Chapter Text
The conclusion of the events at wuthering heights marked the end of Heathcliff's long period of suffering, envy, rage, and uncertainty. Now unburdened, Heathcliff could finally calm down and heal. All that hypervigilance took a lot out of him, so the first thing he wanted to do was do the opposite. The polar opposite of hypervigilance? Sleep. Catch up on years of nights lost to angst. As a result, he was falling asleep at every available opportunity. The most common opportunity was, of course, long days of transit on the bus.
Heathcliff sat next to Meursault these days. He was calm, polite, and quiet. An excellent combination for a seatmate if Heathcliff wanted to sleep. And he did.
Naturally standoffish like the drifting fox he was, awake Heathcliff made sure to lean away from Meursault. Asleep Heathcliff had no such compunction. He leaned with the swaying of the bus. It was not rare for Charon to take bumpy paths, so it was common for Heathcliff to be jostled in some direction or other. Oftentimes, he was jostled awake. Other times, he fell out of his seat. But sometimes, he would fall onto Meursault.
Meursault, the gentleman he was, would never throw Heathcliff off of him. In the early days, he would just stay still and allow Heathcliff to lean on his shoulder. When Heathcliff would awaken, he would be embarrassed at the position he woke up in. He was always grateful to Meursault for saying nothing about it and not making any comments.
As the weeks drew on and Meursault grew more fond of Heathcliff, he would ensure that Heathcliff was comfortable when he fell asleep. He would gently guide Heathcliff to lay his head in Meursault's lap and slowly angle Heathcliff so that he could stretch out on the seat. When Heathcliff awoke, he would be mortified, as he always believed that he was the one overstepping by using his lap.
Meursault tried to assuage him by saying that such a sleeping position was optimal, as it would prevent cramping. Any sudden stops requiring combat would be easier to handle if he was less cramped.
It did not change Heathcliff's conclusion, however. He was acting weak and being a burden on Meursault. He could not keep taking advantage of Meursault's politeness and patience. He needed to be on his own.
And so for a few days, Heathcliff sat on his own. He dozed like before, but was awoken more often. He had no way of knowing that Meursault had taken it upon himself to keep Heathcliff stable so that sudden bumps would not awaken him.
After these few days of poor sleep, he decided to speak to Meursault privately. Heathcliff needed to come clean to him and get it all out there if he was going to sit next to Meursault again. He knocked on Meursault's door.
There was no verbal response for a bit, but Heathcliff could hear very quiet footsteps. Meursault opened the door, stepped back, and extended his arm towards the room to indicate that Heathcliff should enter.
He looked around. So this is the bloke's room. Quite depressing. The room was a drab gray with a flat bed. It reminded Heathcliff of a prison. Countless eyes decorated the ceiling of the room. It reminded him of the various touches in his own room that referenced Wuthering Heights. Small cruelties in the designs.
“Well this is depressing.”
Meursault stared impassively at him.
“I mean- I- I just mean that- the room is very stark! Yeah! That's the word!”
“It was not my design. I do not mind the neutral tones, but I would prefer the exclusion of the excess of eyes.”
“Yeah they're really creepy…”
“Something brought you here?”
“Oh! Right! About our seats on the bus.”
Meursault gave a small nod to indicate he was listening.
“I want to go back to sitting next to you, but I feel weird that I keep winding up sleeping on you. I don't want you to feel all obligated to just put up with it.”
“I do not mind.”
“I know you're mister patient, but isn’t it weird that I keep accidentally doing that? I feel bad but-”
“But you sleep better next to me?”
Heathcliff flushed. “Y-yes.”
“Good.”
“Wot?”
“My efforts have been successful.”
“What efforts?!”
“Your assumptions are in error.”
“Oi, I get enough of that from the gray hair bird and the poet. I don't need you hammering at my self-esteem too.”
“My apologies.”
“Yeah, well I'm used to you saying stuff like-”
“I meant,” Meursault held up a hand to Heathcliff to indicate that he should wait for him to finish. “That you assumed that you are the one who keeps overstepping boundaries to lean on me. I have been moving you onto me to make you more comfortable.”
“What?! What're you, some kind of f-”
“Friend. We are friends, are we not?”
“F-friend. Yes. That's what I was going to say.”
“Yes. Was this inappropriate? I was intending to optimize your combat performance.”
“Oh, just that then.”
“Yes.”
“Well… I suppose that makes sense.”
“Extended physical contact is also good for mental health. We are able to achieve mutualistic symbiosis via this arrangement.”
“Err… yeah. Mutuals and all that. I suppose that makes sense.”
Heathcliff paused. “You don't care that it's a little… fruity for two men to do this?”
“As stated previously, I do not mind.”
“But is it?”
“I’m not particularly worried about how this is perceived.”
“Must be nice not being so self-conscious all the time…”
“It has some benefits.”
“Well… does this mean I can sit next to you again?”
“You always could. You're the one who stopped.”
Heathcliff muttered some minor retort and left. As he shut the door behind him, Meursault nodded in approval.
Another day, another nap. Heathcliff, now aware of Meursault's assent, was growing increasingly bold. He no longer needed to fall over to lean on Meursault. He merely would mutter a quiet “wouldja mind?” and begin to lean on him.
Half the time, Meursault would suggest leaning his head on his lap. And Heathcliff took that suggestion about a fifth of the time, too self-conscious the rest of the time to do so.
As the days went on, Heathcliff got more comfortable with the idea of sleeping on Meursault’s lap, and began to take his suggestion more often. Eventually, he would sometimes ask even when Meursault hadn't offered. Meursault would always nod in approval and pat his lap invitingly.
After yet more time, Heathcliff would find himself nuzzling into Meursault and even hugging onto Meursault. Meursault never gave any external indications of what he thought about this, but internally, he enjoyed it.