Work Text:
Race isn't sleeping. Elmer knows it without looking, like how you know it's raining right before you wake up.
In a bed with four people, you learn to ignore a lot of things so you're not awake all night, and thanks to lots and lots of practice, it normally comes pretty easy, for Elmer, at least. It'd take at least a gas explosion to wake Spot up on a good day, and Albert can practically sleep upright, even though he kicks. And then there's Race, who sleeps lighter and for shorter increments, but he sleeps.
Not tonight, though. He's just—restless. Despondent. Elmer can feel it radiating off him like a bad fever.
Next to him, Race sighs, clipped and frustrated, and Elmer fidgets. When Spot and Albert are upset, it's big— they feel their emotions ten times bigger, a thousand pounds per square inch. But they wear it on their sleeves, always. When Race is upset, it's that same intensity, but pointed inward.
Elmer's heart sinks low into his stomach. He doesn't like it. Race never does anything in. That's why they work.
Albert twitches gently to Elmer's right, and Spot stretches in his sleep, tugging Albert closer to him. Elmer frets.
Eventually, he chances movement to turn and look at the clock to Race's left. Nearly five. Late. Early? It means Spot and Albert will be up pretty soon to get a workout in before Albert has to open at 7:30, and Race has class at nine; Statistics, which he hates...
Before Elmer realizes it, he's speaking. "Are you upset about Stats?"
Race starts badly. It's almost funny, the way he whips his head around, but the light from the streetlamp outside illuminates his face when he turns over, and he looks. Well. "Christ," he whispers harshly. "You scared the shit outta me."
"I—sorry," Elmer says sheepishly, quieter. "It's just—you were awake."
Racetrack's face softens. He scoots closer, angling his shoulders toward Elmer and resting his cheek on his hand. "What are you doin' up right now?"
"...You've been up all night," Elmer says ruefully. "I could feel it."
"Shit. I'm sorry."
"Well. It's okay. Are you—upset about Stats?"
Race's eyebrows furrow in confusion. Elmer flounders. He's not so good at getting words out, even with people he really likes. Language barrier... "You have Stats today, 'n I just thought maybe that's why you're not sleeping, 'cause you don't like it."
Race sighs and rolls onto his back, but maintains his closeness, which is a good sign. "Kinda. I'm dreadin' Stats, but that's nothin' different. 'M just wired."
"On account of what?"
"On account of nothin'." Race looks in Elmer's direction again, offers him a baleful shrug. "Can't sleep, though."
This subdued, muted side of Racetrack isn't one he sees often. It's making Elmer want to wring his hands, but then Race sighs again, shuts his eyes and rubs at them. Then he shifts over so his forehead's pressed into Elmer's shoulder. "You're sweet for askin'," he says softly. Apologetic, even though he has no reason to be.
Elmer doesn't quite know what to say, so he lets Race lean against him and listens to the sound of breathing.
They doze, and Race relaxes. It's probably not just circumstance that had him all in knots, and keeping it in isn't any good for him, but he seems to be insistent on doing so. It's alright, though. At least he's resting.
Spot's alarm goes off after a while, startling them both. Race laughs against Elmer's skin as someone, Albert, probably, begins to stir to turn it off. "Listen," Elmer says finally. He rests his chin in Race's hair. "Listen, why don't we—go somewhere? Instead of Stats."
Race pulls back to raise his eyebrows. "You're tryin' to talk me into skipping."
"Yeah."
"You're tryin' to talk me into skipping."
Elmer feels a flush crawl up the back of his neck, but it's not unpleasant, and a smile tugs at the corners of his mouth. "It's what you always try when I'm havin' a bad day. Spot 'n Al could come too."
"Spot 'n Al could do what, exactly?" Albert asks through a yawn, dislodging himself from Spot's arms and scratching at the sparse hair on his chest.
"Do shit that isn't the shit we have to do," Race says, still sounding drowsy, but less like he did before. "Can you call in or whatever?"
Albert gives the two of them a tired grin. "I can get Specs to pick up my shift..."
"He would do that?" Elmer asks, wrinkling his nose.
"I bought him kolaches last week. He owes me his fuckin' soul," Albert replies, getting up and stretching languidly. As he moves to the bathroom, he pokes Spot in the side with his foot. "Baby. Up. It's arm day."
Spot's shifting, too, a little behind on the 'awake' front but coherent enough to reach out for whoever's closest, which happens to be Elmer and Race. And it certainly is arm day, because he manages to pull both of them onto the other mattress where Albert was sleeping, and Race cracks a grin into Elmer's collarbone.
It's—something. No matter what's really bothering him, the fact that they've gotten him to smile is a win in Elmer's book. Maybe he'll tell them what's actually wrong later, maybe he won't, but Spot's kissing his shoulder good morning, and Race's hair is soft on his chest, and Albert is yelling at all of them to shut up so he can tell them about the weird ass dream he had. It's something. It's something Elmer doesn't aim to let go of any time soon.