Edgar really didn't understand why Jake liked this show so much. He thought the characters were dull, the plot was cliche, and the acting was a little melodramatic. Jake though apparently really enjoyed it, and Edgar found it hard to say whether or not it was because he genuinely liked it or he was appreciating it on some kind of ironic level.

It didn't really matter, as long as Jake was here.

It was getting late and this episode was actually a rerun. Jake had tried to explain the previous episodes and the overarching plot to Edgar, but Edgar didn't understand and maybe there was some conscious decision involved in that. Jake seemed pleased enough that Edgar was there as well and was at least giving the pretense of listening, and really that was all that counted.

Single digits. Edgar was tired. Scriabin was also tired, and was in a rare, pleasant mood. As far as Scriabin could be considered pleasant...he regularly mocked the characters on the show or added his own dialogue which Edgar tried to ignore, except when his laughter would match with Jake's.

Scriabin had directed no hateful comments towards Edgar at all, and that was so rare, so comforting, that Edgar felt surprisingly at peace, considering the circumstances. So relieved just because his mental voice had finally found some other target...

Something like that. It was late and he was tired.

Jake and Edgar sat beside each other, Jake's arm resting behind Edgar on the back of the couch, although not entirely around his shoulders. He was still close enough so that Edgar was constantly aware that he was there, and every now and again Edgar expected him to get up and leave, or...

A very dark part of him that he wanted to ignore whenever it spoke up, that he wanted to muffle and destroy for its mental images, but occasionally the ugly thought would flit across his mind that he expected Jake to turn on him, knock him to the ground, and hold a knife to his throat, as Johnny had done countless times.

Conditioned after so few trials...Edgar wanted to believe he was better than that. The thoughts were so ludicrous, unfounded and hurtful and indication of such a sad and unwarranted lack of trust that Edgar felt ashamed of having them at all, and everytime they surfaced, he found that he was rubbing the back of his hands again.

Hey, hey, you see the guy? Scriabin's voice was lazy and slurred.

Which one?

That one, right there in the red. The guy in question was currently in a hospital. He's dumb. And ugly. Apparently Scriabin was very tired.

Cut that out.

Hee hee. Scriabin seemed childishly pleased with his relative immaturity, and Edgar sighed and rolled his eyes, but with a slight smile. This was harmless, compared to some of the moods that Scriabin got into. Preferable, even.

Go to bed.

Nnnno.

A commercial came on and Jake hummed along with the music that played. Edgar remembered that Johnny once did something very similar to that, and the top of his wrist began to itch. He scratched at it while he stared at the television blankly, trying to focus on anything other than what his hands were doing and Jake's soft humming.

There, Jake stopped. That was good, that brought to mind the ugly spectre of Jake's eventual, inevitable meeting with Johnny and God did Edgar not want to think about that. If only these two spheres of his life could never meet, but he had a feeling that things would never work out that smoothly. He kept scratching and he did not want to picture what would happen in his head, he tried not to.

Scriabin made a vaguely displeased noise, but Edgar wasn't sure what it was directed at. His skin was heating up beneath his fingers and he watched an animated creature caper across the screen and wished he cared.

All at once he felt a weight settle on his shoulders, warmth across the back of his neck. He jumped, instinctively, and realized that Jake had finally let his arm fall across his shoulders.

No...he was still moving. There, a sudden warm touch to his wrist, and Jake pulled his hands away from each other. Edgar stared first at the hand he had been scratching to see white lines across bright red, irritated skin, the flecks of loose skin caught as his nails began to dig through the first layer.

Then he stared at Jake, who looked at him with a genuine, caring expression that Edgar wasn't used to.

"You don't have to do that, Edgar." His voice was soft, openly affectionate and Edgar still didn't know how to react to people being honest with him, and he looked down at the floor and felt his face warming. God, how embarrassing was this, he never thought that anyone saw him do that, he didn't think anyone ever noticed and God, what an annoying little habit, ugh, his grandmother had told him to stop scratching up his hands when he was younger and he still couldn't stop, and he had no reason to be doing it, it just happened and

Jake pulled him a bit closer with the arm around his shoulders, and Edgar leaned against him hesitantly. So much fear with every other interaction with human beings until now, and he was still unused to the idea that touching someone didn't promise death in some way, in the future or at that moment. Decisions not constantly being a matter of life and death. Jake shifted his grip on Edgar's wrist to his hand and twined their fingers together, and the warmth of his grasp helped him forget the burning on the back of his hand.

"C'mon, it's okay. You can relax."

"Mmm..." Edgar yawned, blinked and tried to focus on something other than what Jake was doing. He couldn't remember the last time someone had held his hand like this and he didn't have to analyze exactly why it was being done, what it could mean, what he should do afterwards, whether this would be it and he'd have to fend off that inevitable knife in his throat...

Jake laughed softly. "You look kind of tired. If you want to nap, that's okay. You don't have to get nervous about it, it's cool with me."

Nap? It was one in the morning...maybe Jake just ran on a different internal schedule than Edgar did.

"It's not that, it's just...I don't know, I guess I'm just tense..." Edgar had no idea how he was going to tell Jake about the fact that he was still seeing Johnny and was still, technically, in a pseudo-relationship with him. Jake had made his dislike of Johnny increasingly clear as he learned more about Edgar's relationship with him, and while there was some part of him that appreciated what that dislike meant, it made things very awkward. He hadn't even told Johnny that Jake existed at all... "I don't know."

"You're always tense, man." Jake sighed softly, although he still sounded vaguely amused. "I know why and all, but you know. It makes me worry about you."

Edgar had no idea how to respond to that verbally, so he just made a general sound that indicated that he heard what Jake said and kept his eyes trained to the carpet.

Scriabin made a soft, almost plaintive kind of sigh. He's worried about me...

Maybe it was Scriabin's exhaustion that warranted the misuse of the pronoun, but Edgar couldn't fault him for it. He knew that Scriabin maybe felt even more strongly than Edgar did about Jake, and Jake always put him in such a pleasant, open mood. It got Scriabin's attention off Edgar for a while, and personally Edgar thought that was healthy for both of them. Scriabin usually was not so blatant about his co-opting of Jake's actions and words, but Edgar knew that he did that often regardless of whether he made it so obvious. He was learning how to read Scriabin's emotions along with his own with more skill, especially now that Scriabin made no effort to hide his feelings for Jake whatsoever.

The skin around his scars started to itch...he hated that, he knew that if he tried to scratch it away, it would only intensify and before he knew it, he'd end up scratching right through and getting blood on his fingers again. Edgar shifted his weight so he wasn't leaning on Jake so heavily, and he heard Jake make a soft questioning sound.

"C'mon." Edgar looked back at him, and Jake kept his hand entertwined with Edgar's. He smiled at him. "You can sleep on me if you want to. I know you want to."

Edgar did want to. Considering that Jake did not seem like the most intellectual person, Edgar was consistently surprised by how perceptive he was regarding what Edgar wanted or felt. He didn't understand how Jake could understand other people so well...it was a skill foreign to him, one that he didn't think he'd ever understand the same way.

"No, it's okay." Edgar stumbled for words for a few seconds, tugged his hand lightly in Jake's grip but Jake did not let it go. "You don't have to do that."

"Have you ever slept on someone before?" Jake just kept smiling at him, encouraging.

Edgar shook his head.

"It can be the safest feeling ever." Jake struggled for a few minutes to try and find a better way to phrase it. "I mean, it can be hard to find a time or place where you feel more safe. I know you don't feel safe very often, man. From what you've told me..."

Edgar kept his eyes down. "I just, I don't want-, you don't have to. I don't want to make you uncomfortable. I mean, there's no reason that you should, the couch is right here, I can just sleep on that."

Edgar tried not to think of when Johnny had fallen asleep on him and the horrible, paralyzing fear that kept him awake for most of that night. Imagining every possible death that awaited him, struggling to ignore the hideous numbness in his arm, the constant and debilitating fear. That night had been one of the most unpleasant that Edgar had ever experienced, and it also happened to be one of the only nights that had such consistent, physical contact with another human being. So much fear, so much fear and horror and anxiety and...and that was different, this was different, this was totally different and...

"You're so nervous and tense." Jake had a faint sad tinge to his voice, but it wasn't an accusation. "It'd be good for you, man, I know it. Do you think I would've asked if I didn't want you to?"

"Well, I-, I mean, what would you get out of it?" Edgar was tired and that warmth that Jake exuded was making him drowsy. He had no idea why Jake was so warm all the time. "I don't want-, if there's nothing you get out of it, then I don't want to be selfish or anything..."

Jake smiled at him, almost smirked in a way, and he pulled Edgar close to him quickly. Edgar made a short startled sound as he ended up mostly on Jake's lap and his head settled on Jake's shoulder, and before he could move away, Jake curled his arms around him.

"I don't have to 'get anything' out of it, I just like being with you," Jake said softly, and Edgar shivered a little. Scriabin, in his mind, just made a wordless pleased sound, apparently too tired to contribute any kind of coherent statement. He heard Jake laugh a little, then squeeze his shoulder. "That's kind of girly though. I like how your body feels against mine, how about that?"

Edgar felt his face grow hot and he heard Jake laugh, apparently sensing his response.

"But nah, don't worry about it. It's fine. You just need to relax a little. Let everything go, you know?"

"I guess..." Scriabin made a vague kind of questioning noise in his mind.

I'm tired, Scriabin.

Not even a little?

I'm tired, maybe later.

But it'd feel so good-

Later, Scriabin. He put a scolding, parental tone in his voice and Scriabin was just tired enough to forget who exactly he was dealing with. He made an unhappy, pouting noise but didn't press any further.

He felt Jake's heartbeat softly along with his own, mismatched and Jake's arms thick around his body, holding him in place. Such prolonged contact and he let his eyes close for just a minute. He was going to tell Jake that this wasn't necessary and that he'd sleep in his room in just a minute, but he did want to enjoy this for those few seconds. It did feel nice, just to know that Jake was there, and he felt so different from Johnny, everything about him felt so different, so strange and so....

So secure.

He opened his eyes for a few seconds, saw Jake still there, breathing softly, the light of the television. He noticed that Jake had lowered the volume...he listened to his breathing, tried to match it himself.

Scriabin yawned in his mind, his words slow and jumbled together. Edgar...y'should go to bed...

"Hmmmm..." He sighed, stretched and felt Jake shift to adjust his weight, lean back a little. Edgar's hand was free...he didn't notice that. He let it fall into his lap, loose and he was going to get up and go to bed in just a minute. He was going to go to bed now. His body did not agree and was perfectly content to stay where it was.

His eyes opened for a brief instant when he felt something touch his forehead. Fingertips...Jake was brushing the hair from his eyes.

Scriabin made a tired, incoherent noise, then with all the conviction as if he was speaking out loud, said, I love you, Jake.

Edgar blinked at the admission, blinked but he was too tired to form more of a response, just let his eyes close and Jake ran a hand through his hair. Jake knew that Edgar liked that, he noticed and now every now and again, he'd do it and it was one of those small gestures that felt so personal, so small but so important because it could have been so easy to ignore.

Huh?

Scriabin ignored him. Love you... His words were almost unintelligible. Love...hmm...

Edgar didn't know why he smiled. You're so out of it.

Shut up. Scriabin made another sulking sound, annoyed maybe just at Edgar keeping him awake for a few more seconds. Go t'sleep.

He had a feeling that this was more important, that this was something very important that he and Scriabin should discuss at length immediately, but he was just so tired, and Jake felt so warm and solid.

He let his eyes close again, focused on the gentle touch of fingers across his scalp, sighed again.

He wasn't sure how much time went by before he woke up.

The first thing he knew when he drowsily came back to awareness was that there was an arm beneath his shoulders and another beneath his knees, and he was being hitched up as smoothly as possible, which was not very. His head still rested against Jake's chest, he could hear his heartbeat, and he opened his eyes a little to see what was going on.

Jake was carrying him.

"Muh." Edgar fully intended that to be some kind of question or sentence, but somehow it didn't quite work out that way. Jake hissed softly when he heard this, and though Edgar couldn't see his face, he imagined him wincing slightly.

"Ah, you're not awake, are you?" Jake whispered. Edgar closed his eyes again.

"Mmm." Another sentence that didn't quite make it into coherent form.

"I didn't mean to wake you up, I just wanted to get you to bed." Jake hitched Edgar up again, enough of a motion to wake Edgar up just slightly once again, and there, Jake was walking. A little awkwardly, considering, but Jake was stronger than he was and it wasn't like Edgar ate much.

Some part of Edgar really liked how this felt, and he wasn't sure what part it was. He guessed that maybe it was Scriabin, but when he listened all he heard were soft snuffling noises that indicated that Scriabin was still sleeping, or whatever the equivalent of sleeping was for him. He got the impression that Scriabin was either curled up in a ball somewhere or being carried by his own mental dream of Jake. Wow this was already too complicated for him, he was too tired for this.

But God he liked this. He liked Jake carrying him. Something about it felt familiar and old and it was something that he missed from a time he couldn't easily remember. His grandmother never carried him, she couldn't, no one else ever could...was that it? Did he just want to be carried for once instead of carrying others? That sounded about right...

It felt so old though, it felt older than that. He liked it back then and then...it had been so long, and now...uuf, thoughts were blending and blurring together.

He kept his eyes closed, let one hand hold on to Jake's shirt. He felt him nudge the door open to what Edgar assumed was his room, walk across the carpet. He moved smoothly and confidently...Edgar really must not have weighed much at all. Or maybe Jake really did work out like Scriabin said.

Muh, Scriabin said when he heard his name, a reaction most likely instinctual and unintentional, and afterwards he was silent. Back to sleep, maybe.

Jake set him down on his bed, and Edgar opened his eyes to look at him. The only light was from the window outside and Jake looked pleased, a little out of breath maybe but mostly pleased.

Edgar realized he was holding on to Jake's shirt and let it go, reluctantly. He stared at Jake with some kind of expression, though he wasn't sure what it was.

Scriabin let out a long sigh, like someone stretching, in his mind. He felt the shift of weight on his bed, the rustle of fabric as Jake discarded his shirt, the soft sound of metal against wood as Jake removed some of his piercings.

He couldn't remember if he asked Jake to stay over tonight. It didn't matter really. Jake settled beside him, let an arm fall over him and Edgar turned to face him, let his arm match. Loosely entwined, and Edgar sighed in much the same way Scriabin had just a little earlier.

Love you...

There was a good chance he didn't know what that meant, that he didn't know what he meant when he said it, and that he didn't mean whatever it may have really meant, but it felt good to say it.

It felt good to say it.

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