Stephen Cornfoot (supstephen) wrote in plagued_logs, @ 2015-09-20 22:32:00 |
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Entry tags: | michael corner, stephen cornfoot |
Who: Stephen Cornfoot and Michael Corner
What: Someone's been sleeping in my bed
Where: Ravenclaw Tower, 8th year boys room
When: Sunday 20th, around midday?
Rating: Low? Mid?
Started but incomplete
Stephen was curled up in the middle of Michael's bed, the sheets torn from the edges of the mattress and crumpled up around him. His sleeplessness had caught up with him once again, and he'd crashed out around about midday, barely managing to strip down to his boxers before he'd had to just give in to the exhaustion.
The nightmares hadn't started straight away, and for an hour or two Stephen had managed to sleep peacefully before his subconscious caught up and started trying to process it's way through his fears and anxieties. He curled tighter, squeezing his eyes shut hard as he slumbered, mumbling restlessly against the monsters of his mind, growing steadily more distressed but too tired to wake himself.
Carrow and his father were beginning to merge into the same person in his nightmares, and there was no escaping them. His arms were strung above his head, something horrible was going to happen and he didn't know what it was. Everything was confused and terrifying.
"No please-" he whimpered into his pillow, clutching the quilt.
Michael had wanted to go straight up to his dorm once he was released from the hospital wing. He wanted to change his clothes, put on his own underwear, all the good things. Good things. Maybe even lay in his own damn bed, because seriously, he'd missed that.
So he was perplexed to say the least to come across someone already in his bed. For a few moments Michal had no idea what was happening. Had they given his bed away? Was that not his bed? Had he been kicked out of school? Okay, that was hilariously irrational.
Then he realised it was Stephen. Stephen was sleeping in his bed. Which was strange because, well, there were enough beds for all of them here, and each of them had claimed the bed they'd slept in the year before when they'd returned. Michael's things had been scattered on his duvet the morning he'd left to go to the hospital wing.
Why Stephen? Why was Stephen there? Of all the people. He'd come to Michael, he'd risked his health, he'd kissed him like he'd wanted it. And he'd promised he'd come back. He hadn't. Michael was a mess of feelings, and that had only worsened now.
He debated waking Stephen up, but then the murmuring, the whimpering had started. He was having a bad dream, and Michael wasn't completely heartless. Everyone else was out, clearly, so it would be fine if he just-
Michael stepped up to his bed and awkwardly climbed onto the bed behind Stephen, tucking himself in behind him.
"Steve?" he whispered, gently wrapping his arm around him. "Steve, it's Mikey. I'm here. You're okay."
Arms around him! Stephen awoke with a jolt of terror and struggled for a moment before his senses caught up with his brain and he realised he wasn't being dragged out of bed my Carrow. Panting he looked over his shoulder and into the eyes of the person he'd been least expecting to see.
"Michael?"
The confusion was written plainly across his face and he wasn't sure what to do with himself. What was Michael doing there? How had he gotten out of the hospital wing without anyone noticing? Why was he in the bed? He relaxed slightly, though clearly still wary, and rolled over onto his back. Stephen was still exhausted, still befuddled from lack of sleep and he couldn't help but reach up and gently touch Michael's jaw, as if checking it was really him, "What're you doing? Shouldn't you be in the hospital?"
"It's fine, it's fine Stephen. Don't worry. They let us all out. Well, me, Dean, and Kev. Since other people are coming down with it and we're not- we're clearly not infectious anymore," he shrugged as well as he could laying down with his arm around Steve. There wasn't enough room for him to not have his arm around Stephen still, even with him laying on his back, so now they were cuddling even more.
He closed his eyes as Stephen's fingers traced his jaw, he liked it and loathed it at the same time. He didn't want to feel anything for Stephen. He didn't want to like it, and he didn't want to want to lay here with Stephen.
"Go back to sleep. I"ll stay here, keep watch, keep you safe," he whispered.
Stephen's eyes drooped for a moment, and he almost took Michael's advice. The warm embrace of sleep was so welcoming and he teetered on the edge before he managed to pull himself back and forced his tired eyes open once again.
"No," He murmured, "No, I don't want to sleep, I want to talk to you."
In his mind he'd gone over the conversation a thousand times. He knew what he wanted to say, all the apologies he wanted to make for failing to follow through on his promise, and leaving Michael without a single word after visiting him in the night. He'd thought about explaining everything from the beginning; what his father had done, how afraid he had been not just for himself but potentially for Michael as well.
There were so many variations on that speech, but confronted with Michael inches away from his face, Stephen's mind had gone blank and he didn't know what to say. Running on fumes, Stephen simply didn't have the control or willpower to stop himself blurting out his feelings before he could explain them.
"Michael," He whispered, "I love you."