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Reyes was a heavy sleeper.
That much you knew from the many times you would admire his face with your fingers. How you’ve made a bad habit of tracing your fingers over his many growing scars on his face. From the many times you would playfully pull his arm over yourself, but it falls limp and doesn’t make the effort of pulling you in closer. From the many times you would intertwine your legs with his, but he doesn’t lock it any tighter together. From the many time you would whisper his name affectionately in his ear, but his eyes doesn't stir and only flickers under his lids in a dream. From that one time when you placed a kiss on his forehead before heading out of his room for the very last time.
Many times, you’ve wondered if you had stayed behind, would you have been just as lucky as Reyes was and survived. When it had happened it had eaten you away, but many of your friends and colleagues had urge you to stay strong, telling you sweet encouragements like how ‘he wouldn’t want you to be like this’ and ‘I’m sure he would’ve made sure you were alive.' You had convinced yourself to believe in those lies until you saw him again.
Reaper was a light sleeper.
That much you knew from the many times when you would be drifting off to sleep, and he gives your thigh a reaffirming squeeze. From the many times you would dream of kisses on your body and wake up with small bruises where you had dreamed them to be. From the many times you would see him on the edge of the bed when you wake up, back to you as he slouched over as if in thought. From the many times his wandering touch would wake you in the middle of the night from need. From that one time when you see him sleeping before you had for once. You try and trace over his new scars, only to find his eyes watching your face with every movement.
“I use to do this all the time when you were asleep back then.” You giggled, the thought of doing something without him knowing brings you more joy than you remembered. Craving old memories, your fingers ghost over the larger, newer ones. A particular one makes you linger a little longer on. The one that you had given him when he was just another masked man threatening your life.
He stays quiet, and your attention is taken by the mist that rises from his chest and neck. Your hand was now moving to place over his chest, fingers dancing over the pattern the fog had left behind on his skin. You watch in interest as the mist would try and float around and past your hand as if your presence wasn’t much of a disturbance to it. It makes you smile.
When he doesn’t stop you from enjoying yourself, you hum a tune that he hasn’t heard in a while. The vibrations from your chest travel lightly to his, and he suddenly feels something that seems foreign to him. He engulfs you with both his hands; one resting on your back and tracing lazy circles with his thumb, and the other on your behind, a light squeeze that gets another laugh from you. You squirm under his touch, knowing that he hated it when you did that.
You followed his gesture, placing both your hands on his shoulders, your hands snaking up the side of his head to rest under his head and languidly twirling his hair with your fingers.
“I know.” His voice rumbles underneath you, making you still on top of him, “Always tickled. It was hard not to grab your hands and use them for something else.” His suggestive tone easily draws a flush across your face. But this new information made you care less of a little embarrassment.
“Then... Where you awake that time?” you didn’t tell him specifically which time you were talking about, feeling a lump in your throat already.
“Yeah.” He says so nonchalantly; you sometimes wondered if he cares that he left you like that. He pauses before continuing, watching you intently. Your face blank, he notices how your fingers had stopped fiddling with his hair, and how your throat bobs as you swallow nothing but air. He tightens his hold on you just slightly before rolling the two of you to your sides. He brings an arm up and lets you and him rest your heads on it, looking down at you. His soft eyes and the way his free hands hangs on your waist, continuing the patterns that it had left off on your bare skin makes your heart sing.
“But I’m glad I was.” He finally continues, looking off somewhere as if trying to make the situation seem less intimate than it was to him. “Else you wouldn’t be here with me again.”
And just like that, the night became a long one.