#insomia

Creative minds don’t rest. A fact that was proven to you as you lie in an empty bed. Michael has been in the studio for hours. You’ve grown accustomed to his nightly writing fevers. Still, it can’t be helped, the subtle loneliness you feel while clutching onto a large pillow, trying to substitute for that sun-kissed warmth and love that should be there in the sheets with you. 

You sigh, reluctant to sleep alone. There is an urge within you to says you should get up and drag MJ by his collar into bed, because lord knows that he won’t go to sleep unless you force him to. But as your eyelids grow heavy, you find that idea to be a waste of energy. Your consciousness slips as you fall into deep sleep. 

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It only felt like a matter of minutes that you spent in the darkness of slumber before you were woken up by the mattress dipping under a mysterious weight. Another mass pressed down on your hip, breaking you from the haze of drowsiness. 

Your senses aroused too. The room swirled with rich vanila and floral wood, your body became hyperaware of the mass—his hand—curling over your waist, fingers creating light dimples into your skin. 

You giggled softly as a gentle kiss was pressed to the back of your neck. The tip of a nose brushes against your scalp. 

  “Hi Michael.” You whisper lowly. 

“Hey baby.” He mutters back, voice tickling your ear. 

  You tug at the sheets, feeling resistance. Sitting up, you find your lover lying over the blanket. “Get under the covers, dummy.” Even in the dark, you know he is smiling. Not only can you feel it, but his signature grin is engraved into your mind. “Can’t. I’m still… restless.” 

You turn and reach over, feeling for his shoulder and gliding a hand down to his chest. Through your palm, his warm skin pulses with a fast and hard beat. He tenses a little as your hand smoothes over his skin and stops directly over his heart. 

  Thump thump, thump thump, thump thump…

  “Jesus christ, Michael,” you mumble. His heart is racing like he came out of a marathon, “you can’t keep doing this late at night.” 

He grabs your hand and brings it to his face, kissing your palm. “I know…” He says shyly into your skin. You understand. No one feels music the way Michael does. It’s an incredible gift, but it’s one that can act as a curse as well. Keeping Michael from doing the basic necessities for his health. 

  This isn’t good for him, but you know that it’s the only time where he can come alive in his music, in his art, his passion. 

  You slip out from the sheets, rolling over to face him and opening your arms. “Come here.” He obeys instantaneously without another word. Lean arms wrapping around your body, gripping you tightly, legs entangled. As he shifts and turns to find the perfect spot in your embrace, he makes small noises of content that make your heart flutter. 

Even when he stills into a snug position, Michael is clearly awake. His feet shuffle around, knees bumping against yours, he hums absent-mindedly, and even mutters imperceptible words. 

In a drowsy trance, you reach under Michael’s thin loose shirt. He inhales sharply as the tip of your nail tenderly skates across his back, circling soothing scratches that travel up and down. 

Michael melts into your touch, radiating euphoria as he inches impossibly closer. You giggle lazily as he does. It morphs into pure laughter as the singer sluggishly crawls on top of you, hands slipping and grabbing at your body and the sheets as he intertwines himself with you again. 

“Michael- Mike,” you exclaim lowly, cackling between words, “what are you doing?” Your lover is chuckling too. It’s deep and slightly hoarse, a polar opposite to his usually high singing voice. It makes butterflies flutter in your stomach. 

Finally, you feel the weight of his torso on top of you. His cheek rubbing against yours. You no longer need the blanket to keep you warm now. He lets out one final rumble of content before completely relaxing. 

You smile warmly. Delighted that the once empty cold space has been filled with his loving heat. You continue to draw circles into his back until you feel his body go limp. 

“...Mike?” You whisper. In the silence, you realize that his heartbeat is no longer roaring. His breath is slow and deep. Finally. But before you yourself fall asleep, you can’t help the ecstatic thrill that goes through you upon finding that your lover finds himself at ease enough to sleep in your arms. 

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When the morning’s golden light breaks through the curtains, you are the first to be roused. Eyelids flutter as they open groggily. You go to sit up, nearly forgetting about your living weighed blanket that was still fast asleep. 

Your movement stirrs Michael a little. He groans as he shifts. You stop moving immediately, trying to ensure that he stays in his slumber. He deserves to sleep in after being up so late. And he does just that, his arms wrapping even tighter around you with his eyes still shut. 

It was way past midnight when you jolted awake from your slumber, nearly jumping as you sucked in a sharp breath.

Your heart threatened to jump out of your chest when you scanned your surroundings like a cornered animal expecting a predator.

Another nightmare. Way worse than the one last night. Longer. More vivid.

One breath in. And out. Just like always.

But you knew this wouldn’t do the trick tonight. Not when your weakened body trembled, not when your throat literally ached from the amount of tears spilled.

The dark silhouette still haunted your mind. Your bruised neck remembered the Grounder’s grasp all too well. Your skin felt the freezing shadow of his hostile hands.

A few days had passed since the night you barely escaped with your life. Since you had witnessed pain, fear, gore. You’d think the awful images in your head would start fading away now, just like the wounds covering your body which were healing. Instead, it felt like they had gotten permanently engraved into your memory.

You were gone for two days. Chained up in a dark cave, bruised, with cuts all over your arms - tortured for information. Your kidnapper was getting impatient once he realized how useless you were as you refused to spill a single word. His knife was just about to graze your skin for the final time before someone barged into the scene.

That someone was Bellamy Blake.

You were barely conscious as you watched his fists paint the Grounder’s face crimson. Shortly after, a few others of your people got into the cave. Chaos followed. The sounds started to get muffled, your head was pounding, yet there was one constant you managed to remember about that night. You knew Bellamy was the one whose voice desperately tried to keep you awake on the journey back to camp. His big jacket that was swung over your trembling figure and his secure arms that scooped you up.

And ever since your limp body rested in his arms… he’s always got his eye out on you. You became his to worry about.

When you lay in medical, he kept checking up on you. He’d often bring you something to eat, make sure you got a meal portion big enough. He’d stop by to ask how you were, even amidst a busy day. He never stayed long but it was enough for you to associate him with safety. You didn’t really know what it was about him. Maybe it was how gentle his tone got when you two talked. Maybe how warm and stable he always felt next to you. Whatever it was…you liked it. A lot more than you’d dare to confess.

You reported to Bellamy and Clarke everything about the situation that seemed important strategically, sure. But you didn’t want to go into detail about the torture. It was clear that the whole camp had way more important matters than that so you always found a way to brush it off. Bellamy didn’t push you to talk. He knew how closed off and shy you were, you tended to keep yourself emotionally distant from people. Although you remembered that one evening you and Bellamy were sitting by the fireplace. He was helping you change your bandages. Your eyes were following his big, steady palms that moved with unusual gentleness along your skin when his low tone rang in your ears.

“They’re healing fast. You’re a tough one, aren’t you?” he smiled to you and you prayed he didn’t notice the pink color spreading across your whole face. “If you feel like something’s off, something hurts, just come to me, ‘kay? Whatever it is, don’t be nervous. Just let me know.”

That voice lingering in your memory practically coaxed you to stand up, put on your jacket and go outside. The plan was simple. Just see if he was awake. Which he couldn’t be, not at this hour. Once you’d see that there’s no light coming from the inside of his tent, you’d pathetically turn back. But God, something stupid, deep inside you just ached to see his face.

As the cold breeze hit your teary cheeks, you realized that the light was in fact on. Bellamy was awake.

Your rattled mind didn’t even bother to think of any kind of shame. In that moment of weakness, all you needed was to escape the solitude of your own tent.

“Bellamy?” your strained whisper filled the air and the tent flap flew open within seconds.

At first, his dark eyes were full of confusion. But as soon as they locked on yours, they lost all their sharpness.

“What happened? Are you okay? Are you hurt?” He studied you up and down as his hand travelled to your shoulder, pulling you a bit closer.

“I- I’m okay. I’m sorry I just…don’t know what to do with myself…“ you couldn’t help but ramble, still shaken up. “I shouldn’t have come at this hour, I know, I just couldn’t-“

“No, no, it’s fine. You can come to me whenever you want, okay? Just tell me what’s wrong.” he slightly lowered his head down to your level, wanting you to feel more heard.

“I just can’t sleep and…wanted to sit with someone for a bit...” you sighed and dropped your gaze to the ground, attempting to hide how fast new tears dropped down your face. You quickly noticed how futile the attempt actually was when your voice broke down mid sentence.

“Jesus, you’re shaking.” Bellamy mumbled the second he brought you closer, leading you inside the tent and noticing how unsteady you were on your feet. “C’mere, just breathe. Sit down.” He assisted you and slowly eased you down to sit on his sleeping bag. “But you gotta to tell me what really happened though, yeah?” he asked. You sniffled and looked up when he lowered himself down beside you and stroked a strand of hair behind your ear.

“It’s just…this nightmare. It happens every night since that Grounder…” You shake your head and chuckle out of nervousness. “I’m sorry Bellamy, I just couldn’t stand this anymore, I didn’t have anyone else to go to-”

“Why are you apologizing? Nothing wrong in needing to talk to someone. I told you that you could come if you needed anything, it’s good that you did.” he reassured you in a calm tone and slowly brought his palm up to your cheeks, so that his thumb could dry the tears from the bags under your eyes. “You just really scared me, that’s all.” Those last words he let out with a small smile, hoping it would help to ease you a little.

You nodded, eagerly fidgeting with your fingers out of anxious habit.

He watched you attentively, aware of what those nightmares must have looked like as pure panic was written all over your sweet face. Your body turned putty when the weight of his arm rested upon your back - his large, open palm rubbing all the way up and down against your worn-out shirt. All while you chased your short breaths, drained not only mentally but now physically too.

“‘S okay. Deep breaths, don’t strain yourself.” No one else’s voice had such an effect on you. No one else ever managed to get to you that way. You’ve never folded so quickly. You just leaned into his hold in one bone-tired motion. “Yeah, there you go. I got you. I got you.” His muscled arms enveloped you right away, letting you nestle your face against his chest and your tears stain his navy blue t-shirt.

“I still can see it. Feel it. His hands on me, those chains. It won’t go away.” you mouthed into his shoulder.

“I know. I know how it is.” his whisper landed in the crown of your hair. “But it gets better with time.” Something about his low tone made your stomach twist when you realized that he just admitted to being a victim to sleepless nights the same way as you were. He truly understood.

Your shuddering has stopped. Now, you turned your focus to the way his fingers rubbed your forearm, to the feeling of his chest rising and falling steadily. Your smaller body melted into his side. You liked the size of his arms around you. The embrace felt like a shield.

He felt your body turn boneless in no time, and found himself utterly consumed with affection.

Gently, he started to ease you down onto the blankets. Nice and slow, doing everything in his power not to interrupt the peaceful state you just dozed off into. He watched as your hair sprawled over his pillow and your nose scrunched, your lips parting in small sigh. The second his hands began to ease out from under your figure, he felt a loose grasp on his wrist. You blindly tugged on it and managed to murmur something incoherently. Something that sounded the closest to “no, don’t”. You refused to let him go.

“Shh…it’s alright.” He cooed, realizing what you were asking for. Intending to provide exactly that. “I’m here.”

He lowered his weight down beside you. His arm wrapped around you tightly, letting your nose dive in the crook of his shoulder in a half-awake state before falling right back to sleep.

And somehow, the nightmares didn’t get either of you for the rest of that night.