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Ever since they returned to the Human Realm, Luz has gotten used to not sleeping. To nightmares that she wakes from stifling a shout, guilt and fear that weigh heavy on her heart, endless questions circling in her brain, answerless, tormenting her.
She's gotten used, too, to lying there, dealing with it silently, staring at the glowing stars hanging from the underside of Vee's bunk. She's not going to wake the others with her messed-up thoughts, this endless turmoil of feelings that won't let her rest. Amity and Willow are the ones who aren't at home here, what right does she have to make things harder for them by disturbing their sleep? And Vee, her sort-of sister, has been through enough already. More than Luz, and she deserves it less.
Luz doesn't even deserve to rest, with everything she's done. It's her fault her friends are stuck here, her fault this all happened, her fault that Eda and King... Eda and King. Those thoughts are the worst of all, the uncertainty of them, and she has to fight back tears every time she thinks about her other family. Crying won't help them, won't solve this.
Tonight is just another night like all the rest, where the room is silent except for their breathing and the sound of Willow slowly pushing all her bedclothes off in her sleep. Where all of them are resting apart from Luz, and she's lying there wondering how she can shut her mind up tonight, because she's no help to any of them right now.
That thought just makes things worse. She turns over again, trying to get comfortable, and she finds herself facing Amity's back.
Her girlfriend is still when she sleeps, she curls up on her side and barely moves throughout the night, but Luz can see the gentle rise and fall of her breathing, the soft purple of her hair above the covers. It's faded a little, gotten lighter the longer they spend here, her roots growing out, soft brown at the crown of her head. Luz loves it that way, just like she loved it fresh-dyed and loved it green and would love it any way, because she loves Amity.
She loves her, in that way of dating and kisses and daydreams, in a way she hasn't loved before. And she hasn't quite said it, only danced around the edges of the truth, in whispers of 'you're so pretty' and 'my awesome girlfriend' and a line of rainbow hearts at the end of a message.
She's not ready to say it yet, all out, and maybe she never will be. Not when it's I love you, but. Not when it's I love you, and.
Because if she says she loves her, she'll cross a line she can't take back, and the decision that lies, unspoken, half-made, in the edges of her mind... that decision will just gain even more power to break Amity's heart.
Luz sighs and tries to push that thought out of her mind. It's no use obsessing over it, she reminds herself for the millionth time, with as little impact as all the times before now.
She focuses on Amity again, just watching her, the way she's curled up small under the blanket, the moonlight shining softly on her hair, the gentle rhythm of her breathing that Luz tries to match, focusing on that simple act of drawing in air to avoid thinking, to turn away from the spiral her mind is leading her down.
It works, for a little while, lying there, breathing the way that Amity is. There is a strange kind of peace in it, when Luz avoids her thoughts, in the darkness and the silence, in being the only one awake in a room full of the quietness of sleep, in trying to slow her mind's constant fight-or-flight mode to a more restful rhythm.
The stillness breaks when Amity mutters something, shifts, turns over, her eyes blinking open slowly. For a moment, her gaze is heavy with sleep and she looks like she's not quite sure where she is, but then she rubs her eyes and focuses on Luz, and her expression changes to concern. “Luz?”
“I'm sorry if I woke you,” Luz whispers, determined not to disturb any of the others.
“Have you even slept?” Amity asks, studying her expression. Luz wonders if she looks exhausted or if Amity is just worried about her, caring in that way her girlfriend always is.
“I'm fine,” Luz says, not answering, and she can see the touch of sadness in Amity's eyes as she registers that Luz avoided the question.
“Nightmares?” Amity asks.
“We'll wake the others,” Luz answers, avoiding the truth with another fact.
Amity nods, shifts closer to her, reaches up to touch her cheek. “Talk about this tomorrow?” she whispers, with a kind of tenderness Luz wishes she deserved.
“Yeah.” Will they? Will she? Is there room for that honesty, with all the other secrets she's keeping? Luz isn't sure, but she says it anyway, doesn't want to make this any harder.
Amity smiles at her and takes Luz's hand in hers, and Luz curls her fingers around Amity's and reminds herself that no matter what happens in the future, she has this. She has now, and she has this moment with Amity, and the warmth of her touch, and the tenderness in her golden eyes. Something about this feels like permission to just exist for a little while.
So she lies there, Amity's hand in hers, and she finds herself slipping into sleep.
And when she wakes, morning sunlight streaming into the room, she realises that for the first time in so long, she slept without nightmares.