OK

it’s late. it’s far too late to be on somebody’s doorstep — someone not expecting a visit, no less — unless someone is dying. the moon has taken its path across the sky, no longer above and instead sinking into the horizon behind the stone’s family home. he’s cold, shivering even as he pulls the blanket draped across his shoulders closer, tighter, as if there’s a wind chill to be weary of (there isn’t). his hands tremble as they go, not raising to knock on the door and disturb anyone, but rather to send a quick text to someone residing inside, notifying them of his presence. minjae is likely sleeping, and it’s doubtful that the mere feeling of the vibration will carry far enough from their phone, nor be strong enough to wake them from their slumber. that’s okay, though. gray had been expecting as much when he arrived, and he settles his aching bones onto the cold, concrete doorstep with the welcome mat tickling his behind. he can wait it out. maybe he can even nap now, knowing he’s close to someone even if they’re separated by walls and dreams. 

he couldn’t handle it tonight. usually he does better than this. usually he can be better, stronger. being alone is terrifying, mind racing, blood coursing at a deafening rate and the knowledge that the darkness beginning to fill his vision might be from panic at the current time, but could easily become his entirety soon enough. he’d needed to get out of there, out of it. his eyes are drifting shut, the outside light having yet to turn off after his arrival, when the door opens behind him and he’s greeted with the sight of minjae’s youngest sibling, cheeks puffed out like a hamster and a sandwich in his hand. freddie with his morning shift at the bakery. gray is so stupidly relieved to see him that he could cry. 

a few words are exchanged, freddie mentioning he’d seen the light come on whilst making breakfast for himself. gray had spooked him, he says, but he’d recognised the blanket he was drowning in. gray’s already stiff from having been sat somewhere so cold and unforgiving, but with a hand from his saviour, he’s managing to make his way inside and up the stairs. they’re exhausting, but there’s an end goal in sight that keeps him going, keeps him moving until he finds himself slipping off his shoes and crawling into the bed beside his sleeping best friend. he feels the first signs of warmth as he slips beneath the sheets, and he’s greedy as he rests his fingertips just beneath the hem of minjae’s sleep shirt, curled so close to them as he is. they’re like icicles, and the body heat is almost as soothing as the other’s presence. he isn’t sure if it’ll be enough to wake them, but he’s content to settle in for a nap if not. 

@min-jaes

Sleep pulls at them like a comfort blanket, heavier than anything they’d draped over their body when they crawled into their bed last night and curled up. Minjae works. A lot. Sleep is a rarity for them, and especially heavy sleep considering they’re sort of accustomed to stirring at any little vibration, any slight shift in their surroundings that they’re capable of feeling. Noises don’t matter, of course, but lights and dips and the feeling of a door slamming anywhere in their home would no doubt rip them from their dreams more quickly than they could stop it.

This sleep is dreamless, however. There seems to be nothing but endless blackness from the moment they shut their eyes until the moment they feel their mattress sink beneath the weight of somebody else, falling back into consciousness like a shock of cold water. It doesn’t take much for them to become fully aware, a blessing and a curse all things considered, but they still think it’s probably just Freddie at first. It isn’t until icy fingers touch their skin that they realize it couldn’t possibly be, and not very long after that, Gray’s scent is there. That makes sense. He would’ve been the second person they’d of thought of to slip in here in the early hours of the morning, seeking cuddles and seeking them.

Body turning about to face him, they blink over at him through the dark, the morning sun not having quite begun to crest the horizon yet. Their black out curtains are drawn back for that reason; they usually use it to wake them, and they are used to the light from the street that pours in throughout the night. It doesn’t take more than one look at his features, even through the shadows, to know exactly why it is that he’s here. They’ve become good at reading him over the time they’ve known each other, and their heart sinks; aches a little for him. Details don’t really matter --- all they need to know is that he’s not good.

“Hey.” They speak aloud rather than signing, their position too awkward, and they want to use their hands for other things. Before Gray can respond, they’re reaching for their bedside lamp, the warm yellow glow filling the room not oppressive, but enough to help them be able to see enough to read his lips. An unfortunate necessity; they would’ve liked to stay in the dark, otherwise.

QJ: i would hope that even my intoxicated self would remember to use facetime

QJ: damn. did i drunk dial you?

QJ: i think i got a little carried away last night. woke up with quite the hangover.

QJ: were we together? i think i have a memory of you being there.

every sunday is the same. the same routine, the same people, the same dynamics, and it’s by far quinn’s favourite day of the week. he spent the morning going for a run, chasing the sun rise, and the rest of it in a small coffee shop nearby, laptop out as he edited and drank his way through far too many espressos to be healthy for his already arrhythmic heart. he’s eager to come home, is the truth of it. he’d sat staring at his screen for minutes on end, checking the clock in the bottom right corner too regularly to make any real progress. sunday is family day; it’s the only thing he feels genuine excitement toward. the only time he feels real. 

he walks a little fast on his way to them, both to appease the itch of reaching his destination sooner, and as a side effect of the copious amounts of caffeine in his veins. when he steps inside, he isn’t entirely sure what he’ll find. sometimes he hears telltale sounds of giggling from the lounge, sometimes quiet talking from the library, and occasionally a candy wrapper breadcrumb trail to an outside picnic of yet more candy and bobby receiving a much needed belly rub from their companion. minjae mightn’t strictly be family, but they’ve earned a place at the table. they earned it the moment they won bobby’s heart, and found their way into quinn’s. 

today the scene is enough to melt even the toughest of men, and enough to melt quinn, too. bobby’s curled up, napping, no doubt exhausted from their shift at the hospital last night, and minjae is trapped beneath their head, lap as bobby’s pillow, and seemingly drifting off right where they sit. “hey,” it’s spoken softly, not wanting to startle them, nor disturb bobby’s slumber. “sticking around for dinner today? don’t think bobby’s gonna give you much of a choice,” it’s said with the fondest of grins, and quinn reaching down to tuck one of his twin’s curls behind their ear. “how long have you been stuck like this?”

It’s been a long week. Everything feels far away to Minjae, soft and indistinct, like they’re viewing it from a distance. Like they’re living from a distance. There are some days when everything is okay, some weeks when they cope better than they thought possible, and then there are others. Others when they find they can’t cope, at least not in the ways that they like, and they go a bit numb after so much bullshit that they can’t handle it anymore. Right now, they feel like they’re detached from everything besides the weight of Bobby’s head in their lap, and the knowledge that Sunday is the best day of the week.

Whether they’re at their house with their family or at Quinn’s with their family, they know that it’s going to be good. Comfort and warmth and the feeling of home wraps them up tight, easing away the frustrations of the week.

Caught somewhere between sleep and consciousness, Minjae is aware when Quinn enters, but doesn’t immediately respond. Heavy eyelids lift, flutter, and their lips part a fraction around a breath. Long, delicate fingers are methodically carding through Bobby’s curls, and they brush against Quinn’s with a slight tingle of recognition when he touches, too. A smile curves up the corners of their mouth as they shift into a position more upright, shaking the drowsiness from themself. Or at least trying to. They don’t bother speaking aloud; they can’t really hear anyway, and it’d been other telling signs that had made them notice Quinn.

It’s been a while since she’s had a night off. So long, in fact, that she doesn’t even know what a normal person does on a Friday evening. She’s already been to a bar ( hence the beer bottle in her hand ) but there was no excitement to be found there. Now she’s one block away, just wandering about. She leans against the brick exterior of a building, finally thinking of a new form of entertainment. Whenever someone walks by, she sticks out her boot at the very last second, making the person trip. One woman even fell to the pavement. Malicious entertainment, the best kind. With a grin plastered to her face, she takes another swing of her beer and sticks out her foot just in time for the next person to walk past.