Day 6: Wearing Each Other's Clothes.

Sebastian had been away on a long and ultimately important hit for nearly a month now and Jim had intended to meet him at the airport. The sniper's plane didn't get in until five and Jim had absolutely fuck all to do so he'd sat down on the sofa to watch some of the utter crap that liked to pass itself off as television. Sebastian never wore his tags on a job. He never explained why and Jim never asked. But the tags were always, without fail, tucking away in Sebastian's bedside table and Jim would always, without fail, go and get them the moment the door shut. And, okay, maybe that was a little sentimental but it wasn't like anyone would find out It was… reassuring. Jim had become used to the familiar figure of Sebastian waiting at his side, when the sniper was away he felt vulnerable. Alone.

He curled his hand around them and ran his thumb across the stamped letters settling on the sofa and folding his legs beneath him comfortable. Sentimental or no, Jim felt safer with the skin warmed metal tucked into his shirt. And Jim wasn't the type to deny himself any comforts.

The Irishman yawned lightly, eyes starting to flutter closed against his will. He'd been busier than usual, working himself into the ground to get everything done. That wasn't unusual, but usually Sebastian was there to drag him out of his office every now and then to force him to eat and sleep. Sebastian wasn't here. Jim hadn't eaten in nine days and hadn't slept properly in seventeen.

It only took a moment for Jim to fall asleep, curled into a protective ball and crumpling his expensive suit.

Sebastian's plane was late to arrive and he was half expecting to be faced with a grumpy and impatient Jim but there was nobody there. He waited a few minutes before giving up and climbing into the waiting car, giving directions to the flat. The sniper had to fumble with his keys to unlock the door himself, nudging it open with his shoulder and dumping his bag on the floor. "Boss?" he called, toeing off his shoes and padding through to the lit up living room. Sebastian stopped, smiling a little fondly as he looked down on the sleeping man. He crouched, gently running his fingers through dark hair. "Wake up, kitten."

Jim stirred, hand loosening from its death grip around Sebastian's tags and his head lolling into his hand. "T'ger?" The sniper's eyes flicked down as the tags clinked softly and widened fractionally as he recognised the metal discs. That was unexpected and almost… sweet.

"Hey kitten. I'm home." He kept his voice soft, giving Jim a moment to orient himself before his tone turned teasing. "You miss me?"

Jim snorted as derisively as he could manage, sitting up with a wide yawn. "Like a hole to the head."

Sebastian raised an eyebrow, tugging on the tags hard. "Are you sure?" Normally he wouldn't dare talk back to Jim, but then normally Jim wasn't sleep ruffled and bleary eyed with Sebastian's dog tags around his neck.

Jim flushed, just a little but enough for Sebastian to notice, and reached up to take off the tags. He didn't get a chance as Sebastian tucked the chain under Jim's shirt with a murmured, "Keep 'em. I don't wear 'em anyway."

The criminal met his gaze for a moment then smiled that genuine smile that was reserved for Sebastian. "I suppose I may have missed you a little, pet."