dickie saying that mis says ‘morbid’ stuff when he sleep-talks but what i’m thinking of now because of that is dickie getting woken up as mis starts mumbling nonsense. his face squished to the pillow and catastrophic bed-hair softening the blow of being woken up at 3 am. sam sighs with a small smile, equally tired and endeared, wondering what kind of bullshit mis is dreaming about tonight.
“Sweet. So, so sweet, and—and three,” Mis trails off. Making sense but not making any sense.
Sam runs his knuckles down his spine, touch feather soft. “Sweet and three, of course,” he mumbles, voice low with sleep.
Mis hums. “And it’s the messy ones, like water.” His words slurred together now. ‘Water’ sounding more like ‘worur’ as heavy sleep fights to wrangle him back to unconsciousness. The sluggish melody pulling Sam's eyelids closed.
It’s not strange, the sleep-talking, sam is about used to it now. Random little one-sided conversations that sam learned he can join occasionally.
“Winter!”
Sam startles awake. It wasn’t loud, just excited—magnified by the silence of their room.
“What’s about winter, baby?”
“‘Cause you look pretty then,” Mis’s lips tug into the tiniest smile. For Sam, it’s as hidden as a sunrise. “Snowy—fits you.”
Sam yawns. “Right.”
“So December? Or…” he trails off again.
The dip in Mis’s waist is enticing, calling for him. He fits his hand there and smiles warmly when Mis seems to gravitate his way, the touch drawing him in.
Sam doesn’t answer, his brain too foggy he just lets mis talk his heart’s desire. No usual rhyme or reason to the journey of topics, just a steady stream of unconsciousness not requiring him to keep up.
“Mine…maybe light. Yours dark, navy.”
“Mhm.”
“Vet. Coat. For your eyes. Good with winter.”
His eyes closing again. Thumb tracing the slope in Mis’ spine.
“Gold, Dickie.”
“What’s gold, Mis?” Sam mutters, half asleep already it sounds like a rumble in his chest. “My eyes?”
“No,” Mis says, lips and tongue barely moving. He scotches closer, his face inches away from Sam's. Eyelids fluttering for a moment but remain closed. “The rings. Should be gold.”
Sam brings him closer, kissing Mis's forehead, warm and content. “What rings?”
Michael goes closer, nuzzling to Sam's neck, and Sam wraps his arms around him. Both slipping away to the same place.
“Our wedding rings.”
Sam's eyes snap open.
He's not getting any sleep tonight.
And there are few calls he needs to make.
