Only the lamplight is on in the room now, and although thiscould normally be taken as a sign that Andy was soon to go to sleep, tonight, it does not. He's still leaned against the pillowed headboard, his nose buried in a book with wrinkled pages that hold a well-worn book scent on them.
Chucky is not an early sleeper, and is usually awake quite a while after the young man has gone to sleep, but this is out of Andy's normal habit. He rolls onto his side and leans on an elbow to peer at Andy curiously as the man flips through the pages, unaware that there are eyes on him. The cover of the paperback is blue striped, and although the doll cannot see the entire title, he can clearly read the author's name behind a pinky finger: John Boyne.
He can see that Andy is focused; his eyebrows are scrunched and his tongue darts out to lick his bottom lip every so often, followed by him nervously chewing on it a moment later. It's a cycle. Lick, bite. His chest is beginning to heave a bit.
Must be intense. Chucky laughs softly to himself and continues to observe the man, clearly amused by what he was seeing.
His jaw is clenching now. There is a twitch at the corner of his lip.
Silence drags on, and the doll contents himself with lying down completely on his side and keeping his eyes on Andy until they start to slowly close. He's already beginning to fall into sleep when a sudden gasp causes him to jerk in the bed and wake.
He groans, a little annoyed. He sits up to glance over the man's shoulder to see the clock. 12:54. It is definitely passed Andy's bed time.
"Andy," he asks, voice just a bit groggy. "Just what the hell are you doing still awake?" He brings his knees up and rubs his face with his hands.
"Chucky, I… this is the best andworst thing I've ever read, I can't- I don't even have the words…" The man's voice is shaking, and his hands are rubbing his neck in almost a self-embrace sort of position. He lets out a shuddering sigh and leans further into the pillows. "I mean, Diary of Anne Frank was bad enough, but…damn, I…"
Chucky watches in alarm as Andy slinks under the covers, pulling them over his shoulders and burying his nose down into the mattress. "I want to sleep and never wake up."
"What the fuck did you read?" When Andy doesn't respond immediately, the doll crawls over his curled figure and reaches for the book on the dresser. He can clearly read the title now, The Boy in the Striped Pyjamas.
He's heard of this before, though only vaguely. He knows there is a film about it. That is as much as his knowledge on it goes.
Andy still hasn't moved. Chucky slides back over him and leans his cheek against what he assumes is a shoulder. "You okay, there, piss-diaper?" He tugs the covers back a bit to reveal the back of the man's head, which is shaking in a negative reply.
"I feel heavy."
"It's a book, Andy."
He tugs at the man's ear, not too harshly. Andy just moans softly, undisturbed by his touch. "It's a really sad book, and I feel like I just ate an unborn child."
"Sorry."
"'S not your fault."
"I know asshole, I'm trying to be comforting. Want me to tell you that you shouldn't have read it instead? Dumbass. You should have known better. I thought you were the brains of us."
That elicits a hoarse chuckle from the pillows. Chucky laughs along with him and stretches his fingers along the expanse of the man's ear and behind it into his hair. He leans forward until he is resting on top of Andy completely, his nose in the crook of the man's neck.
"A complete fuckin' imbecile, you know that?"
Andy's arm slides out from underneath him and pulls him close under the covers, and there is possibly some kissing that follows until they are asleep in the other's arms.