That's the Way I Loved You

1

He couldn't remember the last night he had fallen asleep without spending a good hour watching the shadows of the tree branches playing across his ceiling and thinking that he was grateful that they had found a brownstone with a tree out front so at least he had them to look at. Of course on odd nights, when it seemed to be darker than usual outside he usually just stared at the ceiling anyway, trying to remember what the shadows had looked like the night before so he could imagine they were there. There was something soothing about them being there, something that made falling asleep easier, even if it was still a remarkably long process.

Derek realized he had no reason to not be able to fall asleep faster. He was laying in an expensive top of the line bed. He still wasn't sure what made a bed top of the line but the salesman had said it at lot when they had bought it, and her eyes had lit up so he figured it was good. His mattress was apparently top of the line too. He wasn't sure what that meant either but he never had a sore back so he assumed whatever it had been had been worth the money he had paid for it. Even the sheets had been top of the line, so top of the line that he had quickly destroyed the receipt before his mother had stopped by the house because he was quite certain that he would have been hit quite hard if she had any idea how much he had spent. He still wasn't even sure what was so good about the sheets. They felt the same as any sheet he had ever owned and it wasn't like they actually helped him sleep.

The only thing that helped was the fingers of darkness playing along the ceiling

And for some reason it wasn't helping tonight. He had been laying awake for an hour and a half, his eyes wide open, completely alert. He was so awake he could probably stand up and perform a surgery right now, which probably wasn't a good thing, as he actually had to perform a surgery in a few hours.

It was nights like this that Derek wondered if everyone felt this way.

Derek Shepherd wanted to be happy. Or he was happy. He thought he was happy, at least as happy as anyone else was. He could remember being young and thinking that he'd be happier than this but he had been young and naïve and this was his life. It was a good life. A really good life and he had no reason to find himself unable to sleep at night. He was supposed to be happy. He had the job, he had the woman, he had a good group of friends, he even had a good family. He couldn't actually think of anything he wanted but didn't have which generally meant that he should be happy. He knew that.

And every night he watched the shadows on his ceiling instead of sleeping.

He moved quietly out of bed. Somehow over the months since he had asked her to move in he had perfected the art of quietly slipping out of the room and he was never found out. Or when he was he always managed to find a believable story, something about needing a glass of water or hearing something that always managed to pass as the truth. She never really questioned him when she found him downstairs, just shrugged and told him to come back to bed before disappearing back up the stairs. Some nights he followed, feeling obligated to follow through on the lie that had easily rolled off his tongue; on other nights he would just make some noise downstairs until he was certain she had fallen back asleep and he would stay where he was, camped out on the couch with the sports news on with the volume down or perched at his desk, pretending to do paperwork or reading the latest journal. Some nights all of that seemed easier than sleeping.

He moved slowly down the stairs, not bothering to turn on any lights as he went since he knew the path by heart anyway. Tonight he figured it was a television night. The surgery tomorrow was simple enough; he didn't feel like staring at the computer screen pretending to read up on it, so zoning out in front of the television seemed like a better option. Maybe, if he got really lucky, there'd be a movie on so he wouldn't have to think.