complaininginthedark:

(GOOD GRAVY THIS IS MY FAVOURITE THING. Gosh thank you I think I needed this prompt more than anything else today. GOSH.)

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Bedlam had been hard cold floors with blankets and, sometimes, straw. Some cells had cots which were little more than piles of moth-eaten cloth. On the ship to the Americas it had been damp wood, sharing space with the rats and the sick or dying passengers being transported to their ‘new lives’. Once in Savannah the bedding had improved somewhat, though only because it was a few inches off the floor and just a little wider than his body. Thomas had gotten used to waking with aching muscles and bruised skin. 

James told him of the cot in his captain’s cabin, how it had swayed with the motion of the ship. He told Thomas of the scratchy blankets and the floor of the Maroon Island’s cages. Neither of them had been given the luxury of a good nights sleep, though the darker part of Thomas’ mind told him at least James had been able to sleep alone, unwatched, unharmed, sometimes even next to someone he loved in that time. 

All those thoughts are pushed to the back of his mind when he sits on the edge of the bed they’re sharing for the night. It is simple, a mattress on a rickety wooden frame in the spare room of a spinster’s house, but it is akin to the bed of a king in Thomas’ eyes. 

He sat and felt the give of the mattress under his backside and hands where he leaned back. Tears sprang to his eyes, stinging and uncontrollable as he falls back onto the bed and sobs. 

James was there in moments, quiet and gentle so impossibly gentle with him as he pressed his face into the blankets and pillows. 

Pillows.

The warmth of the recently lit hearth began to fill the room and Thomas felt for a moment that he was well again. James disappeared for a moment and returned with a tray of bread, cheese, hot tea in a pot and a small jug of milk. There is no sugar, Thomas can no longer stand the stuff. 

“Comfy?” He asked, voice gruffer and cracked at the edge but no less kind and loving. 

Thomas nodded from his cocoon of blankets and pillows. The infinite gentleness was like the embrace of God, he thought. Jesus Christ Himself had come to tuck him into bed. He didn’t realise he had spoken aloud until James smiles, a broken thing, and climbed onto the bed next to him. 

A hand stroked through the tuft of hair still visible. “Can I come in?”

Thomas carefully pried the cocoon open and welcomed his love in, wrapped himself around James and the blankets around them both. 

“We’re like caterpillars,” he said softly into the warm air between them. “We’ll go to sleep and when we wake up we’ll be butterflies; resplendent and more beautiful than we were.”

James snorted a laugh and tucked his head under Thomas’ chin. “Alright,” he whispered, the tea and bread forgotten, “like caterpillars.”

They fell asleep as the sun went down, Thomas’ last thought was that he had finally found the meaning of his existence – to be there, surrounded by the softness of love on the cusp of sleep.