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Thaniel crept into Mori’s room, doing his best not to disturb Six upstairs, and sank into bed beside him. Mori shuffled back to give him space and Thaniel slid gratefully into the hollow he left, baked buttery warm by the heat of his body. Mori hummed and drew Thaniel to him, pressing his head to one lemon-scented shoulder.
“Kei,” Thaniel murmured, trying without success to draw away – Mori was stronger than he looked. “Keita, don’t. If I cough, I’ll wake you.”
Mori snorted sleepily. “Shut up.”
Thaniel didn’t have the energy to argue and resigned himself to curling into Mori’s arms instead. He had left the Foreign Office that afternoon to go straight to Sullivan’s unusually militaristic rehearsal. The show was in two weeks; Thaniel had been playing problem passages so often now that whenever his mind had a moment’s silence, the echoes of the notes rang redly in his ears. He sighed.
Almost too quietly to hear, so softly that Thaniel barely caught the words over his own misty grey breaths, Mori said, “better to be awake and with you, than asleep and without.”