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It’s been a long night.
You’ve tried everything you could to fall asleep, and still nothing was working. It’s a quiet night, with the chirping of crickets barely audible from the yard.
And yet you can’t sleep. Maybe it’s too quiet? Regardless, here you are; tossing and turning and feeling further from sleep than you ever have.
Getting out of bed, you pull a soft blanket around your shoulders, wearing it like a cape. It’s a bit childish, you know, but you appreciate the comfort, and, besides, everyone should be asleep (Aside from Number Two, who usually resided in her room at this hour), so who was going to see you?
Creeping down the stairs, you skip the one that always squeaks if you stepped on it, looking into the kitchen. To your surprise, there is a light on.
Poking your head around the doorway, you see Mr. Benedict carefully rummaging through a cabinet, attempting to make the least amount of noise possible.
You whisper a quiet “Hello”, and he jumps slightly, spinning around to look at you.
“Oh, hello, dear.” He smiles invitingly. “I was just contemplating making some hot cocoa, what do you think?”
You nod, and his eyes brighten. “Wonderful. Would you mind helping me prepare it? It will give you something to do with your hands, and you do seem as though you are feeling rather restless. Feel free to correct me if I am wrong, though.”
You shrug and go to pull out a small saucepan, sensing his eyes following you as you do. When you turn back he has the tin of cocoa powder in hand, and is searching the fridge for chocolate chips.
You walk over and deftly open the bottom drawer, pulling out the bag of chocolate chips and sending him a small grin.
“Ah.” He says, grinning back at you. “Thank you, my dear. Now, what else do we need?”
You point at the container of sugar on the counter, and he bobs his head up and down.
“Quite right, quite right. We wouldn’t want our cocoa to be bitter, would we? On that note, do you like vanilla in it?”
You nod again, and as he begins measuring out the ingredients you move over to the cabinet that holds the marshmallows.
“Did I forget something else?”
You present the container of marshmallows to him, and he laughs softly.
“I don’t usually make cocoa on my own; most of the time it’s for Number Two or Rhonda, and they help me get things together.”
You tilt your head at him, an inquisitive look on your face, and he picks up on your meaning immediately.
“Oh, what about Milligan? He doesn’t like hot cocoa as much, usually prefers tea as a comforting beverage. Though goodness knows there are many times I’ve made tea for him in the middle of the night too.”
Humming to himself, he begins stirring the milk in the saucepan, eyes focussed on the task at hand.
You pull a stool over to sit next to him, rewrapping the blanket tighter around your shoulders as you watch. The song he’s humming is vaguely familiar, but you don’t quite know the words. It’s comforting all the same, and you find yourself rocking in time.
It’s silent in the kitchen for a while, until at last he’s pouring the finished cocoa into two mugs. You happily plop a few marshmallows in each cup, and his eyes crease in the fond expression he sends your way.
As you two settle in the big, comfy chairs in the living room, he gives you a keen glance.
“Do you want to talk about what’s bothering you now?”
You almost choke on your cocoa, and he hurries to hand you a napkin.
“I’m sorry, my dear, I didn’t mean to startle you. It’s only, you don’t seem to be this discomfited, especially this late at night, unless there’s something on your mind.”
You smile ruefully, letting out a sigh that you’ve been holding for what feels like forever. As you begin to tell him about your day, spilling your worries for someone you know truly cares, the restlessness and weight that has been hanging from your collarbone begins to dissipate.
He listens to it all, the big things and the little ones, the heartbreak and the mundane aches. As you wind down, he leans forward, elbows on his knees as he gazes intently at your expression, looking for any sign of discomfort.
You slump back into the cushy chair, one that holds you up with just the right amount of stuffing and soft, worn fabric. It had taken a lot out of you to talk about all that, even though it was just words.
“Words still take energy, dear,” He said gently, “And you shouldn’t discount them. It takes great emotional strength and vulnerability to share some things, and I am grateful that you trust me enough to do so.”
A silent tear slips down your cheek, and he reaches out to tenderly wipe it away.
“I’m sorry to have made you cry, but, indeed, sometimes a good cry is just what we need, hm? Would you like a hug, dear one?”
You nod, and he wraps you up in one of the warmest hugs you’ve ever felt. And not just “warm” in temperature, although his coat is very comfortable, but “warm” in the sense of “loving”. It was as though you were the safest you would ever be, and the hug would protect you from all things.
He never initiates letting go, instead waiting for you to be ready. It takes a little while, but he never seems frustrated or impatient. Simply holding you tightly, hand occasionally rubbing your back.
Eventually, you feel a little more steady, and you pull back, looking at him. His eyes are sparkling with tears, and you know it must have taken quite a lot of self-discipline for him not to fall asleep.
Oh, and there he goes.
Luckily, he was standing right next to his chair, and you have little trouble settling him into it. You stand there for a moment, arms wrapped around yourself, just enjoying the residual sensation of being hugged.
A few minutes later, he wakes up, blinking tiredly for a second before seeming to remember where he was and looking at you.
“Oh, I’m terribly sorry, dear. I did not mean to drop off.”
You shrug; it didn’t bother you. You know how hard it is for him to control his emotions, especially during moments of physical contact.
“Now, it is getting rather late. Why don’t we both go to bed?”
A sudden wave of sleepiness washes over you, and you realise that, since you were able to share some of your worries and release them, rest is sounding more and more appealing.
He lays an arm over your shoulders as you head toward the stairs. Somehow, you think you won’t have trouble falling asleep after this.