Sometimes, when Seb potters about at night, sketching and guzzling coffee, he sneaks peeks at Jamie as he sleeps. He knows it’s creepy, but he can’t help it either. He watches the way Jamie curls in a tight ball, one arm over his head, the way his hair tries to retain its carefully gelled spikes. Sometimes he murmurs in his sleep, saying nonsense things like “no monocles!,” or “squirrel sundae.” It’s too fucking cute.
Sometimes he wakes with magic pooling in his eyes and an ugly sneer on his lips. Seb despises himself for the way that secretly excites him.