Archive of Our Own

The credits for a movie played in the background as Lovino curled up in the darkness, his eyes closed, Gilbert's arms cradling him against his chest as the most precious one to protect.

He loved him, loved him so much, and left a soft kiss on his temple, which the Italian responded to with a soft grunt, shifting under the warm blankets.

When he felt Lovi doze off, relax, and curl up like his kitten, Gil stifled his laughter—a kesesese died in his throat—so as not to wake him.

Lovino had barely been able to sleep these last few days; after the movie he drifted off. And then Gilbert got up slowly, signaling to Gilbird that they were leaving and asking him to be quiet. The little bird didn't make a sound.

Lovino's cat, on the other hand, stretched out on the bed, rolled over a couple of times, and lay back down against his owner's body.

When he opened the door slowly, without turning on the light, he heard his voice speaking to him and then turned his face.

“Are you leaving?” he asked sleepily, barely conscious, and the albino nodded.

“It's late, liebe.”

“Good night.”

“Rest well, liebe.”

The older man blew him a kiss, but by then the brown-haired man's head had fallen back onto the pillow, completely exhausted, accompanying his cat's purrs with soft, deep breaths.