#bcbop

               when he agreed for them to share a bed, he had not taken into consideration the aspects that would come adjacent with sleeping in the same premises. the adenoidal uproar faye’s been so earnestly producing has him pondering life. although the light is dim, his eyes are glued to the ceiling fan that appears to be completing its two hundred thirty seventh loop. distraught, he tries to shake awake, his arm constantly jabbing her flank. ‘ hey, faye... hey!  ’ the gesture garners no response. after an hour passes, fatigue finally starts to tug at his eyelids. jet almost falls into a light slumber when all of a sudden he can feel a a cold weight clawing at his pectoral. when he opens his eyes in order to ascertain the source of the discomfort, he almost rolls into a somersault.

              in that moment, faye’s head that so comfortably rested against his chest appeared akin to a gorgon attempting to devour him alive. in his drowsy haze, he’d forgotten about their agreement. jet veers backward, removing himself from the bed with projected ease. still bothered by the incessant cacophony her nose emitted, an exasperated breath ushers out of him. 

                belatedly, he decides that the couch is a much better alternative. by the time he reaches it, the sleepless stupor has him careless. seeing spike sleeping there, he refuses to head for the armchair, as he normally would. all he does is scoot spike over just a tad, almost delicately, and settle himself by his side. jet closes his eyes again, rejoicing in this insignificant moment of peace. seconds later, whatever remains of hope ( of having a good night’s sleep ) he’s had until then are shattered to pieces.

              spike’s snores outdo faye’s. 

                since spike’s mouth was still covered in bandages ( an event that’s become quite the common occurrence ), he struggles to discern spike’s objective. ‘ you want me to bring you adenosine? that makes no sense... ’ unable to ascertain the current situation, he paces to where the other rests, setting his ear somewhere close to spike’s plastered mouth. it’s not until spike lifts a finger, indicating that what he wished for wasn’t exactly an organic compound, but fruit. ‘ oh! you meant the tangerine... here, ’ he leans across the table to grab it, halting in his path when he finds nothing but the peel of the citrus in question. 

          having sustained several injuries during their last attempt to earn some capital, he now finds himself resting on the lounge, rejoicing in the few moments of well-deserved silence. faye’d left to finish some unspecified business, as per usual, and ed was nowhere to be found. somehow, this is the most silent the ship’s been in a while. he’s not complaining, however. his head is craned onto armrest, his eyelids heavy with exhaustion. while trying to distract himself from the overwhelming ache, there’s a moment in which he almost dozes off. moments later, he wakes up cold, sweat trickling down his forehead. he attempts to lift head somewhat, but the lesions scattered across his body oppose him almost immediately. when spike enters the room, he greets him with a pained nod.

          his temperature’s been increasing gradually, and the brisk touch his partner brings about is welcomed. save the callouses from wielding firearms so often, his palm feels almost comfortable. had his body allowed him to move, perhaps he would have leaned in even more. ‘ h-hey, ’ his speech comes to a halt, a rough cough replacing whatever idea he wished to emit then. there’s a dab of blood in the corner of his mouth that he quickly wipes with the back of his hand. he continues, a guttural laughter following suit. ‘ ‘s not that bad. i’ve been through worse. you hanging in there? ’

          distraught with the outcome, he almost snaps at first, not because of spike’s commentary, which he deemed comical at the time, but because of the time wasted. he belatedly regards the joke with a copious chuckle, the wrinkles at his forehead slowly but steadily fading away. ‘ hn -- could’ve been worse. ’ from the inside pocket of his coverall, he slowly extracts the ever so reliable pack of cigarettes, flicking one out and positioning it between his lips. he does the same for spike, his arm extending, awaiting for it to be plucked. when it is, he’ll light both individually before helping himself to a long drag. ‘ at least nobody’s dead, ’ a pause in which he haggardly exhales the smoke through his nose. ‘ let’s grab a bite. my treat. ’