#mcclung

Babe couldn’t sleep. Every time he closed his eyes, all he could see was Jackson writhing in pain, screaming himself hoarse. His head spun with exhaustion, but he just couldn’t rest.

When he went downstairs, unable to stand lying down any longer, he wasn’t the only one there. McClung was curled up in one corner, eyes fixed on the stairs. Babe was next to him before he realized he was moving. 

 “Siddown,” McClung said, tugging on Babe’s pants’ leg, so he sat next to him. He looked as tired as Babe felt.

“Can’t sleep?” Babe asked. The look he got in reply told him enough. It was a stupid question, anyway.

 They sat in silence, cuddled together in a way Babe hadn’t experienced since Julian died. Gradually, McClung’s body heat seeped into him and made him feel less cold. They curled tighter together, chasing warmth and, maybe, the desire to be with another person.

Maybe that’s why he kissed him. It wasn’t anything intense, just a brush of lips against lips. But then McClung kissed back and pulled him closer. The warmth between them increased as they pressed together. 

A noise upstairs made them jerk apart, reminded of where they were. Babe yawned, his exhaustion returning.

“Later,” McClung whispered as they climbed the stairs together.