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There was no particular reason Stan opened his eyes and was awake. No nightmare. No sleep paralysis, no demons. No pressing need to use the bathroom. No loud noise. No pain, nothing hit him. Nothing. He just opened his eyes, and then the next thing he knew was that he was awake.
It was completely unspectacular. Somehow, that made it all the more frustrating.
It was dark around him; he couldn’t see a thing. The curtains were closed. They paid special attention to that before they went to sleep, so Stan wouldn’t wake from the light of the sunrise.
He turned onto his side to look the alarm clock on the nightstand. It read 4:48AM in bright letters. The sun probably wasn’t even rising yet.
Stan sighed as he turned on his back again. They’d turned off the lights for the night shortly before midnight, so he’d had less than five hours of sleep. Too little. Still two hours until the alarm went off. Two hours until he had to get up again.
Two hours he was most likely gonna spend awake.
This was the third time this week, and it wasn’t even Friday yet. He already knew how it was gonna go – he’d try to fall asleep again until the alarm went off, then struggle to get out of bed and through the morning. He’d be late, and by lunchtime, he’d be so tired he wasn’t good for anything anymore. He’d drag himself through the rest of the day like a slug, then he’d come home and fall into bed. Tolkien would wake him some time later, and Stan would struggle to get up again. He’d spend the rest of the evening tired, until it was time to go to sleep again.
He had to fall asleep again.
Stan closed his eyes. He had to try.
He had that urge to move he always got sooner or later whenever this happened, so he shifted back to his side. He didn’t find a good position immediately – he wanted more support under his head, so he tried resting his head on his arm. That wasn’t very comfortable though, so then he shuffled the arm under the pillow before putting his head down on it again. Much better.
He didn’t like his leg on the other, it felt like he was... Putting pressure on his circulation, or something. So he tried drawing the upper leg close to his chest. Big mistake. His joints protested; they wanted to be stretched out.
So he stretched his leg out in front of him instead. The sheets slipped from his foot, exposing it to the colder air. He sighed and tried to pull them back with his hand, but it was no use – he had to bend the knee a little to draw it back in. So he did, trying to find a compromise between remaining under the blanket fully, and stretching his knee.
It took way longer than it probably should, but he ultimately managed to find a position that was at least comfortable enough to wait for sleep to take him again...
Which, of course, didn’t happen.
Stan looked back at the alarm clock. 5:06 AM. Had it been that long already? At this rate, he surely wouldn’t get enough sleep that night...
He shifted again, tangling one of his legs in his blanket. He tried to kick it off carefully, but it was clingy. So he tried again, with more energy this time around. This time, it did come off.
Next to him, Tolkien grumbled something incomprehensible. Shit! He hadn’t meant to wake him up... Did he wake him up? Hopefully not...
For a moment, Stan held his breath.
Tolkien shifted onto his back, grumbling some more. Then, he went still. His breath evened out into a steady pattern. He was fast asleep again.
Stan let out a sigh of relief.
He could feel the warmth radiating from Tolkien. Maybe he could... Should he though? He really didn’t want to wake him up... But he also craved the comfort of being physically close to his partner right now. He had to be careful.
Stan turned onto his side again and moved closer to Tolkien, until he could wrap his arm around his torso, pull himself even closer and place his head on Tolkien’s chest like a pillow. Except sturdier, more supportive, and he could hear his partner’s heartbeat. Calm and steady, just like his breath.
Stan closed his eyes again.
He wished Tolkien would wrap his arm around him and squeeze him, like he would if he were awake. Stan felt guilty for that, selfish. He shouldn’t want Tolkien to be awake with him... He didn’t, really. He just didn’t want to be alone.
Stan glanced to the alarm clock again. 5:19AM now. He'd spent half an hour awake at this point. Less than two hours left to sleep... But sleep still felt like an abstract concept.
He put his head back on Tolkien’s chest. Maybe he could at least remain like this for the next... One and some more hours: close to his partner... Yet still alone in the dark.
Except... He needed to shift. Again. Maybe this hadn’t been such a good idea after all... He’d wake Tolkien up if he remained close.
So Stan lifted himself up from Tolkien’s chest again, and moved back to his side of the bed. Goosebumps crawled across his skin where Tolkien’s warmth had been just a moment before. But he needed to move. He’d probably need to move again.
Stan laid back down on his other side and closed his eyes again, hoping sleep would take him before that urge to move hit again. It wasn’t very likely, but he could at least try.
“Stan?”
Now he’d done it... He had one job, apart from falling asleep again: to not wake Tolkien up. He couldn’t even do that, apparently.
“You awake again?”
Stan sighed.
Tolkien knew about his problem, of course. They had talked about it. Even if they hadn’t, which Stan couldn’t imagine, he was pretty sure Tolkien would have figured it out by himself eventually. He never missed when Stan had a problem, even when everyone else did, and he always tried to be supportive however he could – closing the curtains had been his idea, actually. God, Stan loved this man.
Still. He didn’t want to drag him into it like this.
“It’s okay,” he said. “Keep sleeping.”
“How long have you been awake?”
Tolkien’s voice sounded drunk from sleep, yet he seemed sharp like he hadn’t just pulled him from it. Attentive, as always. It felt comforting, and Stan hated himself for that.
He glanced at the alarm clock again. 5:26AM. Just one and a half hours left to sleep...
“Over half an hour,” he admitted.
Tolkien hummed.
Stan heard him move behind him, then felt his hand on his side. First a careful brush, like Tolkien was looking for him, then a steady, warm touch.
Stan turned on his back so he could face him. His eyes had gotten used to the dark at this point – he could make out Tolkien’s form, even make out that his eyes were open.
Tolkien’s hand landed on his belly, but he didn’t move it back to Stan’s side. In fact, he started caressing him with his thumb. Stan kind of liked the warmth there.
“’S there anything I could do?” Tolkien asked.
Stan sighed again. “Look, you don’t have to take care of me. I just need to go back to sleep...” It wasn’t going to work, but he had to try, at least. And Tolkien needed to sleep as well...
“Stan.” Tolkien’s tone was calm and kind. The kind of tone that always got Stan to listen, even when his stress levels were through the roof. “What do you need?”
“I...”
It didn’t matter. He was gonna be awake for the next one and a half hours. He was gonna be ready for a nap again by lunchtime. He was gonna be tired for the rest of the day. Rinse and repeat, probably...
“Fuck, Tolkien, I don’t know! I just need to sleep, okay, I’m tired, an-...”
“Hey,” Tolkien interrupted, “it’s gonna be alright.”
He didn’t sound angry or annoyed in the slightest. He said it in that firm, assured tone that made Stan believe him.
The tension subsided a little.
Tolkien sighed. “Have you tried using the bathroom? I mean, you told me you don’t usually need to go, but...”
“No.” That would probably only keep him from sleeping more.
“Tea?”
Same issue. Besides, it would take way too long. But the real issue was, Tolkien was probably talking about the valerian and lavender tea and that... “That’s totally gonna make me fucked up in the morning if I drink it now.”
“Okay. How about just drinking some water then?”
Stan always kept a glass of water on the nightstand. He’d emptied it one of the previous nights when he’d laid awake, only for him to actually have to go to the bathroom later that night. Needless to say, he hadn’t been able to go back to sleep that time either.
He shook his head. “Nah... I’m good.”
“Read a little?”
Stan had to admit, the idea sounded appealing. But he’d have to turn the nightlight on, and he didn’t want to keep Tolkien awake. Or he could get up and read elsewhere, but then he’d have to get back to bed. So same problem as with bathroom and tea. Made it sound a lot less appealing.
“No...”
“Jerk off?”
Stan sighed. “Not feeling that right now.” He hadn’t in a while, actually. It bothered him, now that he thought about it.
“Cuddle?”
Stan hummed. Yeah... But also, it hadn’t worked before, and that was undoubtedly the reason Tolkien was up now. Or more like, Stan’s reckless restlessness was. He wanted to anyway, but... It was not gonna work. He was only gonna keep Tolkien up too.
He really was such a selfish asshole. First, he’d woken Tolkien up, now Tolkien was trying to help him, and here Stan was, rejecting every single one of his ideas.
But Tolkien didn’t give up, nor did he get annoyed with him. “How about a hot water bottle?”
Now that... Actually, that sounded perfect.
He’d still have to get up and get it – there was no way he was gonna let Tolkien do that for him. He still didn’t like the idea... At least it wouldn’t take too long.
Because, damn. He really wanted that hot water bottle now.
He sat up and leaned over to Tolkien. “You’re the best, you know that?”
Maybe Stan didn’t deserve him. He pressed a kiss to Tolkien’s temple like a full stop anyway, wishing he could see his smile. Later. When it wasn’t sleeping time anymore.
“You’re welcome,” Tolkien said.
Stan sat on the edge of the bed, looking for his slippers before getting up. “I’ll be right back. Go back to sleep.”
Tolkien hummed in response.
The sun was already rising outside. Stan didn’t even have to turn on the lights as he made his way to the kitchen. He was shivering a bit though. Maybe he should have taken his blanket... Or gotten a bathrobe. He was not turning back now though.
In the hallway, Barbie lifted her head from the floor where she had settled down, looking confused, probably as to why Stan was up already.
“Hey girl.” He stopped and knelt down to scratch her between her ears. The tip of her tail started flicking as soon as he addressed her, and she closed her eyes, leaning her head against Stan’s arm.
He could never bear ignoring her. Cartman had done enough of that, especially once he had gotten annoyed enough with her attempts to get his attention to not want her anymore. He’d claimed she misbehaved out of malice, in spite of how obvious her desperation had been.
It had been a journey with her. She could still be difficult sometimes, but she was a good dog.
She followed behind him when he got up again and went to the kitchen.
“It’s not feeding time yet,” Stan told her instinctively as he grabbed the can of the electric kettle and filled it with water from the tap. He always fed her directly before sitting down for breakfast in the morning.
He grabbed the rubber bottle encased in soft fleece from a drawer after turning on the electric kettle.
Barbie nudged his leg, so he sat down on the floor besides her, and started petting her again.
He could see the sunrise through the window as he waited for the water to boil. The sun wasn’t up yet, but its rays painted the horizon in a light yellow reminiscent of a candle, the few clouds on the horizon in a mellow blurple against the gradient from blue to yellow.
It was beautiful.
Barbie nudged him again.
She wasn’t looking for food, Stan realized. She wasn’t doing any of what she normally did to make sure he wouldn’t forget feeding her – not like he ever would, but Stan understood she was scared of that. No trampling around excitedly where she knew her food was stored. Sometimes she would even bark, as if to say ‘Don’t forget about me! Hurry up already!’
No, she was looking directly at him. Now she rested her head on his knee, ears put back slightly.
That did something to him. He could feel his eyes getting watery, and before he knew it, a sob escaped his throat.
Sometimes, Stan didn’t understand how he deserved being loved so much. Tolkien too... Stan had woken him up, and instead of getting mad, he’d stayed calm even when Stan lashed out at him. Made suggestions when Stan hadn’t known what to do. He deserved better, so much better...
The electric kettle clicked as it shut itself down.
Stan ruffled the fur on Barbie’s back one last time before getting up again to refill the now boiling water into the rubber bottle, careful not to spill any of it. She stayed by his side.
He felt... Lighter, somehow, yet his body felt heavier. He hadn’t quite realized just how tired he was before... That restlessness was gone now. He just wanted to go back to bed... Go back to sleep.
Barbie kept following him as he went back to the bedroom. She gave him puppy eyes when he opened the door, clearly looking for his invitation. She probably wanted to keep looking after him. Make sure he was going to be alright. Somehow, that made him feel a sense of comfort.
“Okay,” Stan whispered, stepping aside. “Come in.”
She slipped past him into the bedroom, and he followed her.
He laid down on the bed again, careful to not cause too much of a ruckus. He didn’t want to wake Tolkien up again...
“C’mere.”
... or he was still awake. He really didn’t have to...
Stan could hear Barbie settling down somewhere near the armchair that was sometimes used for reading, sometimes as a place to dump their clothes at for the night.
He was so much trouble, yet they still loved him. He could have cried again if he wasn’t so exhausted.
So he just took Tolkien’s invitation, settled down next to him under the sheets he was holding up for him. This time, there was no struggle to find a comfortable position, no excessive shifting. He became the small spoon to Tolkien’s big one, enveloped in his warm embrace. Between him, the hot water bottle against his stomach, and Barbie’s loud, content grumble, Stan didn’t shiver anymore.
He felt Tolkien’s breath against his neck, his heartbeat against his back, his hand on his chest. Stan put his own hand over his.
He wanted to remain like this... He could live with remaining like this until the alarm went off, even if he didn’t manage to fall asleep again... And he could live with it well.
Stan’s body felt so heavy now that he couldn’t have managed to keep his eyes open even if he wanted to. He was just... Right where he wanted to be.
Sleep was going to take him again after all.