Robbie leans back in his seat, hands gripping the steering wheel as he contemplates the bungalow. The engine is cold and has been for some time.

The bungalow is small; a cosy building situated on the end of a quiet cul-de-sac, and in the dim street light the pink stucco façade appears white. Neatly planted flowers border the striking home and a white Audi sits on the steeply sloping driveway mere inches ahead of his own vehicle.

He cannot quite explain what he is doing here; no amount of thought or lengthy deliberation can possibly clarify his reasoning or his intentions. Of all the questionable and often downright ridiculous things that he has done throughout his life, driving out of the city at three o'clock in the morning to divulge to his band mate that he has recently developed a sudden fondness for cuddling him is certainly up there.

The insomnia had begun in the days following his suspension. Desperately lonely he would frequently find himself wandering in an aimless manner throughout the house in the middle of the night contemplating his life and his mistakes until, exhausted, he would eventually relent and drown himself in whiskey until he eventually passed out on the couch. Other than the ability to sleep for several hours uninterrupted the liquor brings him little comfort and the disdain for himself that follows when he does wake simply sees him reaching for the bottle once more, but the numbness that follows each sip keeps him coming back for more, the way in which it dulls every sense until he does not know what is and what isn't.

Stuart had shown up one morning, concerned and demanding to know why Robbie had not returned any of his calls. Letting himself into the house, once his sanctuary and that now feels cold and empty, much too large for one man, estranging in a way, he had discovered Robbie in the upstairs bathroom his arms wrapped around the rim of the toilet clinging desperately whilst he emptied every ounce of alcohol that he had consumed the previous night in a fit of depression into the bowl.

The younger man had waited beside him, watching on nervously, worrying his lower lip between his teeth and furrowing his brow as he rubbed his back and murmured in a manner that made him, a grown man who significantly prided himself on his masculinity, want to break down and sob on the bathroom floor. When he had finally begun to dry heave, loud painful spasms that wracked his entire body and left him weak and trembling, slim yet deceivingly strong arms had wrapped around him and had dragged his limp unsteady body into the guest bedroom and put him to bed.

This act of kindness was, of course, to be expected from the blonde but what Robbie had not counted on was waking up with someone's body pressed against him, long slender legs tangled with his own.

Ultimately he was confused, disturbed, much like any other straight man would have been in a similar situation, however, amongst the shock was a sense of relief. He could not remember having gotten a better rest than he had with Stuart's lithe body against him, warm breath on the back of his neck and cool feet pressed against his calves.

For the sake of his own sanity he had not dared to question what exactly had taken place in his guest room, but perhaps, he thinks, if he had cleared that up in the first instance he would not be sitting in front of Stuart's home in the early hours of the morning more than a week later yearning desperately for him, wondering why he wanted, or rather needed to share a bed with the younger man.

The porch light flickers on attracting the attention of a lone moth. Moments later the front door opens and light spills across the freshly cut grass. From the doorway Stuart watches him with an expression of bemusement as he beckons Robbie in and, slowly sliding out of the driver's seat he wonders how long the blonde has been watching him. His legs shake unsteadily beneath him threatening to give out with every step and Stuart moves back to allow him into his home.

His home is exquisite, decorated in a homely manner it is an extension of Stuart himself. His pet dog, a beige Chihuahua trots over to inspect Robbie, her nails clicking on the hardwood as she approaches him. He wrinkles his nose in distaste as the blonde closes the door.

"God, that is one ugly dog."

"You look like shit," Stuart responds looking him up and down taking in his dishevelled appearance. It has been several days since he has shaved and coarse dark stubble coats his jaw uncomfortably whilst his roots are thick with grease. The younger man quietly shoos the dog who scurries to the kitchen. Robbie hears her drinking some water.

Robbie glowers down at him disdainfully. "Thanks a lot, dick."

"I hope you didn't come all this way to insult my dog. What's brought you out of isolation?"

He does not answer and instead he remarks again on the other man's choice of companion. "You realise you look absolutely ridiculous with that thing?" Stuart locks the door and the sound of the lock sliding into place echoes in the foyer like a gunshot. His gaze is unwavering and Robbie finally relents beneath his penetrating stare. "I thought I'd stop by and see what you're up to."

Stuart smiles though it not one of amusement flashing his teeth, enviously straight and brilliant white, and runs a hand through his short hair. "It's after three, Robbie. You didn't drive out here to see how I am, now why don't you tell me what's going on?"

Robbie shakes his head. "I'm just tired. I'm so fucking tired, Stuart," he tells him. He slumps down into one of the brightly upholstered chairs that stand guard by the door way and runs his hands through his hair, revulsion welling up inside of him at how long it has been since he has had the motivation to shower. Truthfully, he has had little incentive for anything, having barely eaten in days surviving solely on crisps and alcohol.

The younger man's eyebrows shoot up at the admission and he leans back against the door, arms folded tightly across his bare chest. "Okay," he says dragging out the word, azure eyes carefully studying him as though he does not quite know what to make of the situation. "I don't know what you're getting at."

Robbie swallows audibly and clears his throat. He does not make eye contact with the blonde as he says, "I was wondering if you'd mind me crashing here for a couple of days."

Stuart's tone is incredulous and he shakes his head as though he has misheard him. "What?"

He stands, straightening out his shoulders and looks down at him. At his full height the younger man stands almost a full height shorter than him. "Dammit, I need you to sleep with me. I can't fuckin' sleep without you."

He proceeds, "I want to sleep with you in your bed and I want you to cuddle me like the last time because that's the only way I can sleep. Happy?"

Stuart turns and heads towards the stairs leaving Robbie to watch his retreating figure wondering whether he is to follow or if the blonde turning his back on him is perhaps a sign that he should leave. Stuart looks over his shoulder and, seeing Robbie waiting in the hallway looking ultimately defeated, he returns to the older man and takes his hands in his own. Robbie's breath catches in his throat and the blood pounds in his ears when Stuart strokes the back of his hands with his thumb and brushes his hair back from his face with the tenderness of a lover. "Come with me."