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You are dreaming of him again. You’ve gotten used to it over the past few weeks, (months). It’s one of those dreams that doesn’t follow a specific plot, one where time does not exist or seems to bend with every movement. All you can make out through the darkness is his face, those eyes, that mouth. You’ve been dreaming of that mouth, those lips. They always have something smart to say. You’ve been dreaming of those eyes, so vacant and cold, but not when they look at you. Not when it’s you and him, alone in the quiet afternoon. He’ll be stacking dice, cards, whatever is around, and you’d be watching. His eyes would meet yours briefly every few minutes, and there would always be an unmistakable fondness in them. That usual icy, concentrated stare remains. But somewhere deep down, you know there’s a hidden place he buries his passion in.
This dream again. You call out to him, wherever he is, wherever he may lead you tonight. Should you fall in his arms, or spend hours chasing after him? He gets lost in the crevices of his own mind, those cases he’ll spend weeks on. Such a beautiful and lonely soul, your mind perfectly replicates it for these little dreams. You call for him, his name forming over and over again on your lips. His real name, not that meaningless alias. There is no L, N, or Near. He’s always Nate, your Nate. You can be with him here, and he’ll listen. He won’t turn away and look for another puzzle to solve. You are enough here, you are not an afterthought, a stress reliever, a secondary mystery for him to solve after another case closes.
The morning light somehow manages to stream through the mostly shut blinds, revealing the impending doom of the day to come. And you’re still here, calling his name even though he’s right here. His grey eyes are focused on your expression, deducing what you could possibly be dreaming of. After a good while of thinking, he reaches a conclusion. He would like to hear you call his name in full consciousness.
Ever so slightly, his nose presses against yours. You remain asleep, so he waits until the inevitable moment your eyes open and you lean into his touch. You always do. The soft cotton of his pajamas press against your body, arms wrapped around your waist as you dream. In this position, he can feel your every shift and breath. It’s statistically sound, effortlessly human, he convinces himself. His long hair brushes against your face, it’s all over the place as usual. All those sensations begin to stream past your state of unawareness, all his sensations. You can now see him, feel him, touch him, hear his deep breaths, even taste them on your lips.
You make no effort to move his excruciatingly long hair away from your face. It wraps around you both like a cocoon, enveloping you in his very essence, close enough to see all his beauty. And he truly is a beauty in the dim morning light. You can see his eyebags, his concentrated yet somehow composed stare through grey eyes. You can feel the coldness of his nose as it presses along yours, as well as the slightly pointed button shape of it. You can feel every breath that he takes in through his nostrils, every subtle sigh that may leave his lips. Those lips you were just dreaming of, they’re not even a centimeter away from yours. You wake up in the very same position you remember falling asleep in. The safety of his arms, his lithe legs and chest against your own. He’s grown tall over the years, his features sharper, his mind as well.
“You called,” he states as matter of fact. His affection comes in streams, little by little he shows you quiet ways he cares. He’s been listening, and you’ve been talking in your sleep again. That’s all there is to it.
There is no need to be embarrassed with Nate, he sees you for what you are. He’ll see through it all anyway, even if you tried hiding something. But you wouldn't do that, not to him. You let out a lazy hum in affirmation, letting your hands graze upon his face.
Eventually, through the sleepy haze of the morning, his lips meet your softly parted ones. It was just too easy, his nose pressed to yours, your expression too relaxed in sleepy bliss to resist. There's a very specific way to how he kisses, never rough or quick, but never emotionless. You feel every word he has never said flowing into your mouth, all the things he suppresses flowing like a gentle river into you.
You feel a lingering caress among your back, another slow kiss, and the slightest, most perfect sound. He's quiet, usually it takes more effort to get a noise out of Nate, but you manage it a minute after waking up. What a wonderful dream it seems you've found yourself in, only it's real this time. You can really feel his long hair over you both like a silken veil, streams of sunlight bleeding through the strands of white. It looks like starlight when you open your eyes, and the next breath you want to achieve is already taken away.
An angel is among you this morning, the most beautiful man not of this world in front of your lidded eyes. You focus on him alone, and in such a state of bliss, you give him just one more kiss. You lose count by the fifth or sixth.
Nate’s head tilts back against his pillow in relaxation, his body laying underneath yours. The morning light remains stuck in his tangled strands, making him look more ethereal than he usually does. Calm, gray eyes track your every breath, your every blink.
“Stay a little longer,” he requests quietly, just as relaxed as you are and in no rush to start solving another puzzle.