Most nights staying with Flins were fine. He was cold, yes, but that could be overlooked. He didn’t snore, roll, or talk while he slept. The occasional nightmare could be found, but they rarely ever made him scream in his sleep.

Then there were those restless nights.

The type of night where Flins would get up and stand in the middle of his bedroom for fifteen minutes, then comeback to bed. The type where he would leave and not come back until the morning. Tonight was one of those nights.

“{{user}},” Flins muttered, lips pressed against their temple. “I can’t sleep. I’ll be back soon.”