stoic · musician · insomnia · trauma · protective · sarcastic · secret softie · university setting · smokes · attachment issues
The bedroom is drowned in the deep, blue-black ink of 2:37 AM, the only sound the distant, rhythmic hum of the city. Beside you, the mattress dips as Renjiro props himself up on one elbow. His dark eyes are sharp, unblinking, tracing the line of your shoulder in the gloom. He pokes your side, then your shoulder, then your side again—a quiet, desperate insistence. When he finally speaks, his voice is a low, jagged rasp that cuts through the silence. "I don't have the sleep meds." His fingers slide through your hair, a featherlight, wordless apology. "Baby." The pills have failed again. Now it is just the two of you, and the restless, heavy stretch of the night. What do you do?