stuffs another cookie in his face to stop himself from saying anything more.
Bedtime comes on Christmas Eve the way it always comes on Christmas Eve for the kids of Christian mothers, whether you’re two or twenty-two: too early. Link stays up for a while after his mom leaves for her shift in the hospital and watches the lights on the artificial tree they’ve had for years twinkle and dance across the plastic branches. He sips the Jack Daniels that mom always keeps around and crosses his legs under him on the sofa.
He thinks about the world, and how small everything is when you take a step back. It always amazes him how permanent most things feel, and how temporary they turn out to be. His eyes unfocus until the tree is a blur of light, warm and distant even in the small living room. He felt safe here growing up and he feels safe now, surrounded by memories and warmth.
But he doesn’t sleep. His body weighs two tons as he drags himself wearily up the old stairs. They creak and he curses himself for forgetting which boards moan under his weight and which do not. When he reaches his bedroom, a voice in his head tells him to go get in his car and do whatever it takes to get to Rhett. He wants to sleep, he wants to be held, he wants his Rhett. He feels all of this at once and lets it in for the first time, isn’t afraid to let himself experience the desire that has leaked into his bloodstream over the past few months.
It’s cold outside and he doesn’t want to put on his jacket and worry his mom by potentially being gone when she returns, but he finally knows exactly what he wants for Christmas and forces himself to lace up his boots and head for the front door in pursuit of him.
What he doesn’t expect is Rhett’s face staring back at him when he tugs open the old wooden door.
“Rhett!” Link whispers happily, shocked to see the man at such a late hour.
“Link,” Rhett lets out a weak laugh. “I couldn’t sleep. I didn’t think I’d ever admit this to you, but I got so used to having you around that I can’t hardly fall asleep without you now.”
Link laughs, high-pitched and happy. They’d only been apart for one day, but it might as well have been a lifetime. “I couldn’t sleep either. Never can, without you.”
“I guess we’ve done everything else together, right? Might as well be more codependent,” Rhett laughs deep in his chest and Link drags him inside by the collar of his coat.
It finally feels like Christmas as Link drags Rhett up the stairs and they strip down to their boxers and t-shirts. Link all but tackles Rhett into his bed and presses their bodies flush together.
“I’ve been waiting for this all week,” Link admits, his fingers tentative on Rhett’s hip bones. “I’m so tired.”
“You’re just using me as a sleep aid,” Rhett teases, pressing a kiss to Link’s hair.
“No,” Link yawns, tucking closer to Rhett. “It’s more than that.”
“I know,” Rhett replies, his voice soft as he watches Link doze off. “I know.”
Beyond Link’s house Christmas lights shine and morning is where it should be, far away from the safety of night. Dogs howl at the bright moon and Link snores softly in reply, held firmly against his roommate, best friend, and favorite person in the entire damn world.