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Like most couples, Mr Jelly and Hugo slept in the same bed. They enjoyed the proximity, sharing that space at the end of the day no matter how shit everything before it might’ve been. It was nice. Comforting.
Once upon a time, Jelly would have said he couldn’t stand the idea of having someone so close all the time. It would have sounded suffocating, not to have that time to smoke and drink alone after yet another stressful day at work. The idea that he would have to go from entertaining a gaggle of nine year olds to spending even more time with another human being would have been torture. Why the fuck would he give up his well-earned alone time? Who could possibly be so attractive that he’d forgo his main source of comfort?
The answer had stumbled into his life, both literally and metaphorically. Hugo had been a breath of fresh air, equally frustrated with the prosthetics support group he had been pushed into going to, against his better judgement. With how different they were on the outside looking in, he wasn’t entirely sure how they ended up where they were, how this mad idiot had ended up taking over his entire world, but he couldn’t find it in himself to regret any of it.
He would never admit that it was his favourite part of the day, climbing into bed with Hugo curled into his side, arms gripping him like a koala. Not out loud, anyway. He suspected Hugo knew. He had an uncanny knack for reading Jelly, seeing through all the layers and walls he put up right to his soft core.
In terms of sleeping arrangements, that night was no different. Currently, they were both in their pyjamas, prostheses set aside, ready to settle in under the covers. Jelly’s night clothes were much the same as his day clothes, at least in terms of pattern. They were a bit softer, but that was mainly for Hugo’s benefit rather than his own. Hugo himself had a matching set on stripy pyjamas he’d spotted at (and stolen from) Asda.
Unlike most of couples, one of them kept a scalpel by on their bedside table and the other slept in clown make-up. These were both non-negotiable and had only cause a few spats over their time together. But everyone had their quirks, didn’t they?
“C’mon then,” Jelly encouraged as Hugo shuffled into bed, slightly unbalanced without his prosthesis. “Get over here.”
Almost as soon as Jelly opened his arms, Hugo was stuck to him like a limpet. His face pressed against Jelly’s shoulder, kissing at his neck as he got comfortable. As with most nights, he was practically draped on top of him with Jelly’s arm thrown over his back in a half hug.
“You smell like honey, honey,” he mumbled, his breath ticking Jelly’s neck. He inhaled deeply, pointedly, as he latched onto the smell.
“Yeah, well, someone squirted the last of it into my hair,” he grumbled but there was no bite to it. “It’s been days and I haven’t been able to get it all out.”
“You’re like a bee,” he said, ignoring the accusation. “I’ll cut off your wings so you can’t fly away. Snip, snip, snip.”
Jelly sighed, closing his eyes and tipping his head back. “Well, I can’t exactly start cutting my hair to get this honey out. Not as if it’s growing back any time soon.”
Hugo hummed in agreement, before simply saying, “Oil.”
Caught off guard by the abruptness of Hugo’s request, he frowned, shifting slightly so he could look down at Hugo’s face. “What? Now?”
“Oil will get the honey out,” he expanded, bringing a hand up to graze over the matted hair which had sparked this discussion in the first place. “Break it down and wash it away in no time.”
Oh! Right. That.
“And just how long have you been sat on this information, eh?” he asked dryly, already knowing the answer. “And what then? I end up smelling like pasta?”
Hugo shook his head. “We can use coconut oil. Then you’ll smell like a holiday.”
“Coconut oil?” he said incredulously. “Where the hell am I gonna get that?”
“We already have some,” he grinned mischievously. “Top cupboard above the sink.”
Jelly exhaled deeply closing his eyes for a moment before he met Hugo’s gaze. “Right. Suppose it’s a good thing I don’t have any bookings tomorrow then. I’m not showing up to some party smelling like fucking piña coladas.”
Breaking eye contact, Hugo grumbled under his breath something about liking it better than smoke, but Jelly ignored the remark. There were many things he was willing to compromise on for Hugo. Cigarettes were not one of them. Hugo knew that. Besides, it was a bit hypocritical coming from him, given he smoked too. Granted, he made nowhere near as much as of a habit of it as Jelly, but that wasn’t the point, was it?
“Mr Jelly?” he whispered, after a few minutes of silence had passed. His use of his chosen name, title and all, rather than a pet name, came as a bit of a surprise. Jelly hummed in acknowledgment, encouraging him to continue. “Do you love me?”
Jelly frowned, scrunching his face up in disbelief. Where the hell was this coming from? He would have thought this was some kind of manipulation for Hugo to leverage something he wanted, if it weren’t for the utter sincerity in his voice. He sounded genuinely nervous, something very rare for the other man when it came to feelings. He was by far the more open book out of the two of them. So this now, on a day which, for all intents and purposes was very average, was more than a little off-putting.
“Don’t be daft. ‘Course, I do,” he said, trying to keep the nervousness out of his voice as he tightened his hold of Hugo. “Why’d you ask me that?”
Hugo made a series of sounds as if he was trying to convey something without using my actual words. He did that sometimes, mostly when whatever emotion he was trying to convey was overwhelming. As with most things Hugo did, Jelly had become more patient with it over time. Generally speaking, he just let him stew for a moment until he eventually strung together something coherent. Tonight, though, he wasn’t feeling overly lenient. He had already been put off by the question.
“Just spit it out, Hugo,” he said, hearing the tension in his own voice.
“You never say it,” he said, his voice shaky. “Why don’t you ever say it?”
“I say it all the time!” he argued.
“No. No, you don’t. You just kiss me or change the subject.”
“I- I do love you, Hugo,” he said forcefully, willing him to believe those three words. It was easier to say those words out loud in the cover of darkness, without meeting Hugo’s expectant eyes. “I’m just not good at saying it out loud. I don’t do feelings like you do.”
“Promise?”
He pressed a kiss to Hugo’s temple. “I promise.”
“I love you too,” he said with conviction, wriggling upwards so that their faces were less than an inch apart. So much for avoiding eye contact. “Don’t leave me?”
Jelly rolled his eyes. “Do I look like I’m going anywhere?”
Hugo tightened his hold on him, his grip almost bruising as he held him in place. His hands were cold through the thin fabric of Jelly’s nightclothes and he had to suppress the shiver which threatened to shake its way out. It was nice, being so wanted. He had to admit that much, even if he wouldn’t be able to handle this attention 24/7. Before bed each night, though, that he could accept.
He smiled, clearly happy with whatever he saw in Jelly’s face. “No. You don’t.”