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The neon letters of the alarm clock read 01:57 when Eddie is startled by the sound of frustrated tossing and turning.
“Grmph?” he makes and sluggishly turns over.
“Hey,” Steve interrupts his wrestling match with the pillow and smiles sheepishly. “Sorry, didn’t mean to wake you.”
“‘s okay,” Eddie mutters, scooting closer into Steve’s warmth, linking their fingers. Steve lets him in willingly, sighs when Eddie kisses his knuckles. “Have you slept at all?”
Steve shrugs, even though it ends up as more of a weird, one-shouldered twitch, all mushed together under the covers as they are. Eddie frowns, squeezes his fingers a little tighter.
“Bad night?”
“Not really,” Steve smiles. “Just … y’know when you’re real tired, but your brain won’t shut the fuck up?”
Eddie huffs. “Sure do.”
They just lie for a while, exploring the shape of each other’s hands, the rise and fall of each other’s chests.
“You ever tried warm milk with honey?” Eddie asks. In the dim glow of the alarm clock, Steve’s brow furrows. “Wayne used to make it for me when I was a kid. Call it the placebo effect, but it always knocked me right out. I can fix you one?”
Even in the dark, he can see how Steve’s eyes light up. “You would?”
Eddie softly kisses the tip of his nose before peeling himself from the sheets. “Sure thing, sweetheart. Anything for you.”
*
Nothing will ever quite make up for your home being cleft in half by an interdimensional rift, but Eddie must admit that the house that came with the government hush money has its perks. One of them being two bedrooms, so he doesn’t have to worry about waking up Wayne as he bustles around in the kitchen.
He stirs the milk in its pot to keep it from burning and watches the little bubbles rising to the top.
Nights used to be terrifying, right after … everything. For the longest time, he thought he'd never be able to sleep without nightmares again. It was only after weeks, when he passed out against Steve's shoulder during a movie, that Steve told him it was the same for him. For Buckley and Wheeler and most of the others, too. That he didn’t have to suffer through this alone. (“You’re one of us now, Eds. And we take care of each other.”)
This is how it started. Late night calls after nightmares. Eddie sneaking into Steve’s house in the dark to crawl into bed with him - more often than not to find Robin or one of the kids already there. Steve coming over to Eddie’s if he was too shaken to drive. Holding the memories and the monsters at bay through shared warmth and touch, the feeling of a familiar body close by, the rise and fall of another chest.
At some point, they stopped going to their separate houses to sleep. At some point, the touches became intentional rather than fleeting, turned into entwined fingers, into hands carding softly through hair, into lingering kisses and whispered confessions. Even the nightmares are slowly starting to fade.
They've come a long way, he guesses.
He hums to himself while he stirs a generous amount of honey into the mug of warm milk, then pops the spoon into his mouth while he shuffles back to his room.
“Voilà, ‘ere iz your order, monsieur,” he announces, pushing the door open and slipping into the silly French chef persona that always makes Steve roll his eyes and giggle adorably. “One cup of our finest ‘omemade- what the fuck?”
The room is still dark.
Steve is still in bed.
Only now he's fast asleep.
He also isn't alone.
There's another person sprawled half on top of him in a heap of gangly limbs. A person with a bird's nest of dirty blonde hair, wearing a checkered pair of boxers and Steve's faded swim team shirt.
“What the hell, Buckley?” Eddie mutters.
Robin snores.
“Aw, c'mon,” Eddie grouses. He sets the mug down on the nightstand and crouches down so that he can poke her. “I was gone for what? Five minutes? When did you even- ow, son of a …”
Because Robin has thrown out a flailing arm, and he just caught an elbow to the face. Eddie cradles his stinging nose and watches how she snuggles closer to Steve with a satisfied huff. Steve sighs and smiles in his sleep.
“Seriously now,” Eddie grunts, tries to wiggle into what little space is still unoccupied on the mattress. “That's my boyfriend, Bucks. Not to mention my bed. At least lemme- woah!”
A bony knee hits him in the stomach. He slips and lands square on his ass on the cold floor, taking the comforter with him.
“Eds,” Steve grumbles. “Don't steal the covers.”
Eddie flies to his feet, snarky remark ready on his tongue-
-and stops.
Because Steve and Robin look … well, they look funking adorable, okay? What kind of guy would he be to wake them? It would be like frightening a cuddle pile of cute little puppies, and contrary to what the general public may think, Eddie isn't the type who harms puppies. Or tears pretty boys who have finally fallen asleep apart from their platonic soulmates.
Eddie sighs and drapes the comforter back over the pair, leaning over Robin's limp form so that he can drop an awkwardly angled kiss to Steve’s temple.
“Sleep well, you dumbasses. See ya tomorrow.”
He grabs an afghan from the desk chair, makes for the door, then turns back and takes the mug of warm milk with him. If he's gonna sleep on the couch, he might as well get cozy.
He may have to invest in a larger bed.
