They get ready for bed in silence, just kicking off shoes and jackets and crawling beneath the covers in the dark. Simple and mundane activities that used to be a comfort, that used to calm Mick's restlessness.

Not tonight.
Mick keeps to his promise. He doesn't try anything, he doesn't even reach over to hold his hand or gather his partner into his arms like he so desperately wants to. To both offer and receive comfort.

He doesn't sleep that night. He can't, not with his head and his heart still at war over what had been said. A deal had been made and Mick still feels utterly sick over it.

Mick Rory loves Leonard Snart. He always will. He's been stupidly gone on him since a year or two after juvie and no matter how strained things got, no matter how frustrating he could be, Mick always comes back. Always. It's like Leonard has a gravitational pull all his own - one that draws Mick back in before he can even consider it's happening.

Mick is also pretty sure that Leonard loves him too.
Nobody would put up with his temperamental bullshit, his possessiveness and his impulse control problems if they didn't give a damn.

Mick also craves touch almost as deeply as he craves fire. Not random touch, nobody can just climb him like a mountain when they see fit, but when he needs it, when that itch beneath his skin is almost too much to bear, a hand will soothe it away almost as easily as fire.

Fuck.
He doesn't know what to do.
Mick wishes he was as smart as his partner in moments like this, moments when he needed to be able to think of another way to handle a situation because right now the only options all seem to involve some level of hurt.

They were so perfectly in sync during the heist.
It's just everywhere else that rhythm seems to have fallen apart and he hates it.