Moran walked gingerly through the front door of his flat, careful not to make too much noise. He glanced at the clock that was visible from the laminated kitchen. 4:26 am. He sighed, hoping he would fall asleep right away and cure his exhaustion.
He walked to his bedroom door. It was slightly ajar. He pushed it open the rest of the way, hoping it wouldn't creak. The glow from the light in the kitchen made it easier for Moran to see. There was a jacket slung over the chair at his desk, and someone else's clothes folded neatly on the hutch at the end of his bed.
He walked over to his bed and stopped abruptly when he saw the outline of a body and the rise and fall of a breathing chest. Moran's eyes softened. Jim, in his bed for the first time in three years, it was almost too good to be true.
He stripped down to his boxers, like always, and climbed into bed. The covers were warm and inviting. He reached over and enveloped Jim in his arms. Jim snuggled closer, not waking up. Moran smiled. Jim's head was between Moran's shoulder and his head, his back resting against Moran's front and his torso being held by Moran's strong arms.
Jim muttered one of Moran's many nicknames in his sleep, causing Moran to hold him tighter. He drifted off to sleep in a state of pure comfort.
