Betaed by Eliza and Rune. Title taken from the Margaret Atwood poem, "Variations on the Word 'Sleep.'"

Kubota sleeps on the couch while Tokito is healing, but leaves the bedroom door open. So he hears it the first time Tokito has a nightmare, hears the thrashing and moaning and hoarsely shouted, "No!"

Kubota rushes into the bedroom. At his touch, Tokito calms, but doesn't wake. He pants softly, turns his face into Kubota's hand and Kubota feels the wetness of tears on his cheek.

That's not right. His pretty stray shouldn't cry.

"Tokito," he murmurs and long lashes flutter. He says it again, just as soft. "Tokito."

Tokito draws in a shuddering breath, opens his eyes. He stares for a moment, whispers, "Kubo-chan."

It's not the first time someone's called him that; it's the first time he's liked it. Tokito reaches up, presses his hand over Kubota's own, tugs. "Lie down."

Kubota does.

Tokito uses his chest for a pillow once he's settled; his hands move automatically to stroke through Tokito's hair, down his back. Tokito makes a pleased sound and presses closer. He's too warm, probably from fever, but Kubota doesn't mind. He tends to run a little cold.

"You shouldn't sleep on the couch," Tokito says. Kubota thinks cold won't be a problem anymore.

"Okay."

~END~