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Lights chase across his vision. Blue, yellow, green, red. Its swirls of paint, flashes of capes, a glint of helmet. Rather than awe or fear or panic, contentment reaches out to Neal. Figures of light and safety against the fear and corruption of a darkened city.
It’s a shame the dream ends so abruptly; one moment he’s flying across rooftops, the next his pulse is racing too fast from heart-soaring adrenaline and he’s feeling the press of his blankets against his skin and the warmth of Jason on the other side of the bed.
When Neal wakes, it’s before Jason.
That in itself isn’t worrying. Jason’s more night owl than early bird, often crashing when most people would be deep in their sleep and waking when most would be eating lunch.
No, Neal’s worried because his apartment’s painted gray and dark — it’s still night, and the light from the rest of the city can only do so much to penetrate Neal’s skylights. That, and the muffled, incoherent noises coming from Jason’s side of the bed; the blankets tug as Jason moves in his sleep.
He rolls upwards, so that’s he sitting up in the bed instead of lying down. The shift in position makes the blankets slip down to his waist, and he shivers a little when the cool air greets his skin.
The muffled noises grow louder, more frantic. Neal looks over to Jason. His face is buried in his pillow, sheets twisted around him, and he’s fighting against their hold in his sleep. Not unlike the shade in his home, shadows chase Jason in his mind, turning dreams into nightmares.
Neal aches to reach out, touch, and comfort him. He doesn’t.
He’s very aware — from experience — that it’s a bad idea to shake Jason awake. Last time he did so he’d ended up with a black eye and a guilty Jason apologizing over and over. He hadn’t blamed the man, but he doesn’t want to repeat the experience either.
Instead, he shifts, twisting to his knees on the bed so he’s not angled awkwardly. “Jay,” he calls quietly. It’s hard to break the stuttering silence.
Jason doesn’t wake, but Neal wasn’t really expecting him to.
“Jason,” he says louder and firmer.
Jason twitches, and he mumbles some more before the shape of his words take a sharp spike into panic. He would swear the shadows in his home deepen and reach out jagged claws towards them, but he knows city night lights play tricks on his mind.
Or so he hopes, anyways.
Neal grimaces. He grabs his pillow, silky beneath his fingertips, and slipping off the bed, he hits Jason with it, immediately letting go.
It does the trick. Jason jolts awake, latching onto the pillow and throwing it off him and out of range; the shadows retreat in its skittering toss. He breathes harshly, kicking the blankets off him, tense and gaze fervently flickering around the dimly lit flat. His eyes catch on Neal, and for a split second Neal can see panic-fear-anger before recognition lights them and he closes his eyes with a sigh. Jason relaxes into the bed, bringing his hand up to cover his eyes while the other tugs on his hair. Neal catches the slight shake of his fingers in the low lighting.
“Jay?” he asks softly.
Jason makes a small noise of acknowledgment in the back of his throat.
“Can I come closer?”
Jason nods choppily, moving his other hand into his hair too.
Neal approaches slowly, and the bed dips under his weight when kneels back on it. “I’m going to touch you, okay?” he says, reaching out carefully. When Jason doesn’t make any protest, he places a hand on Jason’s bare knee.
The man twitches, but doesn’t otherwise move. Neal squeezes softly, and raises his other hand up to where Jason’s pulling on his hair. He threads his fingers through Jason’s, gently tugging his hand away
Jason’s grip tightens, but he drops his other hand from his hair, and leans forward to rest his head on his knees. He opens his eyes, and teal blinks at him wearily.
Neal smiles softly, gripping tighter in return. He shifts from his kneeling position to a sitting one, lining his shoulders and thighs up with Jason’s, so there’s no room between them, save for their linked hands which gets squished between their bodies. Warmth bleeds through where they’re connected, and Jason shifts from resting his head on his knees to Neal’s shoulder.
Neal presses a kiss to Jason’s temple, then leans his head atop Jason’s. “You alright, love?” he asks quietly into the lightening room. Morning must not be too far off.
Jason hums a little, and it sounds strained. No.
“Do you want to talk about it?”
Sometimes Jason does, but more often he doesn’t. But Neal always offers. Jason shakes his head in denial.
Neal nods easily, understanding. Sometimes talking about the shadows in one’s mind makes them all too real.
With the hand not holding Jason’s, he brings his hand up to Jason’s hair and starts carding through it gently. The curls would be soft and silky if they weren’t sweat-damp. He tugs on them gently, more soothing than Jason’s earlier stress pulling that was more hurt than comfort.
Jason relaxes a little more against him, and he breathes out a great, shaky gust of air.
This isn’t the first time Neal’s done this for Jason, and Neal’s no stranger to nightmares of his own. He knows neither of them will be going back to sleep anytime soon. He glances around the gray tinged apartment. He could get up, paint, put on music, or go ahead and prepare for the day just a few scant hours ahead.
Instead, he sits, shifting to get more comfortable, closes his eyes, and breathes.
By the time dawn reaches its light, golden fingers down into his home and brings everything to color and the city has stirred back into daylife, Jason’s loose against him and Neal is lax and rested, despite the abrupt awakening.
Life’s full of light, full of people to be the light, even in the face of shadows and darkness.