Work Text:
Richard wasn't sleeping. He didn't know exactly when his ability to sleep a full seven hours had disappeared, but day by day he found himself lying awake a little longer, waking in the night and not being able to fall back asleep a little more. On his fifth day of sleeping less than five hours, Gilfoyle stared at him for a second before uttering his judgement.
'You look like shit.'
Dinesh looked him over and nodded.
'Yeah, you look like Gavin Belson took a dump on you.'
Erlich was lighting a bong, and was not paying attention to the conversation. Jared looked at the three of them, looking pained at the mean things they've said.
'I've just not been sleeping well.' He pressed his palms against his eyes, hoping he'd feel less drowsy. He had a lot to do, and not enough time to do it in. He felt his stomach roil, that familiar feeling of nausea. Suddenly, Jared was at his shoulder, fluttering from one foot to another.
'Is there anything I can do to help? I hear that weighted blankets are useful? And I’ve read articles that say that CBD oil can be a highly effective method to treat insomnia. If you would like me to, I can go by the store and pick up some melatonin gummies? You have a lot of work to do and Pied Piper needs its captain to be fighting fit!'
Too tired to argue, Richard nodded blearily and sat down in front of his computer. He wrapped the blanket closer around him and tried to focus on his work.
That afternoon, Jared came back laden with goods: sleep gummies, a melatonin spray, an assortment of CBD oils, and a heavy blanket that almost smothered Richard, but which was really quite relaxing. None of it helped him sleep, however. He spent the next three weeks trying to work out a routine that would allow him at least five and a half hours of sleep.
He stopped drinking alcohol (not that he drank much before). He tried to drink fewer energy drinks (more difficult, but he did his best). He took the gummies some nights, he tried the oils others. He still woke up a couple of hours later, unable to fall back asleep until the rosy fingered dawn appeared in his window. The blanket was relaxing, but too hot to give him any release. A few times, he gave edibles a try, but instead of lying awake with frantic and organised thoughts, his anxieties jumped from one topic to another, never lingering enough for Richard's addled brain to even begin to solve the problems.
He discovered that his sleeplessness made him even more prone to vomit. Jared would sit outside the bathroom and bring him a glass of water when he finally recovered. One day, when the circles around Richard's eyes had reached a depth of purple reserved for fine wines and royalty, Jared grabbed his face and applied concealer carefully and efficiently, his thin fingers blending out the corners. Richard didn't know where the concealer came from, but it matched his face and made him look slightly more human in the stakeholder meeting he had to be part of.
But it wasn't working. He wasn't sleeping, and his focus kept slipping. There were good moments, several hours where he was so tired he wasn't even tired anymore, but all in all, it was a bad situation. Even Richard understood this.
Finally, Jared sat him down. It was a Tuesday evening, and Richard had maybe slept sixteen hours in the last week.
'Have you considered your bed?' Jared asked, as strangely matter-of-fact as he always was. Richard thought about his rickety loft bed and tried to track his train of thought. 'Maybe it is sleeping so high off the ground that is causing issues. After all, you're not a monkey.'
Richard felt like a monkey: unable to form coherent thought, but pretty good at flinging shit around.
'I can't just buy a new bed. It wouldn't fit. In my room, it wouldn’t fit. And it’s not like I have the money.'
His tall, gangly advisor shifted uncomfortably.
'You could sleep in my bed and see if that helps.'
'Jared...' Richard was trying to find words to argue, but his brain refused to cooperate. There were very good reasons that this was a bad idea, he knew that. He just couldn't think of them.
'We don't have the money in the budget right now to put you in a hotel, so this is the best option. I'll sleep on my sofa and you will sleep in my bed. You have an important meeting tomorrow. We can't afford to mess this one up. Not that you would mess it up. I just want you to be able to give it your best and, with all due respect, my dear Richard, you are not at your best.'
He didn't have the energy to disagree.
The guys looked at him funny as he carried his weighted blanket and a small bag of necessities (toothbrush, laptop, headphones and something to sleep in) and shoved them into Jared's Chevy Volt, but no one said anything. Richard assumed that Jared had explained it all when he was getting his things and they had already gotten all their mocking comments out of their system.
Jared's apartment was light and elegant. Richard felt it was very much like its owner. (He decided not to investigate the connection he just drew between Jared and the idea of him being elegant.) He dumped his bag in the hallway and followed him to the bedroom. Jared watched him expectantly, and Richard sat down on the edge of the bed.
'Would you like some hot milk? One of my foster mothers would often foist that on me when I couldn't sleep and it feels appropriate for me to now return the favour.' Jared didn't wait for an answer, turning on his heel to leave, presumably to heat the milk.
Richard rubbed his eyes and ran his hands through his hair. He mustered the energy to quickly change into a fresh t-shirt and sleep pants before collapsing on the bed. Jared's apartment had high ceilings. Richard wondered if he ever had glow-in-the-dark stars. Probably not. Richard had, as a child. He started thinking of being young, and about how he suffered from nightmares when he was a kid.
'Richard?' Jared was back, holding out a mug with steaming milk, his eyebrows furrowed in concern. 'You look lost in thought.'
'I was just thinking about what I used to do when I was a kid and had nightmares.' Richard accepted the milk.
'Are you having nightmares now?' Jared carefully sat on the bed, not quite close enough to reach out and touch. Richard wished he was closer. ( What? )
'No, no.' He chewed on his lip and took a hesitant sip of the milk. It was still too hot. 'But when I was a kid I'd sometimes have nightmares and I couldn't sleep afterwards. I used to go to my parents' room and when I slept in their bed, I’d always fall asleep at once. Dunno, I guess just not being alone helped me feel safe. Helped me sleep.'
It wasn't until he closed his mouth he realised what he was, more or less, suggesting. Judging from the strange half-strangled noise Jared uttered, he had too.
'I was going to sleep on the sofa, but if you wanted to, I'm sure I co—'
'No, no,' Richard fumbled over the words, 'I didn't mean – um – to suggest that you had to – I don't want to make you uncomfortable or anything that's not what I –'
'Richard.' Now Jared was touching him. 'You need to rest, and I don't mind. I promise to keep my hands to myself.'
He decided not to pry into what he might have meant with that, and why Richard felt a little disappointed in the promise of staying untouched by Jared. (When had someone touched him last?)
Tucked under his weighted blanket and with his colleague – and, just maybe, friend – just a couple of feet away, Richard Hendricks slept well.
Richard had forgotten how good you feel after a single night of good sleep. After weeks of poor sleep, one unexpected night of good sleep can make you feel invincible. He bounced on the heels of his feet as they headed back to the incubator. He smiled so wide that his chapped lips split and he tasted blood. Jared found a chapstick in a second and offered it to him.
The meeting he had been worried about was fine. More than fine – it had been amazing. Afterwards, Erlich had looked a little surprised at him and admitted:
'Dude, why aren't you this charming all the time?'
Jared smiled at him so proudly and touched his elbow, telling him that he had done such a marvellous job. He was so very proud of him.
Jared's praise meant so much more than Erlich's backhanded compliment.
He went to bed that night, after a productive day full of success after success, certain he would sleep well. He closed his eyes and waited for sleep.
And waited.
And waited.
If you were in Jared's bed, you'd be asleep by now. The thought was uninvited, but he didn't know how to argue with it.
'Fuck.' He whispered into his pillow.
The days passed and sleep kept away. His facade of “functional human being” chipped away little by little. He couldn't sleep but no fucking way was he going to crawl to Jared for help.
It wasn't that he didn't want Jared's help. He really fucking did. (The few hours he did sleep, Jared seemed to have taken up residence in his dreams.) But he couldn’t. He knew that Jared would bend over backwards for him. He knew that Jared wouldn't think about himself or his own needs. He knew Jared would say yes. And Richard didn't want to impose. This was his problem and he should solve it.
Naturally, that was not how it went.
Jared cornered him in the kitchen one day. Richard was blearily eating a bowl of cereal. Jared towered over him, arms crossed and face scrunched up in – annoyance? Frustration? Richard wasn't sure.
'You aren't sleeping again.' Jared licked his lips, and Richard licked his lips, and he didn't like how Jared sounded so disappointed . 'Richard. Please.'
That was all he had to say.
Without discussing it, Richard started sleeping Jared's a few nights a week, then most nights a week. When he didn't sleep with Jared breathing next to him, he didn't sleep at all; he took the nights without him as a good time to crunch code and reacquaintance himself with energy drinks.
About a month passed.
The guys were sitting around the table, working late. Jared had left to get more snacks for the gang. (He was always so considerate, Richard thought.) Erlich looked up from his comic book.
'So, Richie.' Just being called by a nickname made Richard's hair stand on end. Enough bullies had done this to make him sensitive to everything that wasn't his full name. He took a sip of his drink as he waited for Erlich to continue. 'Is the sex good?'
The Red Bull ended up all over his screen and he kept sputtering as he attempted to clean it off.
'Erlich, Erlich . Sex – what – sex – I – with whom?'
'Richard, for being a borderline genius you're really thick.' Gilfoyle butted in. 'He's talking about Jared. It's pretty clear that you're fucking.'
To Richard's credit, he didn't throw up. The world became a little tilted, his stomach made a tentative somersault, but his lunch-or-was-it-dinner stayed down.
'What no I’m not that's insane why would you –' he covered his face and clawed his nails down his face. He couldn't bear how the guys were smirking at him.
'So you're saying you're not fucking ,' Dinesh began, lips pursed, 'you're just... sleeping together?'
'I mean – yes but I mean not like that. Like we're not sleeping together. We're sleeping together. We're, like, sleeping together.' The emphasis wasn't working. 'Like sure we sleep in the same bed but it's not, like, gay at all.'
You could hear a pin drop. You could, in fact, hear a Red Bull can drop, as Richard knocked his empty can over when he flailed to pull his hoodie over his face. The guys were just staring at him.
'You're sleeping in the same bed?' Erlich's voice was unnaturally high, and he sounded more shocked than amused. 'What the fuck, Richard. I'm not a phobe, but...'
'Yeah, Richard, that's pretty gay.' Dinesh agreed.
Gilfoyle shook his head and returned to his work.
'Just remember to use lots of lube and you'll be fine, kiddo.'
Richard wished that the earth would swallow him whole, but instead he received another 26 (twenty- six ) emails that were urgent and just couldn't be ignored.
The problem with the conversation – and let's face it, this was just one of many problems with that conversation – was that Richard had never even considered it. He had never really thought of Jared as a real person before. Jared was this incongruous mass of limbs and helplessly happy smiles. For Jared to have any – um – urges was unimaginable to Richard.
Well, it was unimaginable for a while. When he started trying to imagine it – not because he wanted to sleep with Jared and it wasn't that he was gay and it was really just a way to distract his brain when Jared was muttering in German and he needed to think about something – it was shockingly easy.
Jared had very long eyelashes, pale and curled. Richard could see how they twitched when he dreamed. Richard wondered how Jared would react if he kissed the corner of his eye. (What.)
Jared smiled with his teeth, and Richard wondered if his lips were soft. He wondered if he would bite. He wondered if his teeth would leave marks on his skin. (Oh no.)
Jared's hands were long and elegant. They flew over the keyboard as he worked, moving precisely and beautifully. Richard wondered how they would feel – on his cheek, in his mouth, on his – oh fuck.
After a few weeks of emotional, physical, and sexual chaos – with far too many visits to subreddits he wouldn't even have considered a couple of months ago – he felt better. He was still able to sleep next to Jared because they weren't touching and anyway, Richard knew he was too much of a coward to ever try anything. What would he even do ? (The subreddits has some suggestions...)
He would be fine.
They were away for a conference. With an eye on the budget, Monica had decided to bring a scaled-down team: Richard and Jared would accompany her, with Erlich keeping everything running back home (i.e. keeping an eye on Dinesh and Gilfoyle). The guys kicked up a fuss but Monica put her foot down. It was a business conference, not a coding conference. Jared would be in his element, and Richard... well, Richard was the CEO so he really had to learn.
The three of them had adjacent rooms. They had arrived a day early, and registration didn't start until the next morning. After a leisurely dinner, where Monica and Jared discussed the various merits of tapas and Richard tried to eat as much as possible to calm his nerves, they retired to their separate rooms.
Richard sat on his bed. It was smaller than Jared's bed at home (when did he start thinking of Jared's condo as home?) and he didn't want to sleep in it. He chewed on his cuticles for ten minutes before he made his mind up and decided to do something potentially very foolish.
Jared opened his hotel room door with an expression of concern and confusion. After dinner, they had said goodnight. Seeing Richard at his door must have made him worried that something was wrong.
And, Richard guessed, it kind of was.
'Can I come in?'
Jared had unbuttoned the top buttons on his shirt – oh fuck, Richard had interrupted him while he was getting ready for bed and his collarbone was even sharper than he has ever imagined and, shit, he had imagined it.
'What's wrong, Richard?' Jared cocked his head and pursed his lips. He suddenly reminded Richard of all those stupid birds he liked to watch.
'I'm, I was wondering, like, maybe I, um. Couldisleephere?'
'Richard.'
Jared was sounding so fucking sad.
'I mean, it's just. I'm kind of nervous for the conference tomorrow and it's a big one and I just think I need a good night's sleep.' He heard how he was twisting what Jared had said against him, arguing with him using his own points. He licked his lips and tried not to trace the muscles in Jared's neck with his eyes.
'At home...' Jared hugged himself, wiry fingers clutching his elbows. 'At home I am happy to sleep with you by my side, but here. The bed is too small, Richard. I would touch you.'
'And what – what would be so wrong with that?' Richard heard the words slip out and even he was surprised. He didn't know how many times he'd sidestepped a hug because he did not like to be touched. And here he was, more or less begging Jared to put his hands on him.
Jared blushed.
'Richard.' His voice was low, now, a warning murmur that settled deep in Richard's stomach. He wondered if he was going to be sick. 'You know. We don't have to talk about this. I'd really rather we –'
'I don't – I don't know.' He stepped closer and, hell, they were so close now. Richard could count Jared's eyelashes and only a couple of inches away, Jared's fingers were clenched like a vice around his elbows.
Richard touched him. Two things happened. One: he felt something, deep and frightening, travel through his body at the touch. It was expectation, excitement, and need. Second: Jared closed his eyes and released a ragged breath.
'Surely you know?' His eyes fluttered open and they were so wide, his eyelashes were so heavy, and he was so beautiful. 'I love you, Richard.'
Somehow, hearing Jared say that made so much sense, and somehow Richard had known this always. The stars lived in the sky and the fish lived in the oceans, and Jared loved Richard. He didn't know how he had never realised this before.
'You – you've never told me.' Richard spread his fingers over Jared's upper arm, his thumb brushing against Jared's clutched fingers.
'Because you're straight, Richard.' Jared said this as both a statement and to softly chide him.
'Am I?'
The question was rhetorical. It also wasn't.
Jared didn't protest when Richard took another half-step closer and put his other hand on his shoulder. He said nothing and Richard licked his lips. Jared sighed and he closed his eyes.
'Are you?' Jared's breath was hot on his face. When he opened his eyes, they were far too blue. Richard wasn't sure how to breathe.
'I don't – I don't really know I mean I've always –' he pressed his lips together and exhaled through his nose. He wasn't going to babble this away. 'I'm not sure. I do know that I'd like to kiss you.'
Jared's face lit up, a bright smile and raised eyebrows. A moment later, it dimmed.
'Oh, Richard. We work together. That would make things difficult.'
Very slowly, Richard shifted his hand to brush against Jared's neck, and he was awarded with a soft sigh. They were at an impasse. They were staring at each other, neither moving nor accepting. But Jared was not resisting.
He decided to be very reckless, very stupid, and very brave.
To reach Jared's lips, he had to step up on his tiptoes, and just to keep his balance, he moved the hand on his arm to his other shoulder. Jared's lips were soft. Richard knew his weren't, chapped and rough from anxious picking at them and never drinking enough water. Jared was still against him for a second, not resisting, but not inviting him in. Fear rose in his stomach, bile-like and heavy. He gave him one more kiss and, being Richard, stumbled.
Jared was brought into action, one hand at his waist to keep him upright and the other on Richard's cheek, now angling the kiss. When he felt his lips move against his, Richard thought he might spontaneously combust. Jared kissed him carefully, bending to reach better, precisely planting each kiss. He was so good at this, but hell, he was good at everything.
After what felt like hours, they pulled away. Jared's fingers were splayed over his skin, his cheek and neck, their foreheads touching.
'So, um.' Richard knew his stupid mouth would get him in trouble, so he tried to think of something – anything – innocuous to say. 'Can I stay?'
He could feel Jared's smile more than see it, and he could feel the soft pressure when he kissed his nose.
'Anything for you, my captain.'
They kissed again.
Richard didn't sleep much that night. Then again, neither did Jared.