˚₊⋆ ii's drumsticks loves Marrok ⋆₊˚

John "Soap" MacTavish Soap scoffs when you mention being away for a few nights-"I'm not gonna fall apart without you." But that first night, he stares at the empty side of the bed like it personally betrayed him. He tosses and turns, missing your warmth, your breathing, your dumb bedtime jokes. Eventually, he slides over to your pillow, face pressing into it with a quiet sigh. "Smells like you," he mumbles. By the second night, your side's a mess-he's clinging to your pillow, half-wrapped in your blanket, phone on your nightstand playing your old voice messages. "It's temporary," he tells himself. But every time he wakes up, he still instinctively reaches for your hand. And frowns when it's not there.

Simon "Ghost" Riley Ghost doesn't sleep well when you're gone- but he won't admit it. He stands by the bed, staring at your side for a long time before finally sitting down. There's a deep discomfort in the silence, in the absence. His side feels too cold, too clinical. So he slips over to yours, pulls your blanket tight around his shoulders, and lets his head fall on your pillow. He doesn't cry-he's too guarded for that but his hand finds the imprint of where you usually lie and lingers. "You'll be back," he mutters. In your scent, your softness, your pillow, he finds an anchor. That's where he stays. All night. Every night. Until you return.

Kyle "Gaz" Garrick Gaz pretends to be fine when you leave "I'll keep the bed warm for you, babe." But come nighttime, he finds himself rolling toward your side automatically. Your scent is still there something warm and familiar-and he ends up pressing his nose into your pillow just to feel close to you. His side feels too big, too lonely. He starts sleeping diagonally, sprawling over the bed like you always told him not to. But your side? That's where he ends up curled into himself, phone in hand, rereading your texts. "Miss you," he whispers into your pillow, laughing softly at himself. "Come home soon, yeah? This bed's not the same."

John Price Price tells himself it's silly to miss someone this much over a bed. But when night falls and your side is empty, the ache is sharper than he expected. He stares at your pillow for a few minutes before sighing and shifting over. He presses his cheek against where your head usually rests, pulling the duvet up to his chin. "Bloody ridiculous," he grumbles to no one, but stays there anyway. Your scent, your shape-it grounds him in a way nothing else does. He keeps your nightstand light on, your book untouched. When he finally drifts off, it's with a hand stretched over to where your heart usually beats, as if guarding it till you return.

Gary "Roach" Sanderson Roach tries to make it fun at first-he talks to your pillow like it's you, complete with exaggerated impressions of your voice. But when night actually falls and you're not there, his smile fades. He rolls into your side, burritos himself in your blanket, and lets your scent wash over him like a lullaby. He tucks your hoodie around his shoulders and curls up just like you do. Sometimes he even leaves a voice message: "Hey... sleeping on your side tonight. Hope you're warm wherever you are!" He falls asleep faster there, safer. In the morning, your pillow's a little rumpled, a little damp. But he doesn't move it. That side belongs to you.

Nikolai Nikolai doesn't pretend. He misses you- openly, deeply. When you're away, he walks into the bedroom and immediately drapes himself across your side of the bed with a quiet sigh. He runs his hand across the pillow, smoothing out the wrinkles you usually leave behind. "Ah, moya lyubov"," he murmurs, voice thick with longing. He places one of your shirts under his cheek, tucking it like a child's security blanket. He leaves your book on the nightstand, your side lamp on low. Every breath he takes is laced with memory. It's not about comfort it's about closeness. "You are still here," he says softly to the empty room. And in a way, on that side of the bed, you are.

Alejandro Vargas Alejandro flirts like it's his job, even when you're away: "Don't worry, mi amor, I'll take your side hostage till you're back." But when he crawls into bed, that playful bravado fades. He lays on your side with a long, quiet breath, fingers tracing invisible lines on the sheets where your body usually rests. He talks to the ceiling like you're there, recounting his day, chuckling softly. "You'd laugh at that, wouldn't you?" He falls asleep facing the empty space beside him, your pillow hugged to his chest. When he dreams, it 's always of your laughter echoing in the room. "Hurry home," he murmurs in Spanish." This bed is missing its soul."

Rodolfo "Rudy" Parra Rudy doesn't sleep well without you. The rhythm of the house feels off. He turns on your bedside lamp, leaves your book exactly where it was, and curls up on your side like it's a sacred space. He presses his hand flat on your pillow, imagining your breath against it. "Buenas noches, cariño," he whispers, even though you're not there to hear it. He keeps his phone beside him, volume up, just in case you call. He drifts off slowly, missing the weight of your arm, the warmth of your back. But being on your side helps-it's like holding the shape of you, even if it's just in shadows and memory.

Valeria Garza Valeria rolls her eyes at herself when she ends up on your side of the bed. "Pathetic," she mutters. "You're not even gone that long." But even she can't resist the pull. Your pillow still smells like your shampoo, your side is still warmer. She buries her face in the sheets and lets herself melt, just for a moment. No guards, no cartel, no world-just the ghost of your presence." Hurry up, idiota," she grumbles. But then she hugs your pillow a little tighter, eyes drifting shut faster than usual. No one else gets to see her like this. Just you. Even when you're not here, this side belongs to you-and so does she.

Keegan Russ Keegan doesn't say much about missing you -but the proof is in the way he wordlessly crawls into your side of the bed each night. Your pillow gets tugged under his arm, your blanket wrapped over his shoulder. He stares at the ceiling for a while, jaw tight, muscles tense. Then finally, he exhales and rolls toward the spot where your warmth used to be. He traces the indent where your body usually rests, lets his hand stay there like he's holding onto a fading dream. He doesn't need words. The silence of your absence says enough. And your side of the bed becomes the only place where he can sleep without checking over his shoulder.

König The bed feels enormous without you in it. König tiptoes in like he's trespassing, glancing at your side as if he's expecting you to peek out from behind the pillows. But it's empty.So he shyly pulls back your blanket and slips into your side instead of his own. He lays stiff as a board at first, too big, too alone. Then his hands curl around your pillow and he buries his face into the soft scent of you. "Ich vermisse dich," he whispers. "So much." He sleeps curled up like a cat on your side, quiet and still. Your presence lingers like warmth in the sheets, and that's what gets him through the night.

Nikto Nikto doesn't say it, but your absence unsettles him. He's used to shadows, but the emptiness beside him feels colder than usual. So he moves to your side of the bed with quiet purpose, pressing down on the mattress like he's testing if you'll somehow reappear. Your scent is still woven into the pillow, and he buries his face in it without shame. His hand grazes your nightstand, fingertips brushing over a photo of the two of you. He closes his eyes and mutters something in Russian that sounds like a prayer. In your spot, he feels safer. Not because it's softer. But because it's you. And even if he can't hold you, he can pretend.

Krueger Krueger stares at the bed like it's missing a piece of him. He doesn't hesitate he walks straight to your side and lies down with practiced stillness. His hands fold on his chest at first, like a soldier awaiting orders. But over time, his fingers find your pillow, and he clutches it without thinking. There's no dramatic sigh, no whispered longing. Just silence. Stillness. And the faint scent of you on the sheets. That's enough. In the dark, he imagines your breath on the back of his neck, your laugh echoing off the walls. The nightmares stay away when he's curled on your side. He never says why. But he always sleeps better there.

Philip Graves Graves acts like it's no big deal-you're just gone for a bit, right? He even laughs, "More space for me." But by midnight, he's scooting toward your pillow, muttering curses as he flops over in frustration. He grabs your hoodie, presses his nose into the collar, and finally gives in your side's just warmer. More peaceful. He ends up stretched across the bed diagonally, half of him on your pillow, arm slung across your blanket like it's your waist. He keeps his phone on your nightstand, checking it every few hours, pretending like he's not waiting for a text. "Miss you," he mumbles sleepily into your empty side. "But don't tell anyone, alright?"

Farah Karim Farah treats your side of the bed like a shrine when you're gone. She smooths the sheets, fluffs the pillow, and stares at it like it holds a secret. Eventually, unable to sleep, she moves into your space-pulling your blanket around her and resting her Whead where yours would be. The scent of your shampoo still lingers and she lets herself close her eyes, tracing your memory with every inhale. "Come back soon," she whispers into the mattress. "I sleep best beside you." Even asleep, she faces your side, hand always stretched out across the gap. Holding onto hope. Holding onto you.

Hadir Karim Hadir is quiet when you're gone, unusually so. He walks into the bedroom and stares at your pillow like it's something sacred. Then, without a word, he climbs into your side of the bed and lies down. He wraps himself in your blanket, curls into the shape your body leaves behind. He doesn't cry, but his breathing stutters once in the dark. "You should be here," he whispers. "Everything feels wrong without you." But your side brings comfort-like you left a piece of your soul behind for him to hold. He sleeps clutching your pillow to his chest, waiting for the moment your footsteps return to claim it back.

Alex Keller Alex grins when you leave, playing it cool Don't forget to come back to me, alright?" But every night without you, his smile fades. He lies on his own side for all of ten minutes before giving up and rolling onto yours. "Alright, I admit it," he mumbles into your pillow, "I'm a sap." He wraps himself in your blanket, lets your hoodie cover his eyes like a blindfold. He talks aloud sometimes, pretending you're there. "Miss your dumb jokes. Your warm feet." He chuckles softly, but there's a tremble in it. When he finally drifts off, it' s in your scent, your warmth, your memory. And in the quiet hope that morning brings you back.

Kate Laswell Laswell doesn't announce that she misses you. But your side of the bed is always slightly rumpled when you're gone. She drapes your sweater over your pillow and turns the bedside lamp on low, keeping your book exactly where you left it. When she's done working late, she changes into one of your old shirts and slips into your side of the bed, sighing as she rests her head against the familiar spot. Her fingers brush the place where your arm usually rests over her waist. "Another day closer," she whispers into the dark. Then she closes her eyes and pretends your heartbeat is still echoing in the sheets.

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