sortinghat_logs | Two are better than one;

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Two are better than one;

WHO: Arthur Kirkland and James Moriarty
TONE: General
RATING: G
WHEN: Night of November 30th
WHERE: Slytherin common room
WHAT: Two insomniacs walk into a dungeon...
STATUS: Ongoing

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It was another night of poor sleep for Arthur Kirkland, and the early hours found him awake and in the common room, sitting on the floor in front of the largest fireplace, trying very hard to turn a teapot into.. something else. His wand had always had this odd inclination to turning things into teapots, or things that resembled teapots, whenever he made an attempt at Transfiguration. His consistent refusal to admit to the possibility that he was actually the root of the problem and not his occasionally temperamental wand was one of his more obvious failings when it came to the class. It had only been through a lot of hard work that he'd been able to continue it past his fifth year.

Hard work and a hell of a lot of stubbornness on his part.

Arthur leaned back against the chair behind him, folded his arms across his chest and scowled at the teapot - which, upon closer inspection, actually also looked a little like a slipper - as if it had committed some grievous wrong against him. He set his wand down, rubbed both hands over his face and slumped.

"This is stupid," he grumbled.

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He took everything, setting it down on the nearest table he could pull close to the sofa. Indeed he was used to Moriarty looking so tired but that didn't mean he found it any less concerning.. and tea probably wouldn't help, but with how much of it they both drank it was doubtful that the caffeine was going to do anything to them.

"Ah, lovely. Sit down before you fall down, Jim," he said, giving the other boy an idle push to one shoulder. "You know, you don't half worry me when you get like this."

Arthur cast Jim a small smile, knowing that while he couldn't exactly.. empathise with the feeling, he could at least find it interesting. Maybe he appreciated it. Arthur wasn't sure. He set about making the tea quietly, humming to himself. The whatever-it-was he had been trying to transfigure next to the fire was forgotten.

"You don't need to worry," he muttered softly but didn't say anything else in defense, he didn't feel like convincing Arthur he indeed didn't. Oddly enough, he did what he was asked, and sat down where he had been previously. "You have not been sleeping very much either."

The sentiment did interest him, he worried about things, but not because of their well-being. He worried about idle things, like losing Sherlock because he didn't want to lose his main source of interest. It was always selfish worry. Never so simple as worrying about a friend...

He watched as Arthur worked on making the tea. If you need help in transfiguration class I wouldn't mind helping, you know that."

"I know I don't need to," he replied quietly, and no amount of persuasion would ever really convince him that it wasn't warranted. He didn't worry about Moriarty because he needed to - though that, in part, was some of the reason - he worried because he wanted to. What an odd Slytherin he made.

There was a soft clink of china as he stirred a spoonful of sugar into his own cup of tea, and a quiet sound of amusement left him.

"I know, Jim, but unless you think yourself capable of curing the apparent psychological issues that I-- here," He paused to hand a cup over to Moriarty. "That I have with this particular branch of magic, I'm not entirely sure how you might help."

"Thanks." He nodded in what seemed like a silent agreement as he took the cup. Only a short moment was spent looking at it, filing the smell and colour in the back of his brain somewhere in the future for brewing purposes. His eyes fell shut again as he brought the tea up to his lips and took a sip not seeming to care about temperature or the plainness of it.

Eyes stayed closed as he brought the cup to hover below his lips as he spoke. "A calming draught might be able to help with what I can't." He tapped his fingers against his knee with his right hand as he took another sip. "Plenty of things could be tested to fix that problem."

"Sleeping might also help. Really, there are plenty of factors that we could test."

Arthur didn't often volunteer physical contact to Jim, mostly because he was never sure how the other boy might take it, but how tired he appeared was enough a cause of concern that he placed his hand on his friend's shoulder and raised one heavy eyebrow as he looked at him.

"I'm sure there are, but I think that sleep might be of more benefit to you at the moment." He moved his hand away to clasp both around his cup, and sipped briefly.

"How long has it been?"

Dark eyes opened immediately in response to the touch, but it wasn't out of anger or ill feelings, more-so curiosity and that was made obvious by how the darkened amber orbs lingered on the other boy. Despite how tired he was, his brain was going a million miles a second. It was a rare gesture, that was gone a lot sooner than Moriarty really expected.

"Four, this will be the fifth night. I've tried two sleeping draughts. They give me headaches so I have no intention of trying another, don't suggest it." He knew sleep would be beneficial, it wasn't as though he was trying to stay awake, if he could, he would have gladly shut his brain off. "It's not my intention to stay up, I'm getting tired of Peter's mundane nightly questions."

"I wasn't about to. Potions have always done odd things to you, but I thought the nurses would have found a way around it by now." He cocked his head, curious, but only for a moment before he leaned back and settled into the sofa, holding his cup up near his lips and sipping at the tea. It was always pleasant to spend time with someone like Jim. His eyes half lidded and though he could feel sleep pulling at him, he was nowhere near relaxed enough mentally to even make the attempt.

A quiet snort escaped him then. "You mean the.. what does he call it.. 'nightblogging'? Muggles do have some odd words." He shrugged. "It's bloody irritating. Why does he have so many ridiculous questions? And more to the point, why does he feel the need to bother the entire student body with them."

"Indeed," he murmured before taking a larger sip of his tea. "Nurses are just useless." Or it might be the fact that he never really told them the effects unless he had to.

"His "nightblogging" is rather ridiculous. Though, curiosity is a good trait. It can be slightly endearing in some people." Pops sounded from his neck as he rolled it. "Yours is typically endearing," he added as an after-thought.

"You don't have to stay out here if you're tired."

"That's a little harsh." But he shrugged and let it pass, letting out a low laugh at the next comments. "You know I'm always happy to provide entertainment for you, my friend."

Arthur let out a grunt and straightened himself up, shifting his cup to one hand to scrub the other through his hair. "I know I don't have to, but I shan't sleep if I go back to bed anyway. I might as well take advantage of some pleasant company while I'm awake."

Gilbert was his oldest friend but he could be far too noisy. Roderich had his moments, as did Fai, and Arthur simply couldn't stand Nathan.

"You know I'll assist you in any way I can when it comes to sleeping, but I find myself rather at a loss when I can barely regulate my own."

Moriarty gave him a strange look and blinked lazily. "Thank you," his accent was lazy, the words more rounded than usual but it seemed to be genuine.

The strange look stayed, even as he got the compliment and grinned rather flirtatiously. "Arthur, don't flirt too much, you might give someone the wrong impression."

He moved slightly to put his cup down before he got comfortable again, this of course was achieved by leaning against the other male. It was an odd gesture of trust, he was never one for touchy feely antics. Perhaps a gesture made awkward by the previous statement, but he didn't seem to notice or care.

"I'm not flirting. If you're getting the wrong impression it's all on you."

Arthur never flirted on purpose, after all. Well, mostly never. What he got up to with Bruce Banner was more teasing than flirting and apparently he'd managed to do something to get Alfred's attention though he wasn't sure what it was. Moriarty's grin was returned with a small smirk of his own, and there was a small raise of one eyebrow as the other boy got comfortable against his shoulder.

It was little things like that, that made him think that Jim actually did see him as a friend, rather than simply someone to be possessed. Sometimes he just wasn't sure, but what he was sure of was that Jim put up with a lot more from him than he did from other people.

Of course, he was also very good at evading questions.

Arthur dropped his shoulder slightly to make it more comfortable, and leaned his head back, letting his eyes close. They probably made a bit of an odd picture.

"Pity," he muttered more to himself than to Arthur, but it was loud enough for him to hear.

It wasn't cuddling - Moriarty didn't cuddle - how ordinary would that be and too sentimental. He was cold and Arthur not only provided heat but a slight comfort Moriarty couldn't place his finger on, but it was familiarity. The boy he was comfortable on wouldn't hurt him, he knew that, quite the opposite, he always seemed to be there in a time of odd need, and he wondered if that was just the other's ordinary sense of right and wrong acting up.

Friends - items to be possessed; it went hand in hand. Sort of like a shiny new car. He wanted to protect him, keep him and let no one else ruin him because there was a sort of sociopathic fondness.

He moved closer and mumbled a small thanks, he wouldn't be able to sleep just yet but Arthur's relaxed state was oddly infectious.

Not cuddling, certainly not. No matter how it might look to an onlooker - and to an onlooker it might look a lot like cuddling - that wasn't what it was. Arthur was tired, and comfortable, and though he often heard things about Jim and his behaviour and had received one or two warnings in the past about getting too comfortable around him, he did have faith - he trusted that his friend wouldn't hurt him.

Arthur knew his role in Jim's life, more or less. It wasn't one he had set out to occupy, but rather had slipped into over the years, and he was content in it. He saw Moriarty as a friend. What Jim saw him as.. well, that was much more complicated.. but Jim had never really been one for sharing.

"You're welcome," he muttered quietly back, letting out a slow, relaxed sigh and following it up with a soft yawn. He could feel himself ready to drift off, but something was stopping him.

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Two are better than one;

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