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The water in the tub is faintly steaming, leaving both of you with faintly red skin along where you’re submerged. You don’t mind, though. The hot water is good for his muscles and it’s still just barely cool enough to be soothing for him.
You lather the shampoo through his hair, mixing up bubbles that drift down the back of his neck and around his ears, leaving fractured reflections of the faint light in the room. Your hands work gently to scrub away the sweat and grime, occasionally scratching his scalp and drawing out sighs of relief and contentment. He’s tired enough that he’s leaning all of his body weight against you, which you love. He would always be hesitant to lay on you. He was convinced he’d crush you, not that that would be a bad way to go out.
When you’re convinced his hair is clean enough, you do your best to push the bubbles out with your fingers before using the palms of your hands to slowly rinse the remnants. It dissolves them little by little, each handful of water seeming to ease his breathing.
“I don’t know how I’d live without you.” He slurs quietly, drunk off of impending sleep but meaning it wholeheartedly.
Another scoop of hot water spills from your hands to the back of his head. You smile softly. “Oh, I’m sure you’d be able to handle yourself.”
“I’d be a mess.” He lets you tilt his head forward to rinse the hair by his neck. “I appreciate you. You know that, right?”
You place a kiss on his shoulder. “I know. You don’t have to worry about that, hon.”
“Jus’ making sure.”
The last of the soap in his hair has disappeared by now, letting him return to resting against you. Your arms envelope him, feeling how just hot his skin is from the water. His breathing is shallow, barely reaching his lungs as the world shifts to a stop around him, like he’s in space. He can’t even keep his eyes open anymore; they burn and his eyelids feel like forty pound weights. This is the most relaxed he’s been in who knows how long, fully disengaged and disarmed in a boiling bath in the middle of the night while you clean him off. He feels safe. He’s hidden away with you from everything and everyone, and while he feels guilty about it, he can’t articulate how loved he feels. Not just by you, but by Nick and Folio, and Jolly and Matt and Davis. He’s a mess as of late and all of you are being so generous and understanding and patient with him even when he wasn’t.
“I think it’s time for someone to go to bed.” You lean your head on his, softly coaxing in his ear.
He doesn’t move, murmuring instead. “I don’t wanna get up.”
“I know, but you can’t stay in here forever. You’ll melt away.” Your hands move to his shoulders, holding him but not pushing yet. “Our bed is much better than the tub, I promise. I’ll dry you off and we can get you dressed and in bed, it won’t take too long.”
He lets out a disconcerted groan, somehow going even more limp in your lap at the idea of any physical effort. You let out a small, breathless giggle, pressing your lips to his soaked hair.
“I won’t make you get out by yourself, I’ll hold you up. I know you’re tired, but you’ll be much comfier in bed, trust me. Your back will thank me.”
He silently ponders, weighing his options in his head. His body is exhausted beyond compare, overworked and overwhelmed by everything going on. It’s considering refusing your advice, but he thinks you’re probably right about his back. His muscles are crying for a break, and he knows it’d probably feel pretty good to sprawl out on the bed in the other room so it can rest for the night. And of course, the water will eventually get cold…
He lets out another very long sound of protest, punctuating it with a defeated ‘fine’ as he allows you to push him forward enough to slip out of the tub. He watches you retrieve the pair of blankets from the counter, leaving little droplets of water on the tile on the way to wrap yourself up. If he had any energy left he’d be disappointed at you covering up, but tonight all he wants is to get in bed and sleep.
“Alright, come on, up-up.”
You throw his towel over your shoulder, standing by the edge of the tub with your arms outstretched for him to take your hands to pull him up. It takes a decent amount of effort from both of you, but with a loud grunt you manage to help him to his feet to trade the sanctuary of soapy water for the mediocre temperature of the bathroom. His hands come up to perch on your shoulders to steady himself as you pat him dry, leaving his hair spiked and rough atop his head when you wrap the towel around his waist for some momentary modesty while you guide him to bed.
He trudges behind you into the main space of your hotel room, sitting down on the edge of the bed to hunch forward and smooth his hair down a bit. His eyes unfocus when they drift to the floor, watering with sleepiness. It’s a rather pathetic picture to paint, but he’s also undeniably cute when he’s tired and needy, regressing into a big, sweet puppy. He’s one to nap whenever he can, as well as sleep in late on weekends to make up for early studio hours. Sometimes he’d come home in the afternoons during the week and beg you to come upstairs with him so he could be the big spoon and hold you like a teddy bear for an hour or two. Car rides put him to sleep, too. Anything over two hours knocked him straight out unless his friends forced him up and awake with conversation.
“Okay, I’ve got some clean clothes for you, let’s get dressed, sleeping beauty.”
You come into his field of vision again, dressed in an oversized shirt and carrying another for him along with some boxers. How did you get dressed so fast? How long has he been sitting there? Five minutes? Ten? Twenty? His eyes, half closed and bordering on bloodshot by now, trail up your body to meet yours. All you can do is give him an encouraging smile and scrunch up his shirt to slide it over his head. He groans when he has to stick his arms through the holes, letting his head fall back when he can’t hold it up anymore. You adjust the shirt over his chest and shoulders, covering his stomach and back with the credits to some indie movie you can’t be bothered to name at the moment.
“I’m gonna hang the towels up, can you finish by yourself?” You tip your head to the side, trying to read his drunk expression when he looks up at you through his lashes.
You wait for an answer, letting him give a few heavy blinks that mimic a comic book thought bubble until his head thumps forward against your chest, causing you to stumble a bit, grabbing his collar for support. Long arms wrap around your waist to pull you closer between his knees into a smothering hug. You hear him grumble again, slurred words muffled against your clothed sternum.
You stroke his hair, laughing at his helplessness. “You gotta speak up, honey.”
“ Don’t leave me .”
“I’ll be gone for half a second, I’m not leaving you.”
“ Ts’ too long .”
“They're all wet, they’ll get gross if I don’t.”
“ Don’t care .”
“I’m gonna be right back, I swear.”
“ No .”
His hands snake underneath your shirt to settle against your skin. The dampness of his hair is darkening the fabric, and as uncomfortable as it is you want him to stay there forever. He exhales deeply when you scratch the tattoo on the back of his neck, still keeping you in a tight hold.
“I’ll stay here with you, but you still have to get dressed, okay? Then we can go to bed.” Your nails drift to hold his jaw, gently tilting his head back so he’s looking at you again.
“Mhm.” He stares up at you rather thoughtlessly, but so sweetly you can’t help but lean down to kiss his forehead underneath his bangs.
He keeps you there for a few minutes, letting his eyes close, keeping his face pressed against you while your thumb soothingly rubs over his cheek. Each movement lets him loosen his jaw more and more, eventually unclenching it all together with a hum of appreciation. If he could purr, he would, but he makes do with nuzzling into your shirt while he squeezes you around the middle.
You slide your hand down his back to roll the hem of his shirt between your fingertips. “C’mon, hotshot, you can do it.”
“ Okayyyy .”
Once again, he picks his head up, releasing you from his grip to take his boxers from you, letting you step to the side to let him exchange the towel for them. You scoop it up in hand with yours to toss it onto the chair in the corner to be dealt with in the morning when you wake up, when Noah’s preoccupied with sleep.
After a minute he’s dressed, laying back against the bed with his eyes barely open. You reach above his head to pull the covers back, untucking them from the bedframe and shuffling the pillows around.
“Come on, come up here.” You pat the empty space under the blankets.
He rolls over to drag himself towards you, maneuvering his way under the blankets until he can lay on his side and watch you slip under to meet him. You tug the blanket to cover his shoulder, making sure to tuck him in as much as possible. His arm finds its way around your middle again, pulling you against him to bury his face in your hair.
“Comfy?” You reach around to scratch his back, feeling how relaxed the muscles under his skin feel compared to earlier.
“Mhm.” He rubs his face against your hair, almost like a cat would.
“Good.” You pull back a little, reaching out for the lamp on the bedside table. “Let’s try and get some rest, okay?”
He pulls you back towards him, his lips landing on yours in a way you didn’t expect. It’s gentle. You kiss him back contently, your hand coming up to his face to caress his cheek. It feels like he’s trying to thank you, pressing into you earnestly, moving slowly against you.
His fingers start to drift up your shirt, the warmth of his hand sliding up your stomach towards your chest. It almost makes it too high before you realize what he’s doing.
“Not tonight, baby.” You guide his hand back down, rubbing your thumb over his wrist when he sighs. He touches his forehead to the top of your head and although you can’t see it, you can sense the disappointment on his face.
“I’m sorry.” He mumbles.
You shake your head. “Don’t be sorry, you didn’t do anything wrong.”
“I’m so much work .”
“What?” You pull back again to look at him. His eyes are watering with how exhausted he is, half lidded and so vulnerable.
“You’re awake in the middle of the night taking care of me.” He looks back at you. “You should be asleep. It’s not fair of me to make you do so much.”
“You’re not making me, I want to help you. You’re always taking care of me, aren’t you?”
“That’s different.”
“How?”
Noah shrugs. “I don’t know. I feel like I’m weighing you down by asking for too much. I don’t want you to have to feel like you’re stuck with baggage.”
“Baby, listen to me.” You watch him struggle to blink when you pause. “You aren’t asking for anything, I’m doing this because I care about you. We take turns doing things for each other because that’s how relationships work, and that’s what you do when you care about people. You’re not a burden or baggage to me, okay?” It takes a second before he nods, and you smile at the way he doesn’t argue.
“Let’s get some sleep now, okay?” Your hand squeezes his as he gives another reluctant nod.
You roll over to flick the lamp off, leaving only the moonlight and the dim lights of the city outside illuminating the room. He wraps his arm around you when you find your way back to him under the blankets, holding you close to his chest.
“Can I have one more kiss?” His voice is a faint whisper next to you.
You giggle, lifting your head. “Yes, you can.”
You kiss him one more time, his movements just as delicate as before.