Lovino can't sleep alone.
It's the fifth time he's tried to turn over, but crumpled sheets won't give way, the hard folds digging into his sides no matter how he twists and turns. Though the window is closed and the heat turned high, it's too cold. There is nowhere for him to burrow safe and warm; no arms to squeeze him tight. No heartbeat to lull him into drowsiness.
So he sits up and wanders in the kitchen to sip expresso. It scalds his tongue but does nothing to uproot the fatigue that's wormed its way deep into his veins, heavy against the monotone of his heart.
With Lovino, there's only dead tired and mostly tired, nothing less. Caffeine might jumpstart him a little, but he always sinks back into an exhausted stupor sooner or later.
He barely finishes the cup, setting it down with trembling hands. His stomach gurgles in protest as eyes fall shut. They open again.
With a gust of cold air, his door mutters-the floor responding with a murmur of its own. Lovino does not look up. Sight and sound had melded into a thick wall that was quickly crumbling.
A hand falls onto his shoulder.
"Oi-I'm in the area so-"
Gilbert, Lovino realizes. He blinks and grunts. His body sways with a fresh wave of exhaustion.
"You...okay?" His grin falls when the Italian slowly sinks into his chest, eyes falling shut a final time. With a quiet exclamation, Gil wraps his arms around him before he slides from his chair.
"O-okay, then," Gilbert says, hooking his arm beneath Lovino's knees and hefting him up. "I think...it's time for you to go to bed. Sound like a plan?"