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Sometime around the end of his first term at Oxford, Scripps stopped sleeping. Well, not entirely, obviously, but enough that he began to live with a constant bone deep tiredness. Scratchy eyes, fuzzy head - the lot. It was partly due to the massive workload that had come on recently. However, it was mostly down to the fact that his whirring brain couldn’t seem to slow down, even when he felt like he was dragging his body through sticky syrup. He considered the possibility that this might have something to do with the frankly astonishing amounts of coffee he’d been consuming as of late. It seemed to leave him exhausted and buzzing all at once. One might wonder at the audacity of someone to complain about lack of sleep and then drink a gallon of coffee each day. Scripps had managed to tell himself he needed it - he needed to stay awake to get all of his work done. Although now, as he stared unseeingly at the book in front of him, he pondered upon the idea that this might not be the entire truth. He was becoming increasingly aware of a feeling of restlessness, a need to keep moving forward, to not sit and ponder long enough to allow his thoughts to catch up to him. It was easier to keep working, keep occupied and then fall into bed through pure exhaustion in the early hours of the morning.
This way of coping was entirely unlike Scripps, that he was, of course, questioned about it by the Cutlers boys when they next saw him. He’d been jolted out of a sort of unfocused reading on the Merovingian dynasty by a sharp rap at his bedroom door and the sound of multiple voices. He wandered over to the door, gulping down the last dregs of his now lukewarm coffee, and opened it to find Dakin, Rudge, Posner and Akthar crowded into the small hallway.
“Bloody hell!” Dakin greeted him, barging into his room. A bit audacious, Scripps thought, considering he hadn’t actually seen him in weeks. “You look like shit.”
Scripps raised an eyebrow, sharing a look with Posner, who was still lingering by the door. “Nice to see you too, Stu.” he replied, sitting back at his desk.
“He has a point, to be fair.” Rudge added in his usual blunt tone. “Are you sick or something?”
“No. Just, the workload caught up to me a bit you know.” Scripps gestured to the books spread out on his desk, trying to swallow his guilt and avoid looking at Posner’s concerned face. He didn’t know why he felt guilty, really, he wasn’t lying.
“Well, take a break.” Dakin demanded. “We’re going out to play footie. Thought you might like to join instead of staying cooped up in here all day.”
Scripps stared at the desk in front of him. “Ah, wish I could. I’ve really gotta get this work done though or Millar might have a fit.” Okay, he did feel slightly guilty about turning them down - especially after not seeing them for so long. This work did need to get done though - even if he was doing more staring at the books than getting any actual work done.
“Oh, come on, Scrippsy. Live a little!” Dakin cried, throwing his hands up.
“Can’t, honestly.” he wasn’t about to be bullied into doing something he didn’t want to by Dakin of all people. “Another time.”
Dakin frowned at him for a moment, before seemingly deciding not to argue and he began herding the rest of the boys towards the door. “Right. Well. Have fun with that. Oh, and remember to take a shower before you actually end up exiting your room.” he said, shooting Scripps an entirely unimpressed look.
“Get some sleep, Don!” Scripps heard Posner call, before the door slammed shut behind them.
Scripps let his forehead fall against the desk in front of him with a bump. Of course, they’d pulled him up on it. Only a few weeks ago he’d been his regular self - responsible, engaged. Now, he seemed to have transformed into the most disengaged human on the planet, and more than willing to keep himself busy so as not to ruminate on his thoughts for too long. He managed to prove that point to himself when he forced himself to focus on the words in front of him so as to block out the echo in his head of the caring words Posner had yelled to him before he left.
He continued his day in somewhat of a sleepy, studious blur when, before he knew it, he was being shocked into awareness again by another knock at his door, this one less sharp and more heavy handed. Scripps stood with a sigh, at first expecting it to be Dakin returning to harass him into leaving his room again before he noticed the dark night sky outside. The day must have come to an end entirely without his realising it and, when he looked at his watch, he noted with a shock that it had gone eleven in the evening. This was why, the last thing he expected to see when he opened his door, was Posner leaning against his door frame.
“Don!” he exclaimed in a voice slightly louder than was appropriate, before lurching unsteadily forwards, forcing Scripps to back into his room slightly.
“Pos? Whats wro-” realisation dawned on him. “Hang on. Are you pissed?”
“Mm-hmm.” Posner nodded, giggling a little, as though it was a secret he only wanted Scripps to know.
“Oh, bloody hell.” Scripps rolled his eyes before dragging him over to sit on the bed. “Is Dakin with you?”
Posner shook his head.
“He didn’t put you up to this?”
Posner shook his head.
“Ok, so...do you need a taxi?”
Posner shook his head.
Scripps sighed in frustration, wanting slightly to run away from the whole situation. “Why are you here then, Posner?”
Posner just stared at him in silence, eyes wide. Scripps stared back, frowning, not sure what he was supposed to do in this situation. His head was swimming.
“Why haven’t you come to see me?” Posner suddenly blurted out.
Scripps couldn’t help cringing. He dropped his gaze to stare at the floor. “Been busy.” He shrugged. “You know that, Pos.”
“No, but you, but-” Posner seemed to be struggling to get his words out. “You were busy before? And we used to have tea and sing together and have fun and now, now, you don’t see me and I’m all alone.” he pointed an accusatory finger at him.
Scripps rolled his eyes. “You’re not alone. You’ve got the boys- you seem to have had a decent enough time with them tonight, judging by the state of you.”
“They’re not like you, though.” Posner whined. Scripps tried to ignore the little flip his stomach did at that. “Is there something wrong? Are you really okay?” he pestered, jabbing his fingers searchingly into Scripps’ sides.
“I’m fine. Stop it!” he grumbled, swatting Posner’s fingers away.
“So...do you hate me?” Posner’s bottom lip jutted out.
“No. Obviously, I don’t hate you.” Scripps hoped this was drunken nonsense and not something Posner was actually worried about.
“Then, what!” Posner exploded suddenly, before his expression and voice turned somewhat soft. “It’s just, I worry about you, Don. You’ve always been there, and I always want you to be there, and you’re so lovely I just- I need you to be okay, you’re so, I need-”
Scripps was vaguely aware of Posner’s face moving slowly towards his, but he was unable to fully register what was happening until Posner had pressed his warm, beer flavoured lips against his.
Scripps froze. He felt his stomach drop, blood roar in his ears - his insides seemed to be positively doing a jig inside him. And yet, he couldn’t move at all.
Until suddenly he could. He pulled back instantly, standing and moving quickly to the other side of the room.
“I, you’re not - um,” Scripps cleared his throat. “You’re drunk. I’m calling you a taxi.” Which is exactly what he did, before shepherding Posner out of his room and, just like that, he was alone in his room again. As if the whole thing had never happened.
Then, he just continued on as he had been. Drinking coffee, trying to focus but not getting a lot done, just trying to keep himself busy so he didn’t have to think. It was almost as if he was on autopilot. Despite, his best efforts, he couldn’t help thoughts about that kiss crossing his mind. It had all been over so quickly, and he hadn’t heard from Posner since. He couldn’t help but wonder if he’d imagined it. However, the occasional rush of adrenaline he’d feel when he looked at his bed confirmed that he hadn’t.
The thing was, was that he was so used to being bloody careful. He was a careful person - he only did the things he thought he’d be able to handle. The not wanking, for example. Something about it had made him feel as though, if he did it, he wouldn’t be able to resist slipping into a number of other sinful desires. So he just didn’t do it, until he knew he could handle the temptation. Perhaps this was the problem - he’d become so used to avoiding his issues altogether it was now a default reaction. So there he was, avoiding his friends and avoiding his thoughts, because he wasn’t sure if he could handle it.
The thing that finally shocked him out of his avoidant daze, five days after Posner’s drunken visit, was the flash of lighting that illuminated his room and the patter of rain against his window that shortly followed. It seemed to remind him of the size of the world outside of his room and, such as Prometheus’ fire allowed life to progress, the lighting seem to push Scripps into action, to propel him forwards. Without so much as grabbing his coat he exited his room and headed out into the cold November rain.
He didn’t give much thought to where he was heading but of course, inevitably, his feet began to lead him on the short walk towards Posner’s college. As the water soaked through his sweater into his skin, and the thunder boomed around him, and the lighting flashed light on the old buildings towering over him he couldn’t help the thrill of recklessness that shot through him. The way his heart pounded, and his fingertips tingles and the way he just felt alive. And when Posner opened the door and looked at him, his cheeks turning a ruddy pink, Scripps felt for the first time like he wasn’t on autopilot. He felt like he had enough clarity in his mind to make a choice.
And his choice was to carefully, deliberately, place a hand on the side of Posner’s face and pull him into a long, deep kiss. It was an act that should have made him more confused but, as Posner began to kiss him back, he noticed that his head felt clearer than it had in weeks and a tranquil warmth had settled in his chest. It also wasn’t Scripps who pulled back from the kiss this time.
Posner drew away suddenly, glancing quickly down the corridor they still appeared to be standing in, and then yanked Scripps into his room. There was silence for a moment as they both looked at each other, when Posner looked down and seemed to register Scripps’ appearance for the first time.
“You’re soaking!”
Scripps raised his eyebrows and laughed freely. “Yeah, I had noticed actually.”
“Fucking hell.” Posner exhaled heavily, before pulling Scripps back in for another, slightly more desperate kiss, tongue stroking inside his mouth and making him shiver.
Pulling back, Scripps rested his forehead against Posner’s, breathing heavily. “I’m sorry.” he started, quietly. “I didn’t realise that I...” But Posner shushed him gently when he realised this was one of those rare occasions in which he found he wasn’t able to find the words to express his thoughts.
“It doesn’t matter now.” Posner assured him. “Listen, I hate to put a stop to all this but, well, you’re really wet. Do you want to get changed?”
Scripps nodded in resignation. He didn’t want to have finally managed to leave his room only to be exiled back there due to catching his death out in the rain. He waited patiently as Posner rummaged through his drawers, only to toss a t-shirt to Scripps and look at him expectantly.
“Erm,” Scripps snorted. “No trousers, then?”
Posner’s face suddenly flushed a heavy pink. “I just, I thought that, maybe, if you wanted-” he glanced over at his bed, before looking nervously back at Scripps.
Scripps was surprised at the lack of nerves he felt. It was as though now he’d made this discovery - now he’d made things right - he was felt completely sure of himself. He was sure that this was where he wanted to be. “Yes. Yeah, that would be nice, actually.” he told Posner. Then, brazenly raising an eyebrow, Scripps pulled his sweater over his head and began to unbutton his damp shirt, causing Posner’s face to turn an even deeper shade of pink - despite the many times he’d seen Scripps get changed for P.E at school. It was different now, they both knew that.
As Scripps finally settled under the blankets that night, with Posner curled against him, he felt as though a fog had been cleared from his mind and a weight lifted from his shoulders. In any case, he didn’t have long to ponder this newfound clarity as he ended up, for the first time in weeks, falling asleep as if it was the easiest thing he’d ever done. Almost as easy, he thought, as loving David Posner. Almost.