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Aaron jolts awake. At first he’s not sure what’s woken him, it’s eerily quiet out here on the farm except for the distant sounds of the cows moving about and the occasional owl.
Then he hears it again.
Robert is snoring.
-
Robert was always a good sleeper. Back in the days when Aaron would wake up shouting and swinging from a nightmare, Robert could always just roll over, wrap an arm around him and go right back to sleep. It was weirdly comforting to know that, no matter what, Robert was going to get his eight hours of shut eye.
Even on the nights when Aaron’s nightmares kept them up into the wee hours, when he’d bury his face in Robert’s chest and cry big, dry sobs that left him hoarse and exhausted, Robert never let his own tiredness show. He was so resilient, Aaron had always noticed that about him, but he counted on it during that time. Aaron didn’t have to worry about Robert breaking or falling to pieces under the weight of his mess like everyone else. After a sleepless night, Aaron would be struggling to keep his eyes open at his desk in the portacabin, numbers blurring together on the page in front of him and, without fail, Robert would come bounding through the door with a cheery smile and two cups of coffee.
Robert was also a greedy sleeper, usually on his back, limbs stretched out, taking up two thirds of whatever bed they were in, and snoring loudly. He warned Aaron, on their first night together, in some nameless hotel room while his wife was waiting for him at home.
“Sorry if I snore, Chrissie hates it.” Off-hand and careless, like it didn’t make Aaron want to die.
Aaron didn’t hate it, the opposite in fact. Even when the snoring woke him up it was a reassurance that Robert was there with him, that he hadn’t disappeared in the night. He’d use the opportunity to memorise the parts of Robert he only got to see in bed. The shape of his collar bone, the trail of blond hair below his bellybutton, the pattern of freckles on his pale chest.
It was one of those petty little scores Aaron kept. Chrissie hates his snoring, I don’t. Chrissie hates when he kicks in his sleep, I don’t. It meant nothing really. It was her bed that Robert went home to at the end of the day, but it satisfied the horrible, ugly part of Aaron that couldn’t help but want to win. He never quite let go of it, the little bit of pride he got from knowing he had that over her.
When he and Robert did start sleeping together regularly and Robert snored like a broken steam engine, Aaron would grumble and complain but he still sort of liked the sound. Besides, if Robert ever got too loud Aaron could give him a swift kick in the shin or, better yet, press his lips to the soft skin below his ear until he woke up.
It wasn’t until they moved in together and he found himself kicking Robert in the shin on a nearly nightly basis that Aaron was forced to admit that maybe, just maybe, he had been a tiny bit harsh on Chrissie.
Being married has a way of rubbing the novelty off that sort of thing, making the stuff that had felt so big and meaningful seem mundane. It wasn’t an issue, exactly, just one of those things that got on his wick. Like the way Robert whistled to himself while he did the morning crossword, or how he griped when Aaron left his dirty socks next to the laundry basket. It was part of the routine of their marriage.
It was the absence of it that he noticed. On the few nights when they slept apart Aaron would look forward to the peace and quiet all day, and then, annoyingly, he would get into bed and lie wide awake, staring at the ceiling. Once, during a particularly long business trip when he caved and called Robert at two in the morning just to hear his voice, Robert had joked about giving Aaron a recording of his snoring to listen to when he was away,
“Like a sort of sexy white noise machine,” He’d teased.
Aaron had laughed and told him he’d rather have a recording of him doing something else, and Robert had laughed too, sleepy and pleased, and told Aaron to turn his phone camera on.
Later, after Robert got sent down, Aaron regretted not following through on that joke. It was ages before he could bring himself to sleep in their room. Their bed, which had always seemed way too small for two grown men, suddenly felt enormous and the room was horribly quiet. He tried everything. He even bought an actual white noise machine off the internet, but it made no difference.
John was a completely silent sleeper. Aaron was almost used to the quiet by then, it didn’t keep him up that much anymore. The only thing that was a bit freaky was that sometimes, because he was so quiet, Aaron would forget John was there entirely. He got the fright of his life every time he woke up to find John staring at him with his big, dark eyes.
He knew that Robert had been having nightmares since he got out of prison. It was actually John who told him, back when he was playing the part of the concerned brother.
“Robert’s very troubled,” he’d said, shaking his head like he disapproved of the idea. “It’s sad to see. Vic says he hardly sleeps at all.”
John probably thought that it would put Aaron off. That it would make him see Robert as pathetic or weak, not the man he used to be. When he said it though, all Aaron could think was; I wonder if he still snores.
He didn’t get a chance to find out until after John dragged him off a cliff and flipped his whole sense of reality upside down. The only bright spot in the whole situation once he woke up from his coma and realised that his husband had been torturing his best friend was the relief that he didn’t have to pretend to not want Robert any more.
There were countless sleepless nights over those six years where he’d imagined what it would be like to share a bed with Robert again. To feel Robert’s cold feet against his leg, to smell the warm skin on the back of his neck, to drift off to sleep to the sound of him snoring. He could have that again. He held onto the idea like a life raft.
It wasn’t until they were actually there, in bed, in the bed that he had shared with John, that he realised that it was all different.
Robert doesn’t sleep on his back anymore. Instead he curls up on his side, fists balled up to his chest like he’s preparing to defend himself at any moment. He’s a light sleeper now too. The slightest sound in the room has him jerking awake with a sharp inhale that scares the shit out of Aaron. It’s even worse when he doesn’t wake up. He tosses and turns until Aaron has to take him by the shoulders and shake him. Aaron has gotten very good at dodging the fists that come flying his way.
The most jarring change of all, though, is that he doesn’t snore anymore. Aaron hates it, it’s like even in his sleep Robert is trying to make himself a bit smaller, a bit less noticeable. It’s so unlike him. He was always happy to take up more than his fair share of any space. It makes Aaron want to cripple someone, but he can’t, so instead he makes it his mission to get Robert a good night's sleep. It’s the least he can do.
So far they’ve tried everything from warm milk to melatonin but nothing's worked. Liam even prescribed Robert sleeping pills at one point but Robert didn’t care for them. Said they made him feel like he was trapped.
The issue is that Robert is a nightmare as a patient. When he’s got a cold or a headache you can’t get him to stop whining, but anything real and his back goes up at the first suggestion of weakness. Whenever Aaron tries to raise the sleep thing he gets all defensive and mardy until Aaron reminds him that he’s not the first man on earth to have an issue with sleeping.
The only thing that ever seems to make a difference is when Aaron rubs his back in big, warm circles until he nods off. Even then, as soon as Aaron stops Robert jerks awake with a gasp. Sometimes Aaron just lies awake for hours, watching Robert until he can’t keep his eyes open any more.
Safe to say, it takes something pretty major for Aaron to kick Robert out of bed these days. Something like, for example, Robert forcing Aaron to choose between him and Aaron’s entire family.
Aaron barely sleeps the whole night, partly because he’s fuming, and partly because he knows that Robert will be lying wide awake on the sofa too. At least, he hopes he will be, the alternative is that he’s had a nightmare and the idea of Robert having a nightmare without Aaron there to comfort him is almost unbearable.
He doesn’t crack and fetch Robert back to bed in the middle of the night, because he’s strong, and he’s making a point, but if he sneaks out to check on him a few times? Well, that’s nobody’s business but Aaron’s. Besides, the next night, when Robert wakes up sweating and shivering Aaron holds him extra tight.
They’re moving out of the flat at the end of the week. Aaron hadn’t really thought about what that meant when he agreed to the whole farming thing, but now he can’t stop thinking about it. He doesn’t know what he’s doing. He’s giving up his home, risking his relationship with his family, to what? Be a farmer?
“Are you really okay with this?” Robert’s voice makes him jump a little bit. Even after eleven years, it still freaks him out when Robert reads his mind.
“It’s what you want right?” Aaron replies, avoiding the question.
Robert hums. Aaron’s pressed along Robert’s back so the sound vibrates in his chest.
“That is not an answer,” Robert says quietly.
Aaron sighs.
“I don’t know what you want me to say, I’ve agreed to do it haven’t I?”
“If you’re having second thoughts, you need to tell me.” Robert twists around, so they’re face to face. Aaron can only just make out his expression in the dark but he can tell it’s determined. “I want it to be good. I want it to work. But I won’t be able to do it without you.”
Oh good, they’re having another row. Aaron scrubs a hand across his eyes.
“Bit late for that now, innit?”
“Aaron, I’m serious, I need you to be all in on this with me.” Robert pulls away and sits up, folding his arms.
Aaron closes his eyes for a second, letting the weight of that settle over him.
“I am.” He replies carefully. “But my family are still important. Just because I chose you doesn’t mean I don’t still need them too.”
Robert runs his hand through his hair. “I know it’s been a mess, and I’m sorry for that, but like I said, I want to make us a home, something we can be proud of. Can you let me try?”
Something about that twists in Aaron’s chest, makes him want to reach out and take Robert in his arms. He doesn’t.
“I know I’m not the same as I was before-”
“Robert-”
Robert holds up his hand to stop him.
“Let me finish. I know I’m not the same as I was before, but I still want to give you a good life, the best life. I need you to believe that I’m capable of it, even when I don’t. Especially when I don’t.”
What is Aaron supposed to say to that? He may not know how this is all going to work out, but he can see the hope in Robert’s face and he can almost taste the future that Robert is laying out for him. It’s impossible to pretend he doesn’t want it too. Even though it scares the shit out of him, even though he’s not totally convinced it’s even possible, he wants it so badly it almost makes him lightheaded.
Moving day is chaotic, all their stuff in hastily thrown together boxes, Robert running around like a headless chicken trying to get everything organised, all while dodging Aaron’s angry relatives. Speaking of Aaron’s relatives, Aaron keeps darting off to deal with the Paddy and Dylan situation and he can tell that Robert is less than thrilled, but Aaron appreciates that he doesn’t complain.
When he comes back to the farm in the evening and finds Robert slowly unpacking a box of cutlery in the kitchen he can tell by the slump of his shoulders that it’s been a rough day. Despite it, Robert smiles and asks him how things went at the police station, and in that moment Aaron has never loved him more. They’re finding a way of navigating this, not perfectly but a right sight better than they have done in the past.
“Come on,” Aaron says, grabbing his hands, “I’ve got a surprise.”
It had taken Aaron about half an hour of hacking at the farm stone with a shovel to get it to budge from the frozen ground of Annie’s field, and then another half hour of carefully digging around it to make sure he didn’t damage it. It didn’t help that he was working through torrential rain and wind so cold it made the tips of his fingers feel like they were going to fall off. The things he does for love.
Once it was out, it looked to be in pretty good nick, only a few little chips and cracks around the edges. It was caked in dirt though. Took him a couple of lunch breaks at the scrapyard to clean it enough that a mate of his from Hotten who does car detailing could repaint the lettering. It’s not perfect, and he decided against filling in the chips. There’s no point trying to pretend it’s brand new.
Aaron has never been good with his words. Robert has always been the talker of the two of them, always better at articulating what he feels, but he hopes that Robert will understand what he’s trying to say. That he wants to believe in it too, that he’s all in.
Robert kisses him while the cold, hard rain runs down the back of Aaron’s neck and he tastes like beer and new beginnings.
-
That night, when Aaron jolts awake at 3am, he lies there for a moment, listening to the sound of Robert sleeping. The rhythm of his breathing, the little snort he does every few breaths, is familiar, but it’s different too, a little quieter. Or maybe it’s just been so long since Robert last slept normally that Aaron can’t remember what he used to sound like.
Robert insisted on buying a new bed for the move, and Aaron is suddenly grateful for it. This bed is for them, their fresh start, their future. Robert has never had a nightmare in this bed.
It also doesn’t hurt that after they came back inside from toasting the new farm sign, Robert had shown his appreciation for the gesture by inviting Aaron to christen the new mattress. Aaron had been more than happy to and so, after defrosting together in the tiny shower, he’d bent Robert over their new bed and done his best to prove what he meant by all in.
Well and truly broken in, if Aaron does say so himself.
He traces the shape of Robert’s shoulder in the blue moonlight, the steady rise and fall of his chest, and lets himself feel the enormity of what this man means to him. He has loved Robert for most of his adult life. Missed him for most of it too. He holds every single one of Aaron’s hopes and dreams for the future in his hands. He’s the fittest, funniest, most frustrating person Aaron has ever met.
Robert lets out another snore, louder this time, and, with a feeling like coming home after a long, long day, Aaron kicks him in the shin.