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Rex doesn’t hear himself yell, but he feels the aftermath of it in the roughness of his throat. He hauls in a gasping breath, hands leaping up to his neck. He already knows he won’t find anything by the time they close over bare skin.
He manages another ragged breath, chest heaving even as flops back into the bed. Their upstairs neighbour doesn’t bang on the floor; he must have woken up quickly.
“Fuck,” he says to the ceiling, abstract terror being rapidly displaced by frustration even if his body is slower to get the message. The dark of the room conspires with the lingering nightmare to turn the mundane shapes of their room into looming shapes, ones that move in the corner of his vision and look eerily like purge trooper armour until he looks at them straight on.
Rex rolls over onto his front, pressing his face into his pillow. It’s unpleasantly warm, the whole room heavy and close, sheets sticking to his sweaty skin. His heart continues to race behind his ribs, even as the details of the dream slip away. He doesn’t need the details, the general shape is familiar and well trodden.
Cody’s side of the bed is empty and cold. Rex traces the cool sheets, fingers catching on the increasing numbers of patched holes. The nightmares aren’t real, and their connection to real things that occurred are tenuous at best. It’s not enough to escape the consuming dread that still sits in his stomach, just enough to make him feel stupid about it.
If he’s not going to sleep, he’d rather do it with Cody than here.
Rex drags himself out of bed, ignoring the heaviness of his limbs and the desperation to indulge the fantasy that if he sleeps again this time it’ll be peaceful.
He leaves the lights off, lets the phantom shapes dance at the edge of his vision. They don’t scare him when he’s awake.
It’s a small apartment in a poor part of the city. There’s a limited number of places Cody could be. The bedroom leads directly into the joint living room and kitchen, the only other room a fresher that makes the one off Cody’s quarters on the Negotiator look spacious. They won’t stay here much longer; it’s just a matter of if it’s rising rent or the growing Imperial presence that chases them away first.
Rex peels his shirt off, dropping it into an overflowing laundry basket. Cody has already started raiding the half of their clothes that are predominantly Rex’s, and the only shirt left is thin and torn in the armpit. But it’s clean, even if it smells faintly musty from being shoved at the back of the drawer too long.
He doesn’t grab any pants, abandoning the frustration of their bed in just his underwear and old shirt.
The only light in the room is the staticy image of the holovision casting flickering colours and strange shadows across the room. The volume is turned down low, the conservator humming from the kictchenet almost enough to drown it out. Cody’s bundled on the couch, turned sideways, one arm along the back of the chair, index and middle fingers tapping rapidly against the faded pattern.
Seeing him helps. The image of PT-2224 is one that has dug its claws into Rex’s subconscious, but it’s chased away by the reality in front of him—Cody lost in a too big jumper with his favourite blanket stolen from the bed nested around him couldn’t be more distant from the leader of Vader’s fist.
Cody lolls his head backwards to look at Rex. He smiles, but after only a moment he loses the energy even for that. Shadows darken under his eyes, exhaustion pulling down on his face.
“I always liked punctuality in a man,” Cody says, voice soft to match the holovision though there’s no one left to wake.
“Shut up,” Rex grumbles. The chrono on the nanowave barely works, the red numbers glowing weakly, with some segments having given up all together. It’s 3:42 in the morning. Last night he trudged through at 3:48. “Move over.”
Cody sighs, eyes closing for a moment, visibly summoning the energy to move. He shuffles backwards, lifting the blankets, offering space between his legs.
Cody’s dressed in the same clothes as the day before.
Rex drops down onto the couch, shifting until he’s between Cody’s legs, leaning back into the warmth of his chest. It draws him closer while the stifling heat of the bedroom chased him away.
“Maybe I wouldn’t have woken up if you hadn’t taken the blankets,” Rex says. He’s said it before, the line coming out over rehearsed, but there’s an ease to its familiarity. Rex didn’t have to think about it any more than Cody has to think about his reply.
“I like this one.” Cody says.
Rex had given it to him, bought with credits that could have gone towards anything else. It’s old now, the softness that had drawn Rex to it worn away by too many washes, the edges starting to fray.
Cody wraps the blanket back around them, fussing until he’s content that it’s tucked in properly to avoid even the risk of a draft.
“What are we watching?” Rex asks. Cody’s hand finds his knee under the blanket and squeezes. His hands are cold even if the rest of him is warm.
“Don’t know.” Cody yawns and keeps speaking through it. “She’s cheating on her wife with her sister’s husband. Her brother just found out.”
The urge to ask Cody if he slept at all tugs at Rex, but is easily ignored. Cody can’t get to sleep and Rex can’t stay asleep. There’s meds in their ‘fresher, but ones they need to make last. Talking about it won’t make a difference. He watches the terrible holodrama instead.
The human woman clutches at her chest, in overacted indignance as she’s accused of doing precisely what Cody has just said she is. The cheap holovision’s colours are saturated and the sound crackles.
Rex’s head hurts, a dull throb behind his eyes.
“This is garbage.”
Cody shrugs. “Yeah,” he agrees. Neither of them move to change it.
Despite Cody’s best efforts the couch still smells faintly of smoke, the previous tenants ignoring the no smoking inside rule. Cody has steadfastly refused to allow Rex to do the same. He could use a smoke, but not enough to go down to the street.
Rex puts his hand over Cody’s caressing his knuckles with one finger. Cody’s breathing is steady behind him. It’s impossible that this is the same man as the purge trooper Rex dreams of.
Rex’s eyes get heavy and he shifts, ignoring Cody’s grunt of complaint, so he can rest his head more comfortably against Cody’s shoulder. The terror from the nightmare is pushed from his mind.
The curtains are thin and as the sun starts to creep up orange light breaks through them, crawling out across the floor. It will be a while before it reaches the couch.
Cody’s foot bounces, out of time with his fingers tapping on the back of the couch.
The show ends, and another takes its place. Rex watches for somewhere to put his eyes, but the words blur and the characters all look the same.
Jesse in black armour towers over him.
Rex lurches awake, jerking against Cody. He breathes sharply through his nose and presses the heel of his hand between his eyes. Cody kisses his temple, and mercifully doesn’t ask.
The light continues its slow stretch across the floor and the holovision drones on.