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His eyes were droopy and watery. It hurt to keep them open. They burned with every blink.
Morty’s bedroom was entirely dark, and the TV was disgustingly bright. The light, it was making him woozy. He shoveled another handful of candy into his mouth. A bunch of little pieces. Chewy, terribly sour. He chewed through his exhaustion, fighting to stay awake. He wouldn’t let his heavy head, or the too soft beanbag chair, or the comfortable weight of Rick’s arm around him pull him into sleep. Even though the faces and voices of the characters on screen were melding together, and he could barely process what they were saying, and Rick’s chest was like a warm pillow, he refused to give in. He wouldn’t give in. But he was so tired .
At the same time, he was too invested in the show. They were supposed to finish up the season tonight. It would be embarrassing to fall asleep right now. He didn’t want it to - he really didn’t want it to - but it was happening. With every yawn, they were on a different scene, and he kept his eyes closed longer, and relaxed deeper in Rick’s grasp. A microsleep, a landmine in his quest to stay awake.
He yawned, and the TV was a complete blur, and his body felt so heavy, and Rick felt so soft. He yawned, and there were still bits of gummy in his mouth, but he didn’t have the energy to swallow, and he felt weak.
He yawned, and his eyes burned.
🌙🌙🌙
Morty didn’t remember much.
He didn’t remember ever turning the TV off, or falling asleep in his bed or… falling asleep . Morty yawned, and clutched the blanket to his chest.
His pillow was hot, damp. But he felt so… cold . Morty shifted. His legs were bare. He didn’t like it, the way his blanket felt on his skin. He didn’t remember turning the TV off, or climbing into bed, or removing his pants. Morty hugged himself. He felt cold, and couldn’t remember much, and his room was all dark…
The door creaked open.
He didn’t have much to see by; the moonlight in his window was pale, gauzy. It made nothing but a shadow of whoever entered. A tall, lanky figure, wandering up to his bedside. Morty squinted.
“R-Rick?” He asked. “Is that you?”
The figure paused. “Yeah. Didn’t know you were awake.” Rick’s voice was soft. He sounded surprised, a little tired. Morty sighed. Rick. He remembered Rick being here. “I was just cleaning up.” Rick stepped closer, and laughed. “You went through, like, ten bags of candy.”
“No I…” Morty yawned. “No I didn’t.”
“Keep telling yourself that.”
“Gah!” For a second, all he saw was white. He flinched, and shut his eyes. It hurt. He hugged himself tighter. What the hell…
“The proof’s written all over your face.” Rick held his phone up. Morty looked, dark spots in his vision, waiting for his poor eyes to focus. The “proof” was a picture of him, laying in bed, bundled up under the covers, eyes wide, some type of white, flaky residue around his mouth. He appeared shocked and exhausted. Unwell, almost. Morty looked away with a groan, and held his hand up.
“Get that out of my face…”
Rick laughed. “You little fiend.” He tucked his phone away, and looked him over. “Here, let’s get you cleaned up.”
The lamp clicked on, and the room was flooded with golden light.
Through Morty’s hazy vision, Rick looked like an angel. With a halo of fluffy, blue-gray hair, and gold rimmed eyes, he seemed to be descending, rather than simply kneeling beside him. He held Morty’s jaw, and rubbed at his mouth with a damp washcloth. Morty leaned into the touch, Rick’s slow, gentle scrubbing. His hands were rough, but warm, and his eyes were locked on Morty’s lips. “There we go…” Rick sat the washcloth aside, ran a thumb over Morty’s clean lips. Their faces were close. Morty shivered. It felt nice, Rick cupping his cheek, his gentle, tired eyes looking him over, adoring him. Morty kissed him. Rick smiled.
“C-Can we cuddle?” Morty’s voice was feeble, embarrassed. “I feel cold.”
Rick kissed his forehead. “Of course.”
The lamp clicked off, and the room was dark again.
Rick’s footsteps were light. Nothing more than a few dull creaks as he made his way to the other side of the bed. He lifted the covers, and the mattress sank. Morty smiled when he felt Rick’s warmth on his back. The older man rested his chin in his hair and placed a hand on Morty’s stomach.
“You know, you wouldn’t feel so cold if you didn’t have all that sugar.” Rick’s voice was soft, teasing.
“That’s not true,” Morty yawned. “Maybe if you didn’t take my pants off…”
“I thought you’d be more comfortable.”
And sure, Morty supposed this was better than sleeping in his jeans. Even if the blanket on his bare skin would take some getting used to, and he could feel the rough texture of Rick’s pants when he intertwined their legs, he couldn’t imagine the fitted denim being as cool, or freeing.
Morty sighed as he relaxed into Rick’s grasp, the arm he had under his pillow. He was immediately warm, comfortable. Blissfully at ease. He yawned happily. In all the confusion of waking up and having a camera flashed in his face, Morty hadn’t noticed how tired he still was.
Just as he eased his eyes closed, his stomach gave a weak growl. Not of hunger, but of protest. Debating rejection. Morty groaned.
“I really went through ten bags, huh?” He frowned, and buried his face in his pillow. Rick laughed.
“Not all ten. You were kind enough to save me a piece.”
“My tummy hurts…”
Rick slipped a hand under Morty’s shirt, rubbed slow circles into his stomach. “I bet it does.”
Morty grimaced at the dull ache in his abdomen. It wasn’t the worst. Only enough to tell him he’d done something wrong. Morty shifted. Though, it didn’t bother him as much with Rick’s gentle touches, and his familiar warmth. It didn’t bother him as much when Morty could hear his breaths and feel his heartbeat. It didn’t bother him as much when his room was all dark, and his bed was warm, and he was so comfortable. He could fall asleep like this. Morty could already feel himself slipping, melting. It was nice. It was so nice. Morty sighed. Rick yawned.
“How’re you feeling now?” He asked. “Still cold?”
“I’m-” Morty yawned. “I’m alright. Just…regretting all the candy.”
“Hm. I could go get you some water if-”
“No, don’t leave me,” Morty whined. He took Rick’s hand in his, and interlocked their fingers. “Better stay…” Yawn. “R-Right here.”
Rick laughed. “As you wish.”
He stayed, and Morty let out another yawn.
His eyes were heavy. It didn’t hurt to keep them open, but it definitely felt better to close them. So he did.
There, in the darkness of his bedroom, nestled in Rick’s arms, Morty didn’t feel it when he fell asleep. He didn’t feel it when all his thoughts ceased, and his breaths turned shallow. And, for a couple of hours, he was peacefully oblivious to the world around him. Not once did he feel sleep take over.
There was only gauzy moonlight, and his heavy blanket, and his soft pillow. There was only tangled legs, and forehead kisses, and the sound of Rick’s breathing. There was only blissful warmth, and interlocked fingers, and feeling small.
Morty didn’t remember much, but that was fine.
He would remember this.