Work Text:
Matthew has bouts at night where he cannot get to sleep.
He lies awake listening to Alfred’s snoring. Listens to the elements, listens to the house creaking. He lies and stares at the ceiling, feels anxiety build up around him at the darkness and the shadows that creep along the old, creaky wood of the upstairs rooms.
Distantly, the subtle chatter from downstairs floats up to him. A pinnacle of comfort that pushes him up from his covers and has him slinking onto the floor.
He brings his pillow with him, clutches it as he enters into the dark hallway, moving towards the staircase and descending the old steps. One by one, eyes trained on his feet as they descend.
Light welcomes him the further down he goes. Warm and safe, he’s so focused on walking down the steps towards comfort that he does not notice the pair of feet coming up to meet him, before he’s right in front of them, waiting for him at the bottom of the steps.
He looks up, following the legs up to the stomach and chest until he meets the curious eyes of one of the two he’s sought out to see.
Arthur doesn’t look upset, but he doesn’t look very pleased either. He hasn’t changed out of his daytime clothes, but he has discarded the trinkets and has removed his overcoat. Leaving a ruffled shirt partly tucked into his pants.
“And what nightly escapades are you up to, exactly?”
Matthew clutches his pillow tighter, craning his neck to look at his eyes. “Uhm,”
Arthur stands back a step and kneels down to be eye level with him. The light of the living room makes his eyes glisten and Matthew feels the shadow slink away around him. Releasing their grip and returning to the nooks and crannies from which they came.
“I can’t sleep.”
“Is that so?”
Matthew nods, casting his eyes downwards. Worried, suddenly, he will be sent back into the depths of the dark. Back up to Alfred’s snoring obliviousness to the shadows and the dark.
Arthur hums thoughtfully, placing a warm and weathered hand on Matthew’s head, carefully stroking his hair out of his face.
“Francis.”
Matthew glances up. Arthur’s looking sideways, towards the parlor. “I thought you put spare candles up for the boys to use. Where are they?”
A slightly irritated tone floats out to meet them. “You ask me as if I would know. I asked you to do it!”
Arthur ‘tsks’ but withholds any argument. Matthew knows he would usually say something more. Has heard their back and forth enough times to understand he’s cutting it short for his sake.
He appreciates it, but he wishes it would always be that way.
Francis must pick up on the lack of a response, because as Arthur turns back to him, with a softness to that there is rarely time for, footsteps approach towards the foyer.
“Righty ho.” Arthur whispers before he slides his hands under Matthew’s arms, and lifts him up from the stairs.
In the air, Matthew maneuvers the pillow to one hand, settling it against Arthur’s chest, as he’s placed at his hip.
He smells the slightest hint of tobacco from him. Laying his head in the nook of his neck.
“What is happening?” Francis asks, much more civil than before.
“Shadows playing tricks again, I’m assuming.”
Matthew closes his eyes. Arthur’s voice reverberates under his ear when he speaks. A deep hum rumbling through his head.
Matthew feels his neck flexing, feels his breathing and blinks momentarily as Arthur resettles him.
The pillow disappears and he’s resting flush against Arthur’s chest. Floating through air, Arthur’s footsteps are careful, his voice quiet when he speaks with Francis.
“I thought you said you’d put the candles up there.” Arthur murmurs.
“And maybe I did say that. But I was busy and asked you to do it for me.” Francis replies, equally as quiet.
Arthur heaves a breath that Matthew feels throughout his entire body and he eases into it with a breath of his own.
“Suppose I was too busy to have heard that, then.”
“We are both busy.”
It’s a draw, Matthew thinks. Feels how gravity releases him briefly.
Arthur has sat down and judging by the sound beside them, Francis has followed suit.
A hand strokes his hair, familiar patterns combing through his hair, only Francis could ever be so gentle to avoid tangles.
“Do we even have any more candle sticks to spare?” Francis asks.
“I don’t know, we might be short.” Arthur rumbles.
“We might just need to get more, the prices for such things are quite unheard of these days. We could look for bulk, before they raise the prices even more.”
“Ah, oui- It is frightful. Not to mention for simple things, such as milk and eggs.”
Arthur makes a noise of agreement. “We could have it worse, let’s not forget.”
“I don’t suppose we could.”
Arthur laughs. Not loud nor excessively, simply enough to be recognized as a laugh. Stirring Matthew a few times, enough that his eyes flutter briefly.
He sees a glimpse of Francis. Hair down, enveloping his face ornately, eyes looking at Arthur. Rounded at the corners, a smile pulled up at the edges.
Despite his tone of voice, Matthew sees nothing but fondness there.
His eyes begin to close, Francis’ gaze falling onto him equally as soft, as he strokes his palm across his head.
“Do you want to go back a century?”
“Well, Milk and eggs were much cheaper during that time, no?”
“Or were you just in a position where you didn’t need to worry about it?”
Matthew drifts off to Arthur and Francis bickering back and forth, about prosperous positions of times where he was younger. To times where he was not born.
Listening to the tales of lives he cannot comprehend as anything but fairytales.