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There's somethin' about the air, or the noise, or something, and Ennis can't sleep. Or maybe it's all that coughing that's keeping him up. Damn shoulder's been acting up, shouldn't've pushed so hard on the damn stables. Jack may be young and nimble, but Ennis' as old as he ever was. Older, maybe, given his time spent here. Fucking Milliways. The bed creaks as he turns and picks up a cigarette from the bedside table and lights it.
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Ennis coughs, and he moves again and grabs himself. And he's sayin' something about Junior and a fishing trip, but that tired must be gettin' to him more'n he realizes, because he repeats himself three times --
"That damn truck, 'n Junior out back, tryin' to push"
-- with a wheezy laugh under it all, and when he yawns, it's easy to turn into Jack again, arms and legs tangled.
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But the darkness is pushed back now, for a little while anyway, and it don't seem so bad when he breathes in Jack, and it don't seem so bad as he rests his head in the crook of Jack's shoulder, and it don't seem so bad as his breathing evens out and he falls asleep.
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And when he presses a kiss to Ennis' hair and yawns, and his eyes slip closed again, he sleeps deep and content, and instead of dreaming of Brokeback, dreams of nothing at all.