Work Text:
It had taken weeks for them to find a place to live that was within their means: a flat above a shop on a rather dull street. Cornelius calls it dingy; Billy elects for quaint. They both know which of them is correct. It took even longer to find jobs for the pair of them that paid enough to cover the rent, let alone food and, god forbid, luxuries. Cornelius’ suggestion of working nights was immediately overruled on the grounds of, I am not letting you walk these streets at some ungodly hour every single night, and Billy’s idea of working at the same place was shut down with, We’ll just get bored! I’ll have nothing new to tell you if you already know exactly how my day went! To put it lightly, job searching had been a tedious process. However, eventually they each found a position that more or less suited their needs: Cornelius, a retail assistant position in the local family-owned supermarket working early mornings until mid-afternoon, and for Billy, a store clerk in a dated-but-dainty little boutique on the high street working mid-morning until close in the evening. The positions suit them well; running inventory and managing numbers and stock rotation keeps Cornelius’ overactive mind occupied, and Billy simply adores darting around a store full of dresses and cravats and decorated headpieces.
However, for Billy, it’s their routines and little self-made traditions that make working so pleasant. Their differing hours can be inconvenient to work around at times, what with preparing meals, housework, and the like. But perhaps such a difference has inadvertently created a bubble for the two of them to carry out their day in whatever order; whatever manner they please. Even in the shop, amongst the velvet and frills, Billy finds himself looking forward to returning home with the knowledge that the man he loves will be there, contentedly catching up on sleep without a care that the sun still gleams through the window–their own routine, the rest of the world didn’t matter.
Today is no exception. Billy turns his key in the door, finally getting the stiff old lock open after three tries, drops his bag and shoes at the entrance, and picks his way through their assortment of well-loved furniture to reach the bedroom. He gently pushes open the door.
The glow of the early evening illuminates the thin curtains, coating the room in a heavenly golden haze, and a shaft of sunlight sneaks through the gap in the fabric. It casts a perfect line for Billy to follow with his gaze, a radiant stripe jumping from the worn floorboard up onto the bed, all the way along to where it meets Cornelius, turning a streak of his hair a mesmerisingly rich copper. He’s asleep, of course, having shed none of his clothes save for the boots sitting haphazardly on the floor at the bedside. Billy makes no hesitation in shrugging his coat off onto the floor and joining Cornelius on top of the duvet, careful not to jostle the bed too much for fear of waking him.
He looks so utterly at peace in sleep, not even stirring when Billy takes his hand, softly and full of care, and begins to gently trace the peaks and troughs of his knuckles with a fingertip. He circles a scrape - new today, he presumes - as though his very touch could heal the broken skin. In the silence, his favourite silence, Billy then brings his hand up to Cornelius’ face and runs his thumb over the cheekbone. There’s a light smattering of freckles, though had it not been for the light of the sun and his proximity to the other man, Billy is sure they would be invisible. He likes this. Unlike his own, which are just about everywhere, Cornelius’ freckles are few and far between; nothing more than a few faint constellations over his shoulders and an even fainter sprinkling across his cheeks, which makes them feel like a secret that only Billy gets to know.
Billy’s thumb travels upwards, finding Cornelius’ eyebrows and running along the soft hair. They’re relaxed–not furrowed together, creased in the middle like when he’s concentrating hard or frustrated, not arched teasingly like when he’s being a nuisance, just flat, neutral, peaceful. Billy thinks he should wear this look more often. It’s not that he isn’t wholly charmed by Cornelius’ expressiveness, he’d just like to see him placid like this a little more.
Seeing that Cornelius is yet to show any signs of life, Billy allows himself to continue mapping out the features on the sleeping man’s face. Starting between his eyebrows, he trails a slender finger all the way down the smooth slope of Cornelius’ nose, and he doesn’t so much as twitch. Bless. He’s either really asleep, or really good at pretending to be, Billy thinks. Two of his knuckles come to rest just beneath Cornelius’ nose, feeling the warmth of his soft, steady breaths on his fingers. The sensation grounds him, fills his head and heart with the knowledge that they’re both safe, both alive, in this room and in this life that belongs to them.
A quick swipe of the thumb over Cornelius’ bottom lip, then Billy is moving his hand to card his fingers through soft red hair. He’s always been enchanted by the colour of it, how it shifts in different light. The dim light when they’d first become acquainted had led him to believe it was some kind of warm, dirty blond, however once he’d seen it in the sun, he’d quickly learned how natural light brought out those shades of red like magic. He should have kicked himself for being filled with such childlike wonder at something as simple as a man’s hair, but his feet had been stuck fast.
This is the movement which finally rouses Cornelius. When he stirs, Billy pauses, fingers interlaced in the hair at the back of his head. He doesn’t open his eyes though, instead ducking his head down into Billy’s chest.
“Hi,” he mumbles into the fabric of Billy’s shirt. Billy responds by resting his chin on the top of Cornelius’ head.
“Hi, love,” he whispers back.
Billy feels Cornelius’ hands find their way under the collar of his shirt and his fingers close around the ring he wears around his neck. He twists it around on its cord over and over.
One of Billy’s arms wraps around Cornelius’ waist, hand finding the small of his back, while the other lifts his head slightly to slip underneath and cradle it properly, fingers drawing light circles on his scalp. He hears Cornelius make a pleased little sound beneath him.
“How was work?” Billy asks quietly.
Cornelius shifts vaguely in a way which Billy interprets to be a shrug.
“‘S good,” he says, drowsy, “you?”
“Mm. Good,” Billy replies, then ducks to press a kiss to the top of Cornelius’ head.
He smiles into the soft hair as his mind wanders to the idea of Cornelius arriving home, kicking off his boots with no grace, then unceremoniously collapsing onto the bed fully clothed–not even bothering to get underneath the comforter–and promptly falling asleep in broad daylight. Cornelius’ funny sleeping schedule gives Billy no right to complain; however dysfunctional it may be, it allows them quiet moments like this on a daily basis. Plus, mid-afternoon power naps do Cornelius the world of good, whether he himself notices it or not, they put some real wind back behind his sails for the rest of the day–once he’s properly woken up, that is.
Billy feels his chest being poked.
“Billy?”
He had definitely zoned out there.
“Oh, sorry, Cornelius– yeah?” replies Billy, tugged back down to earth.
“Thought you fell asleep on me there,” says Cornelius. Billy can hear the smile in his voice. He muffles a yawn before continuing. “If you can drag me out of bed, let’s go shower, hm?”
“Let’s go shower?”
“I want you to wash my hair,” says Cornelius plainly.
Billy huffs a laugh. “Oh, I see how it–”
“I’ll help you make dinner afterwards!” he adds quickly, voice laced with syrupy sweetness. He can’t see his face, but if he could, Billy is sure that Cornelius would be making puppy-dog eyes at him.
It’s all he’s ever wanted, a quiet life where he can while away the evening making idle, trivial conversation in bed with the man he loves. A life which once seemed to be miles and miles out of reach and is now right in his arms, pleading with him to wash his hair. In moments like these, Billy only sees the future, and it’s as bright as the sun’s rays oozing through their cheap, moth-eaten curtains.
“All right, get up then.”