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“Simon?”
“Hmmm.”
“Can’t sleep.”
Naturally. Kieren isn’t good on the whole sleep thing. Never has been, from what Simon has gathered. It takes specific planning to get Kieren to sleep most nights - light needs to be out except for a small, muted lamp on the bedside table (because right after enclosed spaces, it’s darkness that scares the boy the most), the room must be the correct temperature, not too cold and not too hot (which is a novelty since coming back to full life) and neither silence nor very distinct sounds must be heard. In his past life, he would have the radio on at low volume all night to lull him. As undead, it apparently made no difference what he tried, he never slept more than a few hours a night in total. Later, right after his heart started beating, Kieren was so drained that he slept constantly through night and day, only to be set back into insomnia a week later.
Which got them to their current arrangement.
Simon yawns and stretches his arms and back, until several distinctive pops are heard. Then his body loosens up again, and he reaches over to tug at Kieren’s elbow. “Come here.”
There’s rustling of the sheets and the mattress dips a bit as Kieren shifts closer from his side of the double bed. His body is warm and slim as he settles next to Simon, laying his head on the Irishman’s shoulder and slowly running his hands over the skin of Simon’s flanks. His hair tickles the older man under the chin and he smoothes them back with his fingers which he then buries in the ginger strands. His other hand glides lightly up and down the side of Kieren’s ribcage. He can hear the boy’s content sigh, feel it rustle against his skin.
Kieren clings to him, the years long lack of experiencing any physical contact making him incredibly touch-starved. It’s instinct for him by now, Simon thinks; the merciless command of Mother Nature - as the boy had to hold back his entire first life and spent the majority of his second life without the sense of touch, his sleeping mind now unmistakably finds the nearest warm, soft object suitable to cuddle with and encloses it in an unbreakable hold. Not that Simon minds it somehow - he knew Kieren to be a cuddler even from when they were both still undead, only the force of the warmed-up instinct was a bit breathtaking at first, particularly after Simon’s heart woke up to life. Having never had many opportunities to cuddle all night, the first few days certainly felt to Simon like he was sleeping with a gangly-limbed boa constrictor. Things have changed since then as he got used to the feeling of having another person wrapped around him like a gift ribbon and if it made Kieren sleep through the night (despite the unconscious kicks he was probably getting every now and then), Simon was willing to make sacrifices.
The Irishman’s lullabies are changing constantly yet stay always the same. Since he’s found out that his whispering voice does the trick of putting Kieren to sleep just fine, it has become the preferred way of dealing with the boy’s insomnia. Combined with stroking his hair and utilizing the few points on his back that Simon knew to make Kieren go seemingly boneless, it has become a very much fail-proof method to prevent hours upon hours of rolling in bed from side to side and developing bleary eyes in the morning.
“When our passports are sorted, I’m going to take you to Iceland,” Simon says quietly.
He feels Kieren’s eyelashes run over his skin as the boy blinks. “Iceland?”
“Iceland. Been there a few times,” Simon muses. “Amazing sights, you’re going to love it. We can bathe in the springs, or watch the Northern lights. There are courses of horseback riding, too. And I’ve heard about a man who ran around the entire island right after recovering from a massive spinal injury…”
He talks for about ten minutes, gradually crossing from pulling random facts about Iceland from his sleeve to general small talk. Only when he is sure that Kieren’s current breathing pattern is positively indicates sleep and that he does not react to being called by his name, Simon allows himself to stop talking. He draws Kieren a bit closer onto himself and holds him tightly within his arms. The soft, warm light of the tiny bedside lamp casts sets reddish and golden hues into Kieren’s hair as if it’s aflame. It makes him look overwhelmingly serene, like an innocent celestial being that kindly approved to sharing his life and heart with one former drug addict from the suburbs of Dublin.
Simon slowly drifts off to sleep, almost feeling Kieren’s soft lips on his own as northern lights shine on the sky above them.