This was the absolute worst.
Peter flopped over onto his back, limbs spread about lazily and consuming the entirety of your bed. His eyes, previously glued shut, now opened just a sliver; bleary and sore. The curtains are drawn back, the midnight sky on display, and the glass pane is slid upwards, allowing for a gust of chilled win to dance through the room.
At the back of his throat, a guttural groan snags, and Peter runs a bony hand through his messy hair in frustration.
Not for the first time in his life, but he swears it’s the most annoying⸺he cannot seem to fall asleep.
At first, the room was too hot. He’s kicked the blankets off, stripped down to his baby blue boxers, opened the window and plugged in his headphones. But now it’s too fucking cold, and he’s too fucking uncomfortable. And no matter how many times he repositions himself and flops about the bed that seems entirely too big this time around⸺he cannot seem to relax long enough to doze off. And it’s driving the silver haired boy mad.
Deep down, he knows what the real problem is, but the mere acknowledgment of it is enough to have him covering his face in shame, fingers harshly dragging across his cheeks. The spot beside him is unusually cold and unusually empty. Every time he even wills himself to stare at the place you usually lay, he’s sucking in a sharp breath.
Peter misses you⸺he can admit to that in his own solitude, even if he can’t allow himself to say the words out-loud.
Eventually, the tossing and turning becomes too much and he’s flying up into a seated position with a huff. One hand is tugging at his bangs as he sighs in exasperation, the other is rubbing a tired eye.
He’s at a crossroads, unsure of what to do to make the situation better, But somehow, he just knows that as long as your spot beside him remains barren, he’s not going to be getting very much sleep. At all.
So without any other options, he shuffles off the cheap and hard mattress⸺bones creaking from all the over exertion⸺and goes to flop down at the desk swivel chair. Absently spinning back and forth as he begins to boot up the crummy desktop you’ve had for years.
It doesn’t take long as his fidgety fingers dance across the keyboard pad until your contact photo is in view and he’s clicking on the Face-time button. Feeling only a smidgen of guilt as he does so. It’s probably late where you are.
When you don’t pick up the first time, he doesn’t waste a second in calling you again. When the second try also goes unanswered, Peter’s swearing under his breath as he goes to retrieve his phone. Calling and spamming you with text messages until he finally does get an answer.
Wake up.
Waaaaake up.
(Y/n), get ur lazy ass up
Plzplzplz wake uppppp
Eventually, when you do answer, he ignores all of your questions and irritated come backs and just tells you to get on Face-time. His hands are a little sweaty as he tosses his phone on the bed, stumbling back over to the computer in the dark. Where he then slumps down into his chair again and awaits your call.
He’ll never admit to it, but the moment the picture of you popped into view, his heart shuddered with a quiet excitement. A shy smile curved his lips. Peter’s a little nervous, for a reason he can’t really pinpoint, but he’s completely ashamed of himself for being so goddamn needy.
He just can’t help the way he feels about you.
The second his hand flies over the keypad to accept your call, and you pop into view⸺he’s grunting out: “I can’t sleep.”
You’re wearing one of his grungy old band tees, it’s the first thing he notices, and his chest swells with immediate pride. Your hair is sticking out every which way, face tucked into the curl of your palms as you talk to him from a hotel bed. Nothing but the blue light of the computer in a room of pitch blackness to illuminate your pretty face.
From your point of view, he looks like a mess, but an adorable one at that. His eyes are half lidded; teeth sticking out past his lips as he sucks in the bottom one, then flubs it back out with a bout of hot air. Peter’s sweater hangs off his skinny shoulders, exposing freckled collarbones. And on his neck sits the hickey you gave him right before you left on vacation with your family.
You cock a curious brow. “Well … that’s not good.” You mumble, unsure what to really say or do. “Was it a nightmare?”
There’s a shake of his head “no”. Which is weird, seeing as Peter’s never really had a problem sleeping before unless he was plagued by a haunted dream. Otherwise he would pass out like he’s been smacked with a bag of bricks, sniffling in his sleep and impossible to wake.
Then there’s a moment of tense silence, where he’s uncannily staring at you, bearing an expression you can’t quite pinpoint but it makes your stomach flutter all the same. And you’re waiting for him to elaborate on his problem. But he doesn’t.
While rubbing the lingering sleep out of your eyes, you heave a ragged sigh that’s split apart by an obnoxious yawn.
Briefly, you shoot a glance at your computer’s clock, seeing as it’s about two am, a few hours ahead of Peter. And honestly, you really, really hope that this call won’t take too long. As cute and kinda sexy tired Peter looks, you have a long day ahead of you tomorrow, and there’s a reason you went to bed so early yesterday.
“Well, why don’t you make yourself some hot tea, I know there’s a box of that lemon stuff in the kitchen still. Or⸺”
“It won’t work.” He cuts you off, voice quietly determined.
You scowl at this, shaking your head at him, “How do you know? Did you even try it?”
“Er, it doesn’t matter, it won’t work.” His eyes have cast to the desk surface. Pointedly ignoring your stare much to your displeasure. Something’s definitely up.
Peter’s crossed his arms over his chest, slumping further in his chair as he lazily swivels within it. His glittering brown eyes are nothing but half slits; mouth stitched into a frown while his brows are furrowed in frustration.
It takes you a moment to try and think of all the reasons he might be having trouble⸺but there’s not a lot. He could, and usually does sleep through anything. Hot, cold weather, and loud thundering storms; the music you play before bed … It’s not until it dawns upon you that this is your first night apart that the answer finally becomes clear.
And the moment it does, your slightly annoyed and exhausted expression completely melts. Eyes practically forming two hearts.
Peter visibly recoils at this. Glare broadened with a quiet panic the moment he catches you making goo-goo eyes at him.
“What? Why are you looking at me like that?” He awkwardly chuckles, the fear that you might know consuming his brain like raging termites. If you had figured it out, then you’d now know how much of a melt Peter is, and how dependent he is on your presence and love, and⸺ohgodohgodohgod.
He sure is an adorable flushed mess.
“Awe, I miss you too, Peter~” You can’t help but coo, much to his dawning blush and nervous behavior.
He’s absolutely floored that you managed to figure out the truth, something Peter wasn’t even willing to fully admit to himself yet. You’ve been gone for less than twenty-four hours and already it feels like forever ago since he’s last seen you. It’s a smack to the face, really, and the fact that you’re ogling at him now only serves to fluster him more.
He’s in full on panic mode, not sure what to think, say, or do in this moment. His jaw just drops open and he lets out a whispered scream: “ahhhhhhh”.
Before you can even apologize for teasing him, though⸺even if it is a delightful turn of events considering the countless times Peter’s felt joy from watching you squirm before. He’s slammed his laptop shut in a frantic, flurry of motion and flung himself back onto the bed. There he buries his ablaze face into your pillows, releasing a loud groan.
Your scent floods his senses once more, and on instinct he tightens his grip around the soft object. Fingers clutching onto the cold fabric with a death grip.
Your conversation plays on repeat in his head as he internally beats himself up for ever calling you in the first place; for being such a fucking sap, and for how silly he had acted. But even as he’s busy bemoaning to himself, his stomach flutters upon remembering your words. You missed him.
It’s just another reassurement that his love’s not one sided. That someone as stunning and hilarious as you, likes him just as much as he likes you.
God⸺now he’ll never be able to sleep.
And there’s still the rest of the week until you come back.
Peter’s completely unsure of how he will survive.