Chapter Text
The thing about Bob was that he could fall asleep anywhere.
As in, anywhere.
It did make sense if one stopped to think about it. Per his own admission, Bob had been homeless for most of his adult life. Sometimes that meant couch surfing, sometimes it meant sleeping on the one non-hostile bench in the park. As his only other option was not to sleep at all, Bob learned to settle in wherever he could.
Where all he slept wasn’t something John necessarily thought of until that night. Sure, he’d seen Bob passed out on the balcony and at the kitchen counter; even once on the bench in the training room halfway through a rigorous session. But sleeping in weird places was one of Bob’s things so John never thought twice about any of them.
Not until that night when he had to add to the list of places: John Walker’s chest.
There were a lot of explanations for it that had nothing to do with John himself. Firstly, it took Bob several minutes to actually slide down far enough to make contact. When he first started dozing off, he was curled against the back of the couch. By the time he fell on John’s shoulder and eventually his chest, Bob was already deep asleep.
Beyond that, it was really late, and the last movie in the trilogy they decided to watch was astoundingly boring. So boring that Ava walked out less than halfway through. It was really a wonder that John hadn’t fallen asleep yet too. Then again, how could he?
Maybe he would have if Bob wasn’t on top of him, his messy curls tickling the bottom of John’s beard. His left hand was tucked under his side, his right resting softly on John’s abdomen. How could John possibly fall asleep when his shoulder was so uncomfortable from being forced to hold Bob’s weight, when Bob’s gentle snores seemed louder than the movie?
John had every right to roll Bob off his body. Every right to slide out as quietly as possible, or to just stand up and let him fall where he fell. And he did try. He lifted his arm and started to slip off the couch but stopped when Bob stirred. Bob groaned quietly, shifted his nose into John’s chest as his hand gripped the fabric of his t-shirt, and John’s immediate thought was,
Shit, he’s cute.
That was the thought that sent him spiraling. The unexpected observation that made him remember and overanalyze everywhere else that Bob had fallen asleep. Because he couldn’t be special. Bob didn’t lean into John because he was John, he was just getting comfortable in his random place of the day. If Ava was the one on the couch with him, he would have fallen asleep on her instead.
(And John definitely didn’t think Bob was cute. It was just that it was after midnight, and he’d had a couple drinks, and his brain was confusing words or feelings or something.)
Still, there was something in the back of John’s head that told him he shouldn’t sit with Bob like that; that it was somehow wrong for him to be so comfortable with a man sleeping fully on his chest. He tried his best to shove the feeling aside. Bob had been through so much in his life, he deserved a safe, cozy night on the couch—even with John as his unwitting pillow.
So, despite the discouraging feelings and his arm tingling and squished beneath Bob, John stayed put. He watched the movie in silence and maybe his fingers slipped once or twice to play with Bob’s hair, but it was just because he was so goddamn bored. That was also why he couldn’t describe the plot, not because he kept looking at Bob instead of the screen.
Desperate to watch something more interesting (or distracting), John reached his left arm as far as he could toward the chair Ava had been in. She left the remote behind and he was just too far away to reach it. He sighed as he sank back, the couch wobbling beneath him.
“Hm?” Bob squinted as he yawned. He brought his right hand to his face and rubbed his eye. For a split second, John felt sad for the loss of the warmth on his abdomen. Then Bob put his hand back down and squeezed the fabric again. “Sorry. Think I fell asleep.”
“You didn’t miss anything worth watching,” said John, somehow breathless.
Bob nodded against his chest, his eyes half closed again already. John started to move his arm, but Bob shifted, leaned into it like he wanted him to stay. “Where’s Ava?”
“She went to bed. Back when you were still on the other side of the couch.”
“Oh.” He took a few slow, deep breaths before he spoke again, his words slurring sleepily. “Want me to move back?”
Please don’t, was John’s first thought.
“You don’t have to,” was what he said.
“‘K.”
Another, heavier silence washed over them as Bob’s eyes drifted shut. John turned his attention back to the shitty movie, desperate to ignore the way his heart just barely pounded. If he thought too hard, he might remember how it felt to stargaze with Olivia, might realize the butterflies in his stomach were the same.
He twisted his arm, his fingertips grazing the surface of Bob’s skin. It was surprising how soft it was. John had always thought of men’s skin being rough like his, like his brothers in arms’, and Bob’s wasn’t. It was smooth, silky, warm.
“Sorry,” Bob mumbled, and John’s face flushed at the realization he’d spoken the last word aloud. “I know I run hot.”
Very hot, John thought, his gaze drifting to the sliver of exposed skin between Bob’s shirt and sweatpants. Then he shook his head, kicked himself internally, because what the fuck was happening to him.
Before John could think of a response, Bob sat up, only to wince and lean back down again. He pressed his forehead against John’s shoulder, his fingers on his temples.
“One second,” he whispered, and John could have stayed like that forever. “Head rush.”
“No hurry,” John breathed.
It took every ounce of John’s strength not to wrap his arms around Bob, not to pull him in closer and ask him not to move. He kept his mouth shut when Bob slid away and stumbled to his feet. He stretched his arms as he yawned and stepped back from the couch. John forced himself to look at the TV until Bob finished stretching and tugged his shirt into place.
“I’m gonna go lay down,” said Bob. He rubbed his hands under his eyes and smiled sleepily. “Night, John.”
“Night, Bob.”
John sank back into the couch when Bob left the common area. Somehow, though he was in the same seat as most nights, he suddenly felt like something was missing. Maybe he just needed somewhere to put his arms. He grabbed a pillow from the opposite cushion and wrapped his arms around it.
It wasn’t warm. It wasn’t soft. It didn’t have the weight that made him feel like he was in the safest place on Earth.
He tossed the pillow on the floor and stood up to grab the remote. He shut the TV off without a moment’s hesitation. There was no reason to keep staring at the screen, to keep pretending he was watching that shitty movie.
Not without Bob.