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Phoenix is already half asleep by the time Miles finally puts away his book and turns off the bedside light. A quick glance at his watch tells him that it’s past midnight, and he briefly wonders why they are even still awake, because normally, Miles will insist on going to bed at around eleven (“I have to get up early tomorrow, Wright”). But he pushes the thought away and pulls the blanket around himself, pleasingly surprised when he feels Miles snuggling up against him, even putting one of his arms around him.
It’s a mixture of being half asleep and being half awake; every time Phoenix feels himself drifting off, Miles fingers inscribe little, soft circles on his hand or arm, and he jolts awake again. At first, he tries to ignore it, until he finally glances at his watch again and realizes it’s half past two in the morning. This is reason enough for him to turn around to face Miles.
“Miles?”
“Hm?” He sounds awfully awake.
“You okay?”
Miles hesitates for a moment before nodding, but Phoenix doesn’t buy it.
“You sure?”
“Yes. … Why are you whispering, Wright?”
“Dunno. It’s dark. … What’s wrong?”
“I’m fine, Wright.”
“You’re aware of the time, right?”
Again, hesitation, and then a small nod.
“So, why are you still awake? Aren’t you tired?”
“I’m not sure. I feel tired but very awake at the same time.”
Phoenix puts one arm around him and pulls him closer, and Miles immediately leans in on the touch, nestling up to him even more. “… It’s the 28th.”
“I own a calendar, Wright, but thank you.”
“… You know what I mean. Is that why you don’t want to sleep?”
The room is silent for a while, dark and silent save for their breathing, and Phoenix tries to pay attention to every little detail of Miles, every little sign which might give away something about Miles’ mood, but he’s not nearly as good at it as Apollo or Trucy.
“I don’t know”, comes the belated answer, and now he, too, is whispering. “It’s not that I don’t want to sleep. I just can’t. I think the last days were … a little much, perhaps.”
Phoenix almost asks what exactly he means, but he doesn’t, in the end, because he’s very sure Miles means just everything, December, the Christmas party, and now the anniversary of his father’s death.
“I’m not used to spending this time of the year with other people”, he adds and thereby confirms Phoenix assumption. “I usually just bury myself in work.”
“Yeah”, he answers, because he doesn’t know what else to say.
“I didn’t mean to keep you awake, however. I am sorry.”
“Nah, don’t be. It’s not like I have to get up early tomorrow. I don’t mind being awake.” He rakes his hand through Miles’ hair and places it on his cheek, then, and for a moment he gets the impression that Miles wants to shy away from the touch, but he doesn’t.
“Do you want to talk about it?”, he offers and expects a negative answer, but that’s not what he gets. Instead: more silence and Miles’ hand, delicately placed against his neck, fingertips drawing little circles on his skin once more.
Eventually, a whispered: “About what?”
“I don’t know. About your father or DL-6 or von Karma. Christmas. The Steel Samurai. Anything.”
“… I don’t know. I’m not good at talking, Wright.”
He smiles. “Yeah, I know. … Was it easier, this year? Being … you know, with-“ me “-other people all the time? I had hoped it would be distracting, but it sounded more like it just added to the … you know, the tension.”
“No, that’s not what I meant. It just felt … unfamiliar. It was … a lot of social interaction, which I am simply not used to. That is all.” He shifts his weight a little, and then his hand is no longer at Phoenix’s neck but instead at his back, stroking softly. “I don’t know if it was easier. I … briefly talked to Miss- to Maya at your Christmas party. It’s hard to tell how I feel about this time of the year at this point, because I just know that I don’t like it. I never gave any thought to the possibility that one year might feel less bad than the other.”
Phoenix tries to follow, but he doesn’t think he’s really able to. He nods anyway and then tries to think of something else to say because Miles is actually talking, and he thinks this is good, and he also thinks it might be easier if he’s just asking questions.
“Do you miss him?”
“… … I don’t know.” Another shift in Miles’ position, and then his head is against Phoenix’s chest, and it almost feels as if he’s holding a little child; that’s the position Trucy had loved when she was younger, but Phoenix doesn’t dare thinking about it too much, because thinking about it would have him thinking about the fact that no one has held Miles like that since he’s been nine, and thinking about things like this makes him feel helpless and angry and sad.
“… Have you ever visited his grave?” He almost feels bad for not knowing.
“I-” He’s gripping Phoenix’s t-shirt for a second, then lets go immediately. “No. And I don’t want to, so please don’t propose it.”
“… Alright.”
“... I think I’m sad, Wright.” Whispered again, almost inaudible. It sounds tired, and it does sound sad, and it breaks Phoenix’s heart.
“Mh. You do know that it’s okay to be sad, right?”
Miles’ nods, and Phoenix thinks he can feel him smile against his chest, but his voice is just as tired and sad as before when he answers. “It’s just … unfamiliar as well. I am … usually not good with … determining my own emotions. I can hardly differentiate them, sometimes.”
After that, silence stretches out between them again, and Phoenix could almost think that Miles has finally fallen asleep if only it weren’t for his boyfriend’s restless fingers and the little circles drawn with them. Phoenix thinks about Trucy again, about the nightmares she used to have during the first few months at his place and about the only thing he could ever do to make falling back asleep easier for her. And so, he gently pushes Miles away and sits up to turn the light on.
Miles looks at him, and for a second there, he looks almost panicked, as if he fears that Phoenix might just walk away, might just leave. As if he ever could.
“I’ll be right back”, he says and waits for Miles’ expression to relax and for him to nod before he leaves the room and enters Trucy’s as silently as possible, using his phone’s screen as light source while browsing through her shelves. When he eventually finds what he’s been looking for, he leaves his daughter’s room again.
Miles has sat up too, and he looks up at him and then furrows his brows a little. “What is that?” He gestures to the book in Phoenix’s hand. “It looks … well-read, to put it nicely.”
Phoenix grins a little and sits down next to him, shooting a glance at the book himself while at the same time making sure that the cover is still hidden. Miles is right, and it is well-read, there are scratches and dog-ears all over, and he’s very sure that some of the pages are stained with coffee and ice cream, too. “I prefer the term ‘well-loved’.” He smirks again, then looks at Miles. “Lie down.”
“… Why?”
“Because you’re tired. I’ll read to you. Trucy loved it, she fell asleep really quickly whenever I read to her. … Unless, of course, it was a thrilling chapter.”
Miles says nothing for a moment. “I am not a little child, Wright.” His voice is dismissive, but his smile betrays him – the expression in his face is only sad and … almost wistful.
“I know, but you’re my boyfriend, and rumor has it that I’m a really good reader. Now lie down.”
And he really does, covering himself with the blanket again, and Phoenix follows him and cuddles up close before opening the book.
“Which book is it, anyway?”
“You’ll see. I’m sure you don’t know it – which is a shame, by the way. I’ll totally tutor you in the department of pop culture.”
“Sounds tempting.”
The dry response makes him grin, but he ignores it and simply starts reading.
“Mr. and Mrs. Dursley, of number four, Privet Drive, were proud to say that they were perfectly normal, thank you very much. They were the last people you'd expect to be involved in anything strange or mysterious, because they just didn't hold with such nonsense. Mr. Dursley was the director of a firm called…“
Phoenix reads a few chapters – chapters! – before Miles eventually interrupts him only to complain about it (“Are you really going to read Harry Potter to me, Wright? Isn’t this decade-old series for children?”), but Phoenix can’t be bothered (“Hey, I cried, and it’s getting pretty dark, really”), and Miles keeps listening, and Phoenix keeps reading, until he finally stops to look at Miles, because Miles’ hands are still now, and he realizes that he really has fallen asleep. He smiles, and then he quietly puts the book away, adding another dog-ear to the pages. After he’s turned off the light, he lies down again, and until he himself falls asleep, he thinks about which house Miles would belong to. Ravenclaw, he thinks.