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"I can't sleep," Warren finds himself half-whispering into the silent dark across the short corridor between his and Gordon's rooms sometime in the small hours of the morning, trying and failing to keep the note of abject misery he's earned for trying too long from his voice. His socked footsteps fall muffled on the hardwood, avoiding the creakiest of the floorboards by ailing memory, the blanket wrapped around his shoulders trailing one corner behind him.
Gordon's room is a void of quiet darkness. He's always slept with the door open; even now, after so many cycles of freezing and thawing, it's one of the only things Warren can---however tentatively---trust to remain the same. It's too dark to make anything out but the vaguest silhouette tucked up under the covers, but the sheets rustle, and the shadow moves; Gordon shuffles up onto one elbow, scrubbing a hand over his face.
"D'you want to talk about it?" he breathes back, voice low and soft and rough with sleep.
Warren curls and uncurls the toes of his right foot against the threshold, the worn-smooth lip in the floor where varnished oak shifts to shoddy old shag carpet. He lets a shaky breath out his nose.
"Not really," he manages, voice unsteady.
"Okay," Gordon replies, easy, and rolls over, dragging the covers open with him. "Come rest."
The spot where Gordon's been laying is warm and smells of him---Warren's chest goes tight as he finds the mattress with a searching hand, and Gordon's hand finds his, covering his fingers with a sleep-warm gentle touch. When Warren hesitates, swallowing hard, Gordon does the moving, reaching up with a sleep-clumsy grasp to drag the worn red blanket from his shoulders and add it to the pile of covers, greens and blues and oranges all gone varying shades of gray in the complete darkness. As Warren settles down, first sitting, then tentatively burrowing his socked feet into the warmth, Gordon all but engulfs him, pulling him gently to rest his cheek on the pillow beside him, faces close in the darkness, warm, gentle arms wrapping around him as he pulls layers of blankets up close around Warren's shoulders, brushing them away from his face.
Warren lets him. He lets him with a traitorously thudding heart that calms each time it starts to race, stomach unknotting, breath coming slower and easier the more Gordon fusses.
It doesn't feel fussy. Gordon's too calm, too groggy, too warm and safe and knowing, for that.
When he eventually stops tucking Warren in amongst the blankets and moves instead to stroke gently at the knobs of his upper spine, Warren reaches out, slow and shaky, finds the curve of Gordon's waist, lets the rise and fall of Gordon's breathing draw him closer.
"I don't mind," Gordon murmurs, gentle and nearly inaudible for his softness, fingertips tracing calming nonsense patterns on Warren's back. His face is tucked close to Warren's, and he nestles down further, burying himself under Warren's chin until his temple meets Warren's neck, curling almost possessively around him.
"You sure?" Warren swallows hard, voice ringing traitorously soft in the darkness. Gordon's breaths are slow and warm and humid against the gap where his t-shirt collar folds on itself. When he buries his nose closer to Warren's collarbone, Warren wants to hold him there. He takes a quiet breath and stretches out, gives Gordon more space to tuck his face into.
The nod Gordon gives is more of a nuzzle. He tightens his arm around Warren, thumb starting gentle circles over Warren's shoulderblade. His other hand goes flat over Warren's heart.
"Yeah," he says softly. "I'm sure."