Work Text:
“Alex?” George locks the door behind him, leaving his suitcase in the hallway. It’s good to be home. California weather is nice, of course, but he’s been holed up in a stuffy conference room with no windows the whole week. It was, George thinks, frowning at the memory, a bit much.
“Alex…?” he repeats, softer this time. He knows that it’s not a huge deal that Alex isn’t answering - sometimes he’s just too wrapped up in his work to notice. But George would be lying if he said that he hasn’t been at least a little worried about his boy these past few days. Sure, he tries to check in with Alex when he’s away, but business trips are, well, full of business. And saying “I love you” and “good night” over the phone is nice and all, but you can’t really tell how the person on the other side is just by the muffled static of their voice (“I’m fine, George”). George knows better than to nag, though.
He treads carefully to the living room, unbuttoning his suit jacket and loosening his tie as he goes. And - oh. There he is. Alex is lying on the hardwood floor, eyes closed and mouth slightly open. His chest is gently rising, falling, rising, falling. George shakes his head, fondly, at his sleeping Alexander. Would it have killed him to sit on the couch, like a normal person?
He’s face down, right now, in an old Columbia tee that he refuses to throw away and pajama pants, head nested in a curved arm on top of the keyboard of his laptop. A Word doc is still up on the screen, the bluish glow of it giving his hair, tied up in a sloppy ponytail, a silvery tint in the darkened room.
How can someone even fall asleep like that? George thinks for a second, but it’s only that - a second. It used to be more a shock, when they were still trying to figure out how to fit into each other’s lives. George would text Alex, Hey, I’m coming over right now, and Alex would shoot back a few seconds later, great see you in 10 dinner’s almost ready:). And George would let himself in only to find Alex curled up on the yellow floor tiles of the kitchen, head resting against the bottom cabinets. He’d take whatever was cooking off the stove, set the table, then slowly wake Alex up. Slowly. Sometimes it wouldn’t work and he’d drift back off to sleep, and they’d eat at midnight.
So, yes. George is used to this. Could probably write a book, with some generic, uninspired title like The Care and Keeping of Alexander Hamilton, if he wanted to. A multi-chapter guide on how to deal with all of his slightly inconvenient idiosyncrasies - what to do if his left eye starts twitching in that funny way that means he’s been running on 85% caffeine for the last 24 hours. What to do if he can’t stop pacing the room and how to calm him down. What to do if he’s lying in the middle of your living room floor. You know, the usual.
Alex shifts. George squints at the screen. There’s a smattering of random letters, now, from where Alex’s head is pressing onto the keyboard.
There was a time when George would have let Alex stay there and just cover him up with a blanket. Alex is young, or at least younger, but he’s been complaining about his back recently. And that position can’t be comfortable after one night. (George makes a mental note to take him to a chiropractor on his next day off. Whenever that is.)
George squats down next to Alex, gingerly lifts his head off the keyboard. There’s a bunch of faint red square-shaped marks on his forehead. Alex blinks slowly, sleepily, and George really shouldn’t find that cute but -
“Hey,” George says softly, smiling because he can’t help himself.
Alex lets out a tiny groan and rolls over onto his back, shutting his eyes. George tries not to take it personally.
“Alex,” he says, whispering, “You need to--” George hauls Alex up to his feet in one fluid motion, because he might as well get it over with while Alex is too mind-muddled to protest-- “sleep in an actual bed.” Alex shakes his head.
“Come on,” George says, in some kind of affectionate exasperation. “It’s just a few stairs.” Alex slumps over unexpectedly and George catches him around the waist to keep him from falling. George holds him like that for a while. He doesn’t really know what else to do.
“Carry me,” Alex mumbles into his shoulder after a few moments of silence.
“What?” George asks.
“Can’t,” Alex says, eyes still shut. “Too tired.”
George shrugs, and then picks him up, bridal style. He works out, even on business trips - it’s easy. Alex slips an arm around his neck. “Thanks,” he whispers. George presses a kiss to the top of his head and trudges up the stairs.
By the time they make it to the bedroom, Alex is fast asleep. George lays him gently on the bed, covers him with the comforter, and eases the hair tie out of his hair before heading downstairs again.
There's a three hour time difference, and he’s never been great with jet lag. It'll be a long night.
***
George wakes up to Alex peppering his collarbone with kisses, the top of his head filling George’s field of vision. “Alex?” he says, groggy and still half-asleep. What time is it? It’s too early--
“Hmm?” Alex answers lazily.
“Alex--”
Alex ignores him and resumes his kissing, carefully moving up to the underside of his jaw.
“Alex, I found you last night--” Oh god, that feels good.
“Mmhmm,” Alex’s voice vibrates on his skin.
Focus, George. “I found you last night on the floor. You were lying on the floor. You had your laptop open--”
Alex raises his head abruptly, eyes worried. “Oh my god, I was working on something. I spent like five hours on that, fuck, I didn’t mean to fall asleep, I wanted to stay up for you--”
“Calm down, don’t worry.” George punctuates his sentence with a quick peck on the lips. Alex still looks mildly panicked. “I saved the document for you. It’s on your desktop; I couldn’t figure out which folder to put it in--”
Alex is grinning now, his entire face relaxed. “I love you, did you know that?” He props himself up on an elbow, looking up sideways at George.
“Love you too,” George says, almost reflexively. Doesn’t mean he means it any less, though.
“Alex, are you okay? Have you been sleeping? eating? hydrating?”
Alex rolls his eyes at that last one. “Yes, mom.”
George sighs. “You know I’m just worried about you.”
“I know. But look. I’m here, right? Still alive? I’m not even sick.”
A pause.
Alex tries again. “You know me; I’m always falling asleep in weird places--”
George laughs. “I know.” He decides to stop the questions. It’s a nice morning, after all.
“I missed you,” he says instead, running his hand through Alex’s hair.
“I did too,” Alex says, now back on top of him, dropping kisses on his cheek, all soft and slow. George can feel him smiling. “If you couldn’t already tell.”