#sanck

Franck almost said that out loud, word for word, but refrained at the last moment. “Permit me to return a favour, Sebastian,” they said instead, stepping forwards to hold him steady. They gently reached for his lamp, letting the warmth of their fingers linger on his wrist; he stared down at his hand, then at Franck, almost innocently baffled in his exhaustion. “You’ve been kind enough to show me to my quarters, allow me to show you to yours. You need sleep.”

“I don’t sleep. I just dream.”

Sebastian was perfectly calm and coherent, if reserved. Franck shook their head. “That may well be, Monsieur, but as your faithful citizen I would ask you to attempt it tonight. We would flourish with you, not off your strength.”

He seemed to want to protest this more strongly, but Franck insisted, for it was the kind of statement that ought not to be protested at all. When he gave in, he relinquished his lamp to Franck and opened the door in front of him, despite their objections his quarters were elsewhere. “All these are guest rooms, Franck,” he explained as he took off his jacket and gloves, “and each of them are as good as mine. I cannot sleep in satin while offering my guests squalor.”

“If you’re sure...”

“Of course I’m sure.” Sebastian raised a pale ungloved hand to his mouth, concealing a laugh. “I’m very strict about those standards. Who do you think makes those beds?”

Franck’s expression darkened sadly. Yet another responsibility the President bore upon his shoulders, so utterly ordinary and domestic one wouldn’t even think he needed to bother. They hoped he was at least changing them in reasonable intervals, not dozens all at the same time, wearing himself out in vain for guests who had not come for a very long time.

Still, the room was clean and excellently kept, just as he’d said. Its only fault was that it was lacking in Sebastian’s personal comforts. There was nothing to do in here, except to slide into bed and sleep - no more nor less than what they wanted Sebastian to do.Franck took his jacket for him and folded it carefully over a chair. They switched on the bedside lamp and extinguished the one he’d held, gently cupping the silver snuffer above its flame. Sebastian’s dark hair spilled over the linen. Oddly enough, he seemed to treat a bed as somewhere to sit: he immediately pulled his knees up, as if to balance a stack of books upon it, and perched there with his back leaning awkwardly against the pillows until Franck prompted him to lie comfortably.

Were beds just another version of a bureau for him, then?

The thought made Franck terribly sad, but they did their best to not let it show. Maybe Sebastian was better off away from his comforts, if they were no more than extra burdens for him. “Franck.” He spoke quietly as they tucked him in. “Thank you for taking the trouble for my sake. But when I said I don’t sleep... I’m afraid I meant it quite literally.”

“... You aren’t just forcing yourself to be awake?”

Sebastian shook his head abashedly. “I cannot sleep at will. Not by myself, not until I am so tired I can’t even think. If you’d see me rest, I may have to ask you to stay with me for some time.”

“That’s fine.” Franck had expected something like this. They pulled up a nearby chair and sat beside him, resting their hand comfortably on the duvet. “I’ll be here, Sebastian. For as long as you need.”

He smiled sadly. “I have always depended on the kindness of strangers.”

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