station72 | me and you

CHARACTERS: Peter + November
WHERE: The Red Coast, empty barracks
WHEN: DAY:024
SUMMARY: Two sleepyheads who talked for too long and then became like cats.
WARNINGS: Cuddling?? Peter and November, who should come with their own warnings tbh. Will update as necessary.

[ It's possible that everything is starting to catch up with him. November is used to long hours of waiting, of a creeping sense of paranoia– the life of a contractor is constantly looking over your shoulder. But maybe with the symbiote, it's magnified and more energy consuming than he originally thought it would be. The walk down to their accommodations at the Red Coast was hardly taxing, especially compared to some other things he's done in his life.

Still, he ends up in the barracks nearby Hadrian; a spot he'd chosen since he felt like they were on a similar wavelength. Not to say he didn't feel a kinship with some other people in the nest. Just. Something about Hadrian felt familiar in that nonchalant way. They arrived here at the same time and seemed generally unbothered by what they'd encountered so far. Perhaps that distance is what draws him in and why they end up chatting quietly in the wee hours of the morning.

That is, until sleep consumes them both and they end up curled around each other, the beds having been pushed together so they could keep their voices low.

(And maybe so they could just be close).

The early morning sun doesn't shake November awake, an oddity, but the afternoon rays hit him across the face, causing him to stir. He's careful as he wakes up though, not wanting to shove Hadrian off of him rudely. Besides, this is pretty comfortable. ]

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[ it's a simple gesture, the shoving of two beds together towards the late evening and settling in for nothing but soft talk. it starts at a dull whisper because that's how these sorts of things start, but after a while peter realizes that he's stopped moving his mouth, that the warm slide of his mind catches and passes thought with much more ease than it had the first few days after hatching. the older hosts have been helpful, but his mind catches well with november's, having shared a hatch (while elliot's blends even better in their small brood of two).

he doesn't remember being blanketed by black velvet sleep, the kind that soundlessly wraps you up, but it feels... rather nice. he's dozed since being here, sleep never quite as deep as he'd normally like, so when it comes he snatches at it, clutches it close. for tonight.

he'd probably do better to keep sleeping lightly (unusual for him), but the symbiote feels like a lullaby in the back of his mind, something with softly moving sitar music singing through an open window, leaning on folded arms to feel the warm breeze as someone plays something soft and nostalgic below. peter seldom dreams, but the warmth of another body beside him suffuses him with that ugly little piece of a place he called home a very long time ago.

there's a soft echo of it as he shifts a little on his side, head pillowed by the crook of november's arm, his own leg thrown carelessly over his. he can feel the warm light bleed over the nape of his neck a little as the sunlight slides through. it's pleasant at first, something he could probably sleep through if it weren't so persistent about making him feel almost fever warm there over time. so the music fades even more as he reaches to grope for his glasses somewhere on the edge of one of the cots.

he hums a little, cracking one gray eye open to see if november is awake. ]

[ When Hadrian stirs, he is of course, awake. Except he's turned his head to the side a bit, the sun striped across his cheek this way. Both eyes are closed, but he hears the shift in breathing from sleep to alertness. The bed shifts and the laxity of their tired muscles become tension, awareness.

November smiles a little, doesn't bother opening his eyes since the sun is in them anyway. ]

You wouldn't mind terribly if we just stayed like this for a moment, hmm?

[ his fingers are poised a bit over the rim of his glasses when november speaks in the shared quiet and peter draws them back into his palms, pulling his hand away with a soft laugh and letting it come to rest between the both of them, hardly moving the rest of himself. he's quite comfortable as is, the type to bask, even more so now that their daily activity involves being wrapped to the nines in layers of unrelenting cloth. ]

Far be it from me to keep anyone from indulging themselves a little bit longer.

[ limbs, quiet and heavy and bodies warm, thoughts free-floating, not quite fully-formed. he turns his head, stifling a yawn with the back of his hand a moment, teeth sharp in his mouth a moment, clicking shut like a satisfied cat. ]

Why, I can hardly feel past my knees yet. I doubt I'm going anywhere for a bit.

[ There was a reason he knew he liked Hadrian. And it's proven, as the other seems to be content to leave him be. Well, not only that, but also settles in to be comfortable. November sighs quietly– a relaxed sound more than anything else. ]

I don't think I've slept in this much in several years.

[ An almost shy admittance. Years of paranoia would do that to a person. He should be carrying that over into here, since he's not familiar with this world. But, being all connected with everyone, he knows he'll get a warning ahead of time. It's... sort of nice. ]

Don't get too many pins and needles, now.

[ there's always been a high value put on rest in peter's life. a working brain deserves sleep, luxurious and dark, and while he runs in a profession that should be steeped far more in paranoia, there are no compromises on rest, only knives tucked softly where they should be. so he can't help but chuckle just a little darkly, voice now only slightly thick with sleep. ]

A small consequence that I'm more than willing to suffer.

[ he reaches his wrist up just slightly to rap him slightly in the chest with the back of his hand, fingers catching the edge of fabric, between two fingers and lingering there a bit. ]

Take advantage of it while we've got the chance. All this quiet makes me wonder just when things are going to start picking up for us.

Look at you, a martyr to the pins and needles.

[ His tone is wry, joking. Because that's what exists between them– something he feels grateful for. Hadrian seems to be operating on at least a somewhat similar wavelength. In some ways, his mannerisms remind him of April. Always a retort at the tip of her tongue. Always willing to shoot him down when he got too high on his own bullshit.

The sudden appearance of the hand on his chest is a bit startling, but he doesn't jump, instead lazily tracing the lifelines that cross along Hadrian's palm. There's an inherent question in the contact. ]

I'm certain there'll be explosions, judging from the intensity of silence. Personally, I'm glad to be out of that costume for a bit.

me and you

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i lost this notif, kicks myself in the face