armand watching daniel sleep. the sweaty hair stuck to his beloved boy’s forehead. the way he claws at his blankets. the frustrated moan he lets out as he rolls onto his back. a hand down his pants and a sleepy half-smile on his face. eyes open just enough to see that gorgeous green. a vacant expression. not awake. not aware. window open because he likes to be cold. but his clothes still end up strewn across the floor from discarding them in his sleep. too warm. too much. armand makes himself tea in daniel’s tiny kitchen just to give his hands something to do. it’s called bedtime tea. it tastes like dirt. he smiles into his mug as daniel mumbles something that sounds a lot like ‘mand and something else that’s definitely please. poor baby. so restless even in sleep. so breakable. so fucking fascinating. so very his.













