Ever since they'd found out there were other people on the island, Hurley had struggled to sleep.
It had never been a problem for him before the crash. Though his mind was often clouded by thoughts and worries, sleep tended to come easily to him, no matter where he was.
Maybe it was the way he was raised. His mother had never turned down an invitation to anything and would often drag him along with her to whatever events she attended. He learned from a young age that the more tired you were, the more comfortable the floor turned out to be — or the corner of a room, or a tight seat of a plane.
It'd been a skill. A blessing more than a curse.
That night, however, despite how hard he tried, how long he kept his eyes shut tightly, how many times he moved around trying to find a good position, sleep just wouldn't come.
It wasn't the fluffy sand underneath him that was the problem, or the waves crashing a few feet away. Those usually helped. It wasn't the darkness of the sky, the new moon providing no light (if anything, the encampment dreaded the return of the full moon, a bright glowing orb in the sky).
The problem was her — Libby.
Her arrival with the other survivors from the tail section had stirred something unfamiliar in his chest. He couldn't quite name it, he didn't want to label it. But it made him uncomfortable to have such strong feelings for a stranger.
She had been nothing but nice to them, seemingly hitting it off with Kate right away and jumping in on tasks that kept the group going. Libby was eager, smart, happy.
Hurley wondered if maybe that was what bothered him, how happy she looked, how happy she was. (If he was true to himself, he'd admit that that caused the feelings, but they surely weren't envy.)
He sighed to himself as he sat up, defeated.
The thought of walking around until exhaustion hit overtook him, and he was on his feet, stumbling around outside in the dark before he knew it. He could hardly see in front of him and relied on his memory to try and avoid the others' tents.
"Hurley, is that you?"
Her voice startled him, coming from behind him, and he turned around. "Y-yeah, Libby. It's me."
Even though he couldn't see anything but her silhouette, he could picture her standing there in front of him, within arm's reach. Her beautiful, shoulder-length, curly blonde hair. Her stunning blue eyes that weren't so different from the ocean that surrounded them. The way she smiled at him, genuinely, lovingly. "Can't sleep?"
"Not really," he admitted, lowering his head and kicking at the sand around his feet. "Having a hard time with that lately."
"Is something bothering you? Is that why you can't sleep?"
"I don't know," he mumbled, but it wasn't true. He knew very well that the reason he couldn't sleep was because every time he closed his eyes, he saw her face floating over his. He pictured her laughing at something he said, the warmth he felt deep in his stomach.
She suggested that they sit down, and he obliged before his brain could tell his mouth to decline. They sat in silence, close enough that their arms were touching as they listened to the waves crashing down below.
"You can use me as a pillow if you want."
He nearly choked on his breath, coughing as a poor attempt at a smooth recovery. "I'm sorry, what?"
"You can put your head on my lap, and I'll stroke your hair 'til you fall asleep. You know, people did when we were little. It always helps me when I can't sleep."
"Okay," he agreed quietly and laid his head down on her thigh.
Her fingers started playing with his hair and before he knew it, the tips were rubbing gentle circles on his scalp soothingly. Sleep came quicker than it ever had, and he'd never been so comfortable. For the first time since the lottery ticket, he felt like the stars had aligned once again.