Nightmares (Enorace Fluff)

Chapter 3

Enoch brushed his teeth and climbed into bed, tired and craving sleep. Unfortunately for him, his two day reprieve from insomnia was the extent of its mercy, and he was back to staring furiously at the ceiling, arms crossed, willing his stupid brain to shut off. After a few hours of trying to sleep, he glanced at the clock. 12:30.

After what felt like another million years of trying, he checked again. 12:45.

"Arrrgghh!" he cried out in frustration, burying his face in his hands.

It was now 3:30 and he was still awake. Enoch was starting to consider bashing his head against the wall until he knocked himself out, when he heard a muffled noise from Horace's room. Enoch stopped to listen.

Crying.

Enoch frowned. Maybe he should just ignore it and it would stop.

Deciding this was the best way to go, Enoch went back to focusing on his wall plan.

Then Horace started mumbling in his sleep, getting louder and louder. Enoch groaned.

"Shut uuupppp," he muttered dejectedly, but he found himself getting out of bed and walking to Horace's door.

Horace was yelling now, crying out for someone in his dream. Enoch shook him.

"Hey! Wake up!" People were going to be woken up soon if Horace continued like this. He thrashed around, reaching desperately at the air. Enoch shook him harder.

"Horace! Just wake up already, would you?"

Then Horace whimpered in his sleep, and Enoch's scowl softened. He sat down on the bed.

"Hey. Hey, wake up," he nudged Horace's shoulder. "Horace. Horace wake up. It's just a nightmare, dummy. Wake up."

Horace's eyes shot open, and he sat up, panicked tears streaming down his face.

"Finally," Enoch muttered. Horace buried his face in his hands, shaking and crying softly.

Enoch hesitated, then put his hand on Horace's shoulder. Horace looked at him for a moment, eyes welling with tears, then he let out a sob and buried his face against Enoch.

Enoch rolled his eyes, but said nothing. Horace was still sobbing loudly, and Enoch swallowed, steeling himself.

It's just to shut him up. He told himself. It doesn't mean anything. It's just to make him stop crying.

Awkwardly, and like he'd never had to do it before, Enoch wrapped his arms around Horace. Horace's sobs faltered in surprise. Enoch's heart somersaulted in his chest, and his face grew hot.

Horace opened his mouth to say something, but Enoch cut him off.

"Shut up," he muttered quickly. "Just shut up." He felt embarrassed, and that made him feel mad. At himself or Horace, he wasn't sure.

Eventually, once Horace had gathered himself, he pulled away. Enoch sat awkwardly.

"Are, uh... are you okay?" he asked, cringing at how pathetic he sounded.

"Y-yes thank you. I should be." Horace replied. Enoch glanced at him and saw that Horace's face was bright red. Enoch quickly looked away and cleared his throat, already standing.

"Right. Well, um. Bye."

"Bye," Horace replied quietly, staring at Enoch with a strange expression. "Thank you."

Happy warmth spread through Enoch's body and his heart did a cartwheel. He was starting to think it should join a gymnastics team.

Enoch opened his mouth to reply, then closed it and scowled, storming out of the room.

...

Enoch slouched out of his room the next morning just as the door next to his opened. Horace stumbled out, eyes hooded and tired. His usually immaculate hair was ruffled and messy, falling into his eyes. It suited him, Enoch decided. Then he scowled at the thought. What was wrong with him?

Horace looked up and noticed Enoch staring before he could look away.

"Tired," Horace mumbled.

"Yeah, well, welcome to my world," Enoch responded with a laugh.

"Oh, please," Horace scoffed, grinning sleepily. "Lack of sleep has been my specialty for decades. Welcome to my world, more like."

Enoch's retort was distorted by a yawn.

"Weak," Horace tutted as he walked past. Enoch could only gape at him in response.

...

Despite his haughty behaviour, however, Horace could barely stay awake during breakfast. Hugh had claimed Enoch's usual spot before he could get there, so Enoch grumpily sat down next to Horace. While everyone talked noisily about the day ahead, Enoch glanced at the other boy, who was bent limply over his food, poking it halfheartedly with his fork. His eyes drifted closed every few seconds, then his head would jerk and his eyes would snap open. Enoch rolled his eyes, but he felt exactly the same. Three nights with little sleep was pretty standard because of his insomnia, but that didn't stop him feeling like crap.

Hugh and Fiona were trying to convince the others to go down to the beach for the day, with a lot of animated hand gestures from Hugh and a few silent nods from Fiona, when Horace suddenly slumped forward in his seat. Enoch's hand shot out to catch him just before he collapsed into his cereal. The others stopped to look at him as Horace opened his eyes blearily. There were a few laughs, and Miss Peregrine bit back a smile. Horace sat up tiredly as the others went back to their conversations, his eyes already half closed again, and yawned. Enoch smirked.

"Weak," he hissed. Horace flushed and shoved him playfully.

...

The others were finally swayed by Hugh, and they all ran down to the beach for the day. The only ones left were Horace and Enoch, both too exhausted to bother, and Olive, who claimed she hated the beach because her iron shoes got filled with sand. She went sulking off to her room, leaving Enoch to collapse into his bed. But trying to sleep with light pouring in through the pastel blinds was, unsurprisingly, even harder than sleeping at night. After an hour of trying to sleep, Enoch punched his pillow in frustration and jumped up from the bed. He made his way downstairs to the kitchen, but as he passed the living room, he heard mumbled cries from the couch. Horace had fallen asleep while reading, his book splayed on the floor, and was in the midst of a nightmare. Enoch leaned over the back of the couch to shake him, but Horace suddenly gasped and lurched upright, grabbing Enoch's wrist and digging his nails in in fright.

"Ow! Let go!" Enoch wrenched his arm out of Horace's grip, scowling and rubbing his wrist.

"Sorry," Horace sighed, picking up his book and straightening his clothes. "That's the second time this morning I've had nightmares. Can I not just sleep?" he said dejectedly to no one in particular. Enoch was about to answer, when Olive wandered in.

"What are you two doing?" she asked curiously.

"Go away," Enoch snapped.

"Now that's a bit harsh," mumbled Horace tiredly.

"Now that's a bit harsh." Enoch mocked. "What are you, my mother?"

Horace frowned at him.

"Ohhh, were you two doing something secret?" Olive cooed.

"Of course not!" Enoch scowled. They hadn't been, but the suggestion that they might have been was enough to make Enoch flush. He found himself glancing at Horace.

What kind of secret thing could they have been doing? Did she honestly think they'd been hugging or-

Enoch's eyes trailed to Horace's lips almost of their own accord. His heart rate spiked so quickly he had to brace himself against the couch, and he looked away.

"Y-you're just a little brat, Olive!" he spat, storming away to hide his red face, feeling sick.

What the Bird was happening to him?