Basil felt a sleepiness overtaking his senses as his question lingered in the oblivion between them. He turned his face to nuzzle into his brother’s person, wrapping an arm uncharacteristically tight around him as if scared to let go. He wasn’t conscious enough to feel real concern over Atticus’ response the way he should have, but he felt the endless silence stretch. When the words finally came, something in his heart pinched terribly.Responses tripped over themselves in his mind, tongue too heavy to vocalize them. What if I don’t want that life? What if I don’t have that choice? …What if it’s already too late? He sighed instead, feeling a sickening turn in his stomach. He tightened his grip around his older brother’s waist. “Stay with me?” He prompted instead, changing the subject. It wouldn’t be long now until Basil lost all will to remain awake anyhow. He felt it was important to hold into this moment, this softness, that he missed so much.
“I miss you, Atticus,” he mumbled sleepily. A yawn escaped and he was barely able to raise his hand to contain it. Maybe, if he was good, then Atticus would stay and run his fingers through Basil’s hair, like when they were children. He sighed against the thought, grey eyes flickering closed.