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It's a sleepy morning - cold and dark and raining. Elsewhere in the house, there is the sound of someone in the kitchen. It mixes with the sound of the rainstorm smashing into the window, and the twisting whistle of wind through cheap vents. The heating hums, the water pipes creaking a little as they are forced to work, and the sound of the washing machine rumbles through the walls.
Outside might be chilly, but the world under the blankets is warm. For the first time in a long time there were no nightmares last night, exhaustion or perhaps companionship chasing them away; Rubens tucks his face into the warmth beneath him, angling to both hide his eyes from the light, and keep listening to the heartbeat beneath him. He is stiff, and he hurts, but he would not give this up just to alleviate a little pain.
There is a soft hum from the chest beneath him as he shifts, a hand moving from the base of his spine to his head, worn fingers now carding softly through his hair. There's no fabric between Rubens' cheek and the chest beneath him - Arthur never seems adverse to going shirtless, it seems - just now familiar scarred skin.
Trying to find a little more sleep in the blurriness of morning, Rubens wriggles his fingers a little further under Arthur's back. The hand in his hair pauses for a moment but, when he breathes out the slightest hint of a whine, they start up again.
He likes it. He likes the fingers in his hair.
Like this, he can ignore the bandages around his legs, his chest, his throat.
"You can sleep more if you want," Arthur keeps his voice low in the quiet. "I know yesterday..."
He trails off; Rubens does not want to think about yesterday, and he doesn't think Arthur does either. Rather than doing as suggested, Rubens slowly sits up, pulling the blankets with him and rubbing at his eyes.
"Morning," Arthur tells him, still sprawled on the bed as his eyes follow bandages, and come to meet Rubens' eyes with a little smile. "Mãe's making breakfast; if you want a shower first, the water's warm."
Ivete has seen him in nothing but Johnny's shirt often enough; Rubens yawns into his hand, and shakes his head. Arthur starts sitting up, only for Rubens to immediately slam his face back into his shoulder. Now a little more upright, Arthur supported by the wall rather than the mattress, the arm goes back around his waist.
"Cold," Rubens tells him, twitching his nose at the ambient temperature.
Arthur laughs, and kisses his cheek, and tells him "we can stay here until we're called."
That's fine; this is all fine. Rubens isn't sure what this is, exactly, but he never wants it to end - not the little touches, or the laughter, or the sleeping in one another's beds after missions go awry.
Sometimes just because, sometimes just for the warmth of someone who cares, but always when they are hurt, always when things go wrong and they get scared. To see a friend in pain, to lose someone else - to lose each other.
Maybe someday they will talk about it but, right now, with soft blankets behind him, and a trusted friend beside him, and a carefully placed arm keeping him safe, Rubens doesn't really see the point in risking what he has.