Work Text:
Christian’s high. Like, way too high.
He’s lying in the middle of Mitchel’s bed, sprawled out and boneless, hoodie bunched around his neck, hair sticking up like he just rolled through a wind tunnel. The room smells faintly of incense, smoke, and that familiar sweetness that always clings to Christian’s skin.
Mitchel leans against the doorframe for a second, arms crossed, just watching. It’s hard not to laugh—Christian’s grinning up at the ceiling, one hand lifted in front of his face as if it’s the most interesting thing he’s ever seen.
“Dude,” Mitchel says finally, voice amused. “You good there, Kras?”
Christian turns his head toward him, eyes glassy and wide. “Miiittyyy,” he says, voice slow and lazy. “Your room’s like… breathing.”
Mitchel snorts, stepping closer. “It’s not breathing, man. That’s just you being absolutely fried.”
Christian giggles, that soft, contagious kind of laugh that makes Mitty’s chest feel too warm. “It’s a nice room though,” he murmurs, voice dipping quieter. “Smells like you.”
Mitchel sits down on the edge of the bed, pretending not to notice the way his heartbeat picks up. “You sound like a compliment generator that’s lost its mind.”
Christian hums, turning onto his side so his face presses into Mitchel’s thigh. “You love it,” he says, muffled against the fabric of Mitchel’s jeans.
Mitchel chuckles, shaking his head, but his fingers are already moving—combing through Christian’s messy hair, smoothing down the wild curls. “You’re a disaster,” he says quietly.
Christian’s eyes flutter shut, a soft sigh slipping out of him. “Mhm. But your disaster?”
The question hits harder than it should. Mitchel freezes for a second, fingers tangled in his hair, then exhales slowly. “Yeah,” he says, just above a whisper. “Guess so.”
Christian smiles at that, slow and blissful, before mumbling, “You have really nice hands, y’know.”
Mitchel laughs under his breath, brushing his thumb over Christian’s temple. “You’re definitely gone.”
“Gone where?”
“Never mind.”
Christian hums again, content. “Stay with me,” he mumbles, tugging at Mitchel’s hoodie sleeve. “Feels weird when you’re far away.”
Mitchel’s heart stutters. “I’m literally right here, bro.”
“Closer.”
He sighs but gives in, shifting until he’s lying beside Christian, their bodies pressed close. Christian immediately curls into him like it’s the most natural thing in the world—head tucked under Mitchel’s chin, one hand fisted weakly in his hoodie.
“Better?” Mitchel asks.
Christian nods, eyes already slipping closed. “You’re warm,” he whispers.
“So are you.” Mitchel’s voice softens as he wraps an arm around him, thumb rubbing small circles against his back. “You should try to sleep.”
There’s a pause. Then Christian’s voice again—quiet, almost tender. “You always look at me like that?”
Mitchel blinks, lips twitching. “Like what?”
“Like you’re in love with me or something.”
The room goes still. The faint hum of the street outside, the steady beat of Christian’s breathing—it’s all Mitty can focus on. He could laugh it off, could tease him, but instead he just murmurs, “You’re too high to talk like that.”
Christian giggles softly, sleepy. “Didn’t say it wasn’t true.”
Mitchel’s throat feels tight. He shifts a little, fingers sliding back up to stroke through Christian’s hair again, slower this time, almost reverent. “You’re lucky you’re cute, Kras.”
Christian’s smile is faint but content. “You love me, Mitty.”
Mitchel swallows, then answers quietly, “Yeah. I do.”
For a while, neither of them says anything. Christian’s breathing evens out against his chest, slow and deep, while Mitchel stays awake, tracing patterns against his back and twirling a lock of his hair between his fingers. Every now and then, Christian hums softly, half-asleep, instinctively nuzzling closer.
Mitchel leans his chin on the top of Christian’s head, voice barely audible. “You’re so pretty like this,” he murmurs.
Christian stirs faintly, mumbling something incoherent that sounds like, ‘Told you so.’
Mitchel smiles, pressing a light kiss into his hair. “Yeah, you did.”
The lamp hums softly in the corner. Outside, the city keeps moving, but inside it’s still—just warmth, the faint rhythm of a heartbeat, and Christian asleep in his arms. Mitchel tightens his hold just a little, his voice barely a breath.
“I’m not going anywhere,” he whispers.
And he doesn’t.
—
The room is quiet when Mitchel wakes. The incense has burned out, sunlight spills through half-closed blinds, and Christian’s still asleep on his chest.
Mitchel’s first thought is that he should move—stretch, maybe get some water.
But Christian’s arm is wrapped around his waist, his face buried in Mitchel’s hoodie, breath warm and steady against his skin. Moving would mean breaking that calm, and Mitchel can’t bring himself to do it.
He settles back, fingers finding their way into Christian’s hair again. It’s soft, warm, a little tangled from the night before. Christian shifts slightly, humming in his sleep, and the sound makes Mitchel smile.
A few minutes later, Christian stirs. He blinks, squinting against the light, a tiny frown pulling at his face. “M’head feels weird,” he mumbles, voice thick and groggy.
“Yeah, that’s what happens when you try to outsmoke the universe,” Mitchel murmurs, his thumb tracing slow circles on Christian’s back. “You crashed hard.”
Christian groans, nuzzling closer instead of answering. “You smell good,” he says, muffled.
Mitchel laughs quietly. “You said that last night too.”
“I was right,” Christian replies without lifting his head. His words are slurred with sleep, his fingers gripping Mitchel’s hoodie tighter. “You’re comfy.”
Mitchel tries to tease, but his voice comes out softer than he means it to. “You gonna let go of me, or…?”
“Nope.” Christian’s response is instant, lazy but firm. “Too warm. Stay.”
Mitchel exhales, amused and helpless all at once. “You’re ridiculous.”
“Mm, you like it.”
“I do,” Mitchel admits, almost under his breath.
That gets a faint smile from Christian. He finally lifts his head, eyes half-open, pupils still a little blown. “You stayed.”
“Of course I did.” Mitchel brushes his fingers through Christian’s hair again, smoothing it back from his forehead. “Told you I wasn’t going anywhere.”
Christian’s eyes soften, that familiar, easy grin pulling at his lips. “You’re too good to me, Mitty.”
Mitchel shakes his head, smiling. “You make it hard not to be.”
For a while they just lie there, tangled up in blankets and sunlight. Christian’s breathing steadies, his hand resting over Mitchel’s heartbeat.
When he finally speaks again, his voice is quieter—more real. “Hey, Mitty?”
“Yeah?”
Christian blinks up at him, that sleepy fondness still written all over his face. “Thanks for last night. For taking care of me.”
Mitchel pauses, fingers brushing gently over Christian’s cheek. “Always, Kras.”
Christian smiles, small and genuine. Then, without warning, he curls up again, hiding his face against Mitchel’s chest.
“You’re never getting your hoodie back,” he mumbles.
Mitchel laughs, low and breathy, resting his chin on Christian’s head. “Keep it, man. Looks better on you anyway.”
Christian hums, already drifting again. “Knew you’d say that.”
Mitchel just smiles, closing his eyes, one arm still around him. The morning light spills across them—two people caught somewhere between exhaustion and something deeper.
And for once, neither of them feels the need to move.