Strange Times

It only took Aya five minutes or so to fall asleep, the faint sound of Schuldich’s whining snore almost soothing in that it meant the man was asleep, and like to stay out of trouble for at least long enough for Aya to catch a bit of rest. Mothers could let their children out, the neighborhood bars were safe- Schuldich was unconscious. Aya had stayed awake long enough to set his alarm, to crawl out of his clothes, and then was asleep as soon as his head had settled onto the usual spot on his lumpy pillow.



Somewhere in the middle of one of those dreams about being naked in front of people who were more than likely going to be either dreadfully appalled or laughing themselves silly, Aya was startled awake.



It took him an hour to get over the fact he was not alone in the bed. After the initial impulse to maim or kill whatever had managed to sneak up on him faded in a breath of cinnamon, Aya settled on the usual distressed discomfort Schuldich’s presence usually inspired.



It took Aya another two hours or so to get used to the fact Schuldich was like some sort of heat seeking weapon while asleep. No matter how far away Aya tried to wriggle, exiling himself to the furthest reaches of his own mattress, Schuldich followed, usually with a sleepy sort of murmur of displeasure. Coming out of anyone else, it might have been endearing, might have provoked some sort of amused affection. Something that adorable slipping out of Schuldich was just damn creepy, at least in Aya’s opinion.



Aya spent the next hour or so trying to remind himself this was Mastermind, the bastard that got off on rewiring heads, on putting on arrogant airs, and who’s idea of a temper tantrum involved creative torture and messy murder. It was damn hard to equate the sleeping man with the cold assassin. Schuldich was lacking his sneer, having replaced it with a sort of crooked frown that only smoothed away when he was in contact with as much of Aya as possible. His hair was mussed. He looked…normal.



Aya sighed, frowning as Schuldich seemed to catch his unease. The telepath took up grinding his teeth in his sleep as Aya tried to work his way through the infuriating juxtaposition that was Schuldich.



“You are supposed to be on the couch.” Safety in the mundane.



‘...’s lumpy…’



There really was only one option, then. Aya tried to untangle himself from the telepath and blankets, intent on relocating himself to the couch, desperate for at least some sleep before the sun finished with its threat of rising.



‘...stay…’



It was hard sometimes for Aya to accept the desperation that ghosted through Schuldich’s telepathy. So much more noticeable when the telepath wasn’t awake enough to hide it, it was an emotion neither man was comfortable enough with to address. It would be so much easier for Aya to pretend he didn’t feel it, to kick the telepath out and on his way. It would be so easy to retreat into Abyssinians cold sensibility and treat the situation with the mission callousness it deserved.



“I should have let you drown.” Aya huffed, huddling back into his misshapen mattress in defeat.



Drowning was still an option. For both of them.





____________________________-





“Have I mentioned I hate morning people?” Schuldich cast a mournful glance over at Aya.



“Today? Three times.”



“Huh, and it’s before noon. I am behind.”



“Don’t strain yourself.”



Aya’s humor was acidic as the overly strong brew Schuldich insisted passed as coffee, and it made Schuldich grin. Smell of dark coffee? Check. Rustling of a newspaper? Check. Witty banter? Check. All that was missing was the clatter of a keyboard and a bit of misplaced unhinged commentary from the corner. It was as close to home as he could hope for, all things considered. Hell, Aya was even as stoically infuriated as Crawford. Schuldich rolled his telepathy through the familiar emotions like a cat in a patch of catnip, the same silly smile of feline inebriation decorating his face.



“You look to happy for me to be at all comfortable.” Aya muttered, retreating behind the sports section.



‘You don’t care who won the game last night. Hell, do you even know what all those numbers mean?’



“Schuldich…”



‘Oh grand. Look at how the…’



“Use your voice, you bastard, or leave me alone.”



“That is my voice.”



Aya resisted the urge to pinch the bridge of his nose, knowing somehow that would only increase Schuldich’s unholy glee. “It’s too early for this.”



“It’s almost noon.” Schuldich supplied helpfully.



Aya’s response, while not verbal, was definitely meant to be offensive.