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Kirill’s bed is unfairly comfortable, but it has nothing to do with the build of it. The brick against Doug’s back is cool, Kirill’s winter comforter is thick but not too hot, and there’s a spot between Kirill’s shoulder blades that he can rest his head on perfectly.
Doug has easily fallen asleep in less hospitable places, so once Kirill’s settled in for the night, it’s not worth the effort to stay awake. It’s a losing battle.
It never takes long. Doug rests his forehead on the spot between Kirill’s shoulders that he likes and the exhaustion melts off of him. He lets himself fall into it, lets it envelop him in turn; it’s peaceful, so much so that he never passes on the opportunity.
The small television acts as just-distracting-enough background noise, drowning out his own thoughts, and, with his eyes shut, there’s nothing but warmth. The rise and fall of Kirill’s body as he breathes is a metronome – grounding, repetitive, steady.
“Goodnight,” Kirill says softly, nonchalantly, just as Doug feels himself starting to fall asleep, and he smiles to himself at how his body language has been read. Then, in that same tone, Kirill adds, “Love you.”
Doug opens his eyes.
Kirill’s said it before. A few times. Always in the heat of the moment, unclothed and preoccupied. It’s all Doug can do to kiss him – and then they’re distracted by that – but saying it back is thrown out the window, feels forced once the timing has passed. Kirill never seems to mind.
But, in Kirill’s apartment in the late-night quiet, it fills the room. There’s nothing to move onto.
It’s doubtful that Kirill said it with the intention of trapping him in a response. Kirill isn’t like that. He just says what he feels when he feels it; it’s a transparency Doug never developed, doesn’t understand, but appreciates nonetheless.
Kirill’s already back to watching his show, Doug thinks. His body is too loose, not tense like someone waiting for a response.
It isn’t that Doug doesn’t necessarily have one. He hasn’t said it to anyone outside of his family, and even less since he was a kid. He may not speak it, but it isn’t a mystery that he feels the same: he shows it, Kirill interprets, and it’s worked so far.
But Kirill – as fun as it is to tease and beguile him day in and day out – deserves more than silence, if it can be helped. He makes the decision to meet him halfway, taking one large step outside of his comfort zone.
Doug tilts forward, kisses the back of Kirill’s left shoulder, murmurs, “You too.”
It’s a start, at least.
(And Kirill, because he’s always known and isn’t surprised one bit by the half-admittance, laughs. He leans his weight back against Doug as he tells him, “Took you long enough.”)