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Anthony Lockwood couldn't say exactly when the habit started, but he could tell you exactly when it ended; sleeping with his beside lamp on, that is. And that abrupt end was when none other than Lucy Carlyle climbed into his bed at 3:30 am on a random Tuesday night. He supposed she had a nightmare of some sort, but they didn't talk about it. They didn't say anything at all because nothing needed to be said. She crept into his room and Lockwood knew exactly what was happening for it had been forming in the background since the day they met.
He motioned for her to join him and she complied with barely any hesitance. As Lucy shifted under the covers with him, Lockwood scooted over and hesitantly switched off the lamp on his bedside table. It's not that he wanted to. It was more so that he didn't want Lucy to think of him as a pathetic child that still needed a night light. Because it was stupid, wasn't it? That he needed the light to sleep.
But he did. Because between the inability to cross the invisible line, cut sharp between them on the mattress, and checking each crevice for newly emerging death glows, he could barely sit still. Let alone let sleep claim him. It was as though his insomnia had skyrocketed to level one thousand.
Still, he tried not to shift too much as Lucy laid with her back facing him. He tried not to stare and dwell on the fact that a girl was laying in the same bed he was. It was strictly platonic. Friends could sleep in the same bed. Especially when said friend was facing demons she did not talk about. Suddenly, Lucy stirred and Lockwood wondered for a moment if she could read his mind. He hoped not. There were things in his head that he didn't throw out into the universe for a reason.
Lockwood sighed and rolled his eyes as he shifted to face the wall instead of Lucy--the clock practically screaming at him. 3:50 am and sleep still had not found him. Nor Lucy apparently as she shifted once more next to him.
Just as Lockwood thought it was going to be another long night, the bed shifted as it creaked, the floorboard following in suit. A frustrated sigh escaped from Lucy and Lockwood turned toward her. He expected her to still be laying next to him, but instead, she was walking around to his side of the bed. Lockwood felt his body tense, unsure of what was happening next and it definitely wasn't what he expected in the slightest.
Lucy Carlyle turned the light back on.
Lockwood's body relaxed as Lucy made her way back to her side of the bed. She moved underneath the covers again, this time though, she laid so that her head was closer to Lockwood's shoulder as her eyes closed shut and a smile formed on her lips. Lockwood's own lips matched the expression and he slid further down the mattress so that his head could lay above hers.
He didn't remember falling asleep, but it must've been quickly after that because he woke the next morning feeling the most rested he had in months (maybe even years). The sunlight was pouring into his room and Lucy was still in his bed, her head using his right arm as a pillow. His lips curved into a smile as he resisted the urge to kiss the crown of her head. Instead, he focused on the clock on his wall--10:30 it read. That couldn't be right. He had never slept past 8.
At any other time, Lockwood would have sprung out of bed immediately, racing to deny whatever judgement George claimed for his sleeping so late. But, he had a sleeping Lucy laying on his arm. And what kind of person would he be to wake up such a sleeping masterpiece? Besides, if he did wake her up, Lockwood was pretty sure he'd be a dead man--if George didn't kill him first for missing the biscuit rotation.