#me 🤝 eugene (🤝= cannot sleep)

[softguarnere]

Hi! Can you write something hurt/comfort with Eugene or Joe?

Staring At the Ceiling With You

Eugene Roe x reader

A/N: Hi anon! I have noticed recently that I have a lack of Eugene content, so hopefully this fic will help fill that void. Also I've been in kind of a Gene phase ever since listening to Shane Taylor's podcast episode 🤭 (As usual, this is based off the fictional depictions from the tv show - no disrespect to the real life veterans!) Fic title comes from "Lavender Haze" by Taylor Swift. Thank you so much for the request, and I hope you like this 💕🕊️

Warnings: Insomnia

Cold weather in the winter months started ushering in unwanted memories after the war. Now, though, the thoughts sometimes slip in with no excuse or explanation, no matter the temperature. Even after a long day at work, when he should be worn out and ready to collapse into bed, they find a way to cling to him like damp clothes – and they’re just as uncomfortable.

Outside, frogs sing in the warm summer night. Their chorus floats in through the cracked windows, covering up the sounds of his footsteps as he makes his way back to the bedroom, careful to avoid any floorboards that might creak. As of recently, he’s become very familiar with which ones like to groan, announcing their presence when the rest of the world is quiet.

Eugene is slow and deliberate with his movements when he lifts the quilt and slips into the bed. He could kick himself when you stir. He didn’t intend to wake you; just because he’s awake doesn’t mean that you should have to be.

You roll towards him, outstretching your arm until you find him. Then, you latch on. He can’t help but smile. To think that you were the brightest spot in the dark night that was the war, and that now you’ve come home with him . . . He still can’t believe it.

For just a moment, it seems like maybe he didn’t disturb you. He lets out a breath and allows his full weight to sink back into the bed. Then, you mumble, “You’re coming to bed late.”

“Désolé.” He presses a quick kiss to your temple. “I didn’t want my tossing and turning to keep you up.”

You shake your head, hair rustling against the pillows. The movement is slow with the fog of sleep that clings to you. “Wouldn’t have . . . Sleep better when you’re here.” In the dim light of the moon that sneaks into the room from the window, your eyes flutter open. You study him. “Why couldn’t you sleep?”

“We can talk about it tomorrow morning. Go back to sleep, (Y/N).” But once you’ve set your mind to something, it’s useless to ask you to let it go.

You sit up in the bed. Rubbing sleep from your eyes for a moment, you then stretch before settling back against the headboard. Gene pushes himself up, too, so that he can look at you head-on in the night.

“You haven’t been sleeping,” you guess.

Gene shakes his head. “Just can’t turn my mind off lately.”

Through the darkness, he can see the crease that appears between your eyebrows as you think. He wants to reach out, to smooth it away, to remove all the worry that rests there.

Finally, you break the silence. “I want to help you, Eugene. What would you like for me to do?”

Even after all the time that you’ve been together, your sweet words bring heat to his cheeks. You care about him. He knows that, obviously, but your readiness to help when you could be resting shows how compassionate you are.

What would he like for you to do? If it were up to him, you would both be asleep right now. You should be wrapped up in his arms, the both of you breathing deeply, oblivious to the world as the frogs sing and sweet dreams dance in your mind. That’s what he wants . . . He just can’t seem to get there.

“Hold on.” You slip from the bed and down the hallway. For a few moments, Eugene is alone, wondering if he should have followed you.

Creaking floorboards announce your presence as you return. He should really work on fixing those. Maybe tomorrow. Saturday. That would be a good day for it. Assuming that he gets some sleep before then and feels up to it.

“Here.” You press a warm cup into Gene’s hands before making your way back to your side of the bed and settling in again.

Eugene sniffs the cup’s contents before taking a sip. It’s warm milk and, if he’s not mistaken, a little bit of honey. Nice and soothing. “I haven’t had this since I was a kid.”

“I know.”

“Huh?”

“You told me that, once. Back in Holland. It was some offhand comment you made about how your grandma used to make you warm milk if you couldn’t sleep.”

He really can’t help the smile that tugs at the corners of his mouth. “You remembered.”

“Always stuck with me.” You shrug, like it’s no big deal, but he can still see your smile. Of course you remembered. “Now – “ you pat the pillows, drawing attention back to the matter at hand. “ – When I can’t shut my mind off, being held by you always works wonders.”

“Oh yeah?” Part of him feels guilty – do you also have sleepless nights, and Gene just didn’t realize that you were also being affected? At the same time, though, a certain sense of pride settles into his chest at the admission that you like it when he holds you.

You lean into his side, wrapping your arms around him as you fit your head into the crook of his neck. “You want to try?”

“Oui.” He lets you guide him down, settling into the pillows as you both adjust your positions so that you can be comfortable. He rests his head on your chest, rising and falling with your even breathing, listening to the strong and steady beat of your heart. You run your fingers through his dark hair, and his eyelids begin to feel heavy.

“Thank you, (Y/N),” he whispers into the darkness. “For all of this.”

You hum in acknowledgment. “We’ll figure it out, Gene. Don’t worry.”

With your soothing presence and determination, he finds himself quickly slipping into sleep. He won’t worry. Not tonight, anyway.