Jeremy having a nightmare for the first time in years the first night he stays at the lofts after leaving his family. And he’s alone in his room and alone is what he’s always had, but his time with Jean , though short, has made him crave companionship. And he looks around, instinctively trying to find that second body, that second bed that he’s grown used to, except this time, there isn’t one. So he sits there in the dark, alone, and debates with himself on if he should go see if Jean is awake. Chances are that Jean is up anyway, right? The man has his own nightmares and Jeremy knows how often he’s pulled from rest.
So Jeremy gets up and makes his way to Jean’s door, but it’s closed, and the room is silent behind it, and Jeremy doesn’t want to wake Jean if he’s sleeping. And a text might wake him up if he is, but jabberwocky might start barking if Jeremy knocks. So Jeremy debates some more, and then bites the bullet— he knocks softly, two taps of two fingers, and waits. He tells himself that if Jean doesn’t open the door by time he gets to one hundred, he’ll go back to bed and just try to sleep again.
And Jean doesn’t come. Not when Jeremy hits fifty, not at seventy-five, not even at ninety. Just as Jeremy’s about to call it a night, though, the door swings open.
Jean stands there, looking both confused and alert, hair mussed from his pillow and eyes droopy with sleep, and Jeremy is so …startled. By the look of him, by the warmth radiating off him, by the idea that Jean had been asleep, and heard that small sound.
Jean stares at him. “Is everything—?”
“Yes,” Jeremy interrupts, and pivots to head back to his room. “Sorry, I—“
“Jeremy,” Jean says, and catches him by the bicep, spins him back around.
Jeremy huffs, but says nothing, just stares up at Jean, who stares back, content to wait him out.
“What is wrong?” Jean presses.
Jeremy looks away. “Bad dream,” he says, and thinks of the times his mother sent him back to bed with an instruction to grow up. “Childish, I know.”
He winces right after, at the poor choice of words, but Jean doesn’t look offended.
“I don’t think so,” he says, and steps back into the room. Jeremy blinks after him into the darkness, and then squats down to pet Jabberwocky where he’s come to greet Jeremy at the door.
When he glances up again, Jean is peeling back the covers, and fixing the pillows on the still made side of the bed. “There is enough room, if you do not mind sharing,” Jean tells him. “Though the beast will be displeased—you are stealing his spot.”
“Oh,” Jeremy says, amused. “Well, I wouldn’t want to put him out—“
“Jeremy,” Jean interrupts. “Just get in.”
Jeremy salutes him. He heads to the other side of the bed with a smile, and when Jean gives him an impatient look for hesitating, climbs under the covers with a smile.
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