The rest of the short ride passed in silence, and it was nearing two in the morning when they finally trudged up the stairs to the bedroom.
Vincent took a pair of sweats and a shirt to his en suite to change. When he returned to the bedroom, Jasper was already in bed. Which was something he could too easily get used to.
“Night,” Jasper murmured, curling into Vincent.
Vincent buried his fingers in Jasper’s hair. “Good night, pet.”
Despite his exhaustion, sleep did not come easily, and it wasn’t restful when it did. His nightmares had eased off the last few years, but particularly stressful days were usually all the excuse they needed to revisit.
The silver lining was that they were always the same.
So when he woke, gasping for air, with phantom pain crushing his chest and smoke in his lungs, there was only tired resignation left behind. He stared at the ceiling for several long minutes, waiting for his heartbeat to slow. The warmth of Jasper’s body and the steady rhythm of his breathing was as unfamiliar as it was comforting, but it did nothing to lull him back to sleep.
With a sigh he finally slipped out of bed. The clock showed it was after five, at least, though that still added up to only a few hours of sleep. He knew from experience he wouldn’t be getting more, so he took a shower, letting the tepid water beat into his skin.
He pressed his thumb against the jagged white scar on his right arm. It connected his shoulder to his elbow in the shape of an amateur’s botched attempt to carve the Nile. A spiderweb of red stretched across his chest, remnants of the fire he could barely remember.
He had the money; he could have at least tried to diminish their appearance, but he kept them as a reminder of the consequences of losing control. The half-dozen scars on his back were a reminder of the price he’d paid for his unhealthy attempt to cope with his pain and desperation.
He finished his shower and pulled his robe on as he slipped back into the bedroom for a fresh pair of sweats.
Jasper was still dead to the world.
Vincent left him sleeping and went downstairs to start the coffee.
Restlessness itched along his senses, so he busied himself with small tasks. Opening the curtains. Emptying the dishwasher. Making a list for the week’s groceries. Starting a load of laundry.
By the time six thirty ticked by, he was on his second cup of coffee and making waffles. He still wasn’t sure what he’d expected to come of having Jasper at the club, but it wasn’t like he could stop working on all their busiest nights. Bad enough he intended to take Saturdays off for the foreseeable future. And with Jasper’s schedule, weekends were their only feasible block of time.
He scrambled some eggs, making sure they were fluffy and cheesy. The waffles came out crisp and golden, and he plopped one on each plate.
Jasper stumbled into the kitchen a few minutes later, wearing nothing but his boxers, blond hair sticking in all directions. He pressed into Vincent’s side with a yawn. “How do you make even eggs look gourmet?” he grumbled, rubbing his cheek against Vincent’s shoulder.
“Practice,” Vincent replied, dishing out the eggs and handing over a plate.
They ate in a not-quite-awkward silence, and Vincent’s restlessness hadn’t faded by the time they moved to the couch. He tapped his fingers against Jasper’s thigh as he stared out the bay window, not paying the least bit of attention to whatever show Jasper found on TV.
Jasper sighed, covering Vincent’s hand with his own. “What’s wrong?”
Vincent forced his fingers to still, squeezing Jasper’s thigh and rubbing his thumb back and forth instead. “Nothing.”
Jasper snorted. “Liar,” he said, crawling into Vincent’s lap. He straddled Vincent’s thighs, arms wrapping around his shoulders. “Something’s bothering you. What is it?”
The truth was, Vincent wasn’t sure. It wasn’t the nightmare. They didn’t affect him as badly as they used to, and the guilt that came with them was nearly a decade dull.
It might have been the news of Jasper’s ex, but their phone conversation hadn’t sounded promising for their getting back together.
“Sir?”
And that, apparently, was all Vincent needed. The simple reminder that, at least for the moment, Jasper was his. A tension he hadn’t even noticed eased in his chest. The last time Jasper called him that had been in anger, and that was something he should have addressed last night.
Christ, he was out of practice.
“Just tired,” he replied. It wasn’t exactly a lie; the restlessness was already fading like fog beneath sunlight. He caught Jasper’s lips in a quick kiss. “I need some fresh air. Get dressed.”
Jasper eyed him with a pouty frown. He took a breath like he wanted to argue, but he sat back instead, trailing his hands down the front of Vincent’s robe.
Maybe Jasper would have pulled away without trying to get his hands on skin, but Vincent reacted before he could find out. He grabbed Jasper’s wrists suddenly enough to make him jump and gently tugged them away.
