Work Text:
A low rumble stirs you awake. Warm, large hands wrap around your plush torso before you can fully open your eyes. Hobie gazes down at you, his hand moving up to wipe the drool from your face.
“‘S two. Like you said.” he speaks again. You realize the rumble is his voice, trying to keep quiet.
Your alarm clatters as you sit up by your elbows. “Fuck,” you breathe out, staring into the void that is your room at 2am. Despite how delirious you are, you’re happy to see the punk leaning over you, courteous to wake you up on time like you asked.
“Yeah, I’d figure you’d click snooze.” He adds, shutting off your phone’s ringer for you. You’ve never tried so hard in school before, you guessed this is what it must feel like, carving out a few hours of your night to write a paper you could finally forget about. He lets out an amused huff as you stare into the wall. You wondered how much your grade would really drop if you just didn’t turn it in. Nah, he wouldn’t let you. His large fingers cup and squeeze your face, rousing you again with a soft shake, “Oi.”
You clear your throat, turning to the side to sneak back to sleep. If you looked tired enough maybe he’d leave you alone? You hear his faint voice rumble faintly, “Mate, I’m serious.”
He cups the small of your back, another siding underneath your shoulders before he pulls you upright and shakes you again. “I mean it.” he murmurs, gently scooping your eye boogers out with his short, painted nails. “What part are you on now, hm? Your paper.”
Your eyebrows knit together at the thought. It’s taken you hours to push about a meaningful sentence or two, just for you to quickly erase it, refusing to think about it again. “I’m nowhere hobes. I can’t write for shit I told you that already.” You reply.
He tsks in response, thumbs pushing your eyelids down before blowing at the rest of the built-up crystals. “Come out of it. You write fine, get up.” He lifts a leg off your knees, giving you a choice. You shift to the side of your bed, fixing your hair and staring into your carpet. “I just want to improve,” you add quietly.
He lets out a soft sigh, “You can improve. You’ve seen me do it righ’? I don't ‘ave a lick of school, just a library card.”
The room gets quiet, a bit solemn too. The both of you seem quite deep in thought as you reflect over your life circumstances. Is that why he tried so hard? He just wanted to see you succeed where he never had a chance to? A train’s echoing blare reminds the two of them where they are.
Your mattress shifts as you finally stand up, tiredly wobbling your way over to your desk. While the Brit was happy to hold you accountable, he didn’t think you really needed it. He’d only wished you’d believe in yourself more. He stands up too, only to gather your materials. A couple of pens, pieces of scrap paper.. mini tissue pack. “Look, you’ve got solid work ‘ere. An’ I genuinely don’t care if it takes you ‘til six to realize that.” He smirks.
You chuckle shyly, turning on the lamp beside you and picking up your pen.