Work Text:
Juggler sits in his latest hideout. Cross legged, on his small neat futon on the floor.
He has money. That's never been an issue. Money enough to get small neat apartments, or small neat hotel rooms, or small neat bedsit rooms. Meeting all of his requirements - a washing and ironing service, a proper bathroom with a decent mirror so that he can ensure he's well groomed before he leaves for the day, a bed big enough for sleep.
Not that he sleeps, and that's one of his issues. He doesn't sleep well alone.
(He doesn't need anyone else.)
Juggler can pass out. He can nap, somewhat, waking up every half hour or so, from nightmares or general inability. But he doesn't sleep, not like he did once, with warmth next to him, with the soft regular sound of someone else's breathing, someone else's heart beating slow and strong.
(No, he especially doesn't need *that* someone else.)
No other sound eases him to sleep. White noise doesn't help. His infernally sharp hearing can pick out a window being opened four floors away, or a quiet conversation three rooms away, or a bird settling on a branch two trees away, and it nudges him awake. His hearing's too good.
Face blank, he settles himself down, lying on his side. A cheek pillowed on his hand. There's a gentle breeze coming in off the small balcony, and it's not long before he manages to settle into a light doze. He has no fear about being broken into; the door is old and sticks in its tracks, and besides, his hearing and his reflexes are impeccable.
* * * * * *
It's perhaps an hour later, when he wakes.
...there's only one person who knows his rhythms well enough to be able to intrude.
(Kurenai Gai sits against the wall near the head of the futon.)
Gai has his legs out straight. His left knee is about three inches from Juggler's hands. Gai's arms are folded. Jacket in a neat pile next to his right thigh. Eyes open, looking out at the night sky. He doesn't look over at Juggler. Doesn't indicate in any way that he's aware of Juggler's consciousness, until he pats his lap. Once, gently.
Juggler wants to say something clever and cutting about the darkness in Gai's soul, bringing him back to him. But to his eternal shame, he finds himself curling inwards, settling his head on Gai's thigh.
Gai's hand lands on his shoulder.
Gai's fingers are in his hair as Juggler finally, finally drifts off to true sleep, for the first time in decades.
(Maybe it's all right to need. Just for tonight.)