Help, I Accidentally Created A Reverse Harem With The Team Fortress 2 Mercs

What Are YOU Doing Up This Late?

Night two of living with trained assassins, and you couldn't, for the life of you, get to sleep.

You tried everything you knew; counting sheep, meditation, white noise, classical music. You even tried putting your head on the opposite end of your bed. Nothing.

You glance at the clock. 3 AM.

You couldn't stand laying there any longer, and you feared your tossing and turning would wake Pyro, so you snuck out of your room and went downstairs to the kitchen. Maybe a warm drink will do the trick.

You move as quietly as you can, conscious of your sleeping roommates. Your slippers silence your footsteps as you maneuver carefully through the dark, with the aid of your phone's light. This isn't the first time you've made late-night trips to the kitchen, and you doubt it will be the last.

The kitchen is dark and empty, and you keep the light off while you dig around in the fridge. You're low on milk. Didn't you just go to the store? You distinctly remember buying some.

Then again, there are more people here now. You're going through it more quickly. How is it easy to forget that there are nine extra people in your house?

You pour some of the milk into a mug and put it in the microwave. The hum of the machine is deafening in the silence. The quiet is kinda peaceful, though, and you find yourself relaxing as you watch the mug spin slowly under those tiny yellow lights.

"Trouble sleeping, mon amie?"

------

Spy wasn't expecting anyone else to be up this late. Even Engineer, who's notorious for working well into the early hours of the morning, was fast asleep in their shared room. Spy was envious of him in that aspect. He should have been asleep himself.

Sleep has eluded him in the past two nights, but he's not surprised. Any time he's forced to rest in an unfamiliar place the result is always the same: Restlessness and insomnia. While he's sure it'll go away in a week or so, like it always has, it doesn't make it any more fun while it's here.

He hears footsteps coming down the stairs, and they jolt him out of his thoughts. Before he even has time to think, he's instinctively activated his Deadringer and gone invisible.

It's just you. He relaxes, yet a mild curiosity keeps him watching you. What were you doing up this late? You're clearly tired, it's easy to see: you wear it like a cloak. You probably haven't gotten any sleep either.

You go to the fridge, pull out the milk carton and stare at it for a moment like it's something it shouldn't be. Whatever it is, it passes, and you pour yourself a mug before putting your newly acquired beverage into the microwave oven to heat it up. Your's looks more advanced, though, with numbered buttons and a little screen showing the time rather than a dial like the one they used at the base.

Then you take a few steps back and lean against the opposite counter with your arms crossed. Whatever you're thinking is for only you to know.

What, exactly, do you know? About his team, about him? Would he feel better knowing the answer?

He didn't like not knowing, though. He's used to being the person that knows so much more than everyone else, to be keyed in on secrets, to hold that leverage. Now you, The girl who knew who they were, what they did, where they came from, and still decided to help them, held all the cards.

The timer on his watch is running out, so as it does, he speaks up, startling you.

"Trouble sleeping, mon amie?"

You jump and your head whips towards the sound. The light from the microwave doesn't illuminate that much, and you can't actually see the person who spoke, but you've read enough fanfiction to recognize the French term.