Surrender | Nicolas Brown x Reader

TW: Slight language.

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Perhaps it was the coffee, or maybe there was something in the sweets that Worick had brought home from his other appointment, you suspect.

For in the midst of the quiet confines of your makeshift room, save the restless rustling of your sheets -

- you cannot sleep.

You were tired, truly. Yet you can no longer take count of the times you have yawned, some even forced, as you await for the wave of lethargic somnolence you’ve been yearning since your head had hit the pillows. 

And that was five hours ago.

A defeated sigh escapes you as you turn to your other side yet again, feeling a cold weary rivulet tracing its way from the corner of your lid down to your ear. You make no attempt to wipe it off, only letting it seep into the side of your cheek, hoping it’ll alleviate your strained vision; now too accustomed of the dark.

You close your eyes once more, lips parting for another yawn - praying it’ll be the last for the night - or rather the morning, you realized.

But it still won’t come.

This time it was a huff that cuts through the silence, as you kick your leg out of impatience. The other leg follows suit, and soon your arms are flailing against the mattress in utter vexation, as you finally throw out a fit that can rival a two-year old’s tantrum.

It was short lived, however, when your cranium meets the headboard with a loud thud.

You bite back a curse, not wanting to rouse the others on account of your sheer stupidity. You wait for a good few seconds before you push yourself to sit up, a cautious palm nursing the pulsing pain on your head. An abrupt ponder as to whether you’ll lie back or not passes by, and you decide on the latter, not that it actually matters now, as your last chance of falling into slumber disappears into the throbbing mess.

Another huff.

Your door creaks open, and you rouse by instinct to close it shut. Distracted, and perhaps a bit disoriented, you almost missed the edge of the katana when it emerges from the gap, and you fall off balance, hitting the floor bottom first after you dodged the warning strike.

And there, he simply stood, shirt absent,

watching you non-chalantly, 

as your lips shift between expletives and whimpers of pain.

You shoot him a glare, at which only his brow flinches, and it is thanks to your sleep deprived state that you only manage a very angry whisper.

"What the actual fuck, Nic?!"

He shrugs, head slightly tilted to the side, and you can’t place whether it’s disappointment or annoyance that’s on his dimly lit features. He frees his hand from the blade, joining the other for a gesture, when you cut him off by clearing your throat.

He follows your gaze, and he responds with a groan, but he obliges anyway, flicking the switch on.

The sudden influx of light made you squint, causing your first casualty to twitch in pain once again, eliciting an annoyed hiss.  It does not go unnoticed, obviously, as he drops into a squat in front of you, broad palm hovering above your furrowed brows.

He points at the side of his head with a questioning look.

And you nod affirmatively.

A raised brow.

A blunt glance at your headboard.

Silence.

"Pfft."

"Very funny, gung ho dumbass."

He snorts, canine hinted by his smirk. You retort with an eye roll, cut abrupt with another twitch.

Another squint.

He waves an apology, and you wave him off, sighing. You watch the jingling plates against his chest as he stands up, and a random thought of muscled pillows was brushed off the instant it arrived . Calloused palm then meets your bare arm as he pulls you up, sliding down to your wrist as he helps you to your bed. You resign to your favored side, breathing out a silent ’thanks’ as keen ears listen to him leave.

You close your eyes again.

The switch clicks off.

The door shuts quietly.

And springs whine from the added weight.

Your eyes shot up and you swiftly roll to your other side, mouth hanging open slowly in sync with your dumbfounded stare.

"Nic? What the hec -"

He inches further, at which you inch back - too quick and too much you realize -, as an agile arm slips to your side and around the small of your back just in time to break another clumsy fall. You barely had time to register his scent’s brand as he turns you around, palm clasping your forehead as he nestles your head on his shoulder.

A strained sound escapes your throat as you’re about to protest.

"Sssh. [First] -. Yer fuc- king noi-sy."

"B-but -?!"

"Slee-eep -," came out another grumble.

You know how he doesn’t prefer speaking, and so you retreat in silence. His palm releases your forehead, and cushions his forearm between your head and the headboard, while you linger immobile -

- except your startled heart.

It  must be definitely those sweets, you conclude.


Accompanied silence.


His light snoring distracts you, rumbling against your spine, his even breathing now brushing against your bare shoulder. You’ll probably be envious of him by this time, if only you’re not too keen on not squirming on your spot. You try your chance, still, shifting with utmost care, and fails subsequently, as another ankle anchors yours in place.

A low growl follows, ended by yet your another defeated sigh.


"Fuck sleep -  What is sleep?" you dejectedly mutter to yourself.