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You had always known Will struggled with sleeping. He never admitted it to you, of course. Bumbling half-baked excuses, he came up with on-the-spot answers to explain why he looked so drained. Your degree in human behavior would be insulted if he wasn't such a pretty-close friend. Pretty close as in, like, super close. Right.
Will's job was gruesome. Being in the homicide department was a tough job already, it was lucky that you got any sleep yourself. But Will's case was particularly even more nightmarish. Always having to pull himself into reality he was horrified of to catch some off-the-meds psycho. To think like them, to kill like them, it was horrifying.
It could have a real toll on those who aren't meant for it.
The way his body would lean, eyes purple underneath and fighting the desire to even blink during briefings (when he knows full and well that Jack would yell his heart out), would tell the exact opposite of what he tried to spin to you whenever you asked.
It was taking its toll. And it was expensive.
Lately, it seemed to be getting worse. He drifts off completely, not even giving up a fight, during briefings and the aftermath scolding from his unofficial boss. You have to pat his arm to wake him up, more than once in one sitting. He often wakes up panicked and disoriented by the touch, only to clear his throat and look away nervously, like that could hide his reaction. His caffeine intake is much higher than it was before, and that was saying something. His stances on cases change all too much, mixing up the past with the present. Rather than becoming angry at his frequent confusion, Jack is becoming worried. It only proves to you how serious an insomniac Will could possibly be.
His psychiatrist, when you told him, simply went on and on about a strange metaphor. He explained that Will is a nocturnal owl, struggling to fit into the diurnal survival of the world. Basically, he was trying to bullshit his way into saying that he wouldn't do anything to help Will. Honestly, what does that man do for Will?
So that's why you're here.
At Will's place.
At 9 p.m.
On a Friday night.
To help him sleep.
To play... sleep doctor?
Your anxiety tightened at the ends of your hands, knuckles white around the wheel of your car. You weren't even sure what exactly you planned on doing, honestly. Your own insomnia was killer, but you had always just remedied it with some strong allergy medicine (when you couldn't find the sleeping pills). So generally, that was as far as your normal knowledge would follow. Your degree in human behavior wouldn't help much either. You hadn't specialized in that department, so the knowledge on sleep therapy was limited. But nevertheless, Will was your friend, and you only wanted to help. So, you would use what you could, and try to figure out how to get the poor guy some well-deserved rest.
