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Street isn’t used to sleeping in silence. All his life, he’s slept with some degree of background noise—and some degree of needing to be alert—that’s kept him from sleeping restfully at all. It’s not until he’s curled up with Chris in her queen bed, underneath the thickest comforter he’s ever felt, with her even breathing and comforting warmth next to him, that he begins to understand what it means to truly sleep.
Begins . Until the clock turns to a quarter past two, and he’s pulled from slumber by a low rumbling. It starts soft, then grows slightly louder, and then eases away again like a wave. But it’s repetitive, sometimes accented with a slight whistle at the bottom, and he almost can’t believe it when he cracks his eyes open and realizes the source.
Maybe his past is why he never noticed it in the bunk room at HQ, or maybe because she wasn’t really sleeping deeply there, either, but it’s undeniable now. Chris Alonso snores.
Huffing a gentle laugh, he rolls back onto his side and closes his eyes again. Mystery solved, he manages to fall back asleep within a few minutes. He doesn’t bring it up the next day, just shakes his head when she asks why he has that look in his eye like he has a secret, and silences her suspicion with a languid kiss.
But the snoring only gets worse as fall turns to winter that wears on like a dry, scratchy sweater. He finds himself waking to her hot breath right against his ear, and is unable to get back to sleep without unwinding their bodies and sticking earplugs in to muffle the noise. Nights he gets home late, he hears it from the bathroom, breaking any idea of a peaceful sleep that he had. He thumbs at the foam plugs until they’re soft enough to push in his ears, then slides in next to her.
“You look tired.” Chris says, eventually, her eyes unhappy as she notices the dark circles under his.
“It’s nothing,” Street brushes her concern off, flipping the eggs. “Just haven’t been sleeping well.”
“You’ve been sleeping here for weeks. Why didn’t you say anything? Are you too hot, is it the mattress?”
“Uh, no,” he treads lightly. “It’s really nothing.”
“Great, then tell me, so we can fix it. I don’t mind, really. I’ve had that bed for—”
“You snore.”
She stops dead in her tracks, lukewarm coffee splashing over the side of her hand, and jaw on the floor.
“I what ?”
“For a couple weeks now.” He tells her the truth, but concentrates solely on getting the eggs onto their plates to avoid having to look her in the eye. “It’s really not a problem, I just didn’t know before. I’ll get used to it.”
“Okay, stop,” she interrupts, setting her mug down and pinching the bridge of her nose as confusion floods her head like the ocean. “I do not snore.”
He finally turns to her, lips in a line and nose scrunched.
“You do, Babe. Loud.”
“I think I would know if I did. My family would’ve told me.” She counters in her disbelief, but he just shakes his head.
“Did you ever ask them?”
“ No ! Because there was never a reason to. Because I don’t snore.”
“You should. Really, it’s okay. I bought some earplugs and they help.” And then, before she can jump on that, “You’re still my dream girl.”
She rolls her eyes even as a fire-engine blush paints her cheeks, then slides a fork across the counter to him.
“I better be.”
“Does anyone in our family snore?” She asks over a beer the next time she sees her Aunt and Uncle.
“I used to. So did your mother.” Sarzo sips. Helena swats lightly as his shoulder.
“ Used to ? He still does—like a freight train. Why?”
“Got some forms for a new doctor. They asked about it.”
Chris tries everything: sleeping on her side, sleeping elevated, falling asleep after Street. Allergy meds and deep breathing and hot showers. Nothing works. So, all other options as exhausted as her and Street, she finds herself staring down the nasal strips in the pharmacy aisle a few weeks later. Begrudgingly, she rips the store-brand box from the shelf, swipes it through the self-checkout, and tosses it in her medicine cabinet when she gets home.
Don’t say anything . She texts Street, but cuts through the ominous-tone by following it up with an I love you . It’s one of the nights she knows he’ll be home late, and she’s too tired to wait for him. The instructions on the box come easy, and she applies the strip with a sigh before sliding into bed and hoping it works. Pulling his pillow close, she lets his scent lull her to sleep.
The first thing he notices is the silence. Not an almost silence, but a true, nothing-but-the-buzz-of-the-fridge silence. His shoulders drop from their position at his ears, a low breath escaping, and a soft smile graces his face.
He thinks of Chris in their bed and makes quick work of his night routine. The clock reads just past midnight, and her gentle, quiet breathing makes a rustling noise against his pillowcase. He’s like a moth to a flame as he slides under the covers.
“Love you,” he whispers, kissing her nose. Fabric meets his lips, and he laughs when he realizes what it is. He kisses her again for good measure. Another long day in the books, her soft body next to his, he closes his eyes.
Sleep does not come easy. Midnight turns into one and then falls into two, every fifteen minutes punctuated with a toss or a turn. His muscles ache, brain running like it’s a race, and, when he finally gives in with an exhausted sigh, patterns swirl in the ceiling paint he stares at.
Rolling onto his side, again, he tucks his arm under his pillow and traces over Chris’s sleeping face. Not a trace of tension belies her features, her eyebrow soft when he caresses it with his thumb. She’s as beautiful as ever to look at, and he’s happy, at least, to have her next to him even if he can’t sleep. Her lips are parted just so, and a sweet hum escapes as she nuzzles closer.
Just a hum. He knows what’s missing.
Careful as possible not to disturb her, he uses the side of his thumb nail to pick at the nasal strip until it starts to peel off. The rest comes off in one smooth go and ends up folded on his nightstand.
Her next breath starts with a low rumble that grows louder and then eases away, like a wave.
He’s asleep not a minute later.
In the morning, Chris’s hands go to her nose, and she’s confused to not find the strip where she placed it last night. She searches her pillow and around her body, prepared to scratch that brand off the list and go for a new one, until she spies it on his nightstand. Eyes narrowed, she throws her covers back to stand and stretch, picking up her phone on her way to the bathroom
The text chime goes off as she sees the box in the garbage: Don’t say anything. I love you.