Rhysand can't sleep on a bed if Andy's not next to him.

*

Andy took a while to notice.

When they got back together, sleeping beside each other was like falling back into a natural routine—Rhysand, big spoon. Andy, small spoon. It felt right to be back in his arms, breaths slowing, hearts at peace.

But Andy didn't realize how much the two years spent apart had left a deep crack on Rhysand. Rhysand, who, had no one his entire life—Jenner as the exception, had no one to love him and no one he loved, was used to being abandoned, became afraid of it when he finally understood what love was.

Andy had been broken while they were apart. When she left him.

But Rhysand had been wrecked.

He had been so damaged he had random bouts of waking up in the middle of the night in cold sweat, panting, hand reaching out frantically for the left side of the bed, make sure Andy was there.

Andy didn't notice at first, of course. But she woke up one time, when Rhysand sat up so suddenly he had hit her with his elbow, and found him sweating and gasping for air and eyes wide, hand on some part of her body. Any part of her body.

Andy looked at him, squinting, and reached for him. "Rhys?" she muttered, pulling him back down. "You okay, baby?"

Rhysand swallowed thickly and took too long to answer, bones slowly relaxing into her hold.

Andy was already back to sleep when he whispered, "Yeah. I'm fine now."

Then it became apparent when Rhysand refused to go to bed first even though he was exhausted. Would always wait for her to climb next to him even though she still had work to do.

Then it became more apparent when Andy slipped out of bed one time because she couldn't sleep, careful not to wake him by tiptoeing into her slippers, wrapping herself in a hoodie she found hanging on a chair. She left the room, went downstairs for a glass of water.

She was placing the glass back in the sink when the door slammed shut, and Rhysand's voice, panicked, yelled, "Sanford? Sunshine?" His steps on the stairs were heavy.

"I'm here," Andy said hurriedly, eyebrows furrowing as she rushed to the staircase. "Hey, I'm right here."

Rhysand's breathing was frantic. His chest rose and fall rapidly and his eyes were wide, and he was half-naked and barefoot, like he didn't even spare one second to put on slippers or a shirt. Like his first priority was to make sure Andy wasn't gone.

He sank on the steps, then, fingers carding through his hair, head bowing. "Jesus Christ," he whispered.

"Rhys, I'm sorry, I just went down for some water," Andy rushed to explain, taking the steps two at a time to reach him. She bends down in front of him and puts her hands around his head, pulling him to her. "I'm sorry, I didn't mean to scare you."

Rhysand clutched her with shaking fingers and didn't speak.

After that, there was always a glass of water next to Andy's bedside table.

They talked about it when they got engaged. Andy was handling some paperwork with the school, and Rhysand was coming from the bathroom, and he tossed himself on the bed with a groan.

Andy barely spared him a glance but said, "I'll go to your studio, baby. Sorry about the light."

"No, it's okay," he muttered quickly, sitting up against the headboard. Andy turned to look at him—his eyes were halfway closed. "Stay. I'll wait for you." He reached for his phone—no doubt to keep him awake.

Andy bit her lip.

She could've just done the paperwork on the bed, beside him so he can sleep, but Andy needed the table and a pen and light, and she couldn't have all of those if her fiancé was sleeping soundly.

Besides, it was time to bring it up. With a deep breath, she pushed away her work and climbed on the mattress, scooting close to him. "Baby."

"Mm?"

Andy swallowed thickly and looked at her hands. "I think we should ask Adrian about your sleeping problem."

Of course, his initial reaction was to deny it. "I don't have a sleeping problem," Rhysand answered flatly.

Andy shook her head. "Rhys. You can't sleep on a bed without me."

Rhysand can sleep perfectly on the couch or on a chair. On the bed, there was no way he was closing his eyes if he was alone.

He stared at her for a few moments, swallowing the lump in his throat. Then, looking away, he said quietly, "It's not your fault."

Andy almost snorted. "It is."

"It's not," Rhysand pleaded, meeting her eyes, face crumpling together. "This is just...this'll pass, sunshine."

Back then, he didn't want Andy to blame herself for it. Even suffering, he was always thinking about whatever Andy would feel first.

Andy sucked in a deep breath. "Can I ask Adrian? Please, baby?"

And it was as terrifying as she thought—Adrian said it may be abandonment anxiety.

Andy bit her lip. Quietly, she asked, "From his childhood trauma? Or from..."

"In Rhys's case, the childhood trauma is a factor," he told her quietly, running a hand through his messy hair. "But adults experience abandonment anxiety without it, too—from losing their partner to separation, divorce, or death."

Andy swallowed thickly. "He's been...he can't sleep on a bed without me."

Adrian put his hand on her shoulder and squeezed it. "That's sleep separation anxiety. It happens to people with abandonment issues."

Adrian tells her that the first—his trauma as a child—was what may have caused them to break up, and Andy agreed. Rhysand had trust issues, he was insecure about their relationship, he was constantly irrational when he was jealous, wanted, in some ways, to control Andy and their relationship. He was so afraid of her leaving he suffocated her.

And then the second—their breakup—was causing his sleep separation anxiety.

"He can feel very secure about your relationship now," Adrian continued, pursing his lips. "But his body may associate sleeping on a bed with you being gone. He...Andy, I'm not supposed to tell you this, but to make you understand—he cried whenever he lied down to sleep and you weren't there. Said it was unbearable."

Andy felt her heart crush into million weights inside her chest.

At home, during dinner, they were quiet. They were quiet until Rhysand asked, "So what did Adrian say?"

Andy shook her head, swallowing thickly, refusing to look at him. "He said we can try doing it slowly. Like, me just going to the bathroom before you wake up. Going to bed a few minutes before I do, things like that. You'll panic at first, but you'll get used to it. And when I'm not around, you should push pillows together where I would sleep. You'll naturally feel less alone," she muttered. "Or sleeping with something that smells like me—"

"Why would you not be around?" Rhysand asked slowly, putting down his fork.

Andy met his eyes. "When you go on business trips and I'm not there."

Her fiancé shook his head and returned his attention to his food. "I'm fine, sunshine. I can sleep without you."

"No, you can't. And you're not," Andy argued firmly, hand cupping the back of his neck to make him look at her. Inhaling shakily, she said, "Can we just try? Please? I don't want to feel guilty every time you wake up in cold sweat, making sure I'm beside you, Rhys, because I left you alone for two years and you—you slept alone, and you were broken and hurt and wrecked."

Rhysand stared at her. "I told you it's not your fault. You had every right to leave and I don't blame you—"

She's heard this a million times, and in those million times, Andy knows Rhysand means it. Still.

"I'm not marrying you if we don't try," Andy said. "I want you to sleep peacefully next to me, I want you to wake up knowing I'm just in the bathroom or in the kitchen, I want you to know you're not going to be alone ever again."

*

Andy's in the middle of grading papers in her husband's studio when a knock comes, and the door opens slowly. "Hey," Rhysand rasps, rubbing his eyes, voice heavy with sleep, hair a tousled mess. "It's late, sunshine."

He went to bed a few hours ago. Andy grins, proud.

It's been slow—the progress. But progress is still progress, and when he's abroad, Rhysand says the pillows thing Adrian recommended sometimes helps. Sometimes, it doesn't, and he resorts to sleeping on the couch.

Still, here in their home, Rhysand doesn't wake up worrying that Andy is gone anymore. Sometimes, he says, he feels disoriented when she's not next to him, but he'll take a deep breath, rub his wedding ring with his thumb, and then stand calmly.

She puts down her pen and scrapes his chair back, opening her arms to hug him tightly when she comes close.

Rhysand sways a little, hands coming to cradle the back of her head, eyes drooping closed.

"Let's go to sleep, love," she whispers, tiptoeing to kiss his forehead, and takes his hand to lead him back to their bedroom.

*

this hurt me ngl