Maybe this is why he couldn't ever sleep- no one to help him wind down. Every stroke had him going more and more boneless, melting into the pillows as that langour sets in. Warm down to his bones he shuffles closer on instinct. He might not end up tucked against Locus' side again but he'll be close enough.
The important thing is that he finds rest. No need to let that anxiety ball up inside of him again. He deserved rest, some measure of assured safety and security, and the soothing wash continued through their bond like a softly hummed lullaby.
Be at ease, York. He's here. He's not going anywhere.
Having this- that borrowed warmth radiating off locus, the pipeline to lazy, sleepy contentment in his mind silencing his usual anxieties, the band in his hair? All roll together in an overwhelming need for rest he usually can't find on his own. Safe.
He's safe here. He doesn't need to worry so much, it'll be okay. He slips forward that last little bit, forehead pressing against Locus' throat, lost in the sensation of security and comfort provided. His end of the bond fills with sleepy affection and gratitude.
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Be at ease, York. He's here. He's not going anywhere.
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He's safe here. He doesn't need to worry so much, it'll be okay. He slips forward that last little bit, forehead pressing against Locus' throat, lost in the sensation of security and comfort provided. His end of the bond fills with sleepy affection and gratitude.