there’s a light on in the kitchen, the soft orange glow of the light above the sink. misa is sitting at their small table, a mug next to him as he mindlessly flips through the book in his hand. he had spent most of the night twisting and turning, the anxiety of falling asleep making his heart race and his hands tremble. the short hour he had managed to fall asleep left him shaking awake, the shadows receding enough for him to slip out of bed.
the clock graf had gotten them says 3:45am, the witching hour and the cold that seeps into the bottom of his feet is almost enough to send him back to bed. except, he won’t sleep, he’ll lay there until his eyes dry out and won’t leave his room until he hears sam’s ungodly seven am alarm go off; when it’s safe, when sam’s brightness scares the shadows off enough for misa to feel like he belongs in his body for the day.
he doesn’t expect sam to show up, the floorboards creaking under him as he appears at the entrance, his hair ruffled and arms crossed against his chest. he doesn’t look confused or surprised to see misa sitting in the dim light of their kitchen. he sits across from misa, stretching out so his leg bumps against misa and he lets out what feels like the first breath since they had said goodnight to each other almost five hours ago.
he doesn’t say anything, doesn’t ask what misa is reading or what he’s drinking or what he’s doing up at almost four in the morning when they have practice at nine and some other thing that’s going to run them into the early evening. misa almost feels sick at the idea, of running on low sleep and still having to go out and put everything he has into practice. they’re not in a playoff push yet, still early enough in the season that some slips are brushed away.
misa doesn’t know how long they sit there, but the birds are starting to make noise and exhaustion starts to weigh heavily behind misa’s eyelids. the shadows shift, waiting for misa’s eyes to close so they can wrap around him.
the chair is pushed back and sam is beside him, running a hand through his hair and misa feels boneless before sam’s hand, heavy and warm and calloused, land on the back of his neck. up we go, he whispers and misa goes, feet sluggish as sam leads them back down the hall. for a terrifying second, misa thinks sam is taking him back to his room before sam pushes the door of his own room open.
the lamp on his desk is on, a soft pale glow that eases the edges of misa’s mind as sam sits misa on the edge of the bed. he moves away and misa lets out a small sound, a whine or a whimper, he doesn’t know but sam responds softly, a shirt in his hand as he helps misa out of his own and into one of sam’s. it’s big, clearly bought a few sizes too big and soft, well worn by the stretched out collar.
sam pulls back the blankets, lets misa get comfortable before he grabs his phone, eyes slightly squinted as he taps at the screen before he connects it to the charger. he slips in beside misa, laying on his side and his body blocks out most of the light.
okay? sam whispers into the space between them, soft and gentle in a way he’s only ever with misa when it’s just the two of them and there’s no need to preform, no need to be the guy in the room entertaining and pulling laughs from their team. he’s just dickie, attentive and genuine, knowing what misa needs before misa does, getting him in and out of situations and does it like it takes nothing out of him.
a feeling misa doesn’t have the energy to explain settles in his chest, behind his ribs as he gives in and presses his head against sam’s chest. he hears the hitch of breath, feels the way sam is taking in the situation before he’s pulling him in closer and the shadows don’t come, don’t sink their sharp claws into him because sam is here, warm and solid and keeping misa from sinking deeper into the chill.
he falls asleep like that, curled into sam, breathing him in and sam holds him.
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