𝒎𝒂𝒚𝒃𝒆 • 𝒓𝒆𝒅𝒅𝒊𝒆

* when you can't sleep at night *

A cheerful tune filled Eddie Kaspbrak's apartment as the clock on the wall struck two. This cheerfulness was not shared by the apartment's sole occupant, who - though much amused by the clock at first - had grown to find the thing nothing short of irksome over the years. Not for the first time, he told himself he really ought to disable it. Also not for the first time, he found he couldn't be bothered to get up from his place at the window. Later , he vowed, glaring at the still singing clock from across the room with a mix of frustration and exhaustion. I'll shut it off later .

Finally, the clock fell silent and Eddie breathed a sigh of relief. He was certain he would have that damn tune stuck in his head for the rest of his life. He found himself humming it sometimes, and always stopped himself with mild disgust before swearing to disable the clock when he had the chance. Now, he shook his head as if to clear it of the song - which was already beginning to repeat in the back of his brain - and turned back to the window. He took a breath, revelling in the profound silence that only the dead of night could bring.

That was another thing. It was bad enough he had had to hear the clock's tune every hour, on the hour for the last two years, but he doubted anyone would be glad to hear joyful piano music resonating from their clock at two in the morning.

Not that it had woken him up. No, for that he would have had to have been sleeping - which he hadn't done for more than an hour at a time in at least a week now. And he couldn't even remember the last time he got more than four hours of sleep in a night. That was what was really annoying about the damn clock - it was just an hourly reminder that he was still awake and sunrise was drawing nearer and nearer.

It had been almost three years since his insomnia had started. When he'd finally moved away from home, at nineteen years old, it had been with mixed emotions. Relief, to finally be free of his overbearing mother, and fear. For as controlling and overprotective as she was, life with her was safe . It was comforting - she was comforting. She had always sheltered him, always protected him, so the thought of being on his own had been terrifying.

Naturally, he had chalked up his sleeping troubles to that fear, and to the unfamiliarity of his new life. But as days turned into weeks, and weeks turned into months, and his insomnia had only seemed to grow worse - he figured he should probably do something about it. Sleeping pills had worked at first, but after about a month his body appeared to have adjusted to them and they lost their effect. He'd tried different brands, but to no avail. Tips and tricks from friends and from books had little to no effect as well. Now, after three years of progressively less sleep, he had more or less given up.

The lack of sleep had definitely taken its toll. He was much paler than he used to be, and the shadows under his eyes were so dark he looked almost dead. His head was in a near constant state of pain, light hurt his eyes in a way it never had before, he was far more irritable than he once had been (which was saying something, as he'd never been the most easygoing of people), and he often found himself spacing out or even dozing off at work or in class.

In short, it sucked. But, as was the case with all of his other medical conditions, he was almost used to it by now.

Almost.

***

It was three thirty in the morning and Richie Tozier was freezing fucking cold. He'd lit a cigarette and was taking long, slow drags on it as he walked, effectively turning his fingers into blocks of ice. He didn't mind. At least he was feeling something.