Work Text:
Willie jumps hitting his head on the headboard and lets out a string of curses. "What are you doing?" He hisses. "It's middle of the night," he says to Thurman's murky silhouette in the low lamplight.
He shrugs. "I couldn't sleep," he says simply.
"Yeah, well I was doing just fine," he snarks holding his head.
Thurman blinks at him. "Will you read me a story?"
"No."
"Okay," he says continuing to stand there. "Can I read you a story?"
Willie screams up at the ceiling.
"Is that a yes?" He doesn't bat an eye at the string of obscenities being unleashed into the duvet over 'Santa's' head.
"If I say yes, will you go away."
Thurman thinks a minute. "Yes."
"And never watch me sleep like some kind of little pervert again?"
"Okay." He scrambles up on the bed. "We're reading A Visit from St. Nicholas. Its a poem," he says excitedly.
"Thrilling." He shifts back against the pillow in resignation.
"Tee was the, n'night before Christmas when all through the house, not a crea crea-" he stutters over word for the sixth time and Willie rolls his eyes up towards the ceiling. He's gonna blow his brains out at this rate. "Give me that," he snaps yanking the book away.
Thurman beams shifting closer. "You're gonna read it?"
"Yeah yeah."
How he ended up here he'll never know. He sighs deciding not to shove him off the bed for resting his head against his shoulder and starts to read "'Twas the night before Christmas, when all through the house."