Chapter Text
There’s no way Chris is gonna sleep in this heat. Not after a good forty minutes of tossing and turning, kicking off blankets and sheets, and nearly going shirtless—he didn’t on principle. It’s the middle of winter, for fuck’s sake.
With a huff, he gets up and leaves his room. Keeping his clothes on turns out to be a good idea now that he’s stepped into the hallway, where the temperature is much more appropriate for the time of year. He turns in the direction of Nick’s room, but hesitates. The idea of lying down on his rug for the next several hours sounds as enticing as chewing glass. He can’t remember the last time he had a decent night’s sleep.
Matt’s door is right there, though no light peeks out from under it. Chris shifts his weight from one leg to the other. He doesn’t want to wake his brother just to steal half his bed and have them both be miserable tomorrow. Then again, Matt has offered. More than once.
Better hope he meant it. He goes in before he can talk himself out of it. A sliver of light from the hallway leaks into the room. The body under the blankets turns to face him.
“Chris?” Matt sounds confused, but not disoriented like he was dead asleep.
Chris closes the door behind him and everything goes pitch black.
“My room’s too hot,” he says by way of explanation. After nearly stumbling over a pile of clothing, he reaches Matt’s bed and tries to feel for the covers. “Move over.”
“But I thought you said I sleep like a weirdo.”
Matt’s voice is good-natured, but Chris takes half a step back, theatrically letting go of the covers.
“Whatever dude, I can just go to Nick’s room.”
“Hey, c’mon,” Matt finds his wrist blindly, wraps his fingers around it tight, and pulls. Chris fights him.
“No, it’s fine, I’ll—”
“Don’t be an idiot,” with a final tug, Matt drags him into the bed.
All pretense dropped, Chris buries himself in the pile of cozy blankets, more comfortable than he has been in weeks. He turns on his side to face his brother. It’s too dark to see him, but he can smell the soap on his skin. It’s the same brand they’ve used their entire lives.
“Do you really sleep on Nick’s floor all night?” Matt asks.
“The rug’s pretty thick so it’s not even the worst part. The thing is it gets fucking cold down there, ‘cause like, heat goes up, I think? And then sometimes Nick forgets I’m there and just steps on me, like full-on, air-outta-my-lungs shit.”
Matt laughs. Suddenly, all of Chris’ misery is just a little bit worth it.
“It’s like you’re Goldilocks,” Matt mumbles.
“…are you sleeptalking right now?”
Matt nudges his shoulder. “You know. One room’s too hot, another one’s too cold, but the third one— “
“Is just right,” they both finish before breaking into a dozy giggle.
Chris brings the blankets up to his chin, fakes a shiver.
“I don’t know about that, it’s still kinda chilly,” his lips twist into a smirk. He stretches out a hand and walks his fingers up Matt’s shoulder, like a bony spider. “I might have to take you up on those snuggles, babe.”
No laughter comes from Matt’s side, no hands trying to smack him or shove him away. If he didn’t know better, he’d think Matt’s passed out already. His words and his arm hang awkwardly in the air.
Before he can shrug and pull back, Matt’s hand lands on his hip, right where his shirt’s ridden up to reveal bare skin. It’s gotta be the shock of it that sends goosebumps down his body, because what the fuck else could it be?
“You’re fucking ridiculous,” Matt mutters, grabbing him by the waist to pull him closer.
Chris can’t think of a comeback, so he taps his fingers against Matt’s chest and hopes it’s annoying, though at some point it’s undeniable that he’s really just petting him. Matt doesn’t let go of him either, rubbing gentle patterns on his back. Their legs tangle together.
He’s so warm. They’re close enough that if Chris tips his head a certain way, Matt’s hair grazes his forehead. He has the bizarre thought that this is what it must have been like in the womb.
Matt’s hot breath tingles his lips, minty with the toothpaste Mom buys for them, the same one Chris used before going to bed. An identical sensation for both of them. Chris’ fingers travel past Matt’s collarbone, up his throat and by his pulse point—fierce and alive—along the jawline and over the chin, until he’s brushing his lower lip with the very tip of his fingernails. Matt’s breath quickens. His grip on the back of Chris’ shirt tightens into a fist.
“Matt?”
“…yeah?”
There's nothing to say. Or at least, nothing he can put into words.
“Good night.”