Fitful

The couch was a little too small for Meyer. His height had always been a problem growing up; his parents had to buy him a full size mattress when he was barely in the double-digits. Tonight it was especially irksome, being that apparently six foot six was long enough that his legs stuck out over the arms and his arms never quite found purchase by the side of his body, never mind the ears.

Arnaud had helpfully provided him with a spare comforter. It smelled a little like old books, pencil shavings, the musty smell of a hall closet, and that fragrance soap companies insist on calling "mountain breeze" when there's no way that's what a mountain breeze could smell like. The pillow, in a case with simple drawings of flat colored dinosaurs, had been sourced from Arnaud's own bed to augment the couch's bolsters. Meyer recalled the light apricot scent of the aardwolf's fur as he started counting ceiling popcorn in an attempt to slow his heart rate a little.

He stirred. He turned on the TV to the only station he remembered from his childhood, WPFA 14. Looked like they were currently playing some old reruns of a show Meyer's mother used to watch all the time where a really quiet man would paint a portrait with you. He remembered how she'd get all set up in the solarium with her paints and her easel around noon, and the show would come on, and she'd find her happy place. It was the only time she ever seemed like she wasn't constantly in motion.

The memory of his parents made him uncomfortable but the dulcet tones of the painter were too relaxing to ignore. He started to drift as he droned on about how to use a painter's knife to paint a mountain.

After a few moments, he finally settled. The anxiety of being home and the exhaustion of the long train journey tripped a circuit breaker that finally caused Meyer to shut his brain off and pass out.

Arnaud, meanwhile, couldn't sleep at all. Eating pizza that late at night was always a gamble, he knew, and tonight he was losing. Tossing and turning to try and find the right position gave him plenty of time to interrogate himself, however, and his thoughts turned from fall asleep, fall asleep, maybe i should take some bismuth, fall asleep to god what if he hates me what if this is embarrassing for him what if he doesn't adapt what if i'm still nursing a crush what if this is all a mistake what if he moves away again unexpectedly what if his parents take him back

His heart started racing and he couldn't tell if it was from the food or the rapidly piled up list of small terrors he'd conjured for himself. Maybe tonight we cheat at sleep, he thought. Rolling towards the nightstand, he slid open its little drawer and started rooting around for a small bottle of melatonin he just knew was stashed in there. Finding no purchase and now frustrated, he turned the lamp on and stuck his head over the bedside to take a look.

Nothing. Just the regular detritus: dice, some pamphlets, a lip balm, an empty anti-anxiety prescription bottle.

"Dammit," he grumbled. He decided to try and break his losing streak: darting across the hall in the nude to check the bathroom medicine cabinet and hoping that Meyer was sound asleep. He nudged his bedroom door open a crack and heard a soft snuffling from the living room over the top of some public broadcasting show the hare'd put on to fall asleep. Arnaud caught a glimpse of a paintbrush and easel but didn't stop long enough to focus on it as he slid into the hallway restroom and closed the door behind himself with a quiet snik.

Objective complete, he mused. He flipped on the light and began methodically combing through his medicine cabinet looking for the melatonin gummies he was sure he'd purchased. He rifled past some old cremes and a bottle of painkillers he'd saved after his last dental exam, pushed past a jar of pomade, shuffled around his meds...nothing.

He checked the drawer next to the sink. Combs, brushes, hair ties of all colors, an electric trimmer...still nothing. Damn! he thought. Where on earth did I leave--

The grocery bags, in the kitchen. He hadn't unloaded anything that wasn't cold. He had dashed out of the house to pick up Meyer earlier and completely spaced.

Shit, he frowned. He couldn't make himself go out there. What if he's awake what if he sees what if he laughs what if he says something

No. No cheating tonight. He opened the medicine cabinet again and palmed the bismuth, shaking the pink liquid violently a couple of times before tearing the cap off and taking a more-than-as-directed swig off the bottle. This'll have to do, I hope, he thought, setting it back in its place and flipping the light off.

Arnaud opened the door and heard one of the loudest snores he'd ever heard in his life coming from down the hallway. He didn't even bother trying to hide this time, just slunk back across the hallway, into his bedroom, and back into his queen-sized bed.

He pulled the covers back over himself and felt the pink stuff coating his insides, calming the raging inferno in his stomach. He mumbled something to the smart speaker in his room to play some ocean noises and it responded with the sounds of roaring waves lapping on the shore. Arnaud was able to find the cool side of his pillow.

Within moments, he was -- thankfully -- asleep.

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