Antoine Radson stared at the ceiling, dimly lit from the small LED of the powerstrip by the television. Next to him his housemate, Preston, was fast asleep, lying on his side with his hands tucked under his head. His back was towards Antoine.

Antoine muttered a profanity and put his hands over his face. Three AM was the devil's hour to be sure; a time between midnight and morning where every little thing that worried him seemed thrown into stark relief. He glanced at Preston, a shadow against the darker shadow if the room. Antoine found himself envying Preston's ability to fall, and stay asleep. True, it might've been a product of the Xanax he took in the evening, Antoine reasoned, but still. Some sleep. Drug-induced or not would be nice.

Lately, Antoine hadn't been able to calm his mind. It seemed like there were too many thoughts. During the day, at work, he could keep himself distracted. At night, if he stayed asleep he was fine.

But if he woke up during the night, especially around three AM, he knew the odds of a restful sleep were slim to none.

Antoine rolled on his side. You're lucky, Preppy, he thought as he tried to find a comfortable position to put his arms. You can sleep through the night.

Out of all the things that weighed on Antoine's mind, one stood out above all the rest: the fear of losing Preston's companionship. Antoine knew how he felt for his housemate: he loved the man. It was as simple (and as complicated) as that. He found himself thinking of all the times he hadn't measured up. He willed his three AM brain to be silent. Where do I even stand? Antoine wondered.

He was more familiar with Preston than he'd ever been with anyone before. From the sound of Preston's voice to the colour in his eyes, to his very scent! Antoine knew the little details of Preston's nature, his quirks that made him both endearing and perplexing. Preston and his feelings. He had a level of emotional complexity it seemed, something Antoine figured he'd never completely decode.

One thing though, Antoine knew for sure. Preston wasn't like him. Preston couldn't be content to simply sleep next to someone every night. Preston was a physical creature, normal! And he, Antoine? Well, normal wasn't one of the top adjectives Antoine would chose to describe himself with.

Antoine reached out and traced a finger along Preston's shoulder; still thin, but not as boney as it once was. The man was finally starting to put some meat on his frame. Not much, but every ounce was a step forward. He'd lost too much weight, Antoine thought. He'd gone from slender to thin, to downright gaunt after The Incident. It was good to see him filling out.

Unlike Antoine, who slept topless and wore a pair of cotton pajama pants, Preston slept in his briefs and a tee shirt. Antoine afforded himself a half chuckle as he drew a line down Preston's side. It was like yin and yang, their dynamic. Right down to how they chose layers to sleep in. Preston's top covered, Antoine's legs. If you mixed things up you'd have a naked guy and a prude, Antoine chuckled.

Actually, wasn't that how things had started out? Before Preston moved in, Antoine often slept in the nude. Preston had initially covered himself head to toe in flannel sleepwear.

Eh, that's compromise for you, Antoine decided. One never really knew it was happening until one day one realized it already had.

He put his palm flat on Preston's waist, feeling the jut of Preston's hip-bones too prominent for his liking. Better, yes, but still a bit thin. Antoine tried to shut the narrative in his mind and tried to meditate on the sensation of Preston's body. Here a curve, there a dip. Muscle, bones, soft skin...

He pushed himself up into a half-sitting position and ran a hand down Preston's leg, feeling the soft hair of along Preston's calves. Preston wasn't a particularly "furry" man. Not "fur-less" (that would be weird), but the hair along his limbs and chest was like down compared to Antoine's blond pelt.

I'm probably Nordic heritage, Antoine had explained to Preston once with a shrug. Doesn't show much, but excellent insulation for winter. That, and this, he added, patting his stomach approvingly. Oh and strong! I'm a beast, look! he flexed his arms, hoping Preston noticed. Preston had merely rolled his eyes, but it was enough reward for Antoine.

Antoine regarded the sleeping form thoughtfully. Could he ever be closer than this – physically – than were they were right now? Antoine wasn't sure. He'd never really felt a desire for anything with anyone. Sure, he'd gone on a date with women here and there, held hands, kissed… but it didn't do anything for him. Not in that way, anyhow. Antoine didn't feel any urge to do anything with a woman, or a man for that matter.

Therein lay the crux of the matter. Preston was a physical, sexual being… and he, Antoine, was not.

Leave it to me to fall for someone with a libdo, Antoine thought, giving a snort at the irony of his statement.

"Eh, dammit," he muttered. He sat up and tapped Preston in the shoulder. "Hey."

Preston stretched, but didn't open his eyes.

Antoine gave him a less gentle shove. "Wake up, Preppy, I gotta tell you something."

Preston groaned, and raised his head slightly, glancing back at Antoine. "Nnngh, what?" he asked thickly.

"That time in Florida, at my place by the beach, that night… the one where you thought I'd drank too much wine but I hadn't? Yeah, well, I figured I should tell you. That's the furthest I've ever gone with anybody; with you. So, something to keep in the back of your mind, okay? Well, g'night Prep."

Without waiting for a reply, Antoine settled back down and rolled over so his back was against Preston's. He curled his arms around a spare pillow, and closed his eyes.

Preston Tucci woke up slightly before his alarm was scheduled to go off. He yawned, stretched, and reached for his glasses on the nightstand. He glanced over at Antoine on the bed next to him. His blue-haired housemate was lying spread-eagled on his back.

Something tickled Preston's memory. He wasn't sure if it was a dream or not: Antoine confessing their brief encounter was the most intimate experience he'd every shared? It felt real, didn't have that strange "shimmery" quality to it that most dream-memories had.

Preston stared at Antoine, sprawled out like a starfish; taking up at least half the bed.

Did you really tell me that? I'm the closest thing to a first you've ever had?

Preston bit his lip, resisted the urge to wake Antoine and ask if that happened. He disabled the alarm on his phone, and swung his long legs over the side of the bed. It was a question he wasn't going to ask. After all, which would be the more terrifying answer? Antoine stating that it had all just been Preston's dream… or Antoine confessing that yes, it was all true.

Preston knew he wasn't ready for the weight of either truth.

He quietly grabbed his clothes, and tip-toed off to the shower. Sometimes, not-knowing was the best choice.