A/N: This story was inspired by a mini-RP me and my girlfriend did a while ago. And I need to write some fluff. And there's not enough for this pair. So. Here we go! Enjoy!

Prologue

Arms snug around his waist.

Warm lips pressed to the crook of his neck.

The faint scratch of stubble against his skin.

Despite the relative hopelessness of their situation, Alan couldn't help but settle into the protective embrace of his partner. Everything seemed too close and too far away all at once, and Eric was a solid reality. He always had been, really.

They'd had to run. The Dispatch Society and the demon were both after Eric, and Alan wasn't letting the other go without a fight. Nine hundred and ninety-nine sins weren't enough to stop him from loving the older reaper, and if William wasn't going to listen to him, they would just have to stay away until he was willing to. Even if that meant staying away forever.

The empty attic they'd found just on the outskirts of London wasn't the warmest place, but it was away from the Dispatch, and that was all that mattered. Eric had insisted that Alan needed time to recover before they left the city. It wouldn't help either of them if he had an attack from the stress of the previous evening. They'd taken every precaution possible to ensure that they weren't followed, hoping to throw the demon off the scent, so just for now, they were relatively safe.

"Eric…?" Alan whispered, leaning his head back on the elder reaper's shoulder. Eric hummed questioningly in response, and Alan shut his eyes. "Where are we going to go?"

Eric shifted his grip on the smaller reaper, holding him closer. "I don' know. Outta London, at th' very least. Spears'll be lookin' everywhere for us." The department manager wasn't one to let such a flagrant disregard for the rules go unpunished. He'd said as much at the opera; he planned to wipe even the memory of Eric from existence in their realm. "I'd say let's jus' leave England entirely, but he'll alert th' other branches… Wouldn' do t'have fugitives on th' loose."

"Fugitives…" Alan murmured, sounding sleepy. It was nearing morning, and he hadn't slept in almost twenty-four hours. "All the things I never thought I'd be, and here I am. On the run from my own workplace."

"You aren't supposed t' be," Eric huffed. He tightened his grip on the younger reaper, nuzzling into his hair. "I knew what I was gettin' into. I knew I wasn' gonna be able to jus' come back and go back t' work like nothin' had happened. But you were supposed t' be able to jus' keep goin' on with your life…" He laughed helplessly. "But you're so stubborn…"

Alan giggled sleepily, nuzzling up under Eric's chin. "No, right now I'm just sleepy…"

Eric rolled his eyes, shifting Alan off of his lap and going to rummage through the attic space. It was obvious how tired the other was; he only really got giggly when extremely happy or extremely exhausted, and neither of them could be very happy right now, considering their circumstances. Hopefully there was something suitable to be used as bedding in this old attic. It was tough without his glasses, but he managed to unearth some moth-eaten blankets and worn cushions. He fashioned them a makeshift nest in their little corner, and tugged a yellowed, hole-riddled duvet around the two of him as Alan settled back into his arms. "'s not th' most comfortable bed around, but it'll do."

"I think it's just fine…" Alan mumbled, tucking his head back beneath Eric's chin. He sounded near-asleep already.

"Well, I'll keep'n eye on everythin', so jus' go t'sleep." He'd gotten used to keeping watch, to always being on the lookout for his kin when he was hunting for souls. He could tell if they were coming long before they arrived, and he would protect Alan, whatever it took. His partner didn't need to suffer for his actions. As Alan breathed against his neck, slow and even with sleep, unburdened by the Thorns for the moment, he smoothed his hand over the brunet's back. His goals hadn't changed. Not really. He was still going to keep his partner safe, whether from the Thorns or the rest of the Dispatch. It didn't matter.

If William T. Spears wanted them, he'd have to catch them first.