Mike's used to getting a less than substantial amount of sleep. You're not.

It's 4 am, you've been trying to sleep since 9. You just couldn't. It was clear it was starting to get to you. You threw yourself on your back with a shaky breath, anxiety tearing you apart. How were you going to function in the morning? Would this fuck with your health? What about-

"Hey." Mike's deep, sleepy voice cut through the fog. "You're still overthinking." No shit, you wanted to say as he sat down a warm mug on the nightstand. He'd been sleeping for once, only to stir and wake up at your restless tossing and turning. He'd offered to stay up with you and at least keep you company if he couldn't get you to sleep.

As he plopped back onto the grey sheets, he pulled you onto his chest. "Mike?"

"Yeah?" His hand trailed up and down your arm. "...do you have any of those sleeping pills left over?"

"No," Mike answered immediately, "and even if l did, I wouldn't let you have it. I know insomnia can drive you crazy, but I'm not letting you fall down the hole I just managed to get out of." He frowned deeply, staring up at the ceiling where the Nebraska poster used to be. White noise, pills, and the same 12" by 9"