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“Ugh. What do you want?” grumbled Eugene.
“Can’t a guy chat with his best friend once in a while?”
“Vincent. It’s three in the morning. You’d better have a good reason for waking me up, or I’ll spike your samples every day this week.”
There was no answer. Eugene sighed and clicked on the bedside lamp. Vincent, wrapped in a thin blanket, was cast in its soft warm light. He seemed smaller, more like himself at night, without the cold exterior of Jerome to hide behind.
“Well?” prompted Eugene.
“Bad dream. Couldn’t go back to sleep.” Vincent pulled the blanket closer around his chest. “Wanted…” he trailed off.
“Wanted what?” said Eugene, expectantly looking at Vincent. When he didn’t answer, Eugene switched the light off. “Okay then. Goodnight.”
“Wanted to make sure you were alright,” said Vincent. “That you were okay.”
“Hey,” Eugene said. “I’m fine.”
“I know,” Vincent said, with a small, self-deprecating laugh. “It’s stupid. I just—I just wanted to check.”
The duvet cover rustled as Eugene pushed it aside.
“Get in,” Eugene said.
Vincent didn’t need to be told twice. He climbed in, wrapping his arms around Eugene’s chest and resting his head in the crook of his shoulder. Eugene held him close, fingers carding through Vincent’s soft hair. This was routine for them. They would comfort each other in the dark of night, and never talk about it once morning came around. Eugene was never sure if he was happy that they never talked about it, or if he was disappointed.
A sniffle interrupted Eugene’s thoughts.
“Eugene,” Vincent’s voice cracked.
Eugene held him just a bit tighter. “What happened?”
Vincent didn’t answer, just shook in Eugene’s arms.
“Hey.” Eugene said. “Hey. I’m here. You’re here. You’re safe.” He rubbed small circles on Vincent’s arm. “You’re here with me, right now. I’ve got you.”
“It was,” Vincent drew a shaky breath, “Bad. Really bad, Eugene. Worse than any before.”
“Shh,” said Eugene, “You can tell me in the morning when it’s light. When it doesn’t seem so real.” He wiped away the tears running across Vincent’s cheeks with his thumb.
“Thanks,” whispered Vincent. His breath came more steadily.
Eugene pressed a soft kiss to his forehead in response, and Vincent seemed to melt into him even more.
“Go to sleep, Vincent.”
Maybe, this time, they’d talk about it in the morning. Maybe Vincent would tell him about his nightmare, and Eugene would comfort him again. Maybe Vincent would bring up the forehead kiss, and maybe they would each lay their hearts bare and realize they both wanted something more.
But as nice as it was to fantasize about such things, Eugene was no optimist. This time would be like any other. Eugene would wake up to an empty bed and breakfast waiting for him in the fridge with a hastily scribbled note that read “Will be home late tonight. Made you breakfast. –Vincent” that he would eat alone. Then he would go about his usual routine sample collection, trying valiantly, but ultimately failing, to forget the warmth of Vincent curled up close to him, and he would go to bed before Vincent got home, loneliness and longing settling in his chest.