The Captive Titan [ManxMan]

Chapter Thirty-seven: Stuck on You

~Chapter Thirty-seven: Stuck on You~

In the very early morning light that only just barely makes it past the room's curtains, the ceiling is a mottled grey, decorated with shadows that blend together the longer I stare at them, and I have been staring for quite some time if the burn in my eyes is any indication.

I know that I should probably close my eyes and try to sleep the rest of the morning away, as everyone else in Gwyn's castle - from the hiding Titans to my uncle himself - is likely doing just that, but I cannot bring myself to close my eyes longer than is necessary to blink, so I just continue staring.

Even as my vision lazily spins and tilts like a ship at sea during a storm.

Even as the aching burn in my eyes only grows.

Even as my body becomes heavier with exhaustion from having not slept more than maybe an hour all night.

I just stare because there is nothing to do but-

There is a low, drawn-out groan right next to my ear, and I flinch a little in surprise, even though I do not turn my head to actually look towards the origin of the sound. After all, it is not like I am not perfectly aware of who I shared my bed with last night - who I have been sharing my bed with for a week now, since the first time I was allowed to sleep anywhere other than my recovery bed.

No, it is not the origin of the noise that surprises me; it is the fact that the groan, just a tad too exasperated and aware to be a sound caused by a dream, means that my bed partner is awake. And sure enough, not even a moment after I come to that conclusion, the warm - so warm that anything more than sheets have yet to be necessary even on the draftiest of nights - body beside me shifts, the sheet shared between us going taut momentarily, before a calloused hand brushes my cheek and then slides up further to cover my eyes.

"You are of Dreams, not Awakening, love," Atlas murmurs, his voice deep and raspy from sleep. "You need your rest."

The part of me that grows frustrated from his words wants to bat away his hand, but the darkness brought by his touch and the relief it in turn brings to my burning eyes outweighs my irritation. "I'll sleep-"

"-when you're dead," Atlas finishes with a sigh before I can, having heard me repeat that phrase enough times at this point to have it just as memorized. "Yes, love. I know. I wish Veles would stop teaching you these silly words; they aren't helping."

Dry lips touch my temple and linger, not quite a kiss so much as it is just grounding contact. "They aren't meant to help," I point out, because Veles - who has been allowed to visit twice now since my coma - only ever said them when he first learned that I have not been sleeping much lately. It was said jokingly, but it has become my favorite phrase to use on any who argue that I need to sleep more.

Because I don't want to sleep.

"They weren't meant to encourage, either," Atlas replies pointedly, slipping his other arm under my neck to wrap a hand over my far shoulder and pull me closer to him. His hand falls from my eyes in the process, but since my face ends up all but smushed against his chest, I have no reason to care.

"Rest is for the wicked," I say instead of replying to that.

Though I cannot see it, I can feel Atlas shaking his head. "I'm certain Veles said the opposite," he disagrees, turning over onto his back and pulling me with him so that I end up lying draped over his front. It is not the most comfortable position at first, as my neck is at an uncomfortable angle and I am pretty sure my elbow is digging into his ribs, but after a little maneuvering, it becomes easy to settle into.