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Blanche is sitting on the couch and not at their desk, which means it’s not officially for work, which is good. But they also have a stack of books about as tall as the average torso, which is somewhat less good.
Spark looks up at the clock in their living room. Almost 3 in the morning. That hasn’t changed since the last time he took a look three and a half minutes ago.
“Candelaaaa.” Blanche barely even twitches at his voice, and when Candela turns to look at him, Spark gives her the best hint hint look he can in their direction, and then to the clock.
“I’ll leave this one to you,” Candela says when she works out what he’s asking, amused. “I’m going to get some water.”
And she actually does, turning around to march around the corner into the kitchenette.
Her Talonflame, where it sits patiently next to Spark on the carpet, lets out a squawk that may or may not be laughter. Spark huffs and almost flings himself back on the ground, but he’s not quite reached that level of petulance just yet.
Instead, he sighs and looks to the tiny pink egg nestled in Talonflame’s right wing, hugged close to its body. Blanche had identified it for him a few days ago as a Happiny egg, and those are always notoriously finicky to care for. He’d been mostly carrying it around to let it sun itself to the right temperature, but Candela had offered her Talonflame’s services after the end of the first week of that.
“Hey, Talonflame, I’m gonna leave this one to you,” he echoes. It’s not the first time he’s left an egg in Talonflame’s care, and the bird bobs its head in a quick nod of confirmation. He asks, as always, to make sure it’s okay before carefully rearranging Talonflame’s wing around the egg to ensure enough feather coverage on the rounder end, and picks himself off the luxuriously plush carpet. Time to get Blanche to stop reading and get to bed.
Blanche has moved on to another book, cracked open about a third of the way through. He has to crane his head to read the title—Grass-Rock Evolutionary Divergence: Evidence from Prehistoric Hoenn—but once he figures it’s not related to Blanche’s official project—they were working together with Professors Willow and Rowan about some underground cave systems connecting Sinnoh’s three lakes—he takes his chance and plops down right next to them, wrapping his arms around their neck in a good old hug.
“Spark. What are you doing?” This, at least, gets Blanche to lower the book, though they do leave their thumb on the page. Progress, even if it’s only 50% of what he was expecting, is progress.
“I‘m keeping you warm. Maybe you’ll hatch into someone who’s warm and cuddly and goes to sleep at reasonable hours.“
“I’m an adult. I hardly need a curfew.”
“Yeah, but you gotta sleep regularly. Keep a good sleep schedule.” All this talk about sleep must be getting to him; he lets out a big yawn too. “’s healthy.”
“Am I really hearing about the importance of routines from you?”
Blanche turns their head slightly to make their raised eyebrow visible to Spark. The books seem to be entirely forgotten now, as Blanche looks to be caught up on the hypocrisy. Yes! More progress! Now to haul them off to bed.
…After a bit, maybe. Despite his earlier words, Blanche is plenty cuddly. And the couch is pretty soft, if unfortunately lumpy near the middle.
“Yeah, but I don’t stay up until 5. Most of the time. Usually.” The side of Blanche’s face closer to him shows evidence of a small, fond, smile. That’s usually the smile that tells him they’re humoring him. He’ll take it if it’ll get Blanche to agree to sleep. “Anyway. It’s 3, and you said you had to go early tomorrow. Or today, or whatever. So sleep.”
Blanche furrows their brow. They lift their book back up and begin to protest, “But I was-“
Spark smooshes a finger to their lips, or as close as he can manage, since Blanche turns away at the last second. His arm slips a little downwards, eventually settling around their shoulders. “Ssh,” he says. “You can read again after waking up. Your books aren’t going to fly away. Ssh.”
Blanche opens up to where they left off and he frowns. “Three more pages until I’m done with the chapter. Then I’ll sleep.”
“Mmf.” Learning to compromise is the cornerstone of a good relationship, after all. “Fine,” he relents. “But just one chapter. And I’m not moving until you’re done.” Blanche is very nice to curl up next to, after all, no matter how uncomfortable the couch may be.
“Such magnanimity,” Blanche murmurs. Just for that comment, he rests his head on their shoulder. He feels them tense a bit at the sudden contact, but also the relaxation that follows, the small jolt from Blanche’s huff of amusement.
“I’m a saint,” he proclaims. “I’m always nice.”
The soft laugh that follows that is good enough for him.
Spark yawns again. Blanche is a fast reader, but it’s been a pretty long day and he’s just going to rest his eyes for a little bit, right? Surely there’s no harm in that…
Blanche blinks in surprise when they feel another hand gently tap them on the other shoulder.
“I think that’s been a lot more than 3 pages,” Candela’s voice says. Blanche can’t exactly turn to fully look at her right now, given their position. Or, more accurately, Spark’s position slumped against them, his breathing slow and even in the rhythm of deep slumber.
“Um,” they say. Candela looks a bit amused, a bit exasperated. She hands them a glass of water, and tilts her head to Spark for a moment.
“Let me pry him off you so you can get ready for bed. He is right, you know; you should be getting some sleep. You’re going to meet with Professor Willow at nine, right? Five hours isn’t enough, but it’s better than getting no sleep at all. And no, you can't drink coffee to make up for lost sleep. That's not how health works,” Candela says, preempting the protest already at the tip of Blanche’s tongue.
When Blanche can’t quite muster up another argument, she smiles faintly and shakes her head. “Spark should take his own advice, too.” She looks back to her Talonflame on the carpet, where it’s dozing lightly, egg still snug and warm where Spark left it. “He’s been losing sleep over the egg; he’s worried it’s not going to hatch properly. Honestly, the two of you.”
Blanche folds over the page corner and set the book down on the coffee table. They frown, guilt flickering through their thoughts as they look back to Spark. He never falls asleep so quickly. They should have realized something was wrong. “I’m sorry. I really didn’t mean to read for so long,” they say.
“Yeah, we know. And we don’t mind, honest.” Candela makes good on her offer and eases Spark off of them, draping him over her back like he weighs nothing. There’s a fleeting moment where Blanche misses his lingering pressure and warmth, but they put the thought aside for now. “Of course we’re going to want to wait for you.” Something in Blanche’s chest flutters and rises up at those words, like their heart is a balloon filled to bursting.
Candela smiles at them, like she knows. “Have some water, wash up if you need to, change out of your clothes. But don’t take too long, all right?”
Blanche nods. Satisfied, Candela adjusts Spark once more and heads off in the direction of the bedroom.
Blanche’s night routine doesn’t take long, and soon they’re switching off the lights in the rest of the apartment and quietly picking their way into the bedroom, where they can already see two figures under the covers. Candela still has the bedside lamp on, and she smiles when she sees Blanche enter.
“Get over here,” Candela says, fondly. She throws back the blankets at the other side of the bed—Spark sleeps in the middle because he clings like an Ambipom, and given a choice between that or Candela’s tendency to sprawl out and jostle the blankets in her sleep, Blanche knows which one they’d rather pick.
Once under the covers they interlock their fingers with Spark’s, reaching out across the bed with the other arm to do the same with Candela.
“Night,” Candela says, flicking the lamp off.
Spark breathes out, almost deep enough to be a snore.
Eyes drifting shut, they whisper a quick, “Good night.” It’s warm like this, feeling their heart settle into a gentle, easy rhythm, in time with the twin faint pulses they can feel through their hands. It is warm, and they are loved. And that has always been more than enough.