Don't Sleep

Once upon a time, the Ida overheard a Kivrian storyteller recount a myth from his religion. In the story, the end of the world would come when their God fell asleep. The Ida, the actual creator of the universe, did not understand that they were using the word sleep as a euphemism for die.
Even though the Ida had never slept before, it became a fear of its. Superstitiously, the Ida refused to sleep for hundreds of thousands of years after hearing the tale. Even fatigue came to terrify it. In response, it sharply limited its time in a corporeal form to avoid ever feeling the sensation.
Eventally, the Ida let its guard down. It fell asleep in the arms of its lover, Amatu. They had preened the Ida idly while it slept. The down feathers which had fallen out served as proof that sleep would do it, and its universe, no harm.

The Ida wakes with a jolt and rises just as quickly, gasping for air.
"Amatu?!"
"Down here, Ida."
"Oh, thank--"
The Ida freezes. Amatu cannot make heads or tails out of why the Ida won't stop staring at the small pile of fluffy down feathers on their bed.
"I preened your wing."
"Clearly. When?“
"While you slept."
"... I fell asleep? For how long?" The tension in the Ida's placid questions belies its panic.
"About 7 hours, give or take.”
“You were awake while I was asleep?”
“Yes.” Some of it, anyway.
“And you preened me?”
“Yes? Was I not supposed to?”
The Ida falls forward, face first into the pile of down.
“… Ida, what's happening? Are you alright?” Amatu asks, cautiously.
“Nnnnn.”
“Have you… been preened before?”
The Ida growls something incoherent.
Ok, that was dumb. Amatu has preen it many times. Amatu's next question feels too stupid, because of course it has, but they persist, “Have you ever slept before?”
“Nn…”
“Never?”
“Nn!”
“Well, why the hell not?” Amatu asks, bafflement before their filter.
The Ida turns to ask, “If I tell you, please don’t tell anyone?”
“I promise. All of our time spent together is confidential.”
The Ida shoves its face back in the fluff with a great sigh.
“I thought that the universe might freeze, or vanish, if I fell asleep. So, I don't. I don't sleep.”
Amatu wants to laugh, but is so puzzled by the concept that they fail. "You thought that the world would stop if you slept?"
“Mm,” the Ida agrees, stridently. "... Nn. Worse. Restart."
… Aw.
"Ooooh," Amatu drawls. "Oh, no. Ida, no, it won't do that."
The Ida doesn't respond from the pile of floof, but Amatu perceives the tension rising again anyhow.
Amatu stretches wide, throwing an arm around its middle. They scoot closer and kiss its temple, as close to its cheek as they can get given its hidden face.
They whisper: “Consider that fear conquered."
"Nn."
"Yes, Ida."
"What if I don't wake up?" the Ida challenges. "I could disappear for years." Its severe phobia wants to change form rather than disappear, as they so often unfortunately do.
"Stop visiting me at work and move in with me instead, then!" Amatu retorts.
The Ida turns towards them, loosing a high-pitched trill of surprise.
Amatu flushes, but carries on. "Join me at night and sleep with me. I-I won't let you disappear."