Work Text:
After years of practice, Nicholas Benedict had finally perfected the art of late-night hot chocolate. He’d gotten to the point where he could make the delicious drink in almost complete silence, learning that boiling milk in a saucepan was far superior to using a kettle for water—not only for taste but for minimizing noise. He was careful not to let anything clink, not even the mug. Nicholas had mastered the art of silence from a young age; no one liked a noisy orphan. Though he liked to think he had left those habits behind, well… old habits die hard.
On this particular night, Nicholas picked out a mug with pale blue raindrops on a white background—a favorite of his. Milligan had bought it for him on his birthday, the first he’d celebrated with someone else in years. Nicholas had insisted no gifts were necessary, but Milligan was stubborn; in return, Nicholas had given him a lovely green sweater on his own “birthday.”
Nicholas stirred his drink thoughtfully, savoring the quiet. Lifting the mug to his lips, he found it was still too hot to drink. As quietly as possible, he opened the freezer, plucked an ice cube from the tray, and dropped it into the mug. Stirring, he walked into the living room, intending to curl up with a blanket and a good book.
As he passed the staircase, a strange shadow caught his eye. He turned back, but before he could make sense of it, the shadow moved toward him. Nicholas jumped, and the last thing he felt was the mug slipping from his hand before he fell asleep.
The first thing Nicholas saw when he awoke was Milligan’s concerned face.
“Oh,” he said, yawning. “I didn’t see you there, Milligan.”
Milligan gave a grim smile. “Yes, well… that quickly became apparent.”
Nicholas grimaced. Not one of his finer moments. But in his defense, Milligan had been hiding in the shadows. All Nicholas had done was make himself a comforting drink.
“My hot chocolate!” Nicholas cried, remembering his mug. He cringed at the thought of it shattering on the floor. “What happened?”
“Ah,” Milligan said, handing him the mug. “I managed to catch it before it spilled too badly.”
“You’re magnificent, my friend,” Nicholas replied, relieved. “How about I make a second cup?”
Milligan shook his head. “I wouldn’t want to—”
“It’s no bother at all. I find it strangely meditative, honestly. Although I usually try not to wake anyone with my late-night rummaging.”
Milligan acquiesced, following him to the kitchen. “You didn’t wake me, by the way,” he said.
“Oh?” Nicholas asked. “Usually, I’m the only one nocturnal enough to be awake. Something on your mind?”
“Not exactly. I just felt restless. I’m still adjusting to knowing so much about myself again. It’s hard, sometimes, to reconcile who I was before the Whisperer with who I am now. The easiest part has been Kate. I think she might be the reason I’ve worked so hard to regain my memories. I always knew I’d left something important behind.”
A lump formed in Nicholas’s throat. It was so deeply unfortunate that Milligan and Kate had lost so much time together. Nicholas couldn’t help but feel partially responsible. Hadn’t he been the cause of Nathaniel’s fate?
Sensing his emotion, Milligan leaned in. “Careful, Mr. Benedict,” he murmured, “You know how Rhonda and Number Two would react if I let you fall over a hot stove.”
Nicholas sniffed, returning to his task. Milligan continued. “Anyway, I couldn’t quiet my mind, so I went to check on Kate. I was on my way back when I heard the freezer open.”
“The freezer,” Nicholas replied, “That’s what did it. I rarely bother with an ice cube, but I wanted my drink just right. I’m sorry if I caused you any worry.”
“Mr. Benedict,” Milligan said, “There’s absolutely nothing to apologize for. I assumed it was you; I just thought you’d enjoy some company.”
“You were right about that, Milligan. Although, since we’re not exactly on the clock, I do wish you’d call me Nicholas.”
Milligan, always insistent on professionalism during the day, had once explained his need for formality, though he couldn’t articulate why. Nicholas hadn’t argued with him on it.
Milligan’s mouth ticked up slightly, fighting a smile. “I’ll do my best,” he replied.
Finally, Nicholas finished the second cup and offered it to Milligan, who waved it away. “That one’s yours. I’ll take the colder one.”
“Absolutely not. I woke you up.”
“As I said, you didn’t wake me up. Besides, you went through the trouble of making a second one. I insist.” Milligan took the other mug, brooking no argument.
Nicholas decided not to fight it. And as he took a sip, he realized it was nice to have something warm on this quiet night.
Milligan beckoned him to the living room and settled on the large couch. Nicholas hesitated but joined him, enjoying Milligan’s undivided attention. Milligan never treated his ramblings as a chore. In fact, he seemed to look forward to them.
Of course, the others in their little family showed interest, too. Rhonda and Number Two always assured him that he wasn’t inconveniencing them, while Sticky would eagerly discuss books, Kate shared her latest inventions, and even Constance workshopped her poems with him. Reynie especially sought his advice whenever faced with a tough decision. Nicholas cherished every interaction; for the first time in years, he had a family.
But Milligan’s attention was different. Sometimes, Nicholas felt as though he could read his mind. It was a testament to Milligan’s deep empathy and perception—a skill Nicholas himself used often. Yet, Milligan’s uncanny understanding could still unnerve him. Over time, though, he grew to appreciate it, especially as Milligan began to prompt him for more.
As Milligan sipped his lukewarm hot chocolate, he basked in the moment, listening to Mr. Benedict—no, Nicholas —ramble. He loved watching Nicholas’s expressive gestures, though at this late hour, they were noticeably subdued. Gradually, his friend’s eyelids drooped and his gestures slowed until he mumbled and rubbed his eyes, still explaining the link between neurons and the universe.
Milligan watched him with quiet fondness, noticing how Nicholas’s eyelids drooped and his movements slowed until he was mumbling through half-formed thoughts. When Nicholas finally stilled, Milligan leaned forward to set both mugs on the table. Without hesitation, he tugged the blanket higher and shifted Nicholas closer. To his surprise, Nicholas didn’t protest. Instead, he tucked himself against Milligan’s side, letting out a contented sigh as he drifted into sleep.
Milligan smiled to himself, wrapping an arm around the smaller man. The affection he felt threatened to smother him for a moment before it settled deep in his chest, chasing away the restlessness that had plagued him earlier.
Perhaps one day, Milligan thought, he’d find the right words to tell Nicholas how much these moments meant to him. But for now, this—Nicholas’s quiet trust, the soft weight of his head resting against him—was more than enough.