Pairing: PrusPol
Summary: Sometimes Gilbert comes home late, but Feliks knows he will always come back eventually.

Tide

Sometimes Gilbert would come home late. Feliks would try and wait up for him every time. He told himself it wasn't because he was worried about him but that the jerk never locked the door when he got in. He had to do it for him. It wasn't like he cared. Each time, though, he would grow bored and scrawl a note reading 'Lock the fucking door, idiot' just to defend his pride, leaving it on the counter before heading up to bed.

The bed always felt cold without the Prussian and the blonde often stretched his hand out to the empty side of the bed and touched the cold mattress. He hated it when Gilbert wasn't there to hold him at night, though he would never admit it. After hours of lying awake trying to force some heat into his body he would hear the door open. With that noise relief washed over him, though he willed it away. Gilbert was home. He was safe. Not that Feliks cared, of course, as he pretended to be asleep.

The mattress sunk down a few moments later and the Pole knows that Gil hasn't taken his shoes off, nor has he locked the door despite the note. He waits a few minutes after the pale man's breathing has evened out before rolling over and eyeing him, his features highlighted by the moonlight. Sitting up silently he wriggles Gilbert's shoes from his feet and drops them onto the floor before sighing lightly. He was beat up again with dried blood clinging to his skin.
"Idiot." He whispered.

He slipped out of bed and did the usual routine for when Gilbert came home late. Wetting a flannel with warm water and wiping away the blood because he didn't want it to stain the pillows, not because he was concerned. Undressing him to his underwear and folding up the clothes neatly because they would stink the next day, not because he liked seeing the albino stretched languidly out on top of the duvet with his body illuminated by the moon.

Back in bed he would sit by the Prussian and run his eyes over his body. Every now and then he would trace a delicate finger over the scars, old and new. He marvelled at the silver of the old marks and how they contrasted with the ugly purple of the more recent ones. He would place a light hand over a new cut or developing bruise, rubbing his thumb soothingly over it as the other slept soundly.

These were the moments that Feliks secretly loved the most. It made him feel secure because no matter what, no matter how late at night it was, Gilbert would always come back to him. Bashed up and bloody, maybe, but he could guarantee that eventually he would wake to the Prussian drooling on one of his best pillows. Like the ocean, he always returned even if he was pulled away by the tide, and that was the most comforting notion of all.

Didn't really proof read this, so sorry for any mistakes... I need to stop uploading so late at night.