Work Text:
Pete’s having a hard time falling asleep.
This had been a usual occurrence before in his life but ever since he had someone else join him in the bed, it had stopped.
At least, he thought it did.
Now Pete finds himself lying in bed, staring at the darkened ceiling, writhing around for no particular reason and hearing the noises of peaceful tranquility coming from the one whom he wishes he could be right now beside him. He wondered what it was like, being able to fall asleep in a maximum of 10 minutes, tops. Can people do that?
Pete reached for his phone on the bedside table but stopped himself midway. As if he grabbed his phone and looked at it, it was a full promise to himself that he’d lose all chance of falling asleep that night.
But his hopes weren’t that high in the first place. Might as well jump off the elevator when it’s low to the ground rather than waiting for it to get too high, right?
Nah. Pete didn’t feel like getting flash-banged at the moment. He’ll search up the answer to his question in the morning if he remembers it. Every time he tells himself to remember something, he just can’t. Like this one time he had a really good song lyric come to him late at night but he was already under the sheets and he didn’t feel like getting up so he just repeated it in his head until he fell asleep. Of course, he forgot when he woke up and got angry at himself for it, but what could you do?
Anyways, Pete should just forget it, it wasn’t that important to search up and a load off his mind would help him at a time like this. Now, back to the present, what can Pete do now? He used to just go bother Pat, Joe, or Andy if this happened to him but they’re not here right now. And he for sure was absolutely NOT going to bother Mikey.
Pete looked at the sweet dude beside him. Pete felt his heart beating quicker by the second the longer he looked at him, which probably wasn’t ideal since he’s trying to calm himself down right now. He couldn’t bother him if he was offered any possible amount of money or pizza. He was sure Mikey would do the same as well if he was in his position, though, he kinda wishes he wouldn’t.
He could only think of two things he could do at the moment, 1, just try and go to sleep despite his many failed attempts, or 2, go full on vampire mode and just start his day early (at 11:48 pm).
Y’know, it wasn’t even that late at night at this point. If he got started on trying to fall asleep now, it would basically be like this whole scene had never happened. So, that’s what he decided to do.
Pete turned onto his left side, just to feel a different position and shut his eyes.
Pete didn’t know why specifically on a random Tuesday night, he couldn’t sleep for the life (or death) of him. It’s awfully irritating him. He flipped over to the other side because his left side wasn’t working. Maybe because there’s such a big gap in the last time he had one of these nights and this night, he’s lost how it used to feel. He wasn’t used to it anymore or maybe he wasn’t even used to it in the first place but just accepted those sleepless nights before easier.
He wasn’t going to give up though. He pushed the covers off his torso, letting it only drape over his waist and below. Maybe it was because he was hot. His old room didn’t have any AC or a fan in it so he got hot easily at night, which was the reason most nights he couldn’t sleep. Though, he felt like he should be used to being hot and sweaty in a bed by now.
Now, this room’s got a ceiling fan hanging overhead. Pete preferred it over an AC because ACs were too noisy and he wouldn’t be able to fall asleep to the soft sounds of Mikey’s breathing every night. Not like it matters now though because it doesn’t seem to be working.
Pete finally gave up. In his whole time of trying to knock himself unconscious, he’s been moving every few seconds, which was only keeping him awake. And the only thing he’s been thinking about was him falling asleep and, going by experience, you can’t actually do that if you’re thinking about it. It only works subconsciously, at least, that's what Pete believed. Damn.
Well, more time he just wasted. What did he do the night before? The exact same thing he was doing now, only quicker and more comforting, he answered himself. Sleep’s supposed to calm you, not stress you. Pete turned onto his stomach and groaned into his pillow, trying to stay quiet.
Plan B didn’t work, how many more letters in the Alphabet until Pete can spell out his name? He started counting. He didn’t want to admit it but he was just trying to distract his brain from thinking about sleep. But he just acknowledged it, so he might as well give that up.
No. He’s got this. He’ll fall asleep now if that’s the last thing he’ll do tonight. He checked the time, 11:58 pm. Not much time had passed though, it felt like it should be sunrise already. But, at least it’s not 12 am yet, so that’s gotta count for something, right?
Okay, Pete. He thought to himself, Just think about something. He returned to his regularly scheduled sleeping position and shut his eyes once more.
Uh…Lalaa…la la la la….lalalalalalalala…la la la…LALALALALALA-
This was stupid. Pete sat up, he wasn’t gonna magically fall asleep by thinking about random noises. This was all completely stupid. Why couldn’t he fall asleep? Why did brains, or maybe just his brain, work like this? Why, just…why couldn’t there be an easier way to just shut off?
Pete was going to think that “it's not fair.” But he feels that phrase is off limits to him. People experience actual worse insomnia and other severe sleep disorders that must be hell to deal with so he didn’t feel he had the right to complain, not even in his head.
Pete checked the time again on the alarm clock. It was 12:03. Great, it was already the next day. What’s the point anymore? He should just get up and do something.
Pete actually got up and out of the bed and looked around the room. He felt so stupid for being awake right now. He felt like a little kid staying up past his bedtime. He felt so fucking tired but there was nothing he could do about it.
Pete looked around, he didn’t know if it was cool or depressing that his eyes were already used to the dark. He shuffled towards the desk in the room, feeling around until his hand reached a journal, like a real physical journal he kept.
Because Pete was being stubborn and didn’t want to look at a screen at the moment, he started writing in his journal. It was hard to see but Pete laid the journal near the window in the room, being able to see at least with the moonlight. First, he started off writing about how he couldn’t sleep until it escalated to a whole poem that took up like 3 pages in the journal.
He just felt like he should at least be productive during this time. Hey, you know what else is productive at this time? Going to sleep. (Gah)
Pete shut the journal, placing it back where it was. Just one more try couldn’t hurt. For the road?
Pete gave in. He slowly sneaked back into the bed, not pulling the sheets over him at all this time. He closed his eyes. He could feel it this time. He didn’t know what he felt but he had to feel something. You can’t shut off what's not there. He placed his hand on his heart, feeling his heartbeat as he tried some breathing techniques he learned a while ago.
He actually stayed there for about 5 minutes. He was so close to falling asleep. His mind had wandered off to think about something unrelated to what was happening, whatever it was, but Pete, of course, screwed it all up by realizing that fact and had his eyes wide open before he even knew it.
He turned onto his back, staring up at the ceiling. He was back to where he started at the beginning of the night. And, what, it was now only 12:47 am?
This is pointless. He sat up yet again. If only they had melatonin or something, this whole problem would be solved in a heartbeat. He can’t fall asleep, which, mind you, is something he could and does do during any other night. And that’s it. It wasn’t worth crying over. Yet, he began to. He felt helpless. He shouldn't. It's just one night without sleep, he couldn’t handle that?
Now, in the eyesight impairing darkness, his view got even more hazier until it was just gray static snow in his sight and wet running down beneath his face and below his neckline. He covered his nose and mouth with his hands, trying to silence his choked up noises and gasps.
His breathing fully sped up to borderline hysteric overbreathing. He didn’t have a hard time breathing at all, despite that, so he cursed himself with every word he knew below the sun as he stared at Mikey, who had been asleep the whole time, and still is. Pete felt like he was overreacting. It was nothing but a show. He felt like he was faking it, even though there wasn't anyone watching him. He brought his breathing to a stop for a moment, trying to forget he just did that before just giving in to the hurt in his heart and starting up again. He scratched at his neck, trying to grab onto something or cause something to get him to stop.
He only put a roadblock in this cycle when he actually choked. He shoved his mouth into the inside of his elbow and coughed his brains out —or at least he wishes he did, maybe then he’d finally find the permanent off-button on it.
Once he cleared his throat enough, pounding his chest with one fist, he let himself lay back onto the bed. He didn’t bother to wipe the wet smudges off his face; it'll probably go away on its own. Only the universe knows how disgusting Pete looks right now. He couldn’t believe the boy next to him could sleep through all of Pete’s foolishness. How tired did he have to be?
The longer Pete stayed up, the more impatient he grew. He wished for two things, just one of them would be enough. Either he magically gets knocked out right now or the sun goes up and he can officially leave this night behind.
He checked the time once more, 2:12. Pete actually had some hope that the latter would happen soon since he knew the first option wouldn't happen in a million different universes. Just hold on for 5 more hours. He reassured himself.
He turned back to look at Mikey again. He wanted to take his mind off everything. He wanted to forget everything. So he looked at Mikey. It’d be much easier for him to do so if he looked back.
Pete closed his eyes and took a deep breath through his now congested sinuses. He put one of his hands to his chest as he did before. He didn’t know what to do and “the devil’s mind is empty” or “inactivity was his playhouse” whatever the saying was.
Just close your eyes. Eventually your mind will get bored and kill itself. Pete thought. So, he followed through. He kept his eyes closed and did nothing but count his breathing.
And that’s all he did. He didn’t give up on it. He just tried to keep his eyes closed and breathe slowly. Although he kept on involuntarily opening up his eyes for no good reason and he messed up the breathing exercise many times, he just had to push through because there was nothing else he felt like he could do.
He changed his laying position every 3 seconds whether it was the position of his legs, where his hands were, or what side he was lying on, he always switched it. He didn’t know why he did it, it was definitely keeping him awake though. He kept on moving his hair out of his face every minute or so. He became hyper aware of its feeling all over his head and on his neck. He didn’t like it. He also noticed his heartbeat pounding everywhere in his body. His fingers, his legs, no matter where, he could feel it pounding.
And this went on for 5 hours straight. Until he stopped, seeing the tiniest sliver of light outside, meaning, his hell was over. He laid there staring at the ceiling and rubbing his eyes. He imagined himself with eyebags on his face but scrapped the thought since it was just one night. He’s not going to look like he was fighting war.
He continued to just lay there in the bed, this time with his eyes open and staring up at the brightly lit ceiling for what felt like a minute —even though it had been actually way longer than he thought. He felt like he could fall asleep right now, of course, now.
That’s when he heard the low voice of the angel he was waiting for around 9 hours to say, “mornin’, Peterpan. How’d you sleep?”
Pete turned his head towards Mikey. He looked exactly how he wanted to feel, well rested. He worried that he had looked like death as he looked at him but based on the fact Mikey didn't look worried or scared looking at him, he assumed he looked fine.
Pete gave Mikey a soft smile before he said, “I slept great.”