Chapter Text
It’s not uncommon for Chase to spend a "night" inside of a book.
Of course, "night" doesn’t exactly mean what it does in the real world.
In some books, Chase’s head barely hits the pillows before dawn breaks again. Sometimes, if he’s lucky, he manages to steal a quick nap in the lush softness of a princess’s bed.
In other books, nights take hours to pass. The length of them depends entirely on how the author wrote them.
So, for this book, he thanks every star in the galaxy that the author opted to drag the nights out. There’s probably a reason for it, as there so often is. Perhaps Deacon is off somewhere doing a scene that takes place beneath the moonlight. Or maybe Prunella is. Maybe that new surfer guy.
Whatever—he doesn’t care. All he can think of is how grateful he is as he sinks into the silken comfort of yet another royal highness’s bed, head nestled against Buddy’s chest, where slender fingers weave gently through his hair.
He remembers the last time he and Buddy spent a night together in a book—stranded on a deserted island, stretched out in the sand on opposite sides of a fire, far too much space yawning between them. Back then, Buddy had taken full advantage of his sleeping state, spending the night trying to trick him into revealing something about himself instead of, say, giving him head scratches like he is now.
Thank god they’ve moved past that, Chase thinks as he lets out a little exhale, because this? he could definitely get used to this.
Buddy had been particularly clingy today, always hovering just a few steps behind Chase in nearly every scene—even the ones his character most definitely wasn’t supposed to be in, no matter how much he insisted otherwise.
He had followed Chase all the way back to his room once night had fallen, the corridors dim and quiet, moonlight spilling through the windows once they stepped inside.
Bathed in the light, Buddy looked luminous—like he belonged more to the moon than the earth. And then, as if it were the most natural thing in the world, he had climbed onto the sheets right after Chase had, settling beside him.
Chase had laughed softly, charmed by the faint rosy blush that bloomed across Buddy’s pale cheekbones, and allowed himself to sink fully into the warmth of the bed and Buddy beside him.
Now, with night fully draped over the darkened room, the memory lingers as Buddy’s hands continue their slow, deliberate dance through his hair. His blonde hair is a messy halo, a golden that still seems to glow like sunlight even in the darkness, and his lashes rest heavy against flushed cheeks as a drowsy kind of sleepiness seeps into his bones.
He’s right on the edge of sleep, each breath he takes slower and calmer than the last. His body is totally limp, pliant, tucked easily against Buddy’s frame.
And as for Buddy—he’s wide awake.
He runs his fingers through soft, silky hair, tugging a golden strand, smoothing it back, repeating the motion just to feel it again. He dips slightly without really meaning to, but it’s the scent that draws him in—his shampoo sweet and distantly floral. He breathes it in quietly, nose brushing against the crown of Chase’s head, lips grazing the strands. It’s warm, and it’s ticklish, and it’s everything.
Buddy inhales again, deeper this time, letting Chase’s intoxicating scent fill him completely. For a fleeting moment, he wonders if it would be possible to get drunk on it alone—on Chase. He thinks he could. He thinks, in some quiet, strange way, he already has.
Chase stirs just enough beneath him to hum a sleepy laugh, hair brushing against Buddy’s mouth again as he shifts.
"Are you sniffing my hair?" Chase asks, his voice huskier than usual, thick with sleep and a teasing lilt that echoes through the quiet room.
Buddy freezes for a fraction of a second before replying—voice clipped and defensive. "No."
"Liar," Chase teases, smiling against the subtle rise and fall of his chest.
"It smells nice," Buddy grumbles, ears turning slightly pink.
Chase giggles, the sound warm and soft, muffled into Buddy’s chest. "You’re obsessed with my hair," he states plainly, letting a tired hand reach over to rest lazily against Buddy’s side.
"No, I’m not," Buddy objects immediately, rolling his eyes as he twists a lock around his finger and lets it slip, only to catch another, repeating it absently.
Chase sighs into him, a tiny, blissful noise that vibrates faintly against him.
"Stop it," he giggles halfheartedly when Buddy suddenly tugs his hair lightly, but he doesn’t pull his head away.
"Why? You clearly like it," Buddy says, a smirk dancing on his lips. His thumb strokes along the curve of Chase’s jawline.
"Mm," Chase says in response, voice drowsy. "You’re so—" he yawns, stretching a little, "—clingy today."
"Clingy? Me?" Buddy scoffs, glancing down at him with feigned offense. "Don’t flatter yourself. I just need something to do while you drool on my chest."
Chase hums, too sleepy to argue, and snuggles closer. "Mhm. Sure."
Buddy can’t help the soft grin that creeps across his face as he twists lock after lock around his fingers.
"You’re ridiculous," he mutters, brushing the strands along Chase’s temple. "Making noises like that because I touch your head. Are you a cat?"
"Maybe," Chase replies, voice thick with another yawn. He flutters his eyes open, and Buddy swears he feels his heart skip a beat when he gazes up at him with those big, tired brown eyes. "‘M gonna fall ‘sleep."
Now that certainly won’t do.
Buddy leans down, lips brushing across the top of his head, then the curve of his temple, scattering small, teasing kisses that trail down to his jaw. "Don’t fall asleep yet," he murmurs against his skin.
"Why?" Chase questions sleepily, tilting his head back slightly almost without realising it to grant Buddy more access. Buddy takes it in an instant—peppering more kisses over his Adam’s apple.
"Because," Buddy replies easily against his throat. "I said so."
"Bossy, bossy…" Chase mutters, letting out a soft laugh as Buddy comes up to kiss him properly on the lips—slow and coaxing, and Chase can’t help but to sigh into it. Buddy drinks up the sound like it’s wine.
"You taste good," Chase says quietly against his lips, voice thick with drowsiness, eyes half-lidded. And it’s true, he always taste good—lips the faint flavour of strawberry.
"Of course I do," Buddy quips, leaning down for another long, lazy kiss, meandering his hand through the golden strands, brushing over Chase’s cheek.
Chase giggles softly, muffled into Buddy’s mouth. "Buddy…"
"Mm?" Buddy hums, eyes lighting up with amusement as he shifts to press his lips to the corner of Chase’s mouth. "What is it, little idiot?"
"You’re kissing me like—like a woodpecker," Chase says suddenly, breathy and helpless, a sleepy smirk curling at his lips as Buddy continues his relentless peppering of light little kisses along his jawline.
A low laugh rumbles from Buddy’s throat, lips brushing his ear. "Better than you deserve," he responds, nipping gently at the flesh of his lobe, then trailing his slow kisses back down along the curve of his jaw, down to the neck, lingering in all the places that send shivers down Chase’s spine.
Chase’s eyes close again, a tiny smile wedged onto his face as he simply allows himself to be kissed—a delightfully cold hand running up his side under his shirt while the other combs through his hair
"Stay awake for me. Just a little longer," Buddy whispers in that way that makes Chase want to actually listen.
"Buddy," Chase mumbles, lips barely moving, drifting again, body melting further into him.
"Yes, angel?" Buddy says softly, the word slipping from his tongue mindlessly. He brushes a strand of golden hair behind Chase’s ear as he presses another kiss to his temple.
Chase stills, eyes fluttering open just a little. Honey-brown meets blue in the dim quiet, and Chase blinks slowly as if he isn’t sure he heard right. His lips part, a soft smile tugging at them, smaller than usual but still just as bright somehow.
He sounds almost reverent when he repeats, "Angel?"
Buddy freezes for a second. He doesn’t really do nicknames—ones that aren’t meant to bully or mock, that is. So he’s not entirely sure where angel suddenly came from.
He opens his mouth to brush it off, to claim it was nothing, a mere slip of the tongue, but Chase is looking at him like the word alone has set his heart alight—like it’s something he’s wanted to hear his whole life.
…Buddy supposes he’s not wrong.
Chase is something of an angel.
His angel, sweeping into his life and saving him without even realising it.
Buddy’s throat bobs as he swallows a lump caught in his airway.
"Yeah," he breathes, watching him carefully. "Angel."
Chase exhales, a sound somewhere between a sigh and a laugh, but there’s no teasing in it, no mockery. His eyes shine despite how they droop with exhaustion.
"I like that." His words are slow, slurred with sleep, but honest in a way that makes Buddy ache. He tucks his head back into him. "Like when you call me that," comes his muffled voice.
Buddy’s jaw tightens, and he slides his hand to cradle the back of Chase’s head, leaning in to press a kiss to his forehead. Then his cheek. Then the tip of his nose. Then his closed left eyelid.
Chase giggles—hushed and sleepy, skin warm under Buddy’s palm as he rubs tiny little circles into the dip of his waist.
"Open your eyes," Buddy says, voice low, coaxing, but with an edge of command.
"No," Chase mumbles instantly, stubborn even in his half-asleep state. His lashes remain pressed stubbornly against his cheeks.
"Chase." Buddy leans in, forehead knocking against his. "Open them."
A barely restrained smile stretches across Chase’s lips as shakes his head faintly, pressing his forehead further into Buddy’s, words thick with drowsiness. "Buddy, I’m tired."
"I don’t care," Buddy retorts immediately, fingers dragging up into his hair again, twisting a lock behind his ear around his finger. "Stay awake."
"’M trying," Chase insists weakly, voice fading like he’s already lost the battle.
"No, you’re not." Buddy snorts. "You’re melting all over me."
That earns him another laugh—breathless, quiet, and barely there, but the kind of gentle chuckle that squeezes Buddy’s heart.
"If you fall asleep," Buddy drawls, "I’ll leave."
That gets Chase’s brows knitting together, the faintest frown tugging at his mouth. He peeks his eyes open at long last, pouty and irritated. "Why?"
"Because you’re boring when you’re unconscious," Buddy says simply, the smirk never faltering. His fingernails scratch lightly at his skull. "I want something to do."
Chase’s lips twitch into an amused smirk of his own. "Like kiss me?"
Buddy’s gaze flicks down to his mouth, lingering there. "Maybe."
He doesn’t give Chase the chance to tease him for it; instead, he leans down and captures his lips in a slower kiss, longer than the ones before, savoring the sleepy warmth of Chase’s mouth beneath his. Chase sighs against him, pliant and yielding, the sound so sweet Buddy has to press in again, deepening it just enough to make the boy’s fingers twitch against his side.
When he finally pulls back, Buddy whispers, almost cooing, "Look at you." His thumb strokes along Chase’s cheekbone as if to underline the point.
"This is mean, what you’re doing, y’know," Chase mumbles, eyes still heavy-lidded.
Buddy arches a brow, feigning nonchalance. "What am I doing?"
Chase huffs, rolling his eyes.
"You’re…" He shifts slightly, tucking his face back against Buddy’s chest. "Touching me, and playing with my hair. You’re putting me to sleep on purpose and then demanding I stay awake."
Buddy hums innocently, mouth brushing the edge of Chase’s hairline. "I don’t know what you’re talking about." Another strand slips between his fingers, tickling his knuckles as he toys with it lazily. "I’m minding my own business."
Chase cracks his eyes open fully this time and tilts his head back enough to give him a pointed look, honey-brown eyes glassy with sleep but stubbornly sharp. "You’re literally all in my business right now."
Buddy smirks, dipping down to press a kiss to the corner of his mouth before answering, "Same difference."
His hand drifts back up, brushing idly through the mop of golden hair spilling across the pillow. He lifts a handful, lets it slip between his fingers like silk, then smooths the soft strands off Chase’s forehead, only to let them fall back down in a gentle flop.
"I don’t usually let people touch my hair, y’know," Chase says drowsily after a couple moments of silence.
Buddy pauses, hands stilling. "Is… this your way of telling me to stop?"
"No." Chase yawns, curling closer, eyelids fluttering. "Let me finish."
"You stopped talking, idiot," Buddy drawls, brushing his thumb against the warm shell of Chase’s ear.
"I was saying," Chase goes on, "I don’t usually let people touch my hair ‘cause it makes it all greasy ‘n stuff, but…" He sighs, the sound content, almost blissful. "This is nice." He pauses, lashes heavy as he fights to keep his eyes open. "You can touch it, I guess."
Buddy’s lips twitch. "Ah. So you’re saying I should feel honoured."
"Yeah," Chase mumbles, a sleepy grin tugging at his mouth. He peeks one eye open. "Do you?"
"I’m the luckiest person alive," Buddy responds dryly, sarcasm coating his speech—though his fingers never leave Chase’s hair, and he certainly continues to move them like he is honoured.
"True." Chase giggles, soft and slurred, like he’s not awake enough to control it. "Hey." His voice dips into something more curious. "Do you think this is gonna be a long night? Or will I have to wake up again as soon as I fall asleep?"
Buddy hums, twisting another golden lock around his finger, watching as it slowly unfurls. "If you fall asleep, I’m gonna wake you up."
Chase sighs. "This is an actual torture method," he complains, wrinkling his nose. "This is sleep deprivision."
"Sleep deprivation," Buddy corrects smoothly as his other hand runs around to Chase’s back.
Chase rolls his eyes. "Whatever. Deprivision sounds better."
"Deprivison sounds stupid."
Chase responds with a loud yawn.
Then, Buddy is suddenly tugging lightly at his hair, tilting his head back just enough to force him to look up. Chase lets out a small, drowsy sound of protest, lips pushing into a pout.
"Look at me," Buddy says.
Chase obeys rather begrudgingly, blinking up at him with bleary eyes. "Wha’?"
"Stop yawning. Wake up." he demands, tightening his grip slightly on his hair for a second as if to emphasise his point.
Chase groans, eyes squeezing shut for a moment before opening them again. "I’m tired," he whines.
Buddy studies him for a moment with a small frown—the flutter of his lashes, the clear exhaustion swimming in his pupils, the slight, pretty swollenness of his lips. It’s a face on the verge of sleep, softened, helpless. Buddy snorts quietly at the sight and releases him, tucking Chase’s head back to his chest as if satisfied with his abrupt assessment.
"Fine," he sighs dramatically, brushing his nose across the top of Chase’s hair and taking another subtle sniff. "Go on then. Sleep, little idiot. Not like you ever listen to me anyway."
"I always listen to you," Chase argues faintly, voice a fading grumble, already halfway gone.
Buddy hums in response, fingers threading idly through his hair again. "Go asleep," he repeats.
"Mm. ‘Kay," Chase breathes, soft and sweet, warm breath fanning against Buddy’s collarbone. "Night, Buddy."
There’s a pause as Buddy feels the weight of Chase’s body fully relax, melting into him. He places one last kiss on the top of his head.
"Goodnight, angel," he murmurs softly, just because he knows Chase likes it—and he thinks he kind of likes it now, too.
✩ ₊ ˚.⋆ ☾ ⋆⁺ ₊ ✩
art by lola b.p. :) <3