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The night is dark, the only light in their room coming from the space heater's orange glow. He knows before he opens his eyes. The charcoal grey sheets are pulled back on Vander's side of the bed, and folded over so they cover Silco.
He slides out from under them, then throws on the robe by the door. It's quiet, the bar patrons long gone home, and for all of its darkness now the sun will be coming up soon. Better to get him now, so they both stand a chance of managing to get some more sleep than the few already taken.
He heads down the hall, past Powder’s room. He glances inside his office just in case, but finds only his desk, an unused cot leant against the wall, and his books as usual. Instead of downstairs to the bar, he goes up.
The green space on the roof is tucked away from prying eyes, but not out of place even should those eyes find it. He’s perched on one of the small, wooden chairs, a glass hanging from one hand.
Among the delicate shoots of herbs and plants Vander is like a rock. Steadfast. But he turns his head when Silco advances on him.
“You found me.”
“I always do.”
Vander's brows furrow slightly, despite the way his lips turn up a bit at the end. His hair falls loose over his neck, freed from its usual style.
“The dream again?” Silco asks, and drapes himself over his shoulder. His bare skin is cold under his palms.
“Nightmare.”
Semantics. Most of his dreams fail to live up to his reality these days, but he understands the need to specify for Vander.
“It's only a dream,” Silco says. He leans his head against his, feels the way he inhales then sighs out a breath.
“It doesn't feel like one. I can feel my hands-” he taps his finger against the glass.
“Around my throat. Squeezing. I know.”
“Awfully calm about it, considering,” Vander comments. He sounds defeated, though, and Silco hums.
“That's called forgiveness, I think. Perhaps you might try it, so I don't wake alone.”
As though to punctuate his point, a chill sneaks beneath the fold of his robe and he shivers.
His voice is slightly brighter when he speaks again. “So you don't lose your space heater, you mean.”
“I won't pretend I don't find our bed warmer for your presence.”
Vander's free hand comes up to hold one of his, and Silco looks out over the city. It's far from perfect, like the letter and circumstances that had brought them back together hadn't been, but better than he had imagined in those dark days outside of the warmth of Vander's love.
“Well, I'd hate to deprive you.”
“Then come back to bed.”
He pours the rest of his drink into one of the planters with a heavy breath, and rises to his feet while Silco stands there.
There's no need for him to lead him by hand, but their hands find one another anyway as they descend the stairs and return inside. A sliver of light sneaks out into the hall from Powder’s room, and he thinks a moment of knocking, telling her to get to bed but she doesn't need the reminder. He'll speak to her in the morning.
Their bedroom door clicks shut after them, and he waits for Vander to get under the blankets before he shrugs off his robe and joins him.
At the first brush of skin he hisses, but doesn't pull away from embracing him, “You're freezing. How long were you out there brooding?”
“Long enough. You're right, it's only a dream.”
“I frequently am.” His heart is thudding quickly under his ear, and Silco sets his hand upon it under the covers, “We aren't those men anymore. And that means you cannot expect to suffer no consequences from lack of sleep, so rest.”
“I'll be sure to remind you of that, when you're doing paperwork late into the night.”
“Mm. I expect it.”
His heartbeat is slower now, the tension in his muscles easing slightly, until finally his arm curls around him and Silco allows his eyes to close.
“I love you.”
“As though it needed to be said,” Silco murmurs, rubs his thumb over his pec, “I love you too, lest you wonder.”
“I wasn't,” Vander replies, and together, they find sleep again.