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Living with his gorgeous husband Libra has taught Gaius much—none the least of which being that ol' Padre is a man of habit. Routine seems to ground him and thus he sticks close to it. The following is a compilation of just bed-time rituals that have graced their humble home:
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Libra must always wear a long nightgown and droopy nightcap-with-pompom (when asked, he states that it is to keep his hair in one place. Gaius appreciates that, at the very least, the thing puts a barrier between Libra's hair and his own mouth) to bed. Any attempts to admonish the comical nature of such sleepwear, such as a curling of the finger 'round a phantom candlestick or a raspy "who-goes-thar," shall invite divine wrath.
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Teeth are to be brushed and flossed at least one bell prior to sleep. No food nor drink, with the exception of water, are to be consumed after the fact; if Gaius attempts to wiggle out of this, Libra drags him by the collar into the bathroom and does it for him.
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On the topic of midnight fast-breaking: Under no circumstances may food be consumed in the bedroom. If so much as a single dry crumb of cake kisses the fabric of Libra's nightclothes, He Will Learn of What Gaius Has Done, and there aren't enough gods to pick and pray to in all the world to free him from the holy punishment of Being Banished to the Cold Side of the Bed.
This guy lives and dies by rules and regulations. For a man like Gaius, well, that ought to be the nail in the coffin, right? A thief makes their living by breaking any and all restriction! Tell him to breathe and he just might hold his breath to spite you! This just isn't the kind of thing that works out.
Truthfully, Gaius hadn't imagined that he would be able to tolerate Libra, much less fall in love with him, and definitely much less marry him. What in the hells would he be doing if he were to fold for a man of the cloth, reconciling to forfeit all of the freedom that came with being single just for the opportunity to, what, hold a hand?! A holy hand?! Crazy. He would be crazy!
But his doubts were unfounded. It was little things that chipped at Gaius's perception of the man: The way he'd damn near stretch-and-clothespin his smile to keep people from asking about him. The way he'd sit next to Gaius and heave a great boulder-toppling sigh that he must have been waiting all day to drop. The way he would allow his loose threads to poke out without succumbing to the need to fix himself. For all of the do-goodery that made up Libra's constitution, there lit a special little spark in Gaius's chest knowing that he was good enough to "drop the act" around.
When the war had ended, the pair had a "proper wedding," insisted upon by Libra (after sufficiently bribing Gaius enough to get him to agree to take three steps into a church) followed by the purchase of a small cottage a small ways away from the Halidom's capitol. There were talks of the future all throughout the process—Libra wanted to open an orphanage. Gaius didn't really have any bigger plans in mind, but orphanages don't really sound all that enticing. Maybe he could hop back into the thievery business? No, Libra would bury him up to his neck if that were his perogative—but, as neither side could come to an agreement, "hopes and dreams" were shelved in favor of "figuring out what life without killing each other looked like."
Life has been quite good since then, as far as Gaius is concerned. He has a house, a partner, weird little secret holes and compartments, and sweets to put in them. Really, the only complaint he has is how stubborn Libra can be sometimes.
"Gaius," Libra said once as the pair had readied for bed, tone sandpapered with exhaustion yet still poised to assert. "Tonight I should like to be the… 'larger spoon,' as you call it."
Gaius had suppressed the urge to snort. Poor Padre, unable to get an intimate word out without pulling back the reins. That said… "Tonight?" It was a warm and stuffy night, and the last thing Gaius wanted was to be caged in a hot flesh-wall that would have him sweating his hot cross buns off. "Ehh… I think it'll be better if I take the wheel tonight. Less overall surface area covered, y'know, accounting for the whole 'it's sweltering outside' thing."
Notably, Gaius did not argue against the idea of embracing one another in sleep outright. Despite Libra's and Gaius's closed-offedness, and despite the fact that they both appear entirely uninterested in physical displays of affection, cuddling is imperative to both of their wellbeings and is non-negotiable. Gaius had personally hated the idea until he learned that being gently held by someone who loves him is just downright dee-lightful.
"You were the 'larger spoon' last night, and the night before," Libra returned. "I would like to have my turn, please. It is already a day overdue."
"Do we seriously have to do alternating schedules for who hugs who? I thought that, I dunno, Management would guide our hearts straight and true. Ain't that how it works?"
"Stop calling the gods 'Management,' Gaius, I don't know how many times I have to ask you that."
"Only as many times as you keep reactin' to it, Padre." Gaius offered a smirk that was quickly dashed by Libra's buff arms caging him in like he was some kind of raccoon being contained for stealing rations. "Wh— hey—!"
As he felt himself being dragged into bed, Gaius could have sworn that he'd heard a chuckle rattle Libra's chest. "I have learned that action is most effective in convincing you. I am afraid that this matter is settled, my darling."
…
…Unfair.
It was entirely unfair that Libra got to use his crazy war-priest strength in one blow and then follow up with a rarely-heard pet name. Gaius hated how quickly his entire body gave up the minute Libra called him my darling. Gods damn it all, is he some kind of dog waiting for treats??
Gaius looked up, disgruntled, only to be met with the singly-enthralling sight of a ready-for-bed Libra with droopy eyes and a tired but genuine smile on his face. Ok, ok. Woof.
So yeah. Stubborn as all get out, that guy, and if Gaius had it his way he'd be calling way more shots than he currently is.
Tonight has found him in a similar predicament: Wedged betwixt the loving arms of the Father and freshly-laundered bedsheets, sweating like the dickens while encased in summer evening humidity. It's like a damn oven in here, Gaius thinks, except I'm turning into a wet lump instead of a delicious shortcake. May Libra learn the weird discomfort of abdominal sweat and may he learn it well.
Though it's hard to get any good sleep when it's uncomfortably hot, Gaius knows he doesn't have much choice. He sighs, chooses a nice part of Libra's bicep to rest his weary head upon, and closes his eyes. I've slept in moister conditions, he thinks to himself in a comforting mantra. I've slept in moister conditions. I've slept in moister conditions.
It kind of works. Gaius begins to float off into some realm of unconsciousness, though it's more like the start-and-stop of rolling down a hill that's not very steep. Just as he's about to crest another uneven lump into Dreamsville, there's a twitch at his midsection that has his eyes flying open.
Where Libra's hands lay, one palm cupped into the other as they cradle their husband, the fingers of his left hand tremble and slip. It's an action so small that most others would miss it, and perhaps even the acute few would disregard it as an unconscious movement. Gods only know the crazy things that human bodies do when nobody's awake to pay attention to them.
Gaius, however, operates slightly different; to him, every minute detail is as important as a big red sign reading "LOOK AT ME! PAY ATTENTION TO ME NOW!!!" This detail in particular is worth noting for this simple reason:
Libra sleeps like the dead. If he's moving, then something's wrong.
Turning his head allows Gaius to confirm his odd feeling—Libra mutters quietly to himself, and from what the low light reveals, his brow sits tightly knit above a deep frown. The rise and fall of his chest is too quick for any remote form of peaceful sleep, and a heightened heart rate additionally does no favors. The shudder of uneasy fingers threatens to close into sweaty grip, and it is all that and more that spurs the trapped thief into action.
"Hey. Padre." The best he can do right now is tap his head against Libra's chest, so tap away Gaius does. He tries to school his voice into a "hey-why-did-you-wake-me-up" disgruntlement so that he can hide the building concern in his gut. "Is this some kind of new-fangled night praying that Management is havin' you do? Can you do it a little less… uhh… creepily?"
More muttering in reply. From what Gaius can make out, it's a jumble of prayer and… begging. His facade melts further. "Big guy, what in the hells are you dreaming about?" Why won't you answer me? Are you okay? I need to know what's going on. Genuity sits in his mouth like fat chunks of gravel, but the longer he witnesses this fit the stronger the urge becomes to cough everything out.
Libra has referenced these moments on occasion, and Gaius has certainly bore witness to them before—hells, Gaius knew from the jump that there was darkness deep inside of Libra just from the way he spoke of himself and prayers before battle—but repetition never did make it easier to watch your husband suffer through the night. Libra's history twisted itself within his bones and gripped him like this without restraint—the war did nothing to help and perhaps only worsened the frequency of his attacks. Gaius never knew how to comfort a man while he wept; how on earth could he help with this?
But gods damn it all, he has to try. Every time, he'll try until he gets it one hundred percent right.
Time marches on, but Gaius will never let it take his skills in thievery from him. It takes a moment, but he's able to wrench his arm free from Libra's sickly hold and settle his palm against his cheek. No matter the awkward position—he just has to get the man to wake up. "Libra. Libra, need you to wake up, 'kay?"
"…O gods," Libra moans suddenly, startling Gaius. "…My all I give to you… so please, do not…"
More begging? Just what the hells is happening to that poor guy in that noggin of his? "Liiiibraaaaa," Gaius stresses while rhythmically tapping anywhere on Libra's face that he can reach. "Big Papa. Padre. Father. You gotta wake up. You're killin' me here."
"Please… spare him… He has done no wrong, he…!"
"Libra. You're having a nightmare!" His hand winds as far back as it can by the wrist, preparing to drop. "You have to wake u—"
"GAIUS!"
The best way to describe how Libra awakens is that he careens out of sleep. He very nearly throws himself (and, by extension, Gaius) out of the bed with how quickly he sits up, and the moonlight from the window catches the sweat-slickness of his skin and turns him paler than the pallid-white he woke up as. Gaius considers sending up a word of thanks to the Big Cheeses that he wasn't flattened into a husband pancake. "Sweet molasses, Padre, what the hells happened?!"
Libra takes a moment of deep breathing before he's even stable enough to register what was said to him. He turns his sweaty head to meet Gaius, then pries his arms apart to allow the man some breathing room. "…Forgive me," he mumbles. "I suppose I found myself in the throes of a truly harrowing night terror."
"'Truly harrowing' doesn't even cover it." Gaius stretches, cracking his neck. "Why did you yell my name like that? I wasn't dyin' or anything, was I?"
A crass question that earns a stilted reply. "I… I, er…"
"You don't actually have to answer that, Libra."
"No, it… It is not that I cannot answer, but… no matter how I attempt to find the words, they simply refuse to come out." Libra drags a hand down his cheek, trying to find security. It doesn't really work. "Gods forfend, all this and I woke you. I am terribly sorry, Gaius."
On top of it already being pretty bad to see Libra with such a kicked-puppy expression, Gaius would quite literally cut his own head off if he ever thought this sort of thing deserved an apology. "No, no, no, we're not gonna start doing that," he grunts, using his newly-won free will to squeeze Libra's free hand into his own. "I'm not about to force answers out of you, but none of this was your fault. I know that you'd probably pick being bludgeoned over inconveniencing another person ninety-nine times out of a hundred, so I ain't gonna hold this against you."
The momentary silence answers Gaius better than a verbal response. He trots off to grab a towel from the bathroom and a glass of water from the kitchen before returning, seating himself just across from Libra to watch over him as he slowly recuperates. It's the least he can do.
Yeah, it's times like these that cement whatever concerns Gaius has about their relationship as nothing but a bunch of hooey. His immediate concern was making sure that Libra was okay. Sleep be damned, his own body be damned, this bed and this house and this suffocating summer heat be damned, if Libra is unwell, he's going to be the first to know about it. He's going to be the first to do something about it. And if it took every sweet he's ever stashed in the nooks and crannies of this house, and if it meant turning into a sweaty meatball for Libra to hold, well, hells, it's not gonna be fun, but Gaius would do it again and again and again if it helped.
Because watching how Libra's eyebrows unlatch, watching how his jawline softens and the bulging veins in his temples settle, seeing puffs of color return to his cheeks—knowing that what he's doing is helping is all the reward he needs. "Better?"
Libra's weary smile blinds him. "Much," he sighs. "Thank you, Gaius. That was sorely needed."
That was sorely needed. That was sorely needed. Gods, for all of the taking he does for work, Libra sure knows how to make giving feel monumental. He kind of wants to ask if Libra needs anything else just for the chance to hear more praise. The only reason he doesn't ask is because being overbearing isn't really his thing. That, and Libra is already preparing to lie back down. Hmm…
"Hey, Libra."
"Mm?"
"Think it might be better if I'm the big spoon tonight?"
Libra blinks, slightly frantic. "Oh, yes, that is perfectly all right. Again, I deeply apologize for waking you… and for however tightly I must have been holding you."
Gaius clicks his tongue as he crawls over Libra's body, scooting himself to where he can cradle Libra's head in his arms. "I'm not askin' because you woke me up. I thought we were past that already!"
Libra moves to object, ready and willing to grovel with the holy weight of guilt upon his shoulders, but Gaius doesn't let him. "Nope. Not another word out of you, Padre; I'm doin' this because I want to, so just llllet me do it."
There is some movement that warns of Libra's intent, but having a stubborn bull for a husband simply means that Gaius has to pull back with equal force. Deft fingers run through damp and tousled flaxen hair, gathering it from all of the directions it had splayed to return them under Libra's nightcap. Gaius takes his time; he knows how much Libra enjoys having his hair carefully handled (which took him some learning as a man who never knew the pain of rat's nests) and wants to give him the best he's got.
It's definitely doing something. Libra stops fighting and allows his head to sink into the pillows, though he does not yet close his eyes. "You are not burdened, doing this?" His tone winds curiously (though is still, of course, laced with guilt). "After all of the fuss I had made about alternating 'the spoon,' here I now am requiring you to go out of your way for me."
Finding himself newly drifting off, all Gaius can offer is a half chuckle and an extra-vigorous tug of Libra's nightcap down over his eyes. "Dork. Pretty sure I knew what I was gettin' into when I married you."
"So you are not unduly exhausted by doing this?"
"I mean, I'm tired because it's the middle of the night, yeah—" A yawn, "—but I'd do it all night if I needed to. Comes with the ring, Padre."
Silence. As Gaius lays his own head down he can no longer see whether Libra's eyes are opened or closed, so he curls his back just enough that he can take a peek. He's still awake, looking straight at Gaius when their faces meet, and gods be good, that smile. Every damn time it's like getting hit by one of Robin's tactical Thoron nukes. Sometimes he's still unsure how he bagged the most beautiful man in the entire world, but he is DEFINITELY not complaining.
Libra settles himself and his eyelids slowly draw closed. Gaius returns to his spot, holding Libra's head to his chest, deciding that if he died in his sleep that this would be a perfectly fine way to go…
"…Thank you, Gaius." Gentle as the evening wind, Libra tucks his head further into Gaius's embrace. "I hope you know…" A yawn, then a long pause as he fights to finish his sentence, "…how much this means."
"Anytime, Libra."
In the morning, Gaius will try to leverage his heroic acts of selflessness to convince Libra that there should be pancakes for breakfast with lots and lots of syrup, and Libra will chastise him for trying to barter for rewards (while, of course, pulling out the skillet and the mixing bowl). The day will be fresh and ready for whatever the pair decide to do, and no matter what happens, they'll stick together just as tight as they always have.
For now, though, Gaius is finally comfortable enough to sleep. So, cradling his sleeping Libra, one leg jutting out from under the blankets to regulate his temperature, and knowing he was sweaty enough to constitute a shower in the morning, he closes his eyes and merrily makes his way to Dreamsville.