#you’re telling me miles WOULDN’T get horrible nightmares?? NAW

[inoreuct]

punkflower | post-nightmare hurt/comfort

A cricket chirped, the noise carrying sharp in the still air. If not for his training, Miles would have startled; hell, he nearly did anyway, shaken as he was.

It was ridiculous how he could see the same nightmare that many times over and still get affected by it. It was old news by now.

Unfortunately for him, his brain still hadn’t seemed to get the memo.

He knew it by heart at this point. It always started with him in a white room, perfectly pristine, the clinical perfection slowly disintegrating into muddy darkness. Withering away until the floor had become a murky pit, glitching in and out of existence.

And every time, someone he cared about was in the room with him. His mami, Gwen, Pav, Peter B., Peni, Hobie, Noir, Hobie, his dad, Gwen, Hobie— The faces switched in and out on a steady rotation. He laughed, sometimes, at the sick humour of it if he managed to predict who it would be.

The one constant was that he could never save them.

They’d be smiling one second and screaming the next, plunging down, down, down into that horrible gaping maw in the ground, and Miles would jump after them knowing they were already too far from his reach—

And then he’d wake up in cold sweat, heart in his throat, fingers twitching with the urge to text or call whoever he’d seen that night and fighting against the desperation to make sure that they were alive.

It was ridiculous. He knew that.

But tonight he’d jerked awake with Hobie’s name a dying scream on his lips, and he couldn’t bear to be alone.

So here he was, creeping onto his boyfriend’s canal boat at ass o’clock in the middle of the night, carefully stepping over the skein of spider silk that functioned as a trip wire and unlocking the door with the key he knew was taped beneath the railing. He made his way to Hobie’s bedroom on autopilot, tugging the collar of his sweatshirt higher; his flannel pyjama pants swished around his ankles as he carefully turned the handle, pushing the door open slowly enough that it didn’t creak.

Hobie was sprawled out on his pallet, blankets twisted around his lanky frame, one arm sticking out with his knuckles brushing the floor. His chest rose and fell just enough for Miles to make out in the darkness.

Miles swallowed against the sudden ache of relief, let it drip down his throat to ease the tight knot that had settled low in his gut since before he’d grabbed his watch and opened a portal without even thinking. It helped, but barely.

He took a bracing breath and toyed with the hem of his shirt, bare feet cold against the floor. This was stupid. He’d seen that Hobie was fine, now; that in itself felt creepy stalker-ish, and he cringed a little.

He should leave. He had school the next day, and waking up was gonna be a pain in the ass after this.

His throat bobbed as he turned around, hovering in the doorway, eyes burning.

He didn’t want to go.

“Miles?”

The breath caught in his lungs as he heard the sheets shift. He dared a peek over his shoulder, one hand still on the doorframe, to see his boyfriend sitting up slowly and blinking like his brain was taking a moment to come online.

“Baby, why’re ya here? What’s wrong?” Hobie asked, breathy and slurring a little, eyes widening as he flipped the sheets aside and started to get out of bed. “Wh—”

“Nothing,’ Miles replied quickly. Too quickly, based on the suspicious look Hobie sent his way, and it made guilt spike in his chest. “It’s nothing, I’m sorry.”

Hobie studied him for a moment, before the tension bled out of him and he sagged back against the mattress. “S’not nothing if you’re here, innit,” he murmured, high cheekbones lit up soft in a sliver of moonlight from his window. “Come ‘ere.”

He chewed on the inside of his cheek. “It’s really nothing. I should let you get back to sl—”

“Miles.” Hobie’s voice was stern, underscored with a pleading tone that made Miles feel a little bit like crying. “You can’t lie to me, love. I ain’t gonna let ya spend the night alone like this, so come here.”

The sleeves of his sweatshirt stretched taut as he pulled them into his palms, sucking down a deep breath as he nodded. Hobie’s pallet had just enough space for two, if they maneuvered right; they had it down to a routine, now, but still the way Hobie lifted his arm like he knew exactly where Miles would want to be made Miles’s throat tight.

Miles dropped to his knees, twisting so that he could press his back to Hobie’s chest, head pillowed on Hobie’s bicep. They fit together like puzzle pieces, same as they always did; the broad hand spreading low over his ribs grounded him. Made sure he didn’t drift apart.

“Was it the nightmare again?” Hobie mumbled, the words brushing Miles’s hair, and he huffed a mirthless laugh.

“Yeah. Don’t have any others.”

“Hm. Guessin’ I had the pleasure of starring tonight?”

His boyfriend’s voice was sleep-raspy, deeper than usual. It reverberated in his bones as he made a weak sound of assent.

Hobie sighed, tucking his fingertips beneath Miles’s side to get him to turn around. Miles flipped, pulling at the blankets so they wouldn’t go askew, but the punk eased them from his grip to press Miles’s palm flat to his chest. “You feel that?”

A steady thump, right beneath where Hobie was holding his hand in place. Miles flexed his fingers and dug them into the thin fabric of Hobie’s worn sleep shirt.

“I’m alright, darlin’,” Hobie breathed, letting his other arm settle over the dip of Miles’s waist. “I’m fine. We’re fine. It’s over now. Nothing bad’s gonna happen, yeah?”

If it were anyone else Miles would have snapped at them to shut up before they jinxed it, but this was Hobie. Hobie, who looked at him with something so tender that it made Miles ache, all the way deep in his bones with the blatant faith woven into the words and leaving no room for any other possibility. The too-tight coil in his sternum began to give.

“That’s it. I’m okay. We’re okay, now.”

Long, lean arms wrapped around Miles’s back, pulling him in until he was pressed to Hobie’s chest, tucked up small and safe. Up this close Hobie’s heartbeat was a thrum in his ears if he used his heightened senses, strong enough of a lull that his own heart started to sync, and all of a sudden the exhaustion hit him like a truck.

It was like a dam breaking, the way his body finally relented to the nights upon nights of barely any sleep, the constant fight-or-flight making his heart skitter. “I’m tired.”

“I know,” Hobie hushed gently, rubbing a thumb into Miles’s hairline to kiss his temple. “I know, love. Sleep.”

“I’m scared.” He hadn’t realised how true the words were until he’d said them; he was sick of closing his eyes just to replay different, crueler versions of a memory that had already happened. He bit his lip until it hurt. “I don’t— I don’t wanna see it again, Hobie, I’m so tired.”

The way Hobie looked at him after that wrenched something tight in his chest; eyes wide, mouth pinched like he was trying to temper his emotions the way Miles so often did.

His eyes flickered over Miles’s face, almost desperate if not for the determined edge to his gaze. “They stop when you’re with me, yeah?” He exhaled shakily at Miles’s slow nod, pressing his brow to Miles’s hair. “Then stay with me. Stay here with me.”

Miles smiled a little, close-lipped and slightly sad. “Where else would I go?”

“I meant in your head, baby.” Hobie swallowed, thumbs smoothing over Miles’s cheekbones, palms warm against his skin. “Stay with me. Don’t go where I can’t follow.”

Easier said than done.

But easier done here than done alone. Easier with Hobie curled into him like a missing half, warm enough to stave off the bitter chill of a London night.

He looked into deep, dark eyes and tried not to shake. Took a deep breath and let it out slow. “Don’t let me leave,” Miles murmured, half-hidden where he bent to press his cheek to Hobie’s shoulder. A pleasant shiver wracked up his spine when Hobie pulled him close again, their legs tangling. Don’t leave.

“I won’t.” The words were whispered next to Miles’s ear, near enough that Miles could feel it in Hobie’s chest when he spoke. “I’m stayin’ right here, so stay with me. Alright?”

Miles skated his fingers over Hobie’s side, up his scapula to curl into his shoulder. In the dim light he could just make out a jumble of words on Hobie’s collarbone where his shirt was pulling down, but he didn’t bother to read them; the arm tightening around his waist said it all, as did the pulse fluttering metronome-steady beneath Hobie’s jaw.

He pressed his nose to it. Felt warmth and blood and life, right there against his breath, under his hands, blooming against the pulse beneath his own ribs.

Sleep beckoned him, gentle for the first time in a long time. Miles suspected it had something to do with how Hobie was stroking a palm up and down his spine, free hand pulling the blankets up until Miles was tucked in, cocooned in darkness and soft touch and warm skin.

Ridiculous, how something as simple as being held by the boy he loved could settle so much turmoil inside his head.

“Rest. I’ll be here when ya wake up,” Hobie coaxed, his voice steeped in fondness, laced molasses-sweet with something heavy, and it called to Miles gentler than anything else. “I promise.”

Miles weighed the words across his mind, Hobie’s heartbeat in his ear.

He closed his eyes and let it lull him into slumber.

fin.