Someone prompted this, so here you are. Hope you enjoy.

The bath was running. The warm water poured from the tap, spilling and seeming to sizzle as it hit the enamel surface, bouncing blaringly back from the bottom of the bath as if in protest, steam rising like a pan coming to the boil. Dan could already feel his stresses floating away, as if his own smoke was escaping from the case of his skin. Except maybe his smoke would be blacker, curling from his flesh like old chimneys, the smouldered curve hitting the white sky, poisoning it. He could hear the clicking of the keyboard and it soothed him, knowing Phil was just next door, as if his warmth was spreading around him. It was the kind of thing that Dan had never expected to have when he was young and forlorn, something he had never really realised that he wanted in his life; the marital closeness that he shared with Phil, the idea of their little apartment that they shared, with their things draped across the walls, their cactus balanced on the windowsill and both their names on the bills. The idea that it was theirs, each room reminding him of Phil, Phil's arms wrapped around him, Phil's whisper in his ear. He settled down into the water.

It had become somewhat of a routine. The warmth of the bath, the background of clicking, sometimes alone, sometimes joined by Phil, the warm water lapping at his skin like the shore, his bones melting until a yawn escaped. That was somewhat of a goal.

Dan had always had issues with sleeping. He had spent most of his youth gulping rattling bottles of sleeping pills, the regular swallow before his head hit the pillow. He scarcely had time to consider how 'normal' it was. A short-term cure to a long-term problem, followed by sleep therapy, the kind that only made Dan feel embarrassed, a red tinge flying to his cheeks flies to honey, before he resorted to partially 'natural' remedies; the bath before bed, the warm glass of milk, the avoidance of caffeine. Cutting of caffeine being something that Phil, to his surprise, had joined him on, despite his withdrawal symptoms.

A knock at the door, a peeking of Phil's head around the door,

"All done?" Dan whispered sleepily,

"All done," Phil nodded, smiling, "ready for bed?"

"Uh-huh, just let me get out," he said, pointing a finger, "hey will you pass me that towel there?"

Phil walked over to their towel rack, pulling a light purple towel from between the bars and handing it to Dan as he clambered from the bath, resting it on his shoulders and letting him wrap the rest around himself. He kissed his head gently, following Dan out of the door and grabbing a smaller towel on the way out, jumping and ruffling Dan's hair with it from behind.

"Hey," he said, pouting,

"You can't sleep with wet hair!"

"I can't sleep anyway!" he said, turning and raising an eyebrow "That's sort of the point."

"Ssh" Phil said, kissing his pouting lip, spinning Dan around and guiding him to their bedroom, flicking the light on with the hand that wasn't hovering on Dan's left shoulder. He waited for him to change into his pyjamas before he flicked the light back off again, drawing the specially-bought thick curtains and the heavy duvet over them both as he wrapped his arms around Dan.

Eyes open. Adjusted to the dark. A wave of utter exhaustion radiated through Dan's body, but somehow it didn't seem to reach his mind, his eyelids that were so heavy and yet unable to shut. Always the same. Exhaustion and sleepiness. Most people didn't distinguish between them. Dan did. Because Dan was always exhausted, always aching with a need to sleep, his blood always felt too heavy, his bones like they belonged in the ground, and yet he was never able to quite able reach slumber, like the stars in the sky, so close but so far away.

He shifted from front to back, side to side, waking up Phil more times that seemed fair. And yet the tousled-haired man was always there, his fingers softly stroking back and forth across Dan's collarbone. It was a particularly rough night.

"I've told you," Dan said, "You can sleep in the spare room, it's just not fair on you."

"Never, Dan, do you not remember my vows?" he said, half laughing, although it was hard to distinguish it through the layer of sleep.

But Dan did, of course he did, he remembered the words whispered through the crisp December air like snowfall, he remembered them budding on Phil's lips like blossom in the spring, 'I promise never to leave your side'

"No one really sticks to their vows, Phil."

"Oh wow thanks," he said laughing, "but seriously I am staying," he yawned, his eyes drifting "now remember what Dr Cadalver said? How about you try the repetition?"

The doctor had said that sometimes relaxation exercises could work, reading a script over and over softly, or recording someone else saying it,

"Can you do it tonight?" Dan asked, meekly.

"Of course,"

"Sorry"

"Don't be. I love you," Phil whispered, propping himself up on his elbows.

"I love you too" Dan said, nuzzling into Phil's neck as his soft whispers began to fill the room, like the gentle rocking of a boat, the lulling of a baby in a cot, his fingers softly stroking through his hair as he repeated it,

...as you become deeply relaxed... warm... heavy... peaceful...comfortable...

sleep relaxation...

pleasant and calm...

drifting...

drifting...

accepting...

sleep relaxation...

feeling very good and peaceful...

at peace with yourself...

confident...

nurturing...

refreshing sleep...

sleep relaxation...

deeply relaxed...

sleep deeply...

calm and relaxed...

quiet...

sleep relaxation...

smooth, even breathing...

warm and calm...

relaxed...

peaceful...

relaxed...

sleep relaxation...

allowing yourself to drift into deep sleep...

deep pleasant sleep relaxation ...

sleep...

and slowly Dan could feel himself starting to drift, as Phil did too, his voice growing quieter as it became laced with sleep, his words growing further apart, his vowels longer as both boys fell into their pillows, arms and legs wrapped in each other, Dan's head engulfed in Phil's chest like a nest made out of skin and sleep.

But of course Dan woke again, the moon shifted slightly in the sky like the ticking hands of a clock, Phil's head pressed against his, his breathing soft as his heart beat fluttered against Dan's skin. Dan didn't want to move but he felt his breath catch, as if he was being deprived of air. He slowly manoeuvred his head from under Phil's, letting Phil's head flop onto the pillow, without waking. Oh how Dan envied him. But he still couldn't bring himself to rouse him. He just looked so peaceful, his cheeks softened, his hair like feathers, his mouth softly moulding itself as he breathed into the pillow.

Dan lay on his back. He stared at the ceiling. His eyes were wide open and yet every inch of his body screamed of exhaustion and darkness like black tar spilling across his eyes and forcing them open. Breathing. Slowly in, slowly out, like the gentle drifting of the tide. It was so simple. And yet Dan still couldn't do it. He seemed to be choking, the black ink trawling down his throat and into his lungs, drowning him from the inside until small, black tears gathered in his eyes. And then there were lips upon his cheeks once more. Lips gathering the tears as if they were precious gold.

"I fucking woke you again,"

"Sssh Dan, Sssh, it's okay,"

"No it's not, no it's not, it's not fair on you," Phil wrapped his arms around Dan,

"If I thought that, I would sleep in that spare room more often," he laughed, "I promise, it's quite nice in there." Dan smiled, breathing in, "there you go," Phil said, taking his hand and stroking his thumb softly, "1, breathe….. 2 breathe….. You've got it."

And when Dan's eyes opened again, light was filtering through the tiny crack in their curtains. Light. He smiled, a kind of mild euphoria spreading through his chest. Mild, like the diluted liquid inserted through syringes or the juice that one hands toddlers. Mild. But still significant. To him anyway. He had slept through. Granted it was not far, the small clock by the side of his bed telling him it was five, but it was through all the same. He slowly rose from the bed, pulling on his soft slippers before grabbing his dressing gown from the hook on the door, turning back around to take a look at Phil, fast asleep; his delicate fingers gripping the duvet. Peaceful.

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