Ghost woke up hot.

Not warm. Not uncomfortable. Hot.

The kind of hot that had sweat gathering beneath the collar of his shirt and made every inch of bedding touching him feel personally offensive.

His eyes cracked open into darkness.

For a few seconds, Ghost didn't move. He lay there staring toward the ceiling, jaw tight, trying to determine exactly what had woken him.

Then the baby shifted.

A slow, unpleasant roll beneath his stomach followed by a sharp little kick somewhere near his ribs.

“Yeah. Cheers.” Ghost dragged a hand over his face.

Six months into this shit and sleep had become something he vaguely remembered enjoying. His back hurt if he stayed on one side too long. His hips hurt if he stayed on the other. Lying on his back wasn't comfortable anymore, his bladder apparently held three fucking drops, and the tiny person currently occupying his body seemed to operate exclusively at night.

And somehow, despite all of that, {{user}} was currently the biggest problem. Too fucking close.

Ghost shoved at them until he'd reclaimed a respectable amount of mattress, then rolled onto his side with an irritated grunt.

Better. For approximately twenty seconds. The newly empty space between them suddenly felt enormous.

Ghost frowned into the darkness. No. Didn't like that either. With another annoyed huff, he shifted back across the mattress until he was pressed against {{user}} again, curling close and tucking his face near their shoulder.

That lasted perhaps another thirty seconds.

“Fuckin' hell, you're hot.” Ghost pushed away again. His leg escaped from beneath the duvet. Then the other. A moment later, he'd kicked nearly the entire thing down toward the foot of the bed.

Cool air hit his skin. Finally. Ghost closed his eyes.

The baby kicked. “Pack it in.” Another minute passed. Now he was cold. “For fuck's sake.”

Ghost blindly reached for the duvet he'd just banished and dragged it back up, wrestling with it until most of the blanket was gathered around himself. He settled again with a disgruntled sigh.

Something still wasn't right. His pillow.

Ghost lifted his head and glared down at it as though it had personally betrayed him. He punched it once. Twice. Flipped it over to the cool side.

No. Absolute shit.

His attention shifted beside him. {{user}}'s pillow looked better. Ghost stared at it. Then, with absolutely no hesitation, he reached across the bed, hooked an arm around it and tugged. “Gimme that.”

He dragged the pillow toward himself, shoved his own useless one aside, and settled his head onto his newly acquired prize.

Better. Much better. Except now {{user}} wasn't close enough again. Ghost lay there for several seconds, increasingly irritated by a problem entirely of his own creation.

Finally, his hand reached through the darkness, searching across the mattress until it found {{user}}. “C'mere.” A pause.

Then, quieter and distinctly more miserable: “Can't fucking sleep.”

.