1. Sleepless nights

This fic was heavily inspired by an Instagram post/artwork by user ' ashleigh ' !!

Full credits go to them for the idea, including some lines used in this work (which I won't spoil). Massive thanks to her for giving me permission to write mediocre fanfiction based off their work, seriously, thank you! Totally check out their profile, her art is amazing and the DSaF designs are to DIE for ^^

-

Meme in the banner above drawn by me! Original post/template was by the user seen in the image (I presume).

-

-

Jack had always found it particularly easy to take note of the other's presence. A shallow breath in a room where there was only silence seemed compatible with a clean canvas, disturbed by a singular red splotch of paint. Insignificant on it's own but in the context of an empty palate, in a quiet room, it was all too noticeable. Dave's breath was ragged, because while his decaying body had never truly unlearnt the habit of breathing; it barely accommodated the requirements for an inhale, or exhale, for that matter. It was obvious; he was obvious.

It had never bothered Jack: he knew all about Dave's stalkative behaviour, and simply didn't care for any of it. He wasn't afraid of Dave, convinced in his belief that the aubergine would never so much as consider harming his tangerine. Although, even if he did, he was most certain that he could overpower the much scrawnier man, who didn't have half as much weight to him as Jack did. On several occasions, he'd caught the man wandering his house, but only rarely did he actually consider confronting him. A glance through the cranked open bathroom door when he went to get a glass of water at night, the continuous breathing he could sometimes hear from under his bed at ungodly hours, and so on.

In a sense, it could be said that he enjoyed the company, of sorts. Sure, it most certainly wasn't Dave who he would want to have anywhere near him at the end of a draining day, but it was someone at the very least. Supposedly, it is more comforting to know you have someone who cares, even if it might go overboard, than to have no one at all. He liked to think Dave was everything that he wasn't: overly positive, perhaps too much for his own good, sporadic and most of all, ecstatic in contrast to what would best be described as a nihilist. Though, yet, they were similar; they were both lonely.

He would've let Dave sleep under his bed, Fredbear knows how many times he had allowed him to do so by now, if it were any other night. It had just been that, today, he had tossed and turned far deeper into the night than usual. Somewhere along the lines, he must've fallen asleep considering he hadn't noticed Dave come in and crawl under his bed, but he found himself wide awake again. Under him, he could hear every breath, every shift of fabric against carpet, every singular time that Dave accidentally nudged that godforsaken semen sock under there. Originally, he had placed the sock there to see if it would keep Dave away, to no avail.

Turning to lay on his stomach, he manoeuvred closer to the edge of his bed. He could clearly hear Dave's uneven breathing, unsure if it was just like that because of his corpse-like state, or because he was asleep. Letting his arm dangle over the edge, just enough for his fingertips to graze the carpet if he stretched his fingers, he awaited. In his given position, he could barely look over the edge, but it was enough to see a newfound faint glow illuminate his hand. Dave's void eyes stood fixed on his hand, the rough orange skin glistering in the mere light they produced. He was awake, and most certainly, alert.

Jack wasn't sure what he wanted, let alone expected, of Dave. In sense, he presumed the purple man would be daring enough to take the hand in to his own. He hadn't thought further, the speculation of what he would do if Dave did take the leap and embraced the risk that came along with it, hadn't so much as crossed his mind to begin with. Hearing fabric intervene with carpet, he peered over the edge to watch an aubergine hued hand slide out from under his bed. It simply lay there, motionless, less than an inch away from his own. His hand was much larger than Jack's, long and thin fingers akin to his figure, complimented with defined bones. Dave didn't reach out, where he was usually slacking and rebellious, he now harboured a sense of caution. Had he realised Jack was, in fact, wide awake?

"Do you wanna come up here with me?"

A bucket of crimson red poured over the canvas, the small splotch suddenly becoming insignificant as his low voice felt like it roared through the quiet room. Dave's hand shot back under the bed in an instinct, and he could almost hear him holding his breath in the back of his throat.

"I know you're there..."

He reassured the aubergine.

"I'm not upset."

Dave exhaled a deep breath, one that only contained a fraction of his worry. So often had he been told that no one was upset with him, and so often had it been disproven when he did believe it. He had to convince himself there was truth in old sport's words, that he genuinely had no intent of harm despite Dave's questionable position. Jack resorted to giving the aubergine his time, sitting out his latency. Eventually, his patience was rewarded as the lean purple frame emerged from under his residence.

"Hey, Sporty! So, uhm- Coincidence to see you here-?"

His voice was as upbeat as it so persistently was, but it didn't take a sociologist to pick up on the nerves that were clearly evident. He still wore his uniform -if you were even able to call the lousy shirt and tight jeans that- which contained the faint stench of a toddler riddled Freddy's. Dave knew there was no use in trying to explain himself, or even begin to consider reasoning: he knew Jack was aware of all that he got up to. It had gone unspoken, matter of fact, it was easier to mutually accept things the way they were in confined silence.

Oh God, Dave is inside my house.

Jack thought to himself, as if he hadn't known that for longer than any sane human would. Dave took Jack's contemplating silence as a rejection of sorts, and his shoulders sulked low as his voice dropped:

"Should I see myself out, old sport?"

He looked like a damn lost puppy, if anything, and Jack swore he could break out in a manic cry any second. Sitting himself up on his matres, he pinched the bridge of his nose and glanced over at the clock that barely clung on to his wall. While it was hard to read in the darkened room, he could see it hadn't been far past three in the morning.

"No, fuckin' hell Dave, it's three in the damn morning!"

Dave's posture changed, unsure, but more upbeat. For an undying corpse with no right to exist; he had an interesting body language. At any given moment, it only took one glance at the aubergine to know how he felt; a stark contrast to Jack, who sulked with dipped shoulders everywhere he went.

"Get in already, but loose the clothes first. You stink."

In addition to his words, Jack diverted himself to one side of the bed, patting the sheets beside him. Dave raised in the air, ecstatic and with a wide smile on his face. This was far better than a scolding, or a wrench to the face, for all he knew. He had no shame in undressing himself, stripping to his underwear and tossing the rags he called his outfit in a dark corner to be forgotten. Alas, the two had seen each other in scarce clothing plentiful of times during their Vegas trip; they shared the same scars.

With an embarrassingly evident giggle, Dave planted his lanky frame under the sheets beside his old sport. Jack gave him a soft, sleepy, smile in repatriation, turning to lay on his side with his back towards the aubergine. He'd expected an arm around his waist and body against his back in response, but Dave instead resorted to fixing his gaze on the popcorn ceiling. Had he wanted to spoon the tangerine now that he had somewhat of an opportunity? Oh, most certainly, but he considered that being invited into his bed alone was already pushing his luck. He decided for himself that he would wait until the other had fallen asleep, and then pull him in for a cuddle. It was this exact plan that made Jack lay himself on his back again, turning his head towards Dave's.

"Seriously?"

In response to Jack's voice, the aubergine also turned his head to look his companion in the eyes. Between them was a distance that far surpassed that of a platonic one, the abyss Dave's pupils lay in shrinking at the sight of rugged orange skin. It was rare for Jack to go out without a thick layer of orange make-up, and it was only in few dimly lit rooms that Dave had seen the course scars that ran across several sections of his face.

"What's wrong, old sport?"

Dave turned to his side, planting a hand between his head and the pillow it lay on with his legs pulled up. His knees were only an inch or so away from grazing Jack's body, and Dave interpreted the scenery between them as awfully romantic. Despite his better instincts telling him to raise his guard, he felt the tension in his muscles seep away in the warmth of Jack's matres.

"I invite you in my bed, no questions asked, and what? You're going to stare at the ceiling?"

Dave snickered, coating his face in a playful glow.

"Well sportsy, what else d'ya expect o' me?"

While phrased as a question, it could barely be considered one as he was fully aware of what Jack referred to. It was just that he was, well, awful at subtlety and had less than zero idea how to initiate a cuddle. It'd been far easier for him to wait until he could crawl against Jack's sleeping body, refusing to acknowledge their closeness in the morning. Or, additionally, scurrying out of bed before Jack would wake up and notice him being there.

Jack simply sighed, raising the sheets by holding his arm up as he scooted closer to the aubergine. Dave was a lightweight, so much so that it sometimes felt there was merely skin embracing his bones, and with a hand on his back it was easy to pull him closer. For a brief moment he was startled, but it didn't take longer than a second for him to melt when he felt Jack nestled his face in the crook of his absurdly long neck. His hand remained still on his back, palm resting against Dave's remarkably bony backbone. He returned the embrace, happy to find out Jack only wore a lousy T-shirt and his boxers when he wrapped a limb around his torso.

He was warm, or rather, warmer than Dave was on average. While both were corpses that couldn't produce regular body heat; Jack had more mass to him and could therefore hold more warmth than Dave, who was stone cold on most occasions. His freezing hand was quick to retreat under the orange's shirt, who only groaned in surprise at the act, where it rested on his back. With his neck in an odd but not abnormal fold, he planted his head above Jack's on the shared pillow. In turn, the man intertwined one of his legs with Dave's and relaxed his body against him.

The closeness was nice, considerably the nicest they could achieve given their situations. There were words to be spoken, certainly, but none said. Different they were, but both knew that it was better to quietly indulge when the opportunity presented itself. A sad thought, most would say, but a comfort to them regardless.

Jack ran his fingers over Dave's accentuated spine, occasionally following the path of raised scar tissue that diverted in various direction. Even with his eyes closed and his face confronted with Dave's collarbones, he could feel something was detrimentally wrong with the man and his innards. Several of his own ribs hadn't healed properly after being crushed by springlocks, but with the amount of times his hands had skimmed the other's body, he could conclude the aubergine had suffered far more.

While Jack wondered about whatever tragic story specifically followed him, Dave could only indulge in the warm embrace he so comfortably lay in. Fredbear knows how long it had been since he slept anywhere that wasn't Jack's floor, the saferoom or the backseat of his run-down car. The heaving of Jack's chest against his stomach ground him to reality, and he subconsciously managed to sync his own breathing. Jack's build was a comfortable opposite of his own, and he greatly enjoyed any closeness presented to him.

"Sports?"

"What-"

From the low grumble in Jack's voice, it was safe to conclude that he was on the border of finally falling dead asleep, and Dave felt a sting of regret in bringing him back to reality before he spoke:

"Thank you-"

Dave's voice was so unusually intimate it almost made Jack back away and roll his ass off his very own bed in astonishment, but he instead wiggled in Dave's embrace with a grumble:

"Don't mention it, and for the love of Fredbear, go to sleep-"

Not under any circumstances would he have known how to react to any emotional vulnerability, let alone in the dead of night with a serious lack of rest. The easy way out was to shut it down before it came to a point of no retreat, which seemed fruitful as Dave went dead silent. He could feel the soft smile on the aubergine's face, and despite his repulsion of the sappy attempt at gratitude, it made Jack feel content as well.

While neither of their undying bodies quite unlearned the habit of breathing, Dave sometimes stopped doing so in his sleep. Jack had learned this the harsh way during their stay in Vegas, and knew not to worry when he felt Dave's body grow completely limp in his arms. While it was certainly an honour that the aubergine man -who had likely lived a life of uneasy nights- was comfortable enough to fall asleep in his awakened arms, Jack wished it was him that had drifted off instead.

-

Morning came early, too early, as it always did. This was especially worsened by the fact both had only fallen asleep somewhere between three and four in the morning.

From the moment Jack's alarm went off, Dave had immediately tried to punt the small clock to the floor in hopes of maintaining their embrace for as long as he possibly could. This, however, backfired tremendously as there was now a loudly blaring clock on the carpet, several feet away from his reach. Jack, with a groggy voice and half lidded eyes, cussed at Dave over it before he dragged himself out of bed to shut it down. He mourned the loss of contact, scooting himself out from under the sheets.

"Mornin', old sport!"

He got a compatible grumble back, before being offered a coffee by the tangerine.

"Er, not unless it's rum in it-"

The lighthearted response managed to knock a minimal giggle out of Jack, who was typically prepared to fight anyone he came across before twelve PM. He shrugged and headed for the door, stopped in his tracks by a question from Dave:

"Hey sportsy, you mind if I use your shower?"

"Sure, suit yourself-"

It wasn't as if he wouldn't have used the shower regardless of Jack's permission: he was all too familiar with unsolicited bathroom visits. And so, Dave spent the next half hour smearing every fancy soap he could find over his raisin looking balls, under a burning hot stream, while Jack injected himself with enough caffeine to get through the day. Eventually the running water came to a silence, and the both found themselves back in Jack's bedroom for a more than necessary change of clothing. Dave had headed to pick up his earlier discarded clothes when Jack stopped him:

"You look like a hobo in those, Dave. You can have one of my shirts, and pants, if you find any that fit."

Dave swore he could finally feel himself physically ascend to the great heavens above. Upon opening Jack's closet, he was surprised to find it consisted exclusively of orange shirts, although that wasn't so much of a complaint. Neither of them knew in that moment, but he would go on to wear the very shirt he picked until it quite literally fell apart, decades later. Jack hoisted himself in an identical shirt and offered Dave some burnt toast for breakfast, before driving the two of them to work.

It was only halfway during the drive that he realised he hadn't seen Dave's car in his neighbourhood when they left, which could mean one of three things: Dave had walked all the way to his house, had secretly hidden in his trunk upon departure the day before, or his car was out of sight elsewhere. He wasn't given enough time to bring it up in conversation as they pulled in the Freddy's parking lot, and didn't give it another thought as the duo entered the pizzeria through the window.

Alas, today was another day.

-

-

[3030 words]

Ahhh, I feel I got a little lost while writing the ending but honestly I'm just happy to be writing about these two again !! Trying to find the balance between the depressing and goofy aspects of DSaF and Davesport, I'd like to think I did alright?

Leave any ideas/requests for oneshots in the comments, preferably sfw:3 Angst is on the table!!