The strip light around the top of the elevator was flickering. Just one segment, on the left-hand side in the middle of the wall. Norman blinked, watching the light buzz and flicker erratically, always half a second away from going out completely before it guttered on again. He leaned back against the wall and let himself be entranced by it, exhaustion-frazzled mind drifting gratefully into blankness for a few moments. But the initial, fuzzy high of the Tripto was beginning to wane, making the intermittent hum of the light, the creak and rattle of the elevator around him sound loud in his ears, scratching across his skin like broken glass. He rubbed a hand across his eyes with a groan and shook himself, hoped vaguely that he'd be able to keep it together long enough to reach Daryl's place, put on a good enough show of being fine that the other man didn't throw him out, or call an ambulance...He grimaced hard at the thought, pulling his phone from his jeans pocket to double-check what he'd written. He just needed to sleep, needed enough of a distraction that he'd be able to drop off without bad memories or fucking withdrawals eating him alive for another six hours.
N: Hey. You up?
D: Yeah. What's up?
N: Can I come over?
D: It's fucking 2am
N: Please
D: Someone's desperate. ;) Miss my monster cock that much, Jayden?
N: Can I come over or not?
D: I guess. My sister's here tomorrow though, so you'll need to be gone before 5
N: Sure, that's fine. I'll be there in a few minutes.
He tucked his phone away with a sigh, pushing away from the wall as the elevator doors creaked open. Every damn hallway in Daryl's apartment building looked the same: chrome fixtures and polished surfaces and a depressing, teal-and-grey colour scheme. At least the assorted chain hotels the bureau put him up in used warm colours. Norman sighed and started down the hall, wishing he could just curl up on the plush carpet and sleep right there. Hell, he'd be lucky if he could keep himself awake during sex.
"Couldn't stay away, huh Jayden?" He rolled his eyes at a grinning Daryl, shouldering past the other man into his apartment. His boyfriend was dressed in a ludicrous, knee-length, red silk bathrobe and his boxer briefs, the robe open to the waist to reveal his well-muscled torso, and his short blonde hair was sticking up at all angles from sleep. The other reminded him a little of Fight Club's Tyler Durdan, if Tyler Durdan had been an analyst for the CIA and made a career out of cutting corners and fudging his paperwork.
"Beer?" He glanced up, blinking over at the other man to find him in the open-plan kitchen, proffering a bottle. Norman hesitated for a moment, then nodded, dropping onto the other's sofa with a huff of relief at being able to sit down. All of Daryl's furniture was hard and filled with right angles, designed for aesthetic appeal over utility or comfort; he shifted, trying to find a position where nothing dug into his spine. He shouldn't really be drinking on top of the Tripto, but he felt too awful to worry about it, taking the bottle his boyfriend handed him and draining half of it in one.
"Man, you look like shit, Norm." Daryl frowned where he settled on the arm of the sofa, peering down at him as he took a swig of his own beer. "How hard are they workin' you guys?"
"Too hard. An' don't call me Norm, y'know I hate that." He hissed as the other angled the lamp behind the sofa suddenly towards his face, eyes stinging. "Fuck —"
"You high?" He sighed, squinting at the other man though the glare.
"What d'you think? You ain't gettin' any of it, unless you want me kickin' it on your bathroom floor when your sister gets here."
"I wouldn't have to ask if you'd gimme the name of the damn supplier."
"And lose my job, that's all I friggin' need." He drained the last of his beer and slumped back into the sofa, rubbing both hands down his face. "I didn't come here to talk, Daryl."
"Yeah, yeah." The other man drained the last of his own beer, setting the empty bottle aside, before frowning critically at him. "You really do look like shit, y'know that? You're skinny as hell, even for you." At another time, in another place, from another person, the words could've been comforting; as it was, they just made him feel even more alone. It wasn't like Daryl was going to buy him dinner and eat with him, or ask him to stay over for a couple weeks until he could get his sleep issues sorted. The comment was just an observation of his misery, without anything helpful or constructive behind it. He wondered vaguely whether Daryl knew the first thing about being there for someone; whether either of them did.
"M'fine. I just need to sleep." He rubbed a hand across his eyes, grunted as a weight landed suddenly in his lap.
"C'mere then."
He moaned as Daryl caught his lips in a rough kiss, melting back against the sofa with a huff as the other man gripped the front of his shirt, tugging it up and over his head without ceremony, hands running hungrily across his skin. He let go into the sensations with relief, pushing the other's robe from his shoulders and trying to lose himself completely in the warmth and scent of the other man's skin, Daryl's hands running over him, fingers tangling in his hair and tugging hard enough to make him groan. He shuddered as his boyfriend squeezed his cock through his jeans, blinked fuzzily at the thought that they might end up staying here for the duration.
"Fuck. Tell me we ain't havin' sex on your shitty sofa." The other man chuckled, stroking him rhythmically through his boxer briefs and sending shocks of pleasure through his veins. The touch felt so good, and the other's neck was close enough to his face that he couldn't resist nuzzling close for a moment, shutting his eyes and revelling in something that felt close to tenderness.
"You've got no taste, sweetheart." The other pulled away to grin at him, nipping at his earlobe, and the moment was gone, subsumed beneath the other man's dancing eyes and hungry hands. Norman grimaced at the nickname, but then his boyfriend was sucking a kiss into his neck and he couldn't think straight, Daryl dragging him to his feet by his belt loops to relieve him of his jeans.
"I — y'know I hate nicknames, Daryl." The other shrugged, pushing him back towards the double bed set against the far wall.
"Tough shit. You get weird about your actual name, and callin' you 'Jayden' all the time makes me feel like I'm at work."
"God, you're an asshole."
"Takes one to know one, sweetheart."
Norman awoke slowly, fuzzy-headed and slightly sore below the belt, but feeling better than before he'd fallen asleep. Rain was hammering against the floor-to-ceiling window in the opposite wall, the blur of Washington beyond as grey as the wallpaper in Daryl's apartment where his boyfriend had forgotten to shut the drapes. Just looking at it made him feel cold.
Norman swallowed and turned onto his other side, blinking at his boyfriend where the other lay sprawled out across from him. He was struck by a sudden, burning urge to hug the other man, to pull him close and curl himself around the other, or slip beneath Daryl's arm and rest his head on his lover's shoulder. He might be able to manage it, too; the other wasn't awake yet, and if he was careful he might be able to gain a few minutes of contact before the other shoved him off —
His boyfriend stirred slightly, grunting, and scrubbed a hand across his eyes, pushing himself up to sitting with a groan.
"Mornin''." Daryl didn't respond, only wiped a hand down his face with a grunt and scratched at his hair, yawning widely, before swinging his legs out of bed.
"Man…"
"Where're you goin'?" Norman grinned playfully, clasping the other's arm, but Daryl shrugged him off, pushing himself to his feet and pulling his boxer-briefs on.
"I've gotta get to work. Man I feel like shit; you wanna try calling before the friggin' small hours next time?" He blinked, feeling something wilt in his chest as the other man padded away into the kitchen.
"Hey I got work too, y'know." Norman frowned, pulling the sheets up around his waist in the early morning chill. "Hell, I got less freakin' sleep than you."
"Yeah yeah, Mr 'Expert Profiler' with his fancy glasses." Daryl mimed air quotes above the coffee-maker, glancing distractedly at him as the other hurried around the apartment, collecting various work-related items and throwing them on the coffee table. "You can check in whenever, work from anywhere. You ain't pushin' papers and dealing with asshole senators all day like me."
"Nah, just, y'know, riskin' my life and my sanity whenever I put those 'fancy glasses' on."
"So quit if it's an issue, Jesus!" Norman sighed quietly, reminded with stinging clarity that Daryl was always like this the morning after, unless his boyfriend was still horny the next day.
"You didn't want me here, why the hell'd you open the damn door?" The other man huffed a sigh, shaking his head where he met Norman's gaze.
"Yeah, because I'm just gonna leave you to OD or whatever when you call me in the middle of the friggin' night begging to come over." The other man wiped a hand down his face, looking almost pleadingly at him. "Christ, look at yourself, Norm. You're a mess."
He swallowed hard as his boyfriend turned away, folding his arms across his chest and pushing down a sting of pain before it could really register.
"Can I stay? Jus', for a couple hours?"
"Sure. Just —" Daryl broke off with a sigh, the other man not looking at him as he gathered his clothes together. "Be outta here before five; my sister's comin' over, and she knows I don't have a roommate." Norman nodded, frowning, swallowed tightly around his next words.
"I, uh…guess you ain't told your family, then." His lover only barked a laugh, shaking his head.
"Are you kidding me? They'd disinherit me before I could friggin' blink."
"So?"
"So, I don't exactly love the idea of bein' out on my ass with nothing. They're bigoted fucks, but they're wealthy, an' they got connections; that's damn near priceless in this city." Norman smiled lop-sidedly and shrugged, leaning back against the headboard.
"Eh, I dunno. I get by okay by myself." A stab of white-hot pain went through him at the thought of Joe, and he gritted his teeth, relief washing through him seconds later as disassociation set in, his brain locking the grief away behind the wall his mind had built around it before he could break down completely.
Daryl only looked at him, his expression horribly close to pity, before shaking his head and turning away, heading into the bathroom. Norman frowned and slipped out of bed, rubbing a hand down his face, and snagged his boxer-briefs from the floor to pull them on. There was a floor-to-ceiling mirror set in the wall adjacent to the window, too close for him to avoid his reflection; he started slightly, shock rippling through him at the purple smudges beneath his sunken eyes, the bones showing sharp beneath too-pale skin. He looked a lot older than 22.
Shit. I really do look like hell.
"Hey, Daryl?" There was a garbled sound from the bathroom, followed by spitting and running water, before his lover reappeared, pushing one hand through his damp hair and plucking at his undone tie with the other.
"Yeah?"
"You, uh, you got anythin' to eat?" The other man sighed, fastening the buttons on his shirt before starting to mess with his tie.
"Sure. There's leftovers in the icebox; help yourself to whatever." Norman frowned, batting the other's hands away to do his tie for him properly.
"Lemme do that, Christ."
"Thanks."
"S'alright. Still dunno how you got to 25 workin' for the civil service without learnin' how to tie a tie."
"I got you for that, right?" He snorted a laugh, pulling the knot gently tight against his lover's chin and adjusting his collar.
"That all I'm good for, huh?" He smiled and leaned in for a kiss, lips barely grazing the other man's before Daryl pulled away, reaching around him for his suit jacket. "Aw c'mon, don't be like that." Norman found himself grinning nervously, a pulse of something like fear going through him as his lover stepped away, not looking at him; he followed quickly, gripping the other man's shoulders to search his face. Daryl looked back at him, something like sadness mingling with regret on his face, before the other man shut his eyes with a sigh, cupping Norman's neck for a moment before sliding his hand to his chest. He smiled lop-sidedly and ran his own hands down his lover's chest, settling on his hips. Daryl leaned away just slightly when he tried to kiss him again and Norman pressed his lips to his lover's neck instead, catching the other's earlobe between his teeth. "Want one for the road?"
"I'm already dressed." But his lover was smiling at him again when he pulled away to look at him, hands sliding languidly from Norman's shoulders to his hips and grey eyes heavy with longing. He exhaled quietly with a mixture of victory and relief and flashed the other a grin, his fingers finding Daryl's belt buckle.
"Yeah? And?" The other man smiled wryly and pushed his hands away to unzip himself, pulling himself out before looking at Norman expectantly. He wet his lips and knelt down, trying to coax spit into his sleep-dry mouth and wishing he'd thought to grab a drink before now.
Norman swallowed and wiped his mouth on the back of his hand, blinking the moisture from his eyes and pushing himself back to his feet. Daryl was shoving a load of files into his briefcase, took a last moment to straighten his clothes and fix his hair in the mirror, before heading for the door. "I'll, uh, I'll see you later, I guess." The other man turned, blinking at him where Norman leaned against the breakfast bar.
"Yeah. Just, uh, like I said, be outta here before 5. I'll call you, yeah?" Daryl frowned, a conflicted look flashing across his face again. "Get some sleep, Norm. And stay off the friggin' drugs." The door closed behind him with a bang.
Norman sighed and wiped a hand across his eyes, shivering despite himself in the chilly apartment. He frowned and padded back over to the bed, curling up in the covers and trying to fall back to sleep. But the bed was cold without someone beside him, the faint sounds of Daryl's neighbours getting up to start the day irritating when he was this tired. He sighed and sat up again, pushing a hand through his hair with a sniff. The apartment was so quiet, the drumming of the rain the only sound; he swallowed hard and glanced around, feeling suddenly, achingly alone.
…Okay. Well. Gotta get on with the day, I guess.
He didn't technically need to start work until nine, having made huge progress yesterday with his latest lead. Norman yawned and slipped out of bed again, messing with the thermostat for a few moments until the apartment was a more reasonable temperature, before padding into the kitchen. Daryl's leftovers turned out to be a quarter-full carton of OJ and something unidentifiable in a Chinese take-out container. Norman had a half-hearted look through the cupboards, but his boyfriend's kitchen was mostly for show; he hadn't seen the other man actually cook anything once in the time they'd known each other.
Eh. Better than nothin' I guess.
He nuked the food in the microwave, standing around on the chilly tiles and wondering what to do with himself while he waited. Daryl's apartment always felt strangely lifeless when the other man was absent, although it was still an improvement over his own place. Norman padded around, trying to find something to occupy himself with, but Daryl's books on Law and International Politics couldn't hold his interest, there was nothing on television this early in the morning, and after he'd returned a few stray items of clothing to the hamper in the bathroom, there was nothing needing doing.
The microwave pinged and he padded back over, grabbing the carton of OJ and dumping the mystery food onto a plate before heading back over to the bed to eat. The food tasted stale, and he still had no idea what it was, but it was warm; he swallowed the last of it and set the plate to one side, leaning back against the headboard as he drained the last of the juice. Rain was running sluggishly down the window outside, the city beyond still obscured by the downpour. He watched the droplets race down towards the sill and disappear, merging into one another before the water slewed off into the gutter below.
Christ. What'm I doin' with my life?
Norman sniffed again, rubbing at his nose, and fiddled with the blanket covering his legs, glancing around the silent apartment. Starting work necessitated a shower, but he really didn't want to move, something heavy and black uncurling in his chest, making even the idea of movement painful. He thought of Daryl, how close the other man had been when he was fixing the other's tie; how good it would've felt just to lean forward and have his boyfriend wrap his arms around him. Norman sighed and rubbed a hand across his eyes, forcing himself back to his feet to stop himself from thinking.
Several minutes later, and he was showered and dressed as smartly as possible given he hadn't brought a chance of clothes with him. That was one advantage, if you could call it an advantage, of not having to physically attend the office while using ARI: no need to look professional on days when he really couldn't hack it. Norman replaced his clean plate and fork in Daryl's cupboard, dropping the OJ carton in the trash, before padding over to the sofa, sitting down with a sigh and retrieving ARI from his jacket beside him. His hands had started to tremble in the shower, but it had gotten worse inside just a few minutes, a wash of nausea going through him as pain shot from his fingers to his wrists like static shock. Norman huffed a breath and dug in his jeans pocket for the Tripto, tried not to think about the immensity of the relief that washed through him as he snorted up, setting the vial on the table in easy reach before slipping ARI on.
Norman blinked himself out of the memory, rubbing a hand across his eyes, and shifted onto his side on the mattress. Ethan was fast asleep beside him, snoring quietly; a glance at the clock told him it was just leaving 2am. He should've been asleep hours ago, if his damn brain would just shut off — he huffed irkedly and shifted onto his back again, squeezing his eyes shut. The house was dark and silent around him, somehow magnifying his sleeplessness; Norman shifted restlessly again, grimacing, trying to keep his mind from straying off into more less-than-pleasant memories.
His boyfriend was lovely and warm beside him, the other's steady presence and familiar, musky smell incredibly reassuring. Norman hesitated for a moment, before shifting over, slipping his arms around the other man and curling up around him. The relief was immediate, all the stress and tension and fear draining out of him at his lover's warmth, Ethan's comforting smell in his nostrils. He buried his face in the other's neck with a relieved sound, his boyfriend shifting slightly in his arms at the movement.
"Mmmn. You okay?" He nodded, hugging the other tighter as Ethan squeezed his arm, thumb rubbing soothing circles into his skin.
"Can't sleep."
"Mmn." The other man shifted onto his back, slipping his arms easily around Norman to pull him close. He melted into it with a sigh of relief, nuzzling his face into his lover's neck and revelling in the feeling of safety, of care blanketing him as the last of the tension left his muscles. They stayed there for several long moments, Ethan rubbing soothingly at his back where Norman held onto him, one hand clasping the other's shoulder to anchor them together.
"…Nightmare?" His boyfriend's voice was a sleepy rumble in his chest, the other pressing a whiskery kiss to his temple.
"Kinda." He swallowed thickly, tightening his own embrace. "Jus'…I'm really glad I met you, Mars." The other man hummed in acknowledgement, squeezing him slightly tighter and pressing a kiss to his hair.
"I'm glad I met you, too. D'you need to talk about anything, or…"
"S'okay. Can wait until tomorrow."
"Okay." His lover stifled a yawn, cheek nuzzling Norman's hair where they settled back down together. "Wake me up if you need me, okay?"
"M'kay. You too."
"Okay. Sleep well, Norm."
"G'night, Ethan."
A/N: Title comes from the awesome Arrows to Athens song "Casual" which, along with another of their songs, "Crime", provided a good 60% of the inspiration and atmosphere for this fic. Highly recommend giving 'em a listen if you want.