John's breathing is rhythmic and slow, in and out, in and out. A ray of afternoon light manages to pierce through the gap in the curtains, illuminating a sliver of the bedroom floor. Dave is a statue; he holds his position on the bed, his only movement in the form of his own silent breathing and his roving eyes.

The bedroom hasn't changed much over the years. He can notice this, now that he's not distracted by beer and nerves. John isn't awake, so he doesn't have to worry about pretending. He can do what he wants until the blessed reprieve is over.

Well. He can do what he wants to an extent. John's arm is curled around Dave's wrist and his nose is pressed against Dave's side. It had taken him a while to fall asleep, a very long and awkward while. There had been some exchange of small talk ("You still have your posters" and "Did you paint over the graffiti?") before they had retired to the bed. Initially, John had been on the far side, completely solitary, and Dave had his freedom. Maybe it wouldn't be so bad, just sitting here. The kid would fall asleep and then he'd be free to go somewhere else, take a break, remember his motivation.

That dream shattered rather quickly as John started drifting off and drifting closer. By the time he had slipped into dreamworld, he was snuggled right up beside the ginger boy, unconscious and uncaring.

Now Dave is trapped with nothing to entertain him but studying his surroundings. It's not so bad, maybe, because he knows it could be worse. He's heard horror stories from Rose about roaming tentacle limbs that wrap you up in sleep. It's only really his arm that's surrounded, with more closeness than encompassment. Dave wonders if it's the wall between them at work, even in sleep. It's John's way of separating them without sacrificing the companionship he seems to crave.

Dave wonders if he smells like his doppelganger. Maybe that's what called John from his exile, his sleep-stupid mind searching for familiarity. Dave reaches his free arm up and takes a quiet sniff, only then realizing that he has nothing to compare it to. Besides, all he smells is the soap he stole from John's bathroom for use in his ablutions.

Shuddering vibrations pull him from his thoughts and he looks down. John shivers again and half-opens his eyes.

"Dave…?" he mumbles only semi-coherently. He sits up a little and looks up at Dave's face before his eyes snap open and he quickly propels himself back across the bed. "Jesus!"

So he had mistaken Dave for someone else.

Dave sighs. He can't really blame him. "Hey."

"Shit, was I just—fuck. Sorry, Dave."

"Whatever."

"I know how you don't really like touching," John tries to apologize. "And I don't—we don't really know each other very well." He laughs a rather unnatural, nervous laugh, and the combination of it and the paleness of his face give away his horror.

"You're thinking of someone else," Dave says, his own expression rearranged to display a perfect poker bluff.

"Well, yeah," John says uncomfortably. "But I thought it might still apply, you know, I mean…" He trails off.

"We're different," Dave says firmly. "Look." With one hand, he pulls his shades from his face and hangs them from the collar of his shirt. He then turns to look John full in the face, eyes slightly narrowed with defiance. "See? Night and fucking day."

For some reason, John seems to lighten a little at this. He gives a sheepish smile. "Yeah? Good. I'm glad."

"Have a good sleep?"

"Huh? Yeah, it was ok." John shrugs, still looking rather awkward. "Sorry about…that whole thing, I guess."

"It's fine."

"You're not mad at me?"

"I'm not mad." Dave leans back against the wall. He would never say it, but he does enjoy affection. Maybe not from John and definitely not from everyone else, but he does. Hell, maybe he could learn to accept a friendly touch from his not-friend once and a while. John wasn't too clingy in his sleep (well, mostly), and it had been a little…endearing, he supposed.

"Dave?"

"Yo."

"You're okay, right?"

"Peaches and cream," Dave replies, not sparing John a second glance. He pretends to be studying the posters on his wall.

"Yeah?"

"Yeah."

"Cool."