Human
Author's Note: Takes place after the first half of "Fools Together", though you do not need to have read it in order to enjoy this fic, though it might help in understanding some things.
It was one in the morning according to Crawford's watch.
When did I fall asleep?
He rubbed his face in an attempt to erase the grogginess, to no avail. He was on the couch—What was I even doing?—and slowly, he sat up, catching the remote that was on his chest five seconds before it would have otherwise fallen to the floor with a loud clatter against the hardwood. He set it on the coffee table in front of the couch, littered with beer cans and other things he couldn't identify right now. He ran a hand through his hair and looked around.
Where is Schuldig?
His partner had been on the sofa with him, smoking cigarettes and drinking something from a glass—vodka, maybe? The details were still a little hazy—how much did I drink? Of course Schuldig would just leave him here and go to bed alone. That was how Schuldig operated. It was almost like he was trying to avoid him, avoid becoming involved, from being entangled…
He left the couch and carefully made his way from the living room to his bedroom. It took him a few moments to realize the door was open ajar, which was strange. He never left his door open—it was always shut. Pushing the door open, he found where his telepath had gone.
He was lying on his bed, fast asleep, in the cut-off tee and shorts he vaguely remembered him wearing earlier in the evening. Furthermore, Schuldig was on the wrong side of the bed. He always slept on the left, usually only migrating to the right if he was there with him. If Schuldig was by himself, he hogged the whole bed. And the sheets.
Well Schuldig hogged the sheets regardless, but Crawford never really cared to begin with.
Crawford shut the door as quietly as he could and slipped off his clothes, leaving them on the chair instead of on the floor like Schuldig always did, and joined him on the bed. After nudging Schuldig onto the 'right' side, of course. Not that it really did any good, considering whenever he woke up, Schuldig ended up in his arms anyway. He didn't mind, of course, because Schuldig didn't even know about it to begin with.
There was something that felt 'right' when he and Schuldig were like this, something he had never felt with anyone else in his entire thirty years of life. He'd say it was love, but love, Crawford knew, was for foolish men with a death wish. It was something that only happened in fairy tales, and their lives were anything but fairy tale-esque. Brad Crawford was not a fool. He had, at one point, possibly loved someone—his parents and sister, perhaps—but it was so long ago, too long ago for him to accurately remember. Schwarz was the closest thing he had to a family, and even that was gone now.
Except Schuldig. Schuldig was still here.
Crawford ran his hand through Schuldig's hair, placed an arm around him and moved him closer, held him as if afraid Schuldig would disappear. Farfarello and Nagi had already left him, moved on with their lives, started anew somewhere else. Though Crawford would never admit it aloud, he didn't know what he would do if Schuldig moved on too.
Schuldig shifted slightly, shifted so he was facing Crawford, one arm over Crawford's shoulder, one leg straddling Crawford's thigh.
It was always moments like these that made Crawford feel less like a horrific demon king and more…human. Vulnerable. Utterly exposed and unguarded. And one day, one day very soon, on a night just like this, with Schuldig in his bed, he would tell Schuldig something absolutely absurd. Something that would remind them both that they were, after all, human beings. Humans who felt absolutely foolish things.