Before Sunrise
retired!simonriley x gn!reader
imagine trying to keep up with retired simonâs sleep schedule (or lack of)
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You and simon live in a small town with a comfy home to call your own. An attempt to at least try and give Simon a clean slate of some sort, but there's always remnants of the past. Late at night while you're curled into each other, he lays awake sometimes watching you or the ceiling, but always plagued with haunting thoughts escaping from his subconscious. He usually waits for you to roll over before he slips out of bed silently, not able to stand laying down helplessly in bed void of rest. He puts on his house shoes and makes his way to the porch, waiting for the sun to eventually rise and giving your outside set up some use. Sometimes he'll bring a cup of tea, or take the time to roll a few cigarettes, maybe pull out his pocket knife to mindlessly whittle a stick, but every time ends with him carrying you back to bed.
You eventually notice his disappearance and haphazardly throw on some sweatpants and drag your slippers across the floor as you make your way to the front door. He hears the door open and smiles to himself as he hears you hiss at the morning air, "It's cold out Si."
"I know" he responds, moving a pillow to the side, so you have room to sit.
"Gonna get sick" you sigh, still audibly tired, sitting next to him and letting your head drift to his shoulder.
"I'll be alright" he hums passing you his mug and draping his arm over your shoulder, letting the extra fabric hanging from his oversized sweatshirt cover you at an attempt to shield your goosebumped arms from the cold. You sip from his mug a few times before you pass it back to his off hand, the two of you silently enjoying the view from your front porch.
âItâs so pretty out here this time of-â youâre interrupted by a yawn that makes him glance down at you.
He scoffs out a laugh. âShould get back in bedâ he suggests, knowing that you wonât, you never do.
âItâs okay. Iâll stay up with you, keep you companyâ you muse, trying to convince yourself that youâll actually stay awake.
Heâs amused listening to you try to talk yourself out of exhaustion, only humming low responses that eventually taper off the less you talk. Simon likes that you can find sleep so easily, itâs a comforting sign that youâre happy for a lack of better words.
Eventually he can feel the pressure of your head on his shoulder increase as the sound of your breathing changes and he knows youâve fallen asleep without even looking down at you. Itâs a routine he knows well, maneuvering with skill so that your head lulls inward towards his chest and his arms can support your back and the underside of your legs. He stands up and tries his best to gracefully open the front door to carry you bridal style through the house. You only make a brief mumble of complaint when he places you in bed, the cold of your abandoned sheets are a drastic difference compared to your heater of a husband. He tucks you back in and retraces his steps, neatly placing your fallen slippers together by the bed, bringing his mug in from outside, and locking the house back up. Usually around this time itâs easy for simon to get back in bed, even if he canât sleep, he no longer feels restless. He lays back down, letting you roll back over into him at the sense of his presence. Simon tucks you tightly into his side and keeps his eyes closed until he feels you stir again in the morning, whether or not he actually went to sleep isnât important.
