#augswriting

[mysteriouseggsbenedict]

In which Mr. Pressius is terrible and Mr. Benedict loves Constance deeply.

I'm back on my fic writing game, but this time it's for the book universe. Behold some angst and pain!

[augmentedlavender]

5, 🖋️

Ty for submitting an ask!!

Preview: Reigen brings up his high school essay again to Serizawa. He doesn't know why.

Writing under the cut!

Reigen unlocked the door to his apartment, rather forcefully pushing it open then shutting it with his heel. He takes off his suit jacket and tosses it on his bed. The sun’s already gone down, so he has to flip on his lights, at least for now. Typically the sunbeams that come in through his window suffice for lighting (which is a blessing for his electricity bill), but after coming home late from Spirits & Such, he can’t rely on it.

He tries to ignore the buzz from his phone in his pocket– tries to ignore that it’s the third one since he was closing up. There was only one person that’d be messaging him– Katsuya.

“Y’know, I had to write this essay back in highschool. It was about our futures and all that junk. I said I wanted to be someone.”

Reigen doesn’t really know why he had brought it up. He’d forgotten about it after graduation, and he’d been rather avoidant of the whole thing since it had been brought back up. He felt hollow, almost, mentioning it. Like he was supposed to be feeling something. As if someone had been putting pressure on a wounded limb that's gone numb from blood loss– but that wouldn’t make sense, because it wasn’t a big deal. It had happened years ago. 

“I don’t think you wanted to be someone,” Katsuya had said rather simply, moving through Reigen’s kitchen as if it was his own. He stirred the sauteing vegetables as they satisfyingly sizzled. “I think you wanted someone to care.”

Reigen leaned against his desk, socked-feet threatening to slip on the non-carpeted floor. “That’s awfully cheesy, isn’t it?” he retorts, because he’s not quite sure how to reply to his statement. 

Katsuya had shrugged, turning back to face him with a smile that’s so undeniably him– soft, patient, and kind. Reigen smiles back at him, but looks away before Katsuya could’ve judged his smile the same way.

“Is everything okay?” Katsuya asked, turning back towards the vegetables only for a moment to take them off the heat, then turn off the stove. After that, all of his attention was directed on Reigen. Something about it made him squirm. He doesn’t know why. 

Reigen opened his mouth to say something, but as he adjusted his posture his feet slid out from underneath him, making him yell and fall on the ground. He narrowly missed hitting his head on his desk. 

He let out a laugh as Katusya frantically rushed over to him, and before he knew it, Katsuya was laughing too. He shakes his head and offers Reigen a hand to get up. 

“My knight in shining armor,” Reigen joked, taking his hand and letting him pull him up. “What would I ever do without you?”

“You’d be stuck on the floor forever,” Katsuya quipped back, only it had lacked the intonation of Reigen’s remark. Still, he can guess the light-hearted nature of the words based on his slight smile.

Reigen’s scrutinizing over it now. Now that he’s alone in his sad, empty apartment. 

He’d vaguely noticed that the first night he’d stayed here– that the apartment took on a whole different feeling at different times of day. Once the sun goes down, it's nothing more than a dark, cramped room with little decoration. It doesn’t matter. He works late most nights. 

He glances out his window. Damn light pollution’s making it hard to see any of the stars, but it’s still a nice thought. He sighs and closes his blinds, as he always does at this time, and turns to go change into pajamas. 

He pauses when his eyes catch on his desk, where he’d fallen over just a couple of days ago, and suddenly that feeling is back again. The same one that’d caused him to bring up his dumb essay in the first place. A stupid feeling to bring up something stupid, he supposes. 

Continuing his routine, Reigen starts unbuttoning his shirt. He’d tossed off his tie a while ago, leaving it carelessly tossed aside on the floor. A part of him wants to just leave it there, the other part of him tells him that the tie’s old enough to get trashed if he does– and he’s not ready just yet to buy a new one. 

So, Reigen picks it up. 

After rehanging up his suit, he takes out his baggy shirt and sweatpants. He slips on the shirt and then the sweatpants, then collapses onto his couch holding the TV remote. 

“I think this is something you should address, Taka.” Katsuya’s voice nags in the back of his head. Why should he, if there wasn’t anything wrong? 

If there was something wrong, he would know. I mean, geez, does Katsuya think he’s blind? It's not like he’s struggling to function. There’s nothing serious about anything he’s urged Reigen to reassess. 

Reigen comes to the conclusion that Katsuya is just a worrier. This isn’t necessarily a bad thing, but at the moment, it’s causing him to stress out over nothing. 

…Still, he should give him some time away. Just so he doesn’t trap him in a cycle of worrying again. Katsuya deserves a bit of a break. 

A break from what, though? From him? If that’s the case, then he doesn’t think this relationship is going to work out at any level. Afterall, the implications of him needing a break from Reigen at all implies that he’s something bad. Something that can’t be constantly taken in. 

He’s always known that he needs Serizawa more than he needs him, but… 

Reigen finally settles on a TV channel after mindlessly switching it about twenty times. He leans back into the sofa cushions, and tries to relax, even as his brain doesn’t hang on to a single word they’re saying. After all, he’s just following his routine, and this is a part of it too.

[wishingtobehere]

they’re in character, your honor

[mysteriouseggsbenedict]

comedic fluff!

Milligan closed his eyes briefly as he sank into his favorite chair. The day had been long, the breaks had been short, and he probably needed a new pair of sensible work shoes. The oblivion of darkness behind his eyes suddenly dissipated as a voice began calling his name, pulling him regretfully back towards wakefulness.

"Dad! There you are! The materials for the human rocket launcher just came in, and you'll remember they were supposed to be delivered yesterday, so we're already behind schedule, and—"

"Kate?"

Nicholas's voice interrupted his daughter's excited babble.

"I'm sure Milligan would love to help with the human rocket launcher, but I also imagine he's very tired. Why don't you ask if Number Two would like to assist you, at least for this beginning stage of the operation?"

Milligan yawned. "He's right, Katie-Cat, I'm beat. I'm sure Number Two would love to— wait— rocket launcher?"

"Hmm. You're right, Mr. Benedict," said Kate. "Number Two will be a better helper. Sorry, dad, but all that "safety" mumbo-jumbo you talk about tends to slow down plans."

Milligan's eyes shot all the way open.

"That's not what Mr. Benedict meant!"

Before he could spring up from the chair, though, Kate was scampering off in search of their yellow companion, and Nicholas had places his hands on Milligan's shoulders. He rubbed his thumbs into the tight muscles which Kate's surely-very-dangerous plans had just aggravated even further.

"She'll be fine. Number Two has enough sense in her, you know."

"Does she, though?" Milligan questioned.

"She does," Nicholas assured. "She's already built some suits for the children to wear that will prevent injuries. They look rather like marshmallows. Ideally they'll land on the air mattresses, anyway, so really it shouldn't be any more dangerous than her zipline project."

"Oh, don't remind me of the zipline," Milligan groaned. He couldn't help yawning again. Perhaps he wasn't the best father, if his daughter being in imminent danger of launching herself skyward didn't make him any less sleepy.

"I'm more worried about you getting some rest than I am about Kate and her rocket launcher," said Nicholas. Milligan groaned again. Nicholas squished himself into the portion of chair not filled by Milligan and promptly curled up like a cat.

Nicholas smirked, because he knew that Milligan knew the rule. You can't get up when a cat (or a Nicholas) is curled on your lap.

Milligan's worries faded enough for him to drift off in his chair when he heard Kate laughing from outside the living room window, the soft breathing of Nicholas, and absolutely no violent crashing sounds.

[mysteriouseggsbenedict]

Not me reviving a fic that I hadn't updated since August 31, 2022

IT'S BACK BABEY

[mysteriouseggsbenedict]

Okay consider. Nicholas & Milligan (Romance perhaps?? 👀) 95 + 50 (Barefoot/Can't Walk + Visible Injuries/Bruising/Bloodied). I'm just thinking. Milligan carrying him out of some dangerous situation or when he's messed up--maybe he's not even that hurt physically (just bruised and disheveled and dinged up) but he's emotionally speaking a Wreck and his legs are too shaky to hold him anyway. i'm literally just going for "milligan carries him tenderly like a hero on the cover of a romance novel" ok

oh ho ho did this get the inspiration juices flowing!!!

A fun party fact is that, in the old days of television, filmmakers would hit a watermelon with a baseball bat to imitate the sound of a blow being dealt to a person. A less fun party fact is that Nicholas could now say with absolute certainty that such a story is true— for the sound emanating from his midsection was thick, punchy, and firm, and it sounded exactly like the exterior of a fruit breaking into shattered, juicy pieces. 

A loud oof noise was forced from his lungs, squeezed up out of his stomach as his assailant’s impressive fist retracted and reaimed, going for a second blow. Nicholas curled instinctively in on himself, protecting his soft middle, resigning himself to his fate. A blink. A gulp. Sweat, blood, and tears that he wasn’t sure were his own. Then— a blur like the moving blades of scissors, and the man was tackled to the floor; a buzz, and he was unconscious, tranquilized and slack against gritty ground. 

Milligan wiped dirt from his pants as he stood up.

“Nicholas!” he said, breathless and serious. Nicholas moaned. He couldn’t breathe. His lungs— they’d been crushed— the air punched out of him like a child stamping down on a rocket launcher. There was a hand on his shoulder. Gentle words. 

“Slow, deep breaths,” Milligan said. The hand moved to rest on his stomach. “Nice and slow. There you go.”

Nicholas was on the ground, and he was breathing, and that was all he could do. Milligan sat with him for a minute. Keeping him steady.

“I’m sorry, sweetheart, but we have to leave. There are more of them. Only very temporarily detained,” Millgan said. Nicholas gulped and nodded. He understood. With a surge of determination, he pushed himself up onto his hands. His arms shook as he lifted his own weight up off the ground, more sweat gathering on his forehead, and he very much doubted what only a second ago he was sure of: that he could walk.

Milligan placed a hand against his back, supporting him. Nicholas leaned into it much more than he should have. He grit his teeth and stood up— slowly, so slowly— his legs trembling and wobbling— dizzy, his vision going cloudy—

He collapsed almost the minute he’d gotten himself upright. He mumbled something about think I’m gonna before his knees gave out and his eyelids fell shut, impossibly dizzy and exhausted. The dungeon-like building they were inside of grew foggy and distant as he felt himself falling. 

———

He blinked awake with the distinct feeling that he was moving, despite being quite sure that he was not walking. He was far too tired for that. So exhausted, in fact, that he didn’t really care where he was, or where he was moving to. 

He didn’t realize he was mumbling too tired until he felt a hand (a hand!) carding through his hair, wiping away some of the grit and gunk on his forehead. It felt nice. It was big and soft and gentle, although Nicholas could feel that it was dirty, too, and no sooner had he realized this than he realized the other hand was wrapped securely around his waist. He was being held. It was Milligan’s hands, and Milligan was carrying him. 

“I know, lovey,” he soothed, holding Nicholas a little tighter. He sighed. Everything was agony, but Milligan was holding him. His weight was dead and heavy in his arms, but Nicholas felt safer than ever— for he was with Milligan. 

When they reached a door, Milligan shuffled Nicholas in his arms in order to reach the key card he had previously stolen. It was in his pocket. This maneuver required him to shift Nicholas to one shoulder, hold him with one arm, then reach for the card with the other. Nicholas grunted at the movement (he was quite sore and hurting) but soon found that in this new position his head was resting on Milligan’s shoulder, which was okay. He relaxed as he heard the affirming “beep!” of the door, the automatic whirring of its opening mechanism. 

The next door did not have a key card. Milligan kicked it open. On the other side was sunlight, blinding and bright. They had escaped.

Milligan shifted Nicholas back into a bridal carry, and in the brilliance of the sun, Nicholas opened his eyes and blinked heavily. He was positioned so that he was staring directly into Milligan’s eyes. Milligan smiled.

“Hey, cutie,” he teased. “They got you pretty good in there. I shouldn’t have lost sight of you.”

Nicholas grunted. “The ruse,” he mumbled. Nicholas had wandered away to set a ruse. It had worked. Milligan had stolen important paperwork in the minutes before scooping Nicholas up from the floor.”

“Yes, the ruse,” Milligan relented. “But you’re hurt. And it makes my heart ache.”

Seemingly without thinking, he bent over, dipping his face down towards Nicholas’s. His lips brushed against his forehead and pressed a soft, lingering kiss, making Nicholas gasp and close his eyes in pleasure. 

“You are my most important treasure,” he whispered. Nicholas blushed. Hard.

“Contraband,” he answered. “I am illegal. And you stole me. Files and tax returns…”

Milligan laughed. They had made it to the car now, and Milligan was settling Nicholas into the passenger seat, knowing that he was still shaking and trembling beyond belief. 

“I think you’re a little delirious, sweetheart,” Milligan answered. “But I do agree. I have stolen you. You are mine.”

Nicholas giggled, and that was enough to send him to sleep. He wouldn’t wake up again until they were home. 

[mysteriouseggsbenedict]

yay snippet

I know I barely write anymore it's because I'm Busy and Tired :(

anyway

Something was moving. Milligan could feel blankets shifting, hear sheets rustling, and it was with no small amount of indignation that he opened his eyes to better view the intrusion to his peaceful morning. 

Ah. It was just Nicholas.

Nicholas, who he loved dearly, but who was so, so stupid, sometimes, as demonstrated by the fact that he was currently attempting to get out of bed. It was early. They’d only gone to bed a few hours ago, tumbling into sleep together after a game night that ran into the wee hours, and now Nicholas had the gall to extract himself from their warm and comfortable blanket cocoon. Milligan didn’t think so.

“Love,” he mumbled, half-asleep himself. “Where on earth are you going?” 

Nicholas startled. Evidently he had not realized Milligan was awake.

“Oh, I’m so sorry— go back to sleep— no need to worry,” he rambled. He seemed primarily concerned with the fact that he had woken Milligan. 

“That’s not ‘n answer,” replied Milligan, sleepily. 

“I’m going to run a few tests I meant to get to last night,” Nicholas admitted. Milligan’s sleepiness did not prevent him from giving Nicholas his best glare.

“Come here,” he said. Nicholas tilted his head to the side like he did when he was confused. 

“It’s too early for that. You’ve hardly slept. Come here,” Milligan elaborated. 

Nicholas, as it were, was extremely tired, and only the prospect of falling behind in his schedule had compelled him to open his eyes and get up on his feet. Guilt ate at him, but he also longed to return to bed, to Milligan, to laying down and resting and drifting off into a long, deep sleep. It was a fierce internal battle. 

Milligan patted the mattress where Nicholas had been lying minutes earlier.

“Come cuddle,” he said again. And it was with these words that the internal battle concluded. Nicholas, exhausted as he was, needed little persuasion. If he could believe for just a few minutes that it was okay to rest— that nothing bad would happen, that it was safe, it was okay— then he could curl close to Milligan again, and it would feel like bliss. 

He plopped back down onto the mattress in a rather undignified way, his body collapsing with a soft thud. The bed was soft, the sheets cozy and worn in the best way, and Milligan immediately wrapped his arms around his waist, tucking him close to his warm core. Nicholas’s eyes closed. He was beginning to feel hazy, a bit dizzy with how tired he was. He wasn’t quite sure what was happening. He felt warm, though. He felt safe.

“Silly,” Milligan said, although Nicholas hardly heard him. “Would’ve passed out in the server room mid-experiment.” 

Nicholas was now thoroughly asleep. Milligan kissed the crown of his head. Then, the crisis averted, he closed his eyes and went back to sleep himself.

[mysteriouseggsbenedict]

Breaking News: August Writes More Sleepy Nicholas Benedict Fic

[mysteriouseggsbenedict]

short and sweet angst! nicholas needs a break and a hug and love

[mysteriouseggsbenedict]

🤗 A Nicholas/Milligan hug in these trying times?

It would never, ever get old. The feeling of arms around him, the warm pressure of hands squeezing his sides like he's something worth holding onto. A hand on his hip rubbed tiny circles into his soft skin. The other arm, draped across his back, scratched gently over the bumps of his spine.

It felt so good, Nicholas could cry.

They were laying in bed— Nicholas's bed— because they'd both been tired, and they hadn't wanted to go their separate ways. Milligan leaned back against a stack of pillows as he cradled Nicholas in his lap. He was right on top of him, his face buried in Milligan's chest, their legs tangled together.

The contact, the touch— it was all he could ever want, and he'd never get used to it. Not when Milligan had begun to rock him slightly, shifting to move the hand from his hip to his hair, scritching his scalp so indescribably well. Nicholas couldn't help the soft, happy noise that escaped his lips, and he was too wrapped up in comfort to be embarrassed by it.

He was sleepy, his brain growing foggy and his limbs feeling heavy, and for once, he didn't even think about fighting it. He snuggled closer— if that were possible— and mumbled some soft and incomprehensible words. With a sigh, tired and content, Milligan felt his weight grow heavier. Nicholas was asleep.

Milligan kept up his affections, even if their object was no longer conscious. He wondered if it might encourage peaceful dreams. Even while asleep, Nicholas seemed to appreciate the touch. He hummed sleepily as Milligan rubbed circles into a tense part of his back.

It wasn't long, though, until Milligan felt sleep catching up to him, too. He leaned back, making sure Nicholas was still safe in his arms, and closed his eyes. They were warm. They were safe. They would wake up still cuddled together in some hour's time, and no— Milligan would never be used to it, either.

[mysteriouseggsbenedict]

23. "Did they hurt you?"

26. "You're allowed to need help."

41. "I'm sorry, that was... embarrassing."

45. "Oh, love..."

<3

Milligan's bones ached as he trudged through the front door. He felt weighed down, like he was swimming while wearing sodden clothes and heavy shoes, and the cut across his ribs stung with a mixture of blood and grit. His sigh of relief came out more like a tired groan, which, unfortunately for him, Nicholas heard.

The sweetheart in question came around the corner with that busy, frazzled look to his frame, fluttering his hands as he investigated the source of Milligan's audible distress. His face paled slightly as his took in the sight of Milligan. Face bloody and dirty, clothing torn, shoulders sagging with exhaustion, he was sure he didn't make a pretty picture.

"Did they hurt you?" he asked, anxious and still fluttering. Milligan— despite his compromised state— managed a smirk.

"The ten men?" he asked. "Not badly. Just some scratches. And a cut, and Sharpe got me in the head, the bastard—"

Milligan halted his speech as he observed Nicholas grow paler.

"But I'm fine, love. Just a little worn out. Nothing a good night's sleep can't fix."

Nicholas looked skeptical. He clearly wanted to continue worrying and hovering, but didn't want to irritate Milligan. He settled for standing a few feet away with his forehead wrinkled in concern.

"Well. Um. Moocho told me to ask if you're hungry."

Milligan was hungry, but at the moment, he was even more tired. He shook his head.

"Moocho also told me not to accept no for an answer. He knows you've been out for hours."

Milligan rolled his eyes fondly.

"Well, I can hardly sit down at the dinner table like this. Let me clean up. Then we'll eat."

Decided in his course of action, Milligan turned to walk towards his room, a sharp ninety-degree turn from the way he was faced to speak to Nicholas. The motion made his head (aching, stabbing, painful) throb and spin, and he felt his vision go white, his legs shaking and buckling with inundating exhaustion.

Hmm. Okay. Maybe he wasn't fine.

Nicholas's arm was around his. He was attempting to stabilize him, allowing him to lean against his chest, but Milligan was bigger, and Nicholas couldn't quite hold him up himself. Someone (Milligan couldn't be sure who) must have yelped, because, a few seconds later, Moocho was there too.

"Woah, woah, friend," Moocho said. "It's alright. Let's get you sitting down."

Milligan sighed again. "I'm sorry," he muttered. "That was...embarrassing."

Nicholas was trailing them like a worried puppy. Moocho set Milligan down on the couch, and Nicholas wasted no time sitting beside him.

"Oh, love," he mumbled, snuggling against Milligan's side.

"I don't think I smell good," Milligan said. Nicholas only continued his snuggling. He titled his head up to look at Milligan's face.

"You," he said, "are allowed to need help. You're so allowed."

Milligan smiled in spite of himself.

"No more saying you're fine when you don't feel steady on your feet. hmm? I'm here to catch you."

"To be fair, love, that didn't go very well for you."

Nicholas heaved a sigh. "Fine. Moocho will catch you."

Pleased with himself, Milligan pressed a kiss to Nicholas's curls, and let the warm love in his heart eclipse the pain in his body for just a moment.

[mysteriouseggsbenedict]

back on my nicholas/milligan fluff and comfort bullshit

[mysteriouseggsbenedict]

slice of life ft. found family and stimming ahh

There was work to be done. There always was, and yet Nicholas was antsy today, struggling to focus. His brain felt itchy, like he needed to scratch it. It was too quiet, or maybe not quiet enough. 

Nicholas fidgeted with his pen, tapping it against his desk in a soothing pattern. It made a satisfying thwack noise, and he closed his eyes appreciatively, creating a little melody and tapping his foot along with the pen. His brain buzzed. His shoulders sagged a little, relaxing under the steady sound. He almost felt like he could fall asleep. 

He was so soothed, in fact, that he didn’t notice Number Two walking into the room, loudly biting into a pickle as she did so. 

“Nicholas?” Her voice was distorted slightly by chewing. Nicholas started, thrust from his reverie. 

“Do you like double chocolate brownie ice cream more than caramel praline?” she asked. Nicholas raised an eyebrow.

“Do I…”

“Like double chocolate brownie ice cream more than caramel praline. I need to report back to Rhonda. She’s saying whichever gets more votes she’ll get at the store, and so I need you to tell her you like double chocolate brownie, because we can’t have her buying caramel praline when double chocolate brownie exists.” 

Nicholas raised his other eyebrow. He then thought about what he must look like, both his eyebrows shot up into his forehead, and giggled, head thwacking against Number Two’s prepared arm. He woke up a minute later. 

“I’m, erm— hmm. That’s a tough one. Why don’t you ask Constance?” he asked, dodging the question.

“She’s already blackmailing Rhonda into buying a separate container of strawberry.”

“Hmm.”

“You’re stalling,” Number Two observed. Nicholas sighed.

“I’m really not much of a chocolate person,” Nicholas admitted. Number Two sighed dramatically. She was just about to open her mouth again when Nicholas interrupted.

“However, I give you permission to lie.”

Number Two laughed. She rarely did, at least not this hard, and it made Nicholas laugh too, until he was collapsing into another involuntary nap. He woke up with his head in Number Two’s lap while she continued convulsing with little cackles and wheezes of delight. 

“What on earth is taking you so long?” shouted Rhonda. “I’m coming in there!”

Nicholas looked up at Rhonda from the ground and managed, between bursts of laughter, to cast his vote.

“I just looooooove double chocolate brownie,” he wheezed. 

“He thinks it’s the best. It’s his favorite flavor,” added Number Two. 

Rhonda was putting on a faux-irritated expression, but everyone knew she was just as amused. Her lips turned up into a slight smirk.

“Oh really now?” she asked.

“Really,” confirmed Nicholas, his own lips twitching against the urge to laugh. Then, he sat up, reached into the inside pocket of his jacket, and pulled out a five dollar bill. He handed it to Rhonda.

“Buy both,” he said with a wink. After Rhonda had scurried out of the room, he turned again to Number Two.

“Where’s Milligan?” he asked, the shenanigans of moments ago apparently forgotten.

“With Kate, scaling a cliff or something like that.”

“Hmm.”

“Puzzle?” Number Two proposed.

“Puzzle!” he agreed.

And so he scurried off, the pen from earlier abandoned on the desk, and his hands now reaching for the buttons of his shirt to fiddle with. Soon he would be picking up and holding and inspecting the many puzzle pieces that Number Two had just made with her jigsaw. Rhonda would be coming back with ice cream, Milligan would have adventure tales to share over dinner, and for once, his work wasn’t front and center in his mind. The only place he wanted to be was right here.

[mysteriouseggsbenedict]

look! i finished a fic!

nicholas/milligan fluff and love and softness

[mysteriouseggsbenedict]

:(

Nicholas was crying. He was crying because he was tired, like a baby, managing short little bursts of tears as he curled up tighter in his bed. He was in bed. He was doing everything he should— being good— and still he couldn’t sleep, and he was so, so tired.

He couldn’t remember the last time he’d slept through the night. The last time he’d woken up feeling rested. His eyelids ached if he kept them open for more than a minute, but the swirling, painful thoughts he saw in the darkness felt even worse, and so he pushed against the fatigue to reach for a book. 

Something of comfort. Something to take his mind from it.

He could hardly focus on reading— he was far too exhausted, but the feel of the pages in his hands, his fingers running over the worn cover— that might help. He stroked the paper slowly. Up, down. Up, down. He hiccuped slightly, still crying in tiny, painful little hitches. The book fell through his slack fingers and thumped lightly against his chest.

It wasn’t fair. In the morning, the others would look at him with wide, worried eyes, and they would tell him to sleep, and he would give a surly shrug of his shoulders and insist he was fine. He wouldn’t be able to explain. He couldn’t explain that he tried, he tried to sleep, in fact there was nothing more he wanted than to drift off into a long, deep, peaceful rest, but he just. plain. couldn’t. 

He tried every night, convinced that this would be the night he dropped off right away, what with the way he couldn’t stop yawning and his eyelids could have been made of lead and his brain went fuzzy, his train of thought jumbling. And then every night, just like before, he laid there for hours. He didn’t sleep. 

He’d manage a few hours. Not enough. He’d wake up feeling more tired than before.

And so Nicholas kept crying, the clock striking midnight, exhausted and unable to do anything about it.

[mysteriouseggsbenedict]

20 (“Please. For me.” “…okay. For you.”) + nicholas, perhaps even nicholas/milligan,

Milligan had figured out the secret to getting Nicholas to sleep some time ago. Simply slide up next to him, place an arm around his shoulders, and the man is out like a light. Milligan frequently found him tired and coaxed him into naps using this method. There was only one issue— it didn’t work for getting him into an actual bed.

See, Nicholas was a couch sleeper. And a top-of-his-desk sleeper. And a floor sleeper. Anywhere that wasn’t his bed, if Milligan curled up with him and offered affection, he’d fall asleep easily. He just had an— an aversion, if you will— to anything that felt like a real bedtime. Crawling under the sheets with teeth brushed and pajamas on intimidated him. It had to do with the pressure. The opportunity for failure. 

It was easier just to stay up until he fell asleep in the living room, fully clothed.

He was doing exactly that, one night, when Milligan came to check on him.

“Nicholas? Love?”

He looked dangerously close to nodding off, curled up in an armchair with a book in his lap and his glasses sliding down his nose. 

“Hey, why don’t we head to bed?” Milligan asked, softly as could be. 

Nicholas started. “Oh— no, no I’m. I’m alright, Milligan.” The crescents beneath his eyes looked darker than usual.

“You’re tired,” Milligan said, “and you could use a good, proper rest. In a bed.”

Nicholas rolled his eyes up at Milligan, darting them to the side with an “ugh” expression. He was loath to admit his fear. The way his skin prickled, thinking about sliding under the sheets and closing his eyes, having to admit to himself that he was trying to sleep and knowing there was a fifty/fifty shot of that actually happening. He’d lie down for a while. His eyes would be closed. He’d still feel them pulsing sometimes, the exhaustion heavy and swimming, but he’d stay awake, the voice in his head clammering on and on. He’d look at the clock: it had been an hour, now two. He’d turn the clock around because he’d heard once that it’s bad to keep checking. 

Although— although, oh, he was so tired, and a good, long sleep really did sound wonderful. Maybe this time would be different. Maybe—

No. He’s playing with fire. It’s not worth it. He’d rather be tired than panicky. 

Nicholas didn’t know how much Milligan understood of this internal argument. He did seem to perceive something, because he knelt down beside Nicholas and placed a hand on his shoulder. Oh. Touch. Nicholas’s eyes fluttered sleepily, struggling to resist the wave of comfort. 

“Please,” Milligan said, hushed and close and reverent. “For me?”

Nicholas opened his eyes. Looking at Milligan’s face, the last of his resistance slipped away.

“Okay. For you.”

Milligan smiled. He helped Nicholas stand up, pushing his glasses up his nose and straightening his shirt, and led him not to Nicholas’s room, but to his own. He gave Nicholas some privacy to change into his pajamas. Then he curled up next to him, inviting him into his own nest of blankets, and held him close.

Something was different this time. Nicholas didn’t feel haunted by the voice in his head. Instead, all he felt was safe. Safe, warm, and so, so tired, his brain too fuzzy and hazy to form real thoughts. The sheets smelled like Milligan. There was a dip in the mattress where he usually lie, now occupied partially by Nicholas. 

“Thank you,” Milligan said. Nicholas wasn’t sure what he was thanking him for.