Mr. Sandman, bring me a dream
Make him the cutest that I've ever seen
Give him two lips like roses and clover
Then tell him that his lonesome nights are over
Sandman, I'm so alone
Don't have nobody to call my own
The Chordettes
Half past seven in the morning.
He tapped the rim of the drinking glass, watching it fill with water. Saturday morning and the world was quiet - but here in Ceph's flat, the world always seemed quiet and distant.
If he strained his ears he might hear the farmer's market setting up in Diagon. He was too tired to strain his ears. Virgil drank in sips, standing in the kitchen in just his black boxer briefs. The rest of his clothes (https://urstyle.fashion/styles/2807040) were on the floor in the bedroom, where he had left them before climbing into bed only three to four hours ago. It was cold, though, his skin covered in feverish goosepimples.
His head hurt. It was the first time he had got a migraine since doing Legilimency work for Mysteries. Virgil quietly made his way back to where Cepheus was still asleep. He placed the half-full glass on the bedside table and slid back underneath the heavy winter duvet.
"Oh, sorry..." the blonde realised he had woken the older wizard, and paused uncertainly before turning on to his side to face Ceph. "Sorry. Go back to sleep, it's not even eight yet."
He tugged the covers up over their shoulders, cheeks pink with self-consciousness. This was a first. Virgil Carstairs did not go running for comfort in romantic partners; he ran to the theatre, or his parents, or Yavin. The night club. Or his flatmates, who were more understanding than he gave them credit for.
Except...he had come here last night, and waking up next to Ceph earlier rather confirmed the fact. Some inner compass brought him to safe harbour. Virgil was grateful to it, as someone who did not ordinarily make good decisions in post-traumatic situations.