Sollux gets back to your room late, at least for him. It's probably pushing eleven when he arrives.
You don't have to ask him if it was a rough night! You can see it in his eyes, behind his silly red-and-blue glasses; you can see it in the way he slumps his shoulders, in the way he limps in through the door to the room you share. You make enough to afford this one-bedroom place, if you're careful; everyone seems to assume that you're a couple because of it, and you guess you are, since no one bothers to ask what you're a couple of.
He shuts the door to your room quietly, like he thinks you're already asleep. You know he knows better than that, but that's all right; it's oddly sweet of him to do that, really. You reach over, turn on the lamp and pull off your headphones; maybe it's time to give the music a rest, anyway.
Sollux doesn't say much as he makes his way over to the bed, cursing slightly as he steps on one of your wizard kitty plushes, then immediately muttering an apology and picking it up. Worse than you thought, you immediately realize, and you scoot over and make room in the bed for him.
"Thanks," he mutters as he settles down and takes off his glasses. "You okay, RX?"
"Yeah," you say, only a tiny bit slurred from the alcohol in your system. You didn't have too much to drink that night; it was fairly easy. Your only real project right now is with one of your BFF-sies, and she might be kind of embarrassed about it, but frankly, it's old news for you! "Worried about you."
He snorts. "Whatever," he says, but you hear the exhaustion in his voice. You've heard about the guys he's working with right now, the prima-donna actor and the perfectionist director. He's probably going through hell right about now; it's blackrom porn, and you're still barely sure what that means, but it apparently means a lot more nights when Sollux comes home with fresh bandages that need to be changed. (You do the changing, of course. His telekinetics can do a lot, but you aren't sure you trust them for that, and he has this odd aversion to touching his own bandages.)
He doesn't seem hurt right then, though, just really tired, and you decide not to press the matter any more. "Here," you say, reaching over and turning off the light. No more music - he swears he can hear it, and you'll still have your headphones tomorrow. "C'mon, let's get some sleep."
"Mmm." He snuggles up to you, his grey skin very warm. "Thanks for staying up for me, RX."
"Of course," you say with a grin. "I get cold if you're not here!"
He laughs a bit as he turns his back to you, and you wrap your arm around his chest. You're one of the few people, he says, that he'll trust to sleep at his back, and you've never asked why. You figure he'd tell you if he wanted you to know. "Glad I'm good for something," he says, his familiar lisp dulled with exhaustion.
You don't answer; you know he'll be all right in the morning. You just kiss him on the shoulder, through his black tee-shirt, and settle in for the night, and hope he's not going to have too many bad dreams. He's supposed to sleep in a tank of some sort, but those things are expensive and neither of you make enough to afford one. He says it's easier to sleep when you're holding him, though, and that's something.
You drift off to sleep listening to the quadrupled beating of his heart.