Work Text:
The office lights hummed softly above him, a thin, needling sound that seemed to drill straight into Eric’s skull. He had been sitting at his desk for hours, unmoving except for the slow, tired blink of his eyes as he stared at the same stubborn block of code. The words swam together, white on black, until they barely looked like language anymore.
Rachel had been gone for days, visiting her parents. She was supposed to be home today.
He had meant to be finished long before now. He had pictured himself shutting down his computer, rolling his stiff shoulders, and heading out to meet her at the door with something resembling a smile. Instead, the code had broken—spectacularly, inexplicably—and Eric had found himself locked in a silent standoff with his own work. He couldn’t leave it like this. He never could. Walking away from broken code felt like leaving a wound open.
Nick had been hovering at his side for a while now, perched on a chair beside him with the easy familiarity of someone who had done this a hundred times before. He had brought two plates of food, setting one within Eric’s reach. Eric had barely noticed. He picked at it without looking, fork scraping quietly against the ceramic as his eyes remained glued to the screen.
“You’re going to pass out at this rate,” Nick muttered, not unkindly, just...worried.
Eric didn’t answer. He didn’t trust his voice not to crack under the weight of his own frustration. His eyes burned, dry and gritty, and when he scrolled back up to the top of the file again, the lines of code might as well have been written in another language. He knew every piece of it. He had written every piece of it. It should have worked.
Nick sighed and, with the patience of someone who had long since accepted this particular brand of stubbornness, loaded Eric’s fork for him and lifted it to his mouth. Eric ate automatically, barely registering the taste. His jaw moved on muscle memory alone.
“She’s going to be home soon,” Nick said quietly, as if saying it softer might make the truth hurt less. “You don’t have to fix the world tonight.”
Eric swallowed, his throat tight. “I just need to fix this.”
He dragged a hand down his face and scrolled back to the top again, eyes scanning the code without really seeing it. The bug was there. It had to be. Some tiny, stupid mistake hiding in plain sight, laughing at him while he tore himself apart trying to find it. His vision blurred, and he blinked hard, forcing the tears back into something manageable.
This should be working.
His fingers hovered over the keyboard, trembling slightly with exhaustion and too much caffeine and not enough sleep. Outside the narrow window, the sky was already beginning to dim, the light fading into the kind of evening that meant Rachel would be on her way home soon. The thought made his chest ache in a way he didn’t have the energy to examine too closely.
Why the hell wasn’t it working?
Just as Eric was about to scroll past another section of code, Nick’s hand came down gently over his, warm and solid, grounding him in a way the humming lights and glowing screen never could. Nick leaned closer, eyes narrowing at the monitor.
“Hey,” he said softly, almost like he was afraid to spook the moment. “Doesn’t there need to be a semicolon there?”
Eric paused.
His mind stuttered, the words not quite landing at first. He blinked once, then again, and followed the line Nick was pointing at. For a heartbeat, nothing happened—just the same familiar fog. Then it clicked.
Oh.
There it was. A single missing semicolon, sitting there like it had been mocking him for hours.
His breath left him in a shaky huff that was half laugh, half something dangerously close to tears. “You’re kidding me,” he murmured, more to himself than to Nick. His fingers moved fast despite the tremble in them, muscle memory taking over as he dropped the semicolon into place. He hit save. Then saved again. And again, just to be sure, like the code might somehow change its mind if he looked away.
The program compiled.
It worked.
The tension that had been coiled tight in his chest snapped all at once, leaving him boneless with relief. Eric didn’t even bother pretending to hold himself upright anymore. He let himself flop sideways into Nick, forehead bumping lightly against his shoulder as his eyes slipped shut.
“Oh my god,” he breathed, the words muffled by Nick’s shirt. “It was just a semicolon.”
Nick laughed quietly, the sound warm and fond right by his ear, and wrapped both arms around him. “Told you,” he said. “Your brain’s fried. Happens to the best of us.”
Eric’s back popped faintly as he finally relaxed out of the same rigid posture he’d been trapped in for hours, the sound sharp in the small room. He winced, then melted further into the embrace, too tired to care about his pride anymore. The relief was heavy and sweet, sinking into his bones.
“I owe you,” Eric muttered, voice already drifting toward sleep. “Like… my firstborn or something.”
Nick snorted. “I’ll settle for you actually sleeping tonight.”
Eric huffed out a weak laugh, eyes closed, the glow of the monitor still warm against his face. The code was fixed. Rachel was coming home. For the first time all evening, the world felt like it had stopped pressing quite so hard on his shoulders.
Nick gave him a gentle squeeze, grounding him again before the moment could slip away. “Come on,” he said quietly. “Let’s wait for Rachel on the couch.”
Eric nodded, the motion slow and heavy, like even that small movement cost him more than he had to spare. Now that the code wasn’t demanding every scrap of his attention, all the exhaustion he’d been holding at bay came crashing in at once. His limbs felt thick and distant, his thoughts syrupy and slow.
Nick stood first and tugged him up with an easy, practiced pull. Eric went with it without resistance, letting himself be moved where he needed to go. He trailed after Nick into the living room, steps a little unsteady, eyes half-lidded, the glow of the office lights fading behind them. The further he got from his desk, the lighter his chest felt, like he was finally being unhooked from something that had been digging into him for hours.
The couch might as well have been a bed for how inviting it looked. Eric dropped down onto it as soon as he was close enough, the cushions giving under his weight. He leaned forward immediately, fingers finding the familiar catches of his prosthetic with practiced ease. He’d been sitting with it on for too long, the pressure building into a dull, insistent ache that he’d ignored while he was locked into focus mode. Now, without the distraction of the code, the discomfort flared sharp and undeniable.
He eased the prosthetic off and set it carefully to the side. His shoulders sagged as the tension in his body shifted, and he rubbed at the edge of his stump, thumb tracing the sore skin where the socket had been digging in. His eyes slipped shut, lashes resting against dark circles carved there by too many sleepless nights.
The quiet of the living room settled around him, broken only by the faint sounds of Nick moving nearby. The exhaustion was bone-deep now, a weight pressing down on his shoulders and spine. He hadn’t slept properly in days. He never did when Rachel was gone. The anxiety buzzed through him constantly in those stretches, a low, electric hum under his skin that kept his mind too loud to rest. No matter how much Nick tried to pull him close, to tuck him in and breathe slow, steady warmth into his side, sleep always stayed just out of reach.
Nick dropped down beside him, the couch dipping with the added weight, and Eric couldn’t help the way he leaned into his side. It happened instinctively, his body seeking warmth and something solid to rest against now that the tension had finally bled out of him. He was so tired. The kind of tired that settled into his bones and made even breathing feel like work.
Rachel wouldn’t mind if she came home to find him asleep. The thought drifted through his mind, slow and hazy. If anything, she’d probably be relieved. She was always on him about sleeping more, about not pushing himself until he forgot what rest felt like.
Nick’s arm slid around his shoulders, careful and familiar, and he shifted them both until Eric was stretched out across him. The movement was unhurried, gentle, like Nick was trying not to startle something fragile. Eric let himself be moved, the last of his resistance draining away with a quiet sigh.
He smiled faintly as he tucked his head into the crook of Nick’s neck, the familiar scent there grounding him more than anything else had all night. He knew what Nick was doing. It had to be obvious how completely wrung out he was, how close to the edge of sleep he lingered. Nick was trying to coax him over that edge, to ease him into rest without making a big deal of it.
Eric went still. His breathing slowed, evening out into the soft, steady rhythm of sleep. His body slackened against Nick’s, every sign carefully in place. If Nick had been watching for it, he might have thought Eric had finally given in.
But Eric wasn’t asleep. Not yet.
He lay there quietly, listening to the familiar thrum of Nick’s heartbeat beneath his ear, to the soft hush of the apartment around them. He held himself in that in-between place, fighting the pull of sleep just a little longer. He knew what would happen if he waited long enough.
And it would be worth waiting for.
After Eric had been still for a while, he felt the subtle shift of Nick’s breathing change beneath him. Nick took in a longer breath than normal, his chest rising slowly against Eric’s cheek, like he was bracing himself for something. Then his voice came, low and quiet, barely more than a whisper.
He started saying all the things he never quite managed to say out loud. Not when Eric was awake. Soft confessions pressed into the dim space between them—about the way Eric’s concentrated face made him smile, about how stubborn he was in the worst and best ways, about how the apartment felt too quiet when he wasn’t in it. About how proud Nick was of him, even when Eric made it so hard to be.
Eric had to fight not to react. Not to smile, not to shift, not to give himself away with the slightest telltale movement. Every word tugged at something warm and fragile in his chest, and it took effort to keep his face slack, to keep his breathing slow and even. Nick always did this when he thought Eric was asleep. Always. It was the only time he let himself be completely honest, when there was no risk of being seen.
Eric had figured it out by accident once, on a night when sleep wouldn’t come no matter how hard he tried. Nick had started whispering then too, his voice soft in the dark, and it had lulled Eric into sleep faster than any half-baked coping trick or sleepless-night ritual ever had. Since then, Eric had learned to linger in that quiet space just a little longer. No matter how exhausted he was, he fought the pull of sleep long enough to hear it.
Nick’s voice washed over him now, warm and steady, threading through the static in his mind and smoothing it down into something manageable. The tension he’d been carrying all day eased, melting out of his shoulders, out of his jaw, out of the tight knot behind his ribs. The words blurred together, the sound more important than the meaning as his thoughts softened and slipped.
This time, he couldn’t fight it any longer. Sleep reached up and caught him gently, pulling him under while Nick’s voice still wrapped around him, and Eric finally let himself go.
---
When Rachel pushed open the front door, she was met with silence.
No familiar chorus of greeting, no soft thud of paws on the floor, no cats weaving around her ankles in accusation for daring to leave the house without them. She paused just inside the doorway, keys still in her hand, eyebrows knitting together in mild surprise. The apartment felt too still, too quiet for all three of them to be awake.
She tugged off her coat and slipped out of her shoes, careful to keep her movements soft, and set her bag down by the wall. The quiet followed her as she stepped further inside, and when she reached the living room, the reason for it finally revealed itself.
Nick was sprawled out on the couch, one arm slung around Eric, who was stretched out across him like he’d simply collapsed there and never moved again. They looked impossibly soft in sleep, the sharp edges of their usual restlessness dulled by exhaustion. Eric’s face was tucked into the curve of Nick’s neck, his features relaxed in a way Rachel rarely got to see when he was awake. Nick’s arms were wrapped around him even in sleep, his hold loose but instinctive, like his body had decided on its own that this was where Eric belonged.
Somehow, one of the cats had managed to worm its way under Nick’s arm, curled up in the small pocket of warmth there, fast asleep and completely unbothered by the lack of personal space. The other was perched proudly on Eric’s back, paws tucked neatly beneath its chest, tail flicked around itself as if it had claimed the spot on purpose.
Rachel’s chest ached with something warm and fond. She smiled to herself and crossed the room quietly, crouching to tug the blanket out from under the coffee table. She stretched it carefully over the tangled pile of them, slow and deliberate, making sure not to disturb the cats in the process. One ear twitched, but no one woke.
She settled onto the end of the couch and put something quiet on the TV, the volume low enough that it barely registered as sound. She didn’t really watch it. Her gaze kept drifting back to the soft rise and fall of Eric’s breathing, to the way Nick’s hand rested at his back, to the peaceful mess of limbs and fur and shared warmth.
For once, everything was still.
Rachel leaned back into the cushions, content to sit there and keep the quiet company, happy just to see her two boys safe, happy, and at peace.
After a few quiet minutes of Rachel sitting there, gently running her fingers through both of their hair, Nick stirred. His lashes fluttered, eyes blinking blearily as he half woke, his head turning toward her with the slow confusion of someone surfacing from deep sleep.
“Welcome home, darling,” he mumbled, his voice thick with sleep.
Rachel smiled, soft and warm, and leaned a little closer so she didn’t have to speak above a whisper. “Thank you, sweetheart. You two comfy there?”
Nick’s mouth twitched into a sleepy smile. “Very comfy,” he murmured. “He’s been working all day.”
Rachel’s smile widened just a touch, something fond and relieved settling into her expression. “It’s good you got him to rest, then.”
Nick shifted, carefully unwrapping one arm from around Eric’s back just long enough to catch Rachel’s hand and lace his fingers through hers. The motion was slow and clumsy with sleep, but deliberate, like he was anchoring her there. His eyes slipped shut again almost immediately after, the last of his wakefulness ebbing away now that he’d confirmed she was home.
Rachel didn’t move. She had no intention of going anywhere.
She leaned back against the couch, letting her free hand drift back into Eric’s hair, carding through it gently, mindful of how close to sleep he already was. The steady rise and fall of his breathing was soothing, a quiet reassurance she hadn’t realized she’d been craving until she saw it. She knew he never really slept well when one of them was gone. His mind ran too fast, his anxiety too loud, and rest always came in shallow, uneasy stretches.
Seeing him like this—curled into Nick, loose and unguarded, finally at peace—felt like a small, fragile blessing.