Sometimes having company really does help.
It had been one of those cold damp nights that crept up on you; it didn't look foggy, but every streetlamp had a distinct triangle of brightness underneath, and Omi's hands were clammy by the time he'd managed to get his teammates inside the targeted building. The job was brief and uneventful-- uneventful in the sense that none of their victims fought back effectively.
The smell of blood was unusually dank and overpowering in the close darkness, and as they made their careful way home Omi had the feeling they'd stumbled into a parallel universe, one in which they were the sole living inhabitants. The feeling persisted as they cleaned up, wrote a preliminary report, and shuffled up the stairs to their beds.
His room was chilly, and no matter how many extra blankets Omi pulled out of his cupboards he couldn't seem to get warm or comfortable. His hands were still clammy, as was his nose. But rather than resigning himself to a sleepless night (as he had done many times before) and getting out a textbook or turning on the TV, he found himself wishing desperately for sleep. He tossed and turned in a kind of mild frenzy until he was exhausted, and could only lay on his side staring blankly at the door.
It took him a moment to realize someone was knocking on it.
"C'mon, I know you're awake."
He flicked on the lights with a sigh, shuffled over and opened the door a crack. "Was I really that loud, Yohji?"
"'Course not. I couldn't sleep either." Yohji came in and flopped down on Omi's small couch, his eyes following Omi, who promptly sat back down in the middle of his futon and drew several blankets around his shoulders.
That got him an aggravated look. "Just a bit."
Omi shook his head. "They always make the rest of me feel even colder."
"Yeah, there ought to be some left in the dispenser."
"Okay. You sit on the couch." Yohji got up and pointed, and a bemused Omi did as he instructed. Yohji poked around in the kitchenette, and in short order produced two mugs of tea. He handed one to Omi before shouldering up next to him on the sofa, adding a blanket or two in the process.
Omi sniffed the steam spiraling upwards from his mug. "Chamomile? Is this yours?"
"Yup." Yohji grinned at the incredulous grimace on Omi's face. "Hey, even party animals like me need to sleep occasionally." Yohji was silent for a while, sipping carefully. "Besides. I hate sleeping pills."
"I know." Omi leaned sideways, backing up against the armrest. Yohji stretched out his long legs, his toes nearly touching the opposite wall.
"Hey. Warmer now?"
The tea really did work. Omi felt a fuzzy smile spread across his face. "Getting there."
A few minutes later, Yohji pried the half-empty mug from Omi's drowsy fingers, setting it down with his own on the floor and hunching more firmly into his end of the couch. "Goodnight."
"'Night, Yohji." A barely intelligible mumble. Yohji chuckled to himself, and turned off the light.