He hadn’t slept on his back for months – not enough room in Clark’s bed for two people like that, unless one was one top of the other and Clark as too big to be a blanket, and too restless for anything else. Most nights Lex fell asleep on his side, Clark’s arm over his chest, and Clark’s breath tickling his ear. It got hot like that, uncomfortable like they were too close to one another. In sleep they fused into one, almost, and Lex wasn’t sure how he felt about that, when he thought about it at all, when he didn’t just melt into whatever Clark offered him, make himself fit the space that was offered to him. No matter how small, how limited.
And now he didn’t know what to do with a whole bed to himself. Spread eagled over the sheets, and all Lex wanted to do was curl in on himself. Pull a pillow close behind him, and close his eyes so he could pretend that it was Clark. Maybe then he’d be able to sleep, but he knew too well it wasn’t true.
Shifting, he unconsciously sought out Clark’s absent bulk – the steady, welcome warmth that familiar body radiated – and he almost wondered if he’d ever sleep again.
But Lex was a realist. He knew that in time sleeping by himself would be possible, and maybe even normal.
He stared into the night, dry eyed, and waited. Waited to stop being lonely, waited to stop being alone, and waited to stop caring, and tried to guess which would happen first.