Jonathan's face scrunched up in displeasure. His feet tangled the sheets. He threw an arm over his eyes and rolled onto his side, curling into a tight ball. His eyelids twitched as his eyes moved rapidly under them. He was deep in a dream.
Watching him shift restlessly almost exhausted Sock, who couldn't sleep and didn't need to. It was a wonder Jonathan got any rest with all the movement.
On top of the dresser, Sock kicked his feet. There was nothing to do at night, when the only person who could interact with him was asleep, so he stationed himself in Jonathan's room in order to be there to antagonize him when he woke up.
Two weeks into his new life as demonic pest, Sock ached. Not physically, because physically he felt nothing, not even the open stab wound in his abdomen. But that nothing was just what he felt. It was a gaping void usually filled with the fuzziness of restful sleep.
He cracked a grin. Guess he was the restless dead now.
He discovered he could doze, or at least zone out enough to not feel time pass. He had been out for a couple hours before he noticed. Jonathan said it was the best two hours of his life.
There were no dreams when he dozed. It was just like he stopped existing for a while.
For the past week he had watched Jonathan do sleep gymnastics on his bed. He began to anticipate when Jonathan was about to wake up, because he stopped shifting. Jonathan sighed and finally decided to sleep on his side.
Cautiously, Sock approached. Jonathan's face was smooth in sleep, muscles relaxed, mouth slightly parted. It was a small blessing that he didn't snore. His chest rose and fell, calm and sedate. Sock ached.
He was sleep hungry.
Sock raised a hand, debating. Jonathan would wake up soon, but not soon enough to catch him. He touched the back of Jonathan's hand, feeling rough skin, hyperaware of the blood pulsing in his warm flesh.
He wasn't sure why he could touch Jonathan while he was asleep. He figured Jonathan needed to make a conscious decision to touch him, but at least for the past few nights, Sock had been able to make contact while Jonathan slept.
He moved to leave, satisfied that he had his dose of human touch for the day, when warmth closed over his hand. Sock froze. Jonathan had his hand in a vise grip. Stiffly, Sock turned around to apologize, but Jonathan's eyes were still closed and his face was still slack. He was grabby in his sleep, then.
Sock tried tugging to no avail. He imagined his hand passing through Jonathan's like a ghost, but it didn't work. Jonathan controlled their touch, not Sock.
Defeated, he sat in the air, pouting. Jonathan would wake up and Sock would have to explain why they were holding hands. He doubted Jonathan would be happy about it. Sock imagined each scenario. There was embarrassed Jonathan, who couldn't believe he had grabbed the demon's hand in his sleep. There was angry Jonathan, who couldn't believe Sock would touch him in his sleep.
His thoughts were interrupted by the flash of a lake before his eyes. Sock blinked and was back in Jonathan's room. He blinked again and there was the lake, sunset reflecting off the little waves crashing onto the shore. The air was warm, the light soft, crickets chirping in the woods, which rustled with a slight breeze. There was a figure on the shore, short, with a tuft of brown hair on their head. They turned to face Sock.
Sock shook his head and was back in Jonathan's room. Furrowing his brow, he tugged at Jonathan's hand again. This time it came free.
He had intruded on something intensely private. The feeling of violation drove him a few wary steps away from the bed.
The alarm clock went off and Jonathan's hand shot up to turn it off. He sat up, eyes groggy, and rubbed his face, taking in a tense demon just steps from his bed. Nothing was said, but no words were needed. For a moment, they both just stared, waiting. None of Sock's imagined scenarios went this way and he wasn't sure what to do. Sock broke the standoff with a grin and a, "Good morning, sunshine."
Jonathan grunted and slid out of bed. It was like nothing had happened.
It was 2 AM. Jonathan was once more deeply asleep. Sock crept up to his bed and touched his hand, rough and warm and alive. Jonathan needed to use lotion, Sock thought, and then Jonathan grabbed his hand and he thought of a hot summer evening beside the lake where his mother took him to picnic. But that was wrong. Sock's family never picnicked, and why would they leave his dad out?
A sense of peace and safety enveloped him. For a minute, he relaxed phantom muscles he didn't even know he was using.
He sucked in a jagged, unnecessary breath when the scene disappeared again and he found his hand cold. Jonathan had dropped it because he was awake and assessing Sock with sharp eyes.
"Morning?" Sock tried weakly, still a little freaked out.
"We were holding hands," Jonathan said. Underlying his tone was the question: why?
Sock gestured to him with a pulling motion. "You kind of, uh, grab people in your sleep?"
Jonathan didn't look like he believed him. Sock switched tacks, going for distraction. He had a suspicion he knew what was happening.
"You didn't happen to be dreaming about a lake, would you?"
Jonathan sluggishly rubbed the sleep out of his eyes. "Yeah, actually. Any reason you know this?"
Sock grinned wolfishly. "I can see into your dreams."
At Jonathan's wide-eyed expression, he laughed, waving him off.
"I'm just kidding," Sock said, a lead weight forming in his stomach. "Lucky guess."
"Sure," Jonathan muttered. "Okay, yeah, just don't go holding my hand again." He glanced at the clock and yawned. "Why are you awake at this time, anyway?"
"I'm a demon, I don't need to sleep."
"Mm," Jonathan said, settling into bed. Within the minute, he was asleep.
Sock felt vaguely offended that he had been brushed off, but mostly he felt a crushing desire to go back to the dream. Because that's what was happening. He was seeing Jonathan's dreams. Jonathan's warm, calm, happy dreams.
Jonathan didn't know what he had. He wasn't a specter frozen in time, doomed to watch the world go on without him. He could rest, he could dream. When he became unconscious, he didn't stop existing. Ugly jealousy boiled in Sock's chest.
He just wanted rest. He was starving for it.
The clock beeped. 3 AM.
"You were holding my hand again," Jonathan accused, hair sleep mussed.
"So what if I was?" Sock's voice was harsh, defensive, cornered. Why did he feel so bad about this? He was supposed to be tormenting Jonathan anyway.
The hand Sock had held raised and he expected violence, he braced for it, but Jonathan just held it out to Sock, beckoning.
"You just have to ask," he said quietly.
Sock took a step forward but clutched his own hand to his chest. "I can see into your dreams when I touch you," he blurted. "I can't dream. Yours are really peaceful."
"You don't sleep? You don't dream?"
Sock pursed his lips and shook his head. Jonathan shook his outstretched hand a bit, indicating that the offer still stood. Almost against his will, Sock took the hand. He sat with his back against Jonathan's bed as Jonathan laid down and went back to sleep. Jonathan's hand was limp now, so it really was Sock keeping up the hand holding this time.
The flashes of Jonathan's tranquil dream were interspersed with Sock's jumbled thoughts. Somehow, Jonathan was okay with this. Sock felt like he should be having a physical reaction to this—tears or something. But nothing came. He wanted rest.
Sun warmed his skin and Sock leaned into it. He closed his eyes, but this time he didn't stop existing. Sand squeezed between his toes as he stood on the shore of a quiet lake.
It wasn't sleep, but it took the edge off. He didn't wake up hungry.