Tired ||Stephen Strange||

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Tw: difficulty/inability to sleep, isolation, not eating very much, depiction of passing out, and mentions of not binding

Relationship: platonic, then love interest (unless you decide it's platonic...you'll see)

there's a pov shift in the middle, I tried to sperate it, but sorry if it's confusing

also, italics mean character's train of thought

if any of this is potentially triggering for you, please take care of yourself, and go read something else, you deserve it, and you're doing so well

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You were laying down in your dark bedroom, desperately trying to fall asleep.

You had lost a lot of motivation to do things—you didn't feel like eating, you didn't feel like getting out. You had no energy, and you were tired, but you couldn't sleep.

It had started when you were unable to sleep one night, but you decided to train anyway. You spent a few days sleep deprived training, until you were so exhausted you couldn't get out of bed.

You barely ate, barely drank, and, unfortunately, you barely slept.

You had gotten some of Stephen's calls and texts, but you didn't feel like talking to anyone, or seeing anyone, or getting out. In all honesty, you simply no longer had the energy to pretend that everything was okay—it became more and more tiering, and it was harder and harder to fight the exhaustion, yet somehow impossible to fall asleep.

Yet still, you tossed and turned, and even when the sun came up, you pulled the covers over your head, and tried to sleep. 


Stephen was starting to get worried about you—you hadn't responded to any of his calls, or texts. Hell, he had even tried emailing you.

He was probably slightly overreacting, since it had only been 5 days, and he has gone longer without seeing you, or talking to you. Other people have too, and it wasn't like you haven't done this before—the disappearing for several days, only to return with a perfectly rational reason as to why.

But this time felt...different.

Wasn't he tired the last time I saw him? Like, really tired? Maybe I should ask him about that. Besides, we're closer friends now than we were all those other times, it wouldn't hurt to at least bring him some tea. It doesn't even need to be for the sleep. It wouldn't hurt to check in...as a friend.

He had brought up checking on you to a few other people, all of which insisted you'd be fine, and that you'd show up again soon, perfectly fine.

But he had made up his mind.

He texted you that he was coming over, and waited a few minutes for a reply—if you had simply told him not to come over, then he wouldn't have. But he did give you warning.

So, after you didn't reply, he made a portal to your house.

He only entered the living room, wanting to be polite since technically, he didn't actually have permission to be here, and didn't want to overstep a boundary with you.

But once he entered, he got the immediate feeling something was off. Your place was messier than usual—not in complete disarray—it didn't seem as though anyone broke in and hurt you, but it wasn't kept like it normally was. 

"Y/n?" He called. He looked around, and decided to head towards your bedroom, and the bathroom. The bathroom door was open, so he simply peeked inside—but because your bedroom door was closed, that's where he was going.

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