Work Text:
Fingers dashing across keyboards. The repetitive sound as he clicked the pen he had idly resting between his fingers. The tapping of his foot against the cold metal flooring. The blinding light of the monitors.
007n7 snapped out of his long focus state. Fuck, how long had it been since he left his chair. He’d needed to get work done, but it was almost 4AM. He needed to be up before the afternoon to host a speech at 12…
”God damnit…”
No matter, he’ll do the speech half asleep. He’ll survive. He’s done worse.
When he got up from his desk, his back screamed in pain. He hadn’t been doing a good job with his posture lately, despite the fact he knew if he kept this up he’d go back to looking like a shrimp overdosing on caffeine. His legs carried him out of his office, off to go find his bedroom. Would he even get any sleep? The bright blue light he'd been staring at for hours would most definitely be keeping him up.
He contemplated going back to the desk to work until he collapsed, but even he knew that was risky. If he was berating soldiers to take care of themselves, then maybe he should too.
He changed out of the simple business clothes he was in. Not his full uniform, but still clean and sharp looking enough for if anyone had come, he wouldn’t look like a slob. A simple black t-shirt and random sweats he’d had for years were put for the night, good enough for sleepwear.
007n7 turned the heater in his room on. There was a cool change coming for the night, but he was never one for the cold. Years of catering his tastes to burning places to the ground does that to someone.
…
It had been over an hour now, and he was having no luck. Tossing and turning. Change the temperature. Get up and look outside for a few minutes. Hell he’d even looked around for some melatonin pills, but groaned when he realised he was out. He was supposed to grab them yesterday but he’d gotten too distracted at his desk and the seemingly meaningless objective was forgotten. He now regrets this decision deeply.
“Does somebody need assistance?”
“WHUH GU- Oh…Hello Noli.”
Despite the fact 007n7 had many security measures around his base to prevent unwanted guests from entry, it seemed the jester always just managed to phase through them and appear whenever he least wanted.
He put a hand to his head and wiped his eyes, “Work hours are over. Get lost.”
“Oh my, I’m just offering some help! You seem to be unable to rest,” No shit Sherlock. 007n7 was convinced a blind baby could tell him that.
“I’ll be fine,” he was going to ask how Noli got in or why they wanted to help, but frankly 007n7 knew that they’d respond with some vague answer like always.
“Well I suppose I shall let you wallow in your misery! Apologies for considering I would be worth your time,” they responded with a huff, about to disappear into the shadows - ironic considering they were the most brightly coloured thing in his room right now - when 007n7 sighed.
“How would you help?” he asked bluntly.
Suddenly, the bed shifted and tight arms wrapped his waist; the jingling of Noli’s jester hat came as response to the dramatic movements.
“Like this!” they carefully pulled him against their chest, resting their head above his.
He wanted to flail, but he found himself resting in their arms. They held a tight, but gentle grip. The fabric of their costume wasn’t scratchy, but plush.
One of his hands came up and interlocked fingers with one of theirs.
He fell asleep rather quickly.
…
In the morning, when his alarm blared 4 hours later, he woke up slightly rested. Better than nothing, he supposed. He was calm as his mind drifted awake slowly. And he still had his hands protected by brightly gloved fingers.
“Good morning,” Noli said in a soft tone 007n7 was sure he’d never heard before. It was then realised he had slept in the cult leader’s arms all night.
“...if anyone finds out about this, I will destroy everything you have.”
“Oh of course I won’t tell! Our little secret, mmm?”
“Whatever,” he grumbled, pressing his head deeper into his pillow, “this was for purely…wellbeing based purposes.”
“Whatever you say, Sevvy. Whatever you say,” they chuckled, nuzzling their head against his neck.
He knew he had to get up soon to get ready and prepare everything he needed, but perhaps for just a few moments longer he could enjoy this moment.
…
He should ask for this more often. Less stress is good for the brain.