He needed sleep, desperately. You could see it in his eyes, in the way his movements had become slower and more erratic with each passing day. The bags under his eyes had deepened, his shoulders sagged with fatigue, but he refused to admit it. The constant stress, paranoia, and the ever-present anxiety from living the life he did had made it impossible for him to get any rest.

Despite all of this, he kept pushing himself forward. The only thing keeping him going—just barely—was the adrenaline that surged through him during missions, the intense rush of danger and survival that came with being on the frontlines with you and the rest of The Boys. He’d get his high from the chaos, but as soon as it was over, the exhaustion would come crashing down.

Tonight, after the mission was finished and everyone returned to the safe house, you went about your usual routine, preparing for a night of sleep. But as you entered the room to settle down, you noticed something wasn’t quite right. He wasn’t in bed with you. Your heart sank, the realization hitting you as you went searching for him.

You finally found him, sitting on the couch in the darkened living room. His back was hunched, his hands rubbing his face as he tried to shake off the overwhelming fatigue. His eyes were glazed, far away as if he wasn’t even aware of his surroundings. It was like he was physically present but mentally exhausted, drained from the constant grind.

You stood there for a moment, watching him. He hadn’t noticed you at first, and for a second, you wondered if he was even aware of how much he needed sleep. But then, his gaze met yours, and the tiredness in his eyes was all too clear.

“Couldn’t sleep,” he muttered, his voice rough and barely audible. “I’ll be fine.”

You knew better. He wasn’t fine. But he wasn’t going to admit it. He was trying to put on a brave face, even as the weight of everything seemed to break him down more each day.