Work Text:
Sometimes Aphelios wonders who sleeps less, him or Yone.
He knows Yone wears one of those bands that track all sorts of things that healthy people care about, so if he wanted to he could probably go digging for that data to find out, but... nah. Probably more fun to speculate.
Especially when they catch each other like this for the third time this week, sharing wry pre-dawn grins as they slink around the coffee maker with matching dark shadows under their eyes.
“Couldn't sleep?” Yone asks as he fetches a mug for each of them, fingers drumming lightly on the counter as they wait for the coffee to brew.
Aphelios shrugs back at him – it's not really that he couldn't sleep, he probably could have, he just didn't bother to try.
“Working on the track mix,” he murmurs instead, enjoying the stillness of the early hours that allows him a voice without exacting payment from him. “You know how it is.”
“I do.” Yone nods, sighing heavily. He scrubs a hand across his face and leans down enough to rest his forearms on the counter, hair draping around him in a surprisingly unkempt curtain. “Though I wish neither of us did.”
Aphelios leans a hip against the counter, reaching to trail a finger around the rim of his mug as he watches the man in front of him.
Sometimes he wonders if he's the only one who ever sees Yone this way – the imperfection and weariness laid plain. By breakfast he'll be out here again like magic, hair pulled back and a mug of coffee that he'll pretend is his first in his hand. Probably some gross healthy breakfast smoothie from K'Sante in front of him next to a laptop and an indulgent smile on his face as Ezreal wakes up and proceeds to chatter his ear off.
But that's not for another few hours.
This Yone lets himself sag – dozing almost as they wait and watch their shared drug of choice drip like lifeblood into the pot. This Yone lets Aphelios see him, maybe if only because they're seeing each other without judgment or the overbearing concern of those fixated on a regular schedule. Kindred spirits haunting the grey hours of the morning together.
Finally the last gurgling hiss sputters from the machine, prompting Yone to pluck the pot free and fill both mugs – neither bothering with milk or sugar.
They share a last tired smile and lift the mugs, clinking them together.
“See you tomorrow.”
And shuffle their separate ways, to their shared work, for many mornings to come.