It had been a long time since you had learned Vessel struggles with insomnia. The information came slowly previous to you right out bringing it up to him one day. You had noticed how much coffee he drank by the cups in the sink, how a lot of times he’d still be awake as you left in the morning, his body language being restless. You heard it in his voice too, saw a certain daytime depression. After a while, it had started to worry you, and that's when you asked him about it. 

He was shy at first, tried to push it off with an awkward laugh. “No…?” you remember him saying, not a single bit convincing of himself or you. 

And when you had given him a look of non-conviction, he broke, telling you it had been something he deeply struggled with since he were a teenager. He told you he had to take melatonin to help him sleep, even though at times that didn’t work. Anything to try to get him to sleep, or so he said. 

You took it upon yourself to be of use when possible, providing what support you could for him to get some well deserved rest more frequently than he was able to achieve on his own. You decided you would never comment on it much either, at least not in a way that would make him feel worse about it than he did to begin with. 

Meaning you chose to never bring up the times he fell asleep on you during movies, where you’d get up as best you could without waking him up. He would wake up on the couch, no recollection of falling asleep, and a text message from you reminding him that you would be home soon. You felt a smidge bad about lying to him, but he needed the rest at any given chance he had. You didn’t blame him for it, so no use of bringing details up. The guilt he could feel because of it wasn’t worth it. Call you crazy, but you cared about his feelings. 

That was exactly what had happened now, Vessel had taken a couple melatonin in hopes to get some rest after his thirty-something hours of being awake. About an hour ago, he had told you that he was off to bed, joked that if you didn’t see him for three days then call it a miracle. 

You let out a startled laugh seeing a couple texts come onto your phone screen from him. 

Ves: i can’t sleep :( Ves: this is unfair 

Of course this happened, it was his luck. Completely unfair. The utmost injustice for the guy. The universe must have it out for him at this rate of things. Unfortunate.

You: you poor thing :(

You absently giggle to yourself after you receive no response back for a couple minutes. The mental imagery of him being huffed up in his bed with blankets wrapped around him, staring at his phone with a frown, is quite comical in the grand scheme of this. It wasn’t anything to allow to slide past him either, for him to sulk over while sleepy to the extremes (or at all, if you were to be especially honest with him) over some light teasing. You had lived with him long enough to know this, let alone be his friend for long enough. So, yeah, Vessel tended to act a bit “childish” while tired. 

You: do you wanna come to my room for cuddles? 

Promptly after leaving you on read, a lazy knock is at your door before being pushed open to reveal Vessel waddling to the edge of your bed. He flops face first into your mattress with a loud, over-the-top groan. He lifts his head just enough to pout at you, knowing your eyes are boring into him. You can’t help the soft sigh you let out as you reach your hand to scratch at the back of his head. Seeing him in this state made you feel a softness for him you tended to ignore. And you quickly stop thinking about it once he makes a noise at how good your nails feel on his scalp. 

“That feel good, yeah?” You breathily laugh, it’s delirious sounding. If he wasn’t too sleep deprived to catch it, he didn’t mention it or have any reaction to it. 

He sinks his face deeper into the fluffy blanket spread across your bed. You weren't sure how he was breathing in this position. “Mhm…” he amuses in agreement. 

“Do you want to come up here? Lay on me?” is offered to him. You tap at your chest with your free hand, although he can’t see what you’re doing at all. 

He makes a disgruntled noise. 

“No? It’ll be more comfy, Vess. You may even get to fall asleep,” you try to sweeten the deal. 

Another sound comes from him in time with turning his head to the side to say words lacking in muffledness. “Don’t want to move.” His voice is quiet and slowed, stretched thin. 

You laugh out. Your hand stops moving in his hair, you retract it back. “Well, then, no more head scratches.” 

Vessel snaps to look at you, chin resting on the blankets, eyes a little widened. Then comes his signature pout, the one you were imagining before. It doesn’t ever get any less cute. 

“Fine,” he mutters unenthusiastically. 

He picks himself up limply, dragging himself up your bed, and drives his face into your neck. This is where he melts down into nothing. His body deflates itself into yours, in a way that felt like lines blurred between where your body starts and where Vessel’s ends. 

Because of this, you stay silent for a couple moments, half-shocked and half-savoring of this feeling. Your hand hovers around the back of his head until his hand draws your hip impossibly closer to him. That’s when your fingers dip back down into his scalp. Your other hand strokes up and down his arm at a soothing pace. 

Cuddling wasn’t a new thing happening in your relationship, if you’d call being roommates with him a type of relationship. Cuddle sessions happened often between the two of you. Happened during movies on the sofa, if either of you had a nightmare, simply couldn’t sleep (much like what’s happening this time), if Vessel had a particularly long day. Thinking of it, cuddles had taken place every single day in the past as long as you could remember. 

When did that happen? 

When did you start remembering how all he seemed to want was an excuse to be close to you lately? How pouty he turned when you had questioned him about it instead of going with it naturally? When did he start coming behind you while you did the dishes or cooked a special meal for you both? When did he start to get closer to you on the sofa, blaming it on the lack of blanket, despite that one being a specifically huge one for sharing purposes only? When did he start to ask to hold your hand because he was “cold”? When did he start allowing himself to have this intimacy with you, and why? More importantly, when did you start to feel as if all these things were normal, letting them slip by you like this was always something that took place? Maybe like it was supposed to be happening.

“...and it’s frustrating that I still can’t sleep. Do you get what I mean?” Vessel’s voice comes into your main focus, becoming almost like an echo through your skull at how out of focus you were. 

During that time, he had moved his face out of your neck. Had opted to squish his cheek against your chest instead, nose half-stuffed into the cotton of your sweatshirt. 

“Mhm,” you hum. Bearings still aren’t with you fully, still distance in sound. 

Vess’ hand pinches at your side, making you jump in surprise. Well, you were surely back on Earth with that. “You weren’t listening to me.” You could hear the effects of his mouth being in a squished position. How cute. 

“Yes, I was!” you lie. 

He takes a pinch at you again. “You were not. I can tell when you’re lying.” He dryly laughs, empty of emotion, like that information should’ve been obvious to you. Maybe it should have been… 

“Okay, I’m sorry,” you admit, “What were you talking about?” 

He sighs dramatically, which you lightly flick him on the ear for, going on to summarize what he’d said, “What I said was that I’m really frustrated about how melatonin doesn’t work that much anymore. I take ten milligrams for fuck’s sake! I just wanna sleep.” He trails off at the end, changing to be more hushed. 

Your hand on his arm gives him a small squeeze, holding there for a few seconds too long. “Is this helping?” you ask. “You know, doing this? Me being here?” 

Same mhm from before is made. “More than you know.” Oh…

His face nuzzles more into the fabric of your shirt, balls up the bottom of it into his fist. He pulls forward with a gentle tug. He was not past greediness. This hand sneaks under the material, reaching up just enough to be able to palm at the flesh of your stomach. You feel him grin. It’s gooey, (love)sick, honeyed. He’s satisfied. 

All the while, you had some things coming into perspective that would be due for another time. Vessel needed rest. 

You hear Vessel faintly calling for you from the bathroom. 

“Darling?”

You push the bathroom door open to find him sitting down in the bathtub with the shower running. Your heart crumples in your chest at the sight of him. Poor thing. It only worsens when he lifts his head, puppy-dog eyes catching yours as if to plead. He looks fucking exhausted.

“Darling, can you help me?” he asks, voice at almost the same volume with the water, lowering for the sake of saving whatever energy he can.

This is when you notice that the washcloth in his hand is stained gray, and that his body paint has low effort scrubbing streaks. 

“Yeah.” You drop down to a squat at the side of the tub, reaching for the washcloth from his hands. 

He snatches it away, low in attempt. “You’ll get the floor wet.” God, he’s nearly whining. You catch a glimpse of a frowned pout on his lips. 

You push yourself, hands on your knees, into a standing position. You begin to slip off your clothes, discarding them into a pile on the floor. A hand slides the shower curtain over even more so than it was open before, like that wasn’t getting the floor wet. 

“Vess, let me help you up,” you tell him gently, offering a hand down for him to take.

And he does. He takes your hand in his, becoming easily engulfed by the size difference of you two. He gets to his feet with a small stumble. Being this wrecked surely was making his head foggy, maybe enough to spin. You slip in, in front of him, closing the curtain behind you.

“That’s it.” You guide his hand to your shoulder, to keep him steady. He keeps the other on the shower wall after handing you the washcloth finally. 

You begin to wash his stomach. The touch is full of love despite the pressure you have to put down to get the paint to come off. 

“Are you really tired, hm?” You ask him, flickering your eyes up for a second to try at meeting his. 

But his eyes are closed, trying to get himself through this from what it seems. “Mhm…” he gets out. It’s muddled and taut. 

Moving upwards his chest, you wash out a spot enough to plant a kiss in, then change to a graze of a bite that was stronger resemblance to your teeth scraping against his skin. He groans out quietly, barely there at all. 

“Can you do that again?” He asks you. You both knew you could never say no to him. 

His stomach and chest have been stripped clean of black, remaining only his shoulders and neck. You apply more soap to these areas since it had run mighty thin from the other scrubbing. Exposing the pale skin of his shoulder under the dark makeup, you take a bite of him. Harder this time. By now, you knew he had a little thing for biting, was a love language to him. Vessel needed it. You feel a shiver shock through him. You land another nip onto his neck where you have to stand on your tiptoes to reach, lurching him down by the smallest hint. 

Vessel’s body slouches against yours, his back hunches over due to the height difference between the both of you. His cheek smooshes into your shoulder and his slickened skin slides along yours to rest his nose in the cranny where your neck and shoulder meet. You feel him huff subhumanly. His arms dangle beside him which almost brush your body. And one of your arms is wrapped around his lower back while the other gently washes at his sides to get rid of any residue paint there. His arms are slow in movement as they come around your back, resting low there, and gently pushing you closer to him. You use your nails just barely on his back, causing a low groan to come from Vessel’s mouth. 

“Fuck…” he drags the word out low, “that feels good.” He’s hushed, almost at a whisper if his voice wasn’t thick on getting those words out. 

Your mind can’t go there, and so, you won’t. You want to take care of him, softly. He deserves it firstly, but secondly, he also needs it. 

Instead, you hum in an agreeing tone. “Yeah?” Your nails go along his back, back and forth laggardly. “That feel good, babe?” You hope he picks up on the smile in your voice.

He grunts and you feel the brush of air on your neck again. You let out a small laugh, dry one. 

“Good,” you say.  

You throw the blackened cloth into the corner of the tub, bringing Vessel close to you in a hug. “I’m so proud of you,” you tell him. His body sinks further into yours, his weight becoming more of your responsibility than his. His lips press unhurried kisses into this side of your neck and down your shoulder. Retracting back, up, into his normal stance as much as he can bear with his fatigue. 

And you start to move back too. He needed to get into your bed as soon as he could get there. But he stops you. 

“One kiss. Please?” 

His face is brought down to you by your hands cupping his jaw, placing a tender kiss to his lips. They work slowly with yours as he makes another whine. You try to match the noise, licking into his mouth one good time before pulling away fully. 

“So lucky to have you,” you murmur to him.

Vessel looks at you with those same pleading eyes. “Can I have another? Just this one. Please?” 

Your lips catch his for one last kiss, relishing this one, him licking into your mouth this time. Whine.

That’s where you step away and cut off the water. You step out of the tub. You turn to hold your hand out for him to latch onto. And he does. You help him to not slip, his brain was not functioning at all if it was in any shape to work before. The two of you share a towel, not being arsed to use two separate ones. He nudges his head into your hand when you began to towel dry his hair. 

“How about we get you to bed, hmm?” You ask, tossing the towel somewhere into the bathroom. That, along with finding clothes, was a worry for a different time. Later, after Vessel had been taken care of, after he got some sleep.