Aᴜɢᴜsᴛ’s ɴɪɢʜᴛ ʜᴀᴅɴ'ᴛ been anything out of the ordinary (up until now, that is). He hadn’t gone out, unlike his unexpected guest, but had rather spent the evening alone, enjoying his own company. He didn’t like (or trust) himself enough to call himself his own best friend, but he had learnt to become accustomed to being alone and not minding it, for the most part. It was like some sort of mutual understanding, only without another person to have that understanding with. After all, when you were in his position, it’s not like you exactly had a choice whether to be content by yourself or not. Loneliness was simply a part of his reality. He had come to terms with that.
August hadn’t gone to bed early (his book was far too interesting, and the temptation to indulge on just a few more chapters and just a little less sleep was far too enticing), but he was already well and truly asleep by the time Sebastien had arrived. Luckily for the both of them, this wasn’t the first time this had occurred (and unlikely to be the last, August mused), so while it startled him awake, it didn’t have to turn into a drama. The dogs were fine, and so August had a good idea of who his new companion was in the dark.
„What the hell are you doing?“ The question was a sleepy reflex more than anything, and he was lightly smacked in response. Typical.
Groggily, August did his best to shift beneath Sebastian so that he could leverage him to the side. It was a strenuous affair, having been pinned down beneath the blankets. He turned again to switch on his bedside lamp and he squinted as his eyes adjusted. Sebastien’s features were illuminated by the soft light, and August could smell the alcohol on his breath.
A sigh. The German ran a hand through his unstyled hair, before slowly slipping out of bed. He would carry out the usual routine, less he had to deal with the other man’s hangover symptoms as soon as he woke again.
August quietly padded out of the room, absently rubbing his dogs heads as they greeted him, following him towards the kitchen. He collected a bucket, some painkillers, and a large Maßkrug full of water, and quietly placed them on the bedside table closest to Sebastien.
August hesitated, then, watching the other man in the slow, passing moments, but eventually rejoined him under the covers while giving a respectable distance between them.
Morning came too soon. With night’s departure went Sebastien’s dead-limbed quiescence and he exploded into wakefulness like a gun going off.
He shot upwards with a ragged breath, hair forming incredible configurations from old styling product and a night smashed against a pillow. With a muffled shout, Sebastien tumbled from the bed still tangled in the linens, and hit the floor with a loud thud.
August’s only dachshund crawled to the edge of the mattress to peer down at him with a quiet, judgmental huff; Sebastien gave one last feeble kick to try and free his legs from the linens before settling back against the floor, eyes shut tightly against the throbbing headache and cheerful morning light.
‘...damn,’ he said feelingly. Fritzi seemed to agree and scuttled from the bed to the floor, having decided that Sebastien’s queasy stomach made a far superior pillow. Sebastien heaped quiet verbal abuse on the dog, who cared not a bit about his human mumbling--she was warm, inexplicably comfortable, and was having her ears petted. Sebastien’s head fell back against the floor with a muted thump as he sighed, surrendered to the inevitable, and let his eyes drift shut again for just a moment.
There was a wet, investigative snout in his ear to wake him again later and the soft, deep murmur of August’s voice elsewhere in the flat--
He was instantly flooded with a feeling that he was loathe to examine too closely, lest he label it as relief. Senseless in the face of familiar settings and stimuli (dog breath in his face, dog nose in his ear--) but he had...worried, some, like he always did when he was pressed into drinking more than he should.
Sebastien let go of the breath he hadn’t known he was holding, letting his tired eyes drift over the light-speckled ceiling, hand smoothing down Fritzi’s long back. Here was safe. Here was safe and he could continue pretending it was a normal Sunday morning.
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