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“Ed.”
A hand shakes his shoulder. Ed mumbles under his breath, still too deep asleep to do anything more. He’s so cozy, warm under a cocoon of blankets, wrapped up in darkness.
The hand shakes him again, the voice calling his name still soft, like they’re trying to wake him but not too hard. “Ed? Wake up.”
“Mhmm?” Ed half opens his eyes, just enough to see Jim. They look just as comfy and warm as he feels. Wrapped up in a blanket, flannel pajamas underneath, hair a tousled mess on top of their head. He gives them a sleepy smile. “Errythin’ okay?”
Jim’s face softens into a smile. They always look so serious until they smile, and he loves seeing how it opens them up, each and every time.
The hand on his shoulder shifts to his hair, combing his long curls back from his face. “Yeah, sleepyhead. Wake up, though, there’s something I think you’ll want to see.”
Pressing his head into their palm, Ed closes his eyes, letting out a low hum. “Do I have to?”
Their hand doesn’t stop petting him. “No, love. You can go back to sleep if you’d rather. But I think you’ll like this.”
It’s tempting to stay here. To stay just like this, warm and content. No pain, no aches, just Jim’s hand gentle in his hair. They touch him like he’s worthy of tenderness, of comfort, of affection, and even though he knows it’ll happen again, tomorrow and tomorrow, it still makes it hard to want to move.
But if they woke him up, if they have something they think he’ll like to see- then it will be worth it.
Ed reaches up, curls a hand around their wrist. Pulls their hand down to his mouth, until he can smudge a kiss to the very centre of their palm. Jim’s breath catches.
“Okay. I’m up.”
Jim smiles a little wider. “Are you? Because you seem to be very much still stuck in bed.”
“I’m up, I’m up,” he promises, still making no means to move.
It makes them laugh, which is really all he ever wants in life. Jim shifts their hands until they’re palm to palm, clasping his hand in theirs, then stands and starts to pull. “Alright, come on old man.”
“I’m not old!” He’s not so sure that’s true. He’s feeling older, these days. There are only a few streaks of black left in his hair, his joints are getting creakier, and he’s tired in a way he wasn’t a decade ago. He’s still not old – he’s only sixty, still got a few good decades in him yet. At least he hopes he does. But he feels old.
Jim is getting older, too. Black curls turning grey, wrinkles appearing at the corners of their eyes. They’ve got lovely laugh lines, ones that he was so worried they would never get when he first met them. He doesn’t remember them laughing back then. But they’ve got laugh lines now, and they’re one of Ed’s favourite things about Jim’s face.
It’s not the only sign of their aging. Jim takes less risks, now. They work slower, more methodical. They’re still flexible as all hell, though, which is both a gift and fucking unfair if you ask Ed.
Neither of them thought they would live past 25. Fucking marvels, the both of them.
“Mmm, yeah, and neither am I.”
As Ed pushes himself fully to standing they’re there, pressing into his space, warm arms looping around his waist. Their face tilts up to his, mouth a teasing smile that kisses him like they’re holding a memory.
Ed loves them. Still, after all these years. And not just still, but more, deeper, richer than he would have ever thought possible. What a gift.
He kisses them back slowly, letting them lead. He’s too sleepy for anything else, still caught in that half asleep space, liminal and warm. It’s so easy, like this, letting their arms keep him up, letting their lips press to his, over and over.
When they finally pull back it takes him a minute to open his eyes again, to remember that he’s supposed to be awake. Jim gives him that same smile, unhidden, more open than he usually sees during the day.
“What did you want to show me?” Ed asks, finding his voice. His arms are looped around Jim’s shoulders, and he doesn’t know when they got there.
Jim’s eyes crinkle at the edges with their smile. “Come on.”
They lead him out of the bedroom, nudging slippers for him to shove his feet into, grabbing a blanket off the end of the bed as they go. Through the cottage that’s far too big for two people, and yet somehow just right, rich wooden walls and exposed ceiling beams and a fireplace that’s only been dimmed a few hours ago. Fall has settled in faster here than it does back home, and there’s already a chill in the air.
Ed loves autumn. Loves the colours, the rich leaves, the oranges and yellows that make him feel more alive than spring ever does. Loves the chill in the air, the excuse to bundle into warm clothing, to get cozy, to make cups of hot cider and settle in to read on a nice evening. Even loves the smell of it, the richness of decomposing earth, that inexplicable winter is coming as the nights get even colder.
They’re in the mountains. The Cascades, all Douglas fir and hemlock and red cedar. Not as many leaves changing colour here, it’s true, but Ed doesn’t mind. Ed fucking loves waking up every morning and seeing the fog dissipate, seeing the sun pour down into the valleys. This morning when he went out early with his tea to sit on the deck and watch the world wake up there were deer, two of them. Ed can’t remember the last time he felt such peace.
He wonders if he can convince Jim to retire up here. Find a place like this, settle down. God knows they can afford it. Maybe not the smartest idea, he knows they should be looking for a retirement village or some shit like that as they grow older, but god, who wants that. He wants to watch Jim cut firewood with grey hair, listen to the birds, and always have an excuse for a fire at the hearth.
They can find someplace near other people. Someplace to hire help when they need it, and buy groceries, and with a hospital because he’s not naïve enough to think they can just avoid poor health forever. Sickness and health, they said, and he’s still waiting for the first part to arrive. They’ve been so lucky.
But most importantly – someplace with people, so that Jim isn’t all alone. So that he’s not all alone either, but he knows he won’t outlive them. Maybe he can convince Lucius and Pete to move with them. Fang and Ivan, too. He thinks Pete would like that.
Jim’s hand is warm in his, palm to palm, leading him through the cottage. Through the dark living room, soft and worn; through the sliding glass doors that open to the back porch where Ed has sat for so many hours, something he refuses to feel ashamed about. Outside, and into the darkness, their feet shushing softly on wooden boards. They turn, wrap the blanket they’d grabbed around his shoulders, then nudge back into his space.
“Look up,” Jim whispers, hand finding his again, body warm against his side.
The night sky here is always beautiful. Darker than it ever is in the city, deep and rich with so many fucking stars that he can barely believe it’s real. It reminds him of being a kid, in the tiny village he grew up in, lying on the grass and staring up at the stars until he was lost among them. It’s a good feeling.
But now – oh, now –
Greens and blues and a deep red wash across the sky, painting the night like poetry. Brighter than he’d thought possible, stretching so high, so wide, until it’s all that Ed can see.
And not just painted there – they’re moving. Dancing their way through the sky, slowly flickering to their celestial song. Ed swears he can almost hear it. He feels it, deep in his bones, ringing through with that sense of wonder that he’d thought he had lost, once upon a time.
“The northern lights,” Ed whispers, unable to look away. “Holy shit.”
Jim’s weight leans against him. “Yeah. I couldn’t sleep, and came out here. I thought you would want to see them.”
Love rushes through him, so overwhelming that for a moment he can’t speak. He squeezes Jim’s hand, hoping it’s enough.
It’s not just the love that’s overwhelming. It’s all of it. The northern lights dancing above him, the warmth of Jim against him. How small he feels, out here.
Small, but not unimportant. Not when Jim is holding his hand like this, their head tilting to press against his shoulder. He’s a tiny part of this world, yes; but he’s their world, and they are his. They revolve around each other like so much stars in the sky, dancing just like the lights above him.
“I love you so damn much,” Ed whispers, not looking down. “You know that, right?”
“Yeah,” Jim says, voice just as soft as his. “Yeah, I do.”
They squeeze his hand again, then pull away. But only so far as to tug him over to one of the big deck chairs, urging him to sit and stretch his legs out.
“Don’t want your knee to hurt,” they say, and there’s that rush of warmth, every time that they take care of him. They give him a look, one eyebrow raised in the darkness. “Think it can hold both of us?”
“Only one way to find out.”
Ed makes space for them to settle between his legs, then tugs them down with him. Jim is far too graceful, even in this, easily slipping into his space and turning so they can lean back against his chest. They take hold of his hands, wrapping both of Ed’s arms around themself.
It’s a move that feels made to keep Jim warm, keep them secure. But god, it’s not just for them – just holding them makes Ed feel so safe.
Their weight relaxes back against him. Jim’s head tucks just under his chin, and it’s only right for Ed to press a kiss to their hair. Then he settles back, settles down, head resting against the chair so he can look up at the sky for as long as he wants.
It’s still just as beautiful. Just as overwhelming. It’s just… holy shit.
Jim’s fingers start tracing idle paths across the back of his hand where it rests on their stomach. “You’re going to fall asleep like this, aren’t you.”
Maybe. Just maybe. He still feels half-asleep, still caught in that liminal space as the sky dances above them. Falling asleep out here won't be hard, not with the warmth of Jim in his arms. But he wants to soak in the feeling of being alive first, of remembering that he’s just as much a part of the dance as the stars themselves.
“Not yet,” he murmurs, holding them a little tighter against him. “I want to watch the world with you, first.”
Jim sighs, the good sort of sigh, the content sort of sigh. They lift up his hand, press a kiss to the back of it – and that’s all the answer he needs.