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The room has just begun to brighten up.
I squeeze my eyes shut and switch positions for what seems like the millionth time. Every part of my pillow is warm. I open my eyes again and sit up quietly, so I won’t disturb Bran sleeping peacefully beside me. After flipping my pillow, I lie back down. It feels nice and cold now, but I know it’ll only be a matter of time until I have to turn it over again.
It’s burning hot inside the covers, even though Bran and I are sharing a light blanket. I stick one of my feet out, feeling the nice, cool air rush at it. Then it starts to get cold, so I place it back into the blanket.
Then it starts to get hot again.
It’s a never-ending dance where nothing can ever be in the middle. I’m only too hot, then too cold. Over and over again.
I’m supposed to be happy now that I’m home, after the short vacation I had with Bran. I am happy. It’s just that at night-time, I’m still living in a different time-zone. It feels like morning for me, and I’m not tired at all.
Is it possible that your eyes can get sore after closing them for too long? It feels like the more I try to sleep, the more restless I get. Thoughts race in my head, so fast it’s like a dog chasing its own tail. It jumps from topic to topic– what I’m doing tomorrow, reliving the vacation I had, and of course, that annoying song that’s decided to worm itself into my brain and stay there forever.
I roll onto my side, blinking at the light streaming in through the windows. I would get up and close the blinds, but I don’t want to wake Bran. I guess I’ll just have to deal with it, like how I’m dealing with the fact that I’ve been lying in this bed– my prison– for over eight hours without getting a wink of sleep.
All I want to do is to yell, maybe punch the mattress as hard as I can, but I can’t do that. I lift up the covers and throw them over my head, attempting to block out the beginning of the sun’s rays poking out through the window.
But now it’s too hot again. My groan is muffled as I crawl out of the blankets again. I just want to sleep. Just for a while before I have to get up and start the day. Is that too much to ask?
Tears of frustration prick my eyes as I shift a little closer to Bran, breathing in-and-out with him, trying to mimic the way his breaths are calm, slow, and steady– the opposite of the way I’m feeling right now. I close my eyes again, chanting sleep, sleep, sleep in my head, as if trying to command myself to do so.
Jetlag, I decide, is the worst thing in the entire world.
The worst part about not being able to sleep is feeling alone in the dark, silent world. Like you’re the only one suffering, the only one not being able to recharge for the next day.
“Wilson?” Bran rolls over and faces me, his large, beautiful hazel eyes both sleepy and concerned. “Why are you awake so early?”
Maybe it’s the sympathy, maybe it’s because of Bran’s gentle voice, or maybe it’s the thoughts in my head overwhelming me– or whatever it is, it makes me start crying, feeling exhausted yet restless at the same time. I feel the tears trickle down my cheeks, soaking into my pillow as I turn away, embarrassed to be upset over such a silly thing.
“Will.” The mattress creaks slightly under Bran’s weight as he wraps his arms around me, tugging me into him so my back is against his chest. I feel him bury his face in my neck, his breath warm, his soft, messy hair tickling my skin. “What’s wrong?” he asks softly.
Slowly, I let out a shaky breath, trying to calm down. “Nothing,” I whisper, my voice small and weak. I hate how vulnerable I sound. “I just can’t sleep. It’s the time-zone difference. It’s messing up my– my circadian rhythm.”
Bran rests his chin on my shoulder. “Oh. Yeah. I know how bad that can be.”
A quiet whimper comes out of me– a whimper that doesn’t sound human. It sounds like a poor abandoned puppy. Bran freezes at the sound. I feel his warmth disappear for a second, then appearing again, as a tiny kiss at the top of my head. “Baby,” he murmurs. “I’m so sorry. Tell me what I can do.”
My vision is blurry with tears. “Just hold me. Please?”
Bran nods. “Of course.” He pulls me closer, his embrace wrapping around me like a gossamer quilt. I lean into him, needing comfort. Needing it badly.
“I wish I could sleep. I haven’t slept at all,” I whisper as I roll around to bury my face in his shirt.
“Not at all?” His hands move in soothing circles on my back.
“Not at all,” I confirm.
Another kiss on my forehead. “Well then,” Bran says finally, “I’ll stay up with you. Until you’re ready to fall asleep.”
“No.” I tip my head back to look at him, to stare into those brown and green eyes that never seem to stop shifting colours. “You need to sleep too, Bran. I’m not letting you be tired because of me.”
Bran smiles slightly, his mouth barely just turning up at the corners. “You’re actually doing me a favour. It’s a proven fact that if you sleep too long, your sleep schedule will be messed up for the entire week.”
I huff a tiny laugh into his chest, sounding more like a sob, but it’s there. At least I still have the ability to laugh. “Well, I guess if I’m helping you…” I murmur, trying to sound reluctant, then turning serious again. “My sleep schedule is already messed up.”
His fingers run through my hair, untangling the knots so delicately, almost like I’m something worth holding on too. “That can be fixed.” Bran tells me, “If you’re exhausted the next day, you’ll probably sleep through the whole night. Boom. Sleep cycle fixed.”
“Right.” I frown. “I have to get up at nine tomorrow. I’m going to fall asleep during classes.”
“I’ll poke you if you start to sleep,” Bran says, only half-serious. We go to the same university, and we just came back after winter break. It’s horrifying to think about going back to boring old school, not going to fun attractions or eating at restaurants everyday.
“Thank you.” I snuggle my head a little closer to him. It’s so nice to be having a normal conversation after eight hours of staying silent. “I’m glad to have you.”
“Mhm.” Bran’s arms tighten around me. “Want to turn on a light and read a book–? Unless you still want to try sleeping…”
I shake my head. “I’m going to go crazy if I have to lie here doing nothing. Please. I’d love to read.”
Bran sits up and stretches his arms, yawning. “This is so boring,” he says. “How did you deal with this for freaking eight hours?”
I shrug. “I don’t know,” I mumble, getting up a little slower than him. Bran reaches over to turn on the light, and I’m instantly blinded. I bury my face in the covers, squeezing my eyes shut. It feels like staring into the sun, burning my retinas.
Bran laughs, shaking my shoulder playfully. “Come on. It’s not that bad.”
Reluctantly, I crawl out of the covers, blinking at the bright light, but I forget about it as Bran grabs the book from the drawer and opens it, flipping to the chapter that we’ve left off on.
I press myself to his side, and he pulls me into him. I lean my head against his shoulder, eyes scanning the words contently as Bran begins to read out loud, his words smooth and steady.
Breathing slowly, I close my eyes and listen, his voice like a lullaby. I shift just a little bit closer, resting my head on his chest instead of his shoulder, his heartbeat just as steady as the pace Bran reads.
The story is interesting, but I find my attention drifting over to Bran instead, my gaze on the way his soft pink lips move while they form the words, the way those brown, silky strands of hair are falling perfectly into his eyes.
I love him. I love him so much sometimes that it hurts.
What do you mean that he’s willing to stay up with me? That he’s willing to wake up at six a.m. to comfort me?
Gods, I love him so much.
Suddenly, I feel sleep pulling me down, dragging at my bones. I close my eyes, ready to drift off, before opening them again and whispering, “Bran. I’m tired.”
He looks at me then, face aglow in the light of the room, smiling. “That’s great! You’re ready to sleep now?”
I nod slowly. Bran turns the lamp off again– I lie down, and he lies down beside me, an arm still wrapped around me. “I love you,” I murmur, already drifting off into a dream. It’s almost ridiculous, for trying to sleep for so long, just for it to come so easily. I guess you can’t force it to come, you have to coax it to you, almost like a cat that could slip away as easily as it can come.
Bran’s breath is warm against my neck. His reply is the last thing I hear before I’m finally, wonderfully, blissfully, asleep.