Chapter Text
It's not something he liked to talk about, and he really didn't need to ever. He had lived alone, after all, and there's no one to see or hear him at night. But then Hat Films started, and they all moved together in one place, and suddenly he became even more aware of night troubles.
"Yo Ross, which bedroom do you want?" Smith asked when they were unpacking all of their stuff into their new home. "There's two bedrooms upstairs and one downstairs, and I figured I'd be nice and let you have first pick."
"Wow, so generous of you," Ross said, rolling eyes. "I'll have the one downstairs."
"So either you're afraid of heights or you don't want to be anywhere near me and Trott while sleeping," Smith joked, but Ross thought he saw a flicker of sadness in his eyes.
"Yeah, something like that."
The first night went great for him; everything went fine and his sleep was uninterrupted.
"Mornin' Ross," Smith said sleepily, yawning as he went down the stairs.
"Morning!" he responded happily. "Want me to make you any breakfast? I've got eggs and toast on already for myself, but I could throw on a few more."
"Gee, thanks mate." Smith watched as Ross bustled over to the fridge. "Who put happy cream in your coffee this morning? You're way too happy right now."
"Just a nice sleep, that's all."
"Hey, throw on a few more eggs and some bacon for me, will you Ross?" Trott said, having made it to the kitchen without anyone noticing.
"No, fuck off, I'm not your fucking butler mate!" Ross said, grinning while slapping some bacon on.
"Thanks, my butler."
The second night wasn't as great. There wasn't any jumping out of windows, but it wasn't all peace and quiet either.
"Hey, Ross!" Smith said, not looking up from his coffee and phone.
"'Ornin'," he grunted in response.
At this, Smith looked up.
"Jesus, you look pretty knackered. What happened?"
"Not a great night, but I can recover." Ross grabbed the coffee that was on the table.
"Yeah, I made that for you when I didn't see you up." Smith watched as the man next to him take a few gulps of the blackish liquid. "You're welcome," he added.
Ross lowered the cup and raised it in a mock toast. "Cheers mate, it's just like I always like it."
"What can I say, I pay attention." Smith suddenly looked away, observing the stove top, but Ross didn't notice.
Suddenly they heard a series of thuds as Trott made his way down the stairs.
"What, no breakfast waiting for me this time? Butler?"
The third night was definitely worse. He shot out of bed, and felt the familiar but inevitable horror and fear take over his mind and in his mind's eye he saw his sheets become an indescribable threat. He couldn't sleep too well after that, and the next morning his arms were sore.
"Wow mate, now you're really looking pretty shit. You all right?" Smith said, two cups of coffee already in front of him and some toast in the toaster.
"Eh, I'm fine." Ross said, chugging down the liquid energy.
They fell into a comfortable silence, and Trott came down the stairs soon afterwards.
The fourth night was bad. This time he thought his headboards and walls were trying to crush him, leading to a lot of punching and some bruised and cut knuckles.
Ross shuffled into the kitchen, grunting a greeting to Smith, who, as per usual, had set up some coffee for him and Ross, as well as some toast with some jam and margarine.
"Are you sure you're alright mate? You've been looking worse everyday since we moved here." Smith looked on concernedly as Ross weakly wrapped a hand around his cup and stared at the food in front of him, not feeling like eating.
"Hold on." Smith suddenly stared at Ross' hand. "What the fuck happened with your hand? I know that it was fine yesterday, and now they've looked like you've been in some bar brawl."
"I move around when I sleep." Was Ross' succinct answer.
"Well at least let me take care of that for you, mate."
Strangely, Ross felt a lot happier watching Smith care for his injured hand, even with the awful night. The stress of his troubles eased a bit, and he relaxed.
Trott came down just as Smith finished up putting away the supplies.
The fifth night was a beauty.
Ross still was up later, taking advantage of the uninterrupted sleep, and came into the kitchen smiling contentedly.
"Looks like you got a better night's sleep," Smith said, with the usual breakfast set up in front of him.
"Yes, I did."
THe sixth night was the worst. Literally the worst. He woke up yelling his head off, then proceeded to bang on the door, forgetting that he locked it for this very reason, then tried to jump out of the window. Just as he had started to get the window open, someone came banging on his door.
"Ross, mate? Lemme in! I heard yelling, was that you?" Smith's muffled voice went through the door, and at that point his night terror faded, and Ross came back to his senses.
Opening the door, Ross stared sheepishly at the tired looking dark ginger standing there, mid yawn.
"What was going on in there, did you have a nightmare?" Smith looked at Ross, taking a quick glance around his room. His eyes fell on the still partially open window, blowing a cool breeze through the curtains.
"Holy shit, did you try to go through the fucking window mate?" Smith eyes widened, and he pushed through Ross into his room.
"Um, ah, er," Ross stammered, struggling to come up with an explanation. "I just had a nightmare, and wanted to get a breeze going."
"Riiiight." Smith looked dubiously at Ross, but backed away. "Well, don't mind me then. I'll just be off." He turned on his heel and left Ross' room, leaving a sad man in his wake.
That morning after a fitful night, Ross did the usual morning ritual with Smith, and neither of them talked about that night.
The seventh night was hell. Not only was there more punching and banging, leading to reopened wounds on his hands, but this time he actually made it through the window, and was out on the streets by the time Smith managed to catch up with him.
"Ross! ROSS!" Smith ran at the man, who had "woken up" at the sound of Smith's voice. "You're fucking crazy mate, you know that? What were you thinking, going out on the streets like that? You're not even fully dressed for fuck's sake!"
Ross glanced down at his body, noting the boxers and shirt on his body, and nothing else. It was a chilly evening too, and the cold had started to seep into his bones.
"Here." Smith draped a jacket over Ross' shoulders when he noticed the man shivering. "I grabbed it on my way out."
"Thanks."
Leading Ross back into the house, Smith took a glance at their clock.
1:00
"Well, it's only an hour after midnight, so I might as well patch you up now."
"No, please, it's fine." Ross tried to push away, but Smith held on tight.
"Nah mate, you're getting patched up right now or so help me God, I am never making you breakfast again."
Unable to struggle against the taller man's strength, Ross relented and allowed Smith to patch him up yet again.
"Okay, you're good now, but I don't feel too safe with you going back to bed." Smith stood up, looking down at the still sitting Ross.
"It's okay. It only happens once a night anyway."
"Still," Smith said firmly. "Just let me sleep on your floor or something. I'll feel a lot better about your safety."
Ross sighed, unable to deny his friend's unbeatable stubbornness.
"Fine."
It was a nice rest of the night.
The next morning Ross woke up, and found himself snuggled next to something extremely warm and cuddly. Relishing in the warmth, he tried to bring himself closer to the source, but as he slowly woke up, he realized that the being he was hugging a very sleepy Smith.
"Shitshitshit." Ross scrambled out from under the covers, falling to the ground in a tangle.
"Hm, what?" Smith turned in bed and groaned, slowly opening his eyes. "Oh, yeah. You were tossing and turning before I even started to try and doze off as well, and when I went up to you to try and calm you down you grabbed hold and didn't let go, so"--he gave a little shrug--"I figured I could just stay in your bed."
Smith related his story so easily and nonchalantly Ross could believe that their sleepover was completely platonic, but he couldn't help but wish that it wasn't. Or maybe it was the feeling coming from under the pillow covering his, ahem, lower regions.
"Anyway, it's time to get up. You're making breakfast this time; I've been making it for you for way too long now."
"It's been five fucking days mate," Ross groaned, getting up and shoving on a pair of pants.
"Yeah, way too long," Smith responded, getting off the bed as well.
"Fine. It's been awhile since I slept this nicely anyway."
Ross went into the bathroom to have a quick wash, then went to the kitchen to get some breakfast going.
A few minutes later, Smith shuffled in, yawning.
"Thanks mate. You owe me, anyway, for saving your ass last night."
Ross scoffed, flipping his eggs.
"I would've been fine, you know."
"Sure, I'm sure this kind of thing happens all the time." Smith smirked, looking at Ross.
Ross shuffled his feet, looking down.
"Well," Ross drew out the word for a few seconds, then caught Smith's accusatory glare.
"I-I mean, no, of course not, silly!" Ross gave a nervous laugh, but didn't convince the other man.
"Ross," Smith said quietly, staring at him. "Are you telling me that this happens to you often?"
"W-Well, not every night. Just, you know, sometimes."
"And you never told me?" Smith asked, flatly.
"It's never been a problem!" Ross pleaded, forgetting the eggs that were slowly overcooking behind him.
"Never been a problem?? Are you telling me your bleeding knuckles are not a problem?" Smith was standing now, a furious expression on his face.
Ross waved his hands helplessly in front of his face, wincing at the sight of the bindings on his hands.
"Is there nothing that can help?" Smith suddenly looked concerned, his eyebrows drawn in.
"Well, I guess I just need to feel calm as I'm sleeping, or something. At least, that's what the doctor said. I tried yoga, but it took too long at night, especially since I met you guys and started the whole YouTube thing.
"Is there anything?" Smith asked, grabbing his friend's shoulders.
Ross blushed at his touch, and shook his head slightly.
"It went away for a little while during my first boyfriend, but when we broke up it came back."
"So..." Smith stopped, then grinned, showing more teeth than Ross thought humanly possible.
"W-What?"
Smith leaned into Ross, still smiling.
"You need a new boyfriend," he whispered, sending tingles down Ross' spine.
"I-I suppose," Ross said, unhelpfully. He looked down at his feet, and refused to let Smith see the blush that was creeping onto his cheeks.
"Got anyone on your mind?" he asked, still uncomfortably close to the slightly shorter man.
"Yeah-" Ross stopped, and bit his lip. "Nevermind."
"Hm. Okay." Smith backed up slightly, and Ross suddenly felt the urge to grab his hand.
Just as he was about to take a step away, he felt something warm and slightly rough on his lips. Closing his eyes, he leaned in involuntarily, and Smith's hands reached up to cup his face. The kiss was gentle, not at all what Ross expected out of his roughish friend.
After what seemed like a perfect eternity, and yet to Ross still too short of a time, they broke apart. Staring breathless at each other, Smith smirked.
"Got anyone on your mind now?"
Ross never slept better that night. Or any of the nights after for that matter.