Simon fixes your sleep schedule
Simon hadn’t realized just how fucked your sleep schedule was until he moved in with you. His birdie.
Waking up in the middle of the night or at the ass crack of dawn only to find you curled up on the couch, blanket wrapped around you, phone in hand, eyes barely open. Sometimes, you’d be watching a show, other times scrolling mindlessly, and on rare occasions, half-asleep but refusing to actually get up and go to bed.
And then, without fail, you’d spend the next day complaining about how tired you were. You’d drag yourself around the apartment, yawning every five minutes, rubbing at your eyes like a petulant child. And when he told you—plain and simple—that you needed to go to bed earlier, you had the nerve to roll your eyes at him.
“Okay, dad,” you’d say before walking away, completely ignoring his advice.
No amount of reasoning could convince you. If anything, the more he brought it up, the more stubborn you became.
So, Simon took matters into his own hands.
First, he switched out your usual tea for chamomile, hoping it would knock you out easier. Every night, he handed you your favorite mug, tea bag steeping inside, always a different flavor, something new to throw you off. Just in case you started getting suspicious.
You never noticed. Never questioned it. Just sipped at it, curled up in your blanket, completely oblivious.
Then came the melatonin sleep spray. He practically doused the corner of the couch where you always nested, soaking the blankets and pillows in the scent, ensuring that once you settled in, sleep would come whether you liked it or not.
And slowly, it started working.
You began dozing off earlier. The nights where he found you awake at ungodly hours became less frequent. You stopped yawning every other sentence. Stopped rubbing at your eyes like you were seconds away from passing out on your feet.
The dark circles under your eyes faded. Your complaints about exhaustion became fewer and farther between.
He never said anything about it. Never told you. Just watched in silent satisfaction as his plan worked.
But his favorite part? When you passed out on the couch instead of the bed.
Because that meant he got to pick you up, carry you to bed, and watch you sleep peacefully for a moment before pressing a kiss to your forehead and climbing in beside you.
It was selfish, really.
Because, sure, fixing your sleep schedule was technically for your health. But he couldn’t deny that he loved the way you curled into him when he slipped under the covers. The way you nuzzled into his chest, warm and pliant, letting out a soft sigh in your sleep as he wrapped an arm around your waist and pulled you closer.
And, well better sleep also meant more cuddles.
And Simon loved that most of all.
Ik your sleep schedule is fucked. Go to bed.
