Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

sapnap: please, karl, i am begging you. if you really love him, ask him to stay with you. 

A simple message, but Karl could perfectly reconstruct the brunette's tone. Raspy and sleep coated and full of emotions. The request was a lot simpler on paper. But Karl had promised, in stark black text, that he would ask. But the words sat heavily in his throat, muted by a boulder of panic between his clavicles. 

Softly, nimble fingertips slid up his shoulderblades, along the ridges of his spine, and back down again, stopping just below his ribcage. Quickly, delicately, blunt nails were dragging across the the hair at the nape of his neck in a soothing manner. For a moment, Karl let his eyes flutter closed. 

"Talk to me, Jacobs," A soft voice purred quietly, curiosity lilting the smooth baritone. 

Wordlessly, Karl's nails caught in the loose fabric of the worn green and white tye-dyed cotton pressed against his cheek. His leg pressed against a lean, powerful thigh, pulling slightly closer. Karl tucked his nose further into the crook of his companion's neck. Pine trees and citrus and skunky earthy musk flooded his nose; they smelled like home and Karl ached for the feeling of being home again. 

The word came out as a whisper, barely a brush of noise across warm, soft skin. "Stay?" Goosebumps rose to the surface of the lightly tanned, freckle dotted skin. A natural reaction, but Karl's pulse skipped regardless. 

A slight wiggle set them face to face. Those nimble, beautiful fingers left his hair; traced the curve of his jaw, brushed his bottom lip, brushed his droopy fringe out of his eyes. Finally, a callosed, scarred palm rested against his cheek, an equally calloused thumb brushing across his cheekbone. The rush of affectionate comfort made Karl feel lightheaded, but he reveled in the dizziness. 

"Breathe. I'll be right here when you wake up," a soft voice assured, emerald eyes half lidded with content exhaustion. 

"Promise me?" Karl asked, nerves cracking the last syllable. 

"I promise you." Confident, reassuring, grounding . Exactly what Karl needed. "I take it the buzz is gone now?" 

Karl nodded. "Yeah. Why?" He asked softly. After a moment of no reply, Karl worried his lip. "Dream?" He asked, soft, hesitant. 

As is snapping out of a trance, Dream blinked a bit, cheeks going cherry in the flickering light of the TV. Emerald eyes flicked to his lips, then held his stare as he shifted closer slowly. (Dream was giving him an out, but Karl didn't want it.) So Karl met him halfway, aiming for a casual air, Karl moved his hand to Dream’s shoulder, but the action probably came across as more nervous. (Karl hated being shy with his affections at first. Hated the anxiety that came with it, too.)

Something citrusy and vanilla clung to Dream’s lips, surprisingly soft despite the terrible weather. Dream's touch was gentle and welcoming, Karl leaned in for more. Tangled his fingers in golden catlike strands, drew Dream closer to his body like a man starved. 

As soon as it had come, Dream had pulled back, pressing gentle, feather light kisses to his cheeks, the bridge of his nose, his temples, his hairline, and lastly back to his lips again. A quick peck, bursting at the seams with unspoken affection and reassurance. I'll be right here. 

The shyness came back in the form of heat on his cheeks and a quiet streak. For a moment, Karl fumbled, words of gratitude trying to come out. A moment of brilliance struck, and Karl tucked his nose into the crook of Dream’s shoulder. Placed a soft kiss to the junction of his shoulder and neck, and prayed Dream understood the simple affection. (And so far, Dream could read him like a children’s book. Dream would understand. He always did.)

A blanket settled over them, Dream brushing his neck as he tucked Karl in. Obviously, the taller teen was trying not to jostle him, and the concern made him smile as he returned the favor. Once it had settled, strong, lean arms drew him closer. Then he felt the softest kiss to the forehead he’s ever received, swooning a little on the inside. I’m not leaving , Dream seemed to say. Get some sleep, I’ll be right here.

Content, Karl settled into their new position. Legs threaded together, (Yes, Karl's cold ass toes were on Dream's warm calves.) Arms huddled loosely around Dream's broad shoulders, nose tucked securely against the curve of Dream's clavicle. Dull nails scraped lightly along his spine; soft puffs of warm air ruffled his hair. Karl let his eyes fall closed, drinking in the comfort and reassurance Dream was radiating. The pine citrus smoky sweet smell surrounded him, and sleep crept closer. Karl didn’t fight it off, feeling safe.

Chapter Text

Once he got comfortable, Nick was so bold. It was hard to remember just how shy he could be.

Sharp eyes, midnight blue with speckles of black. Someone stole the winter night skies and placed it in those eyes. George felt pinned by the weight of those midnight eyes, storming over with unclear emotions. A quick flash of motion drew his eye downward. One hand was clenched around the bouquet of red and pink carnations and roses, knuckles going white. The other one was on his thigh, drumming a quick, slightly unsteady rhythm. (One thing he could never figure out about the duo; who started tapping, and who picked it up as a habit of always being together.) 

Finally, Nick took a deep breath. “Were you serious?” It was jarring, hearing him speak so softly. 

“I was. Give me a moment to explain,” George replied automatically, knowing that’d be the first question the younger teen would ask. Times like these, he hated being so reserved with his emotions. He felt so much, but struggled to articulate that in any meaningful way. 

Nick nodded, trying to pull himself together a bit. “Breathe, pandas,” the reassurance fell softly. It was a phrase their favorite blonde often said, and it felt natural to say it. Despite the change in accent and delivery, Nick’s chest rose, then he slowly exhaled. 

Nick finally looked away from George with a soft, nervous chuckle. “God, you sound like Dream,” he remarked with a kind smirk. “Are you two ever not acting like one another?” To most, it’d sound like a trademark cutting blow from Sarcastic Asshole Sapnap, but George knew it for what it was; an affectionate ribbing done with entirely lighthearted intentions. 

“Honestly, no. One shines where the other dims,” George quipped, the jokes successfully breaking the tension. With Nick’s nerves soothed, George continued. “You love it, though.” Because it applies to you, too. 

Nick smiled, tucked the flowers between his knees and turned the radio off. “Sorry. Sometimes you talk so softly I can barely hear you. And I know I can be a mealy mouth too,” He explained, words slightly rushed in their delivery. 

“Chill, Sappy Nappy,” George replied. “It’s alright. It’s a radio, not the engine.” He joked. “In all fairness, I’m just so reserved. It’s hard to articulate just how I feel sometimes,” 

Something clicked for the younger boy, fingers tapping a little bit faster. (Dream must have picked it up, then.) “That’s why you’re so damn good at reading people,” he realized. Then his cheeks brightened and he chuckled. “Sorry, you were not meant to hear that,” he giggled. 

George smiled. “Well, aren’t you a charmer?” He joked. “In all seriousness, you make it,” he paused, searching for the right word. “easier,” George finally settled on.  

“Really?” Nick sounded so genuinely taken off guard. “My habit of blurting shit out makes it easier for you to feel things?” The phrasing could have been better, but George excused the brunette’s blunt wording. 

“Yes,” George responded sincerely. “I think it’s a psychological thing?” He added as an afterthought. 

“It totally is!” Nick gushed. “It’s a combination of the mimicking technique humans have and a very specific set of boundaries set by the conversational participants’ schemas and social settings,” He explained, as if the information had been waiting to jump forward. “Humans are such social creatures that we tend to mimic others. For example, Dream taps because I do, I think, and I’ve gotten into the habit of rambling because of Dream and Karl,” He trailed off, looking down to the floorboards. 

George blinked, processing the information Nick just dumped on him. (George thought Alex knew a lot about psychology, but Nick easily had him beat.) “Hang on. I’m processing that,” he quickly informed the younger. 

It threw him such a curveball mentally, because he sometimes forgot Nick wasn’t just dumb jock. Nick was shy and nerdy and super sweet. He loved psychology with a passion (it’d started as a sports thing, but became its own passion.) He knew every word to Barbie and the Diamond Castle; Nick would do anything for his sisters and his best friends, would give a stranger the shoes off his feet. Routinely gave his friend hoodies, held doors for George whenever he could, brought George dinner when he had the nights off. 

“Your love language is acts of service,” George mumbled, and Nick’s head snapped to him. “The psychology information, hang onto that. Tell me more later.” He reassured. “For now, focus, please.” 

“Yeah. So what’s yours?” George had expected some hostility, some pushback. Nick’s tone was inquisitive. “It levels the playing field if I know how to talk to you,” 

George chuckled. “Truthfully, I’m not sure. But I like spending time with people.” He began. “Simply existing in the same space as them.” He elaborated. “It’s nice, knowing I’m not alone, but also knowing that I’m allowed to just be.” That someone else feels comfortable enough to just be with me. 

A soft hum of recognition and acknowledgement left Nick’s throat. “Understood,” Nick smiled. “But earlier. Were you serious?” 

“I was. And Quackity didn’t tell me about the parties in your section.” George replied. “I didn’t mean to put you on the spot. If you don't want to go, I understand,” 

George brought the car to a stop in Nick’s driveway, shifting the car into park. As soon as George turned to properly look at Nick, he was pinned by a midnight gaze. “I would have said yes regardless of the crowd, George.” He murmured. “Truthfully, I really, really like you.”George had to turn the car off to properly hear the last words. 

“I think we’re past the point of needing to go on a date,” George pointed out. “Let’s cut to the part where we’re dating.” 

For a moment, Nick’s brow furrowed in confusion, then everything clicked. Despite the hurry, Nick’s fingers were gentle on his jawbone, lips soft against his own. it was gentle and chaste, filled with nervous affection. 

George chuckled softly and drew him into a proper kiss. He tasted like sweetened coffee, smelled like french fries and something spicy sweet, not quite cinnamon. Calloused fingers tightened against his jaw, drawing George closer. George let himself be pulled, pulled Nick closer by his coat until the center console cut into his side. Undeterred, both boys leaned into each other’s space. 

Nick pulled away, lashes fluttering and chest heaving. His whole face turned a pretty shade of cherry, so wonderfully awestruck. “I, uah, wow,” he stuttered softly, clearing his throat. Nick faltered for a second, then closed his mouth, giggling with an adorably shy smile. When he finally caught back up, he cleared his throat again. “We should go inside. It’s late,” he whispered, then slowly drew away, gathering up his stuff.

George followed his lead, taking some of his stuff while Nick worked the lock. “Table,” Nick nodded with his head. “I’ll get it in a second,” Gerge set the stuff down, shivering as he acclimated to the warmth of Nick’s house. In the distance, George could faintly hear an old Barbie movie playing. “My sisters will bombard me as soon as they realize I’m home,” he whispered. 

They were fine until Nick’s shoes settled against the floor.  Then a flurry of excited squealing and laughter started in the living room. The TV volume lowered a little, feet thundered on the hardwood, and then Nick had two girls hanging off his waist. For a moment, the girls chattered over one another, Nick trying to get them to calm down. 

“Girls, it’s almost midnight.” Nick told them sternly. “Drink, brush, bed,” He told them, pressed a kiss to each girl’s head, then sent them on their way with a gentle pat to the shoulders. “Sorry. Mom only ever lets them stay up to see me on Saturdays,” He smiled bashfully, grabbing the bouquet. “I gotta tuck them in, but I’ll be in my room in a sec. You can wear my clothes,” he explained, then disappeared into the kitchen. 

George changed into a pair of his own sweats and one of Nick’s loose long sleeve shirts, then settled on the slightly messy bed. Listened to Nick’s sturdy tread up the stairs, the faint rumble of his voice as he tucked his sisters in. Settled back against the pillows as Nick tossed his dirty uniform into the laundry basket by the door. 

He’d changed into an old Herald Falls Football shirt and black joggers. Routinely, Nick moved around the room, grabbing his laptop and settling on the bed beside George. Navigated to Netflix and wordlessly passed it to George, curling into him. “Any preference?” George asked, got a noncommittal hum in reply. 

George navigated to an old kid’s movie, one both of them had most likely seen before. As soon as it started playing, Nick threw a blanket over them, shifting a little to get comfortable. George held the laptop while he moved, willingly sliding closer. Nick trapped him in a comfortable bear hug, placing a soft kiss to his jaw. With a fond smile, George set the laptop down and ruffled his hair. Kissed the crown of his head. "Goodnight, pandas," he murmured. 

"Gnigh', Gogs. I love you," Nick sleepily slurred back. Within moments, Nick was dead asleep. (And in all fairness, it was the weekend before Valentine's. He'd probably served multiple parties by himself at work. Waiting tables was never a kind job, and holidays made it worse.) 

George didn't say it back out loud, but he traced it slowly on Nick's shoulder blades, hoping the younger boy felt it in his sleep. With his free hand, he closed the laptop and set it to the side, turning to curl into the warmth of Nick's body. 

Maybe it was the comforting smell or stillness or warm comforting safety of Nick holding him, but sleep came to George easier than ever.

Chapter Text

"Off to bed with you, you silly little munchkin!" Wilbur commented softly, tapping Michael's nose. The toddler squirmed, trying to get out of Wilbur's arms. "Shh, Wilby's got ya," he crooned softly, tucking the wild curls against his shoulder. "Let's go see if Toms or Tech will read to you," he murmured softly, glancing over to Alex. 

Alex waved him on with a dreamy nod, and Wilbur rolled his eyes foldly as he shifted Michael higher on his hip. Techno's door was cracked, and Wilbur tapped softly on the wood. 

"Bring him here, I found his books!" Techno called softly. Wilbur shouldered the door open, looking into the elegant room. Techno flitted about, a blur of pink against the simple cream and dark wood tones. "I got 'em," Techon warned, and then Michael was off his hip, grinning as Techno made a swoopy noise. 

Wilbur smiled. "I'll leave you to it. G'night, and please keep Tommy out of my room." He hurriedly explained, softly closing the door behind him. Footsteps followed him into the hall, stopping as Wilbur ducked around his door. The latch clicked, and Wilbur breathed a small sigh of relief. 

Alex was all messy clothes and fondly irritated smiles as he relaxed back against the bed. The smaller teen looked mostly relaxed, if a little annoyed by his best friends. (Individually, Wilbur got on great with George and Dream, and decently with Sapnap, they were just a lot to handle all together.) Wilbur admired how natural Alex looked in his bedroom. Tried to kill the hope of getting familiar with the sight.

After what felt like the 80th buzz in a row, Wilbur scrolled through the new group chat. Smiled a little at Alex's rambling. Did a quick double take in the chat. 

Cooly, Wilbur typed a cheeky response.  It was bold on his part, but Wilbur was tired of dancing around him. Either Alex would kiss him, or he wouldn’t. After he pressed send, the ball was firmly in Alex’s court. 

wilbysoot: so do it??

wilbysoot: literally whats stopping you?

Watched Alex's nose twitch as he read the message. Frantically, he typed a reply, fingers flying across his phone's keyboard.  Onyx eyes flicked up to Wilbur’s face, swirling with emotions Wilbur couldn’t label in such a short amount of time. 

quackity: uhm

quackity: if a bitch would like that? 

Wilbur's bold flirting paid off. Pocketing his phone, Wilbur strided across the room. No sooner than he'd sat down, he had Alex in a gentle hold by his soft cheek, kissing him. For a moment, the shorter boy froze up, completely surprised by Brit's forwardness. Then Alex melted, leaning into him. They broke apart for a moment, Alex quickly settling into Wilbur's lap. Their lips touched again, Alex threading his fingers in Wilbur's hair. 

A loud, insistent knocking at the door startled both of them, Alex scrambling back, Wil trying to keep Alex where he was. "Shh, it's Tommy," he whispered, tucking Alex into his shoulder. “Breathe,” he whispered, then did just that. 

"Wilbur! Can I borrow your laptop charger?" Tommy called out in the hallway. 

Wilbur turned away from the beautiful boy in his lap, calling over his shoulder. "I'm using mine, sorry!" The excuse fell naturally from his lips. Giving his brothers excuses was something he always did, and something they often returned. 

"Wilbur, please! I need it for an essay!" Tommy pleaded, and Wilbur sighed in irritation. He couldn't tell Tommy he was busy right that moment. Tommy would ask questions, and that was the last thing Wilbur needed.

"Fuck, hold on. I'm so sorry," He murmured to Alex, kissing his cheek and detangling himself. (One of the downfalls of having a teacher as a parent. Homework was a priority.) 

Luckily, Alex was amused by the debacle. "Go deal with your brother," he encouraged softly, with a knowing smile. 

Blushing, Wilbur gathered up his laptop cord, then shoved it into Tommy's hand. "Please go away, I'm busy. Love you, good night." He rushed out, then locked the door before Tommy could even blink.  

The walk back to his bed felt shameful. Alex's amused snickering didn't help. Regardless, Wilbur got comfortable beside him. Alex shifted down to join, immediately curling into Wilbur's side. The snickering calmed to whispery giggles. “You didn’t even give him a chance to say goodnight,” he cracked in that same whispery tone. 

"You're an ass," Wilbur remarked dryly, keeping his voice down as Tommy shuffled around in his room. Despite the salty words, there was no actual bite. Wilbur was too embarrassed to make it sting. 

Alex let out an amused snort, cupping Wilbur's cheek. "But I'm in your bed. What's that say about you?" He quipped back just as softly. His hands were dry from the recent weather, but Wilbur didn’t mind a bit. (Wilbur would spoil him in the morning. For now, his objective was cuddles.)

With a fondly annoyed sigh, Wilbur rolled his eyes. Rather than gracing the comedic genius with a reply, Wilbur leaned in and kissed him properly, drawing a shocked squeak out of him. He tasted like cherry chapstick and something sweet, like root beer. Fireworks exploded in his veins, sending deliciously intoxicating shivers up his spine. 

"Wil," Alex murmured, sounding as breathless as Wilbur felt. "Is this some sort of secret?" He whispered softly. 

Wilbur soothed his fear by brushing stray inky strands out of his dark eyes. "No. Tommy's just a bit loose lipped. No need to start the rumor mill yet," he murmured. "Wanted to give you some time to get comfortable before opening the floodgates, yknow?" He explained, with a crooked smile. 

"Then can we slow down just a bit?" Alex requested, nerves sliding into an otherwise carefree tone. Wilbur slowly backed away with a polite nod, leaving Alex space to decide what he needed. Settled back on his side, watched the smaller boy’s body language loosen and become more relaxed as the tension eased. Alex drew closer, settling when he was comfortably against Wilbur's side. Once it dissipated, Wilbur cared his fingers through the silky strands, marveling at the way Alex melted against him. Gently, Alex halted Wilbur's movements to discard his beanie, setting it on the nightstand beside him, then Wilbur resumed. 

Wilbur glanced down at Alex, smiling. This was everything he’d wanted. Just Alex, curled against his side, content. Wilbur wanted to be his peace, knowing Alex didn’t make much room for it otherwise. He wanted Alex to feel safe to shed the labels and the weight for a moment; In Wilbur’s room, he was just Alex. 

“What’s on your mind, Wil?” Alex asked softly, shifting to meet his eyes. For a moment, they held eye contact, then Alex closed his eyes. “Wait, this is really comfortable,” he quietly remarked. 

Wilbur chuckled, kissing the crown of Alex’s hair. “I was just about to say that you seemed pretty comfortable,” he murmured, nuzzling into the silky black strands. “Are you staying here?”

“Gonna be honest, Wilby, I wasn’t until you started messing with my hair.” Alex mumbled against his chest. “As long as things don’t have to escalate, I want to,” 

“They don’t,” Wilbur promised. “Honestly, Lex, I might fall asleep on you,” he mumbled. 

Alex chuckled. “Go for it. If you’re comfortable enough, sleep.” Lord knows both of us need it.  

“Problem is,” Wilbur murmured, scooting away a little bit. “There’s a very intriguing stranger in my bed,” he teased. 

He felt Alex smile against his chest, felt him softly exhale in amusement. “This wayward soul also has questions, but is really enjoying the kind stranger petting him,” 

Wilbur giggled. “I don’t have to stop doing that to talk with you,” he reminded Alex. He got a sleepy stink eye, then a soft smile in return. 

**

Alex’s thumb slowly traced the tiny scar on his lower lip. “Does this have a backstory?” Alex mused softly. “Such an odd place for a scar.” 

Wilbur chuckled. “Fell into Nan’s coffee table while I was learning to walk.” He explained. “Before Phil adopted me,” Wilbur barely talked about his life before he was thirteen. Most of his friends knew things on a need to know basis; this was the first time Wilbur volunteered the information.  “My mum told me I needed a stitch in my lip, but I was happy as could be the whole time,”

Alex smiled fondly. “One of the kids I used to babysit had a scar on her bottom lip. Abuela tells me all the time that I was a fearless little hellspawn as a child.” he said softly. “She told me about the time I tried to jump off the fire escape in Pasadena yesterday. I was like, three, and saw one of the older boys Abuela watched do it, and wanted to try it. The edge of the rail sliced my palm pretty good.” Alex revealed a silvery thin line in the center of his right palm. Itwas barely two centimetres long, but looked quite deep. “I have barely any feeling in my middle finger on my right hand.” 

“You still are a hellspawn at times,” Wilbur joked. “At the very least, you’re a klutz,” he joked. “And the scar on the tip of your nose?” He inquired, kissing the tiny indent on the tip of his nose. 

“Pot, meet kettle,” Alex replied softly. “But my brother and I were fucking around with scissors as children and he almost lost an eye, I almost lost my nose,” He giggled. 

Wilbur chuckled too. He’d only had siblings since Phil and Kristen adopted him, but he’d had a friend from the orphanage he was really close to. “I dunno if I can show you now, but I have a scar on the inside of my left knee from jumping a fence with my friend Hannah,” 

“Why did you jump the fence?” Alex asked. For a moment, Wilbur considered telling him the whole truth. Then he looked at Alex’s serene ex and decided he’d elaborate later. 

“Hannah and I ran from the orphanage. She’d been there for three years, I’d been there for eight months. Both of us were thirteen and thought we were invincible. Cops chased us down, had ahold of me, Hannah had me from the other side. She cried and let go of my leg and the cops were assholes who ripped me off the fence,” He summarized. 

(Wilbur didn’t tell him how Hannah had screamed his name, how she’d whispered an apology so soft Wilbur barely heard it, and let him go. For a moment, he saw her head dip down, and the next glance he got she was a blur of blue and grey and a pinprick of yellow on her backpack. How the very last thing he saw of her was a flash of heartbreak and dark wavy hair blowing in a breeze of the Thames river.)

Alex rubbed a comforting hand down his arm. “Surprisingly, I’ve never run from the cops or social workers. The only person I ever ran from was my sperm donor.” for a moment, his conversational tone had gone bitter. “He taught me some of the worst habits I have. And some of the worst skills in my toolbox,” With a sigh, Alex’s soft tone was back. “But he’s in the past, where he belongs,” 

Wilbur nodded. He understood enough to not pry. Alex would tell him in his own time. So for now, Wilbur set that question aside, gently brushed the scar under his eye. Alex’s eyes widened, tensed against him. Wilbur visually followed the lighter scar tissue in his iris up to where the silvery tissue bisected his eyebrow at the arch,  “This is an odd question, but do you still have any vision in this eye?” he asked softly. 

Alex snorted, relaxing against him. “No one aside from my eye doctor has ever asked me. But yes, I can. Everything is just really distorted near the center of my field of vision.” He explained. “My contacts help, but they can only do so much for the distortion. Some glass ripped one of my receptor cones, so I essentially have a really bad astigmatism in my left eye,” Alex summarized. “I have no idea how they managed to save my vision, but this is really the best they could do,” 

“Most people ask you how it happened, don’t they?” Wilbur murmured. “I won’t lie, I am curious,” the Brit continued. “But I know you’ll tell me when you’re ready,” 

“Yeah, and most of them don’t care about the after effects, either.” Alex replied. He let out a lofty sigh. “My mom was driving us home. It was late, and the other car didn’t have their lights on. they made us spin out into a pole, and I woke up two days later in a hospital bed with half my eyesight and half my parents.”

Wilbur nodded, frowning in sympathy. “I still remember the night my Mum died like it was yesterday,” he murmured. “She took me to the zoo for my birthday, and she tucked me in before leaving to meet up with her friend Julianne. Julieanne didn’t hear from her at all that night, and the social workers and police arrived at our door after finding her purse in the tubeline trash can. I had twenty minutes and three bags.” He recalled softly. “Eighteen months later, I was handed four boxes and two suitcases, and here we are,” 

“How old were you?” Alex murmured. “I was thirteen the night my mom died. It was just before my fourteenth birthday when Abuela got custody. Four months of physical therapy and court ordered visitations later, and here I am,” 

“I was twelve. Thirteen when Phil adopted me, and we moved just before freshman year started,” Wilbur replied. “Hannah sent me letters once a month, but they haven’t arrived in seven,” 

**

“She probably moved, Wil. And she’ll probably send the backlogs when she settles in,” Alex murmured. “But tell me more about your adventures with Hannah. How did you meet her? What led to you two running? Where did she go?” He shot off like a rocket, eyes alight with curiosity.

Wilbur took his time answering each question, successfully talking the smaller boy into a peaceful sleep. He’d almost talked himself to sleep before he realized. “G’night, Alex,” he murmured softly, then pressed a soft kiss to the crown of Alex’s sleeping head, settling down to fall asleep himself.