Once-Ler sighed as he came into his (or was it his other's?) large office. He walked right in without knocking, without caring about entrance. It was just him after all, just them. Only he worked this late, and by association, so did his other half, the younger Once-Ler.

The younger, more notably happier version of the Once-Ler walked up to his other self's (or was it his?) desk and stood there for a second. Silence.

"Hey."

"…mhn." The green-clad man was hunched over, something, papers, mounds of them. For once they were all white. The room mostly dark save for a singular lamp light on his desk—saving energy, Greed-Ler said, bad for his eyes, Once-Ler said—with scrawls and scribbles and signatures littering the paragraphs of text on the pages of pages lying over the desk like some great blanket. Once-Ler didn't bother with that stuff, he didn't have too. But, at some point, neither did his other half, who still had really recognized his other half's presence and was writing something in pen without pause.

"C'mon, it's nearly 3. You need to sleep…" Once-Ler was, as far as he had seen, the only one able to get so close to his older version and touch him gently, this time on that dark green shoulder. The workaholic hardly moved.

"…hey, seriously, please? Go to bed?"

When all he got was a grunt in reply, Once-Ler's eyebrows knitted together a little bit. When his other self wasn't pestering him and trying to seduce him or whatever he called it, he was working. And working and working and working and wasting away.

Once-Ler worried one day his older self would just collapse face first into his papers or on the floor of the factory while inspecting…and there was dangerous machinery there, and Once-Ler knew that and it only made him worry just a bit more, because really, this guy was, was HIM basically and like it or not he was a part of him. For better or for worse. (Although to be honest, the worse could far out-weigh the better most days.)

"I'll sleep when I'm dead," Greed-Ler's voice was rough from disuse and dryness. "Now go the fuck to bed."

Once-Ler sighed and left….and came back with a glass of water, setting it down on the barest available surface he could find.

When this older self finally fell asleep at his desk, as he was bound to do around four thirty, sometimes five, than Oncie would half carry, half drag the guy to his (or was it their's?) bed and then, finally, finally they would get some sleep.

They slept best when they shared the same sheets, after all.