[There's no rhyme or reason to it; it's just a bad night.
That's the frustrating part, really; there's no reason that this night should be any different from any other night. He hasn't done anything out of the ordinary; he'd spent the day feeling Sanguis's hold on him slowly growing, just like always, and he'd showered after work, just like always. He'd eaten, just like always. He'd worked some on his projects, played with Star, thought about Adrian. It's all just the same things he always does. It's all just the same.
It's raining outside, when he goes to sleep. It's peaceful to listen to it rattling on the roof and the windows of his apartment. It makes the darkness feel friendlier, somehow, and he likes that. His bed is comfortable and his pillowcases still smell faintly of roses because he's still using up that shampoo he'd bought back when it was Adrian's birthday. He's warm, and he's safe, and he falls asleep content.
There's no reason why he should have a nightmare now.
And yet.
And yet he wakes up with his heart pounding and his sheets damp with cold sweat, disoriented and afraid and convinced that something is in his room with him, so certain of it that Star appears in an instant with his fists up and his jaw set, ready to defend him against the nothingness waiting for him.
Because that's what's waiting for him, of course. Nothing. There's nothing there. It's nothing, nothing, nothing.
He tosses and turns for a while, stubbornly trying to shake the edginess that crawls along his nerves like sandpaper down his skin, burying his face in his pillow and shoving away thoughts of how close the ceiling feels in the darkness, how every six seconds he's holding his breath waiting for what might happen on the seventh. The bed is wet and cold, now. He's got work in the morning. It's stupid, he can't be doing this, not now.
But the feeling doesn't go away, and before long he thinks of reaching for his phone, hungry for attention and reassurance.
He doesn't know why he can't make himself do it. Shame, maybe. Guilt. Maybe something else.
But he doesn't hear the rain outside anymore, and he's not getting back to sleep like this, so he rolls out of bed and drags on some sweatpants and a pair of shoes, and takes his keys and his hat and he just starts walking. The wolf is happier to be out in the fresh, clean night air; the smell of it is rich and soothing, and the puddles splash under his shoes.
He's fine, until he hears it running down from some nearby gutter — running water, jagged metal, broken clocks and empty streets and he's wound too tight, his shoulders hurt from how hard he's contracted the muscles in them without realizing it, his hands are shaking and he doesn't know what's wrong.
...He left his phone at his apartment. Fuck.
So he just starts walking, again, and halfway to his destination the rain picks up again, and he doesn't care. It drizzles down on him, chilly in the night air, wetting his fur and his tail and his clothes and the rain on his face is wet but some of the tracks of water running down his cheeks are hot and at least there's no way to tell which is which, just from looking.
Eventually, he reaches the walk up to Adrian's apartment, and makes it to the door, and reaches for his phone again and realizes again that he doesn't have it on him. Shit.
...Maybe he shouldn't wake him up. He wants to, but maybe...
No, he should. He should, but just...maybe...
It just feels like a lot. It's just so much, he just needs to think. So he just...sits down next to Adrian's door and leans against the jamb, and pulls his knees up and just sits, staring out into the rainy night, and loses track of time and himself and everything.
It's Star who knocks, finally, because Jotaro never explicitly prevented him from it, and in the end, he was right about Star — it is his power to protect his user, no matter the cost, even when his user can't verbalize the thought for himself.]
no subject
That's the frustrating part, really; there's no reason that this night should be any different from any other night. He hasn't done anything out of the ordinary; he'd spent the day feeling Sanguis's hold on him slowly growing, just like always, and he'd showered after work, just like always. He'd eaten, just like always. He'd worked some on his projects, played with Star, thought about Adrian. It's all just the same things he always does. It's all just the same.
It's raining outside, when he goes to sleep. It's peaceful to listen to it rattling on the roof and the windows of his apartment. It makes the darkness feel friendlier, somehow, and he likes that. His bed is comfortable and his pillowcases still smell faintly of roses because he's still using up that shampoo he'd bought back when it was Adrian's birthday. He's warm, and he's safe, and he falls asleep content.
There's no reason why he should have a nightmare now.
And yet.
And yet he wakes up with his heart pounding and his sheets damp with cold sweat, disoriented and afraid and convinced that something is in his room with him, so certain of it that Star appears in an instant with his fists up and his jaw set, ready to defend him against the nothingness waiting for him.
Because that's what's waiting for him, of course. Nothing. There's nothing there. It's nothing, nothing, nothing.
He tosses and turns for a while, stubbornly trying to shake the edginess that crawls along his nerves like sandpaper down his skin, burying his face in his pillow and shoving away thoughts of how close the ceiling feels in the darkness, how every six seconds he's holding his breath waiting for what might happen on the seventh. The bed is wet and cold, now. He's got work in the morning. It's stupid, he can't be doing this, not now.
But the feeling doesn't go away, and before long he thinks of reaching for his phone, hungry for attention and reassurance.
He doesn't know why he can't make himself do it. Shame, maybe. Guilt. Maybe something else.
But he doesn't hear the rain outside anymore, and he's not getting back to sleep like this, so he rolls out of bed and drags on some sweatpants and a pair of shoes, and takes his keys and his hat and he just starts walking. The wolf is happier to be out in the fresh, clean night air; the smell of it is rich and soothing, and the puddles splash under his shoes.
He's fine, until he hears it running down from some nearby gutter — running water, jagged metal, broken clocks and empty streets and he's wound too tight, his shoulders hurt from how hard he's contracted the muscles in them without realizing it, his hands are shaking and he doesn't know what's wrong.
...He left his phone at his apartment. Fuck.
So he just starts walking, again, and halfway to his destination the rain picks up again, and he doesn't care. It drizzles down on him, chilly in the night air, wetting his fur and his tail and his clothes and the rain on his face is wet but some of the tracks of water running down his cheeks are hot and at least there's no way to tell which is which, just from looking.
Eventually, he reaches the walk up to Adrian's apartment, and makes it to the door, and reaches for his phone again and realizes again that he doesn't have it on him. Shit.
...Maybe he shouldn't wake him up. He wants to, but maybe...
No, he should. He should, but just...maybe...
It just feels like a lot. It's just so much, he just needs to think. So he just...sits down next to Adrian's door and leans against the jamb, and pulls his knees up and just sits, staring out into the rainy night, and loses track of time and himself and everything.
It's Star who knocks, finally, because Jotaro never explicitly prevented him from it, and in the end, he was right about Star — it is his power to protect his user, no matter the cost, even when his user can't verbalize the thought for himself.]