[He doesn't usually remember his dreams, if he has them.]
[So being nearly trapped in one was so many kinds of unsettling. Everything was strangely blurred at the edges, in a way that alerted him to it being a dream, but it still felt unbearably real. Unbearably so, to the point that when he felt himself point a strangely familiar gun between Wakaba Isshiki's eyebrows, with her staring up at him in something that wasn't quite defiance but wasn't fear, he was confused when he didn't jerk away from the gesture in alarm. That when he pulled the trigger the angle changed, and suddenly he was watching Wakaba abruptly "throw" herself in front of a moving vehicle from somewhere behind a horrified Futaba, he was confused he didn't lurch forward to try and pull her back.]
[He echoed the scream in his head that was Futaba's voice.]
[And then his mother was in his room, had him by the shoulders and was shaking him gently, even though he was sitting up and drenched in a cold sweat. She asked him things, was he all right, could she get him anything, you should really be getting more sleep and stop working yourself so hard, Goro, and her voice sounded strange. Tinny, like a recording in a phone. He didn't remember what her voice sounded like, anymore.]
[What?]
[He allowed himself to curl sideways into her shoulder, letting her voice filter back to sounding normal and only breathing properly again then, letting her hand stroke his hair, between his shoulders, down his spine. The amount of time it took for the sensations to feel like they were actually happening and not a strange, distant memory unsettled him more than he could verbalize. He let her make him tea, sipped it carefully, and urged her to go back to sleep, that he was all right now. He was sorry he woke her.]
[He was sorry he failed her.]
[The back of his tongue tasted sour when he picked up his phone.]
no subject
[So being nearly trapped in one was so many kinds of unsettling. Everything was strangely blurred at the edges, in a way that alerted him to it being a dream, but it still felt unbearably real. Unbearably so, to the point that when he felt himself point a strangely familiar gun between Wakaba Isshiki's eyebrows, with her staring up at him in something that wasn't quite defiance but wasn't fear, he was confused when he didn't jerk away from the gesture in alarm. That when he pulled the trigger the angle changed, and suddenly he was watching Wakaba abruptly "throw" herself in front of a moving vehicle from somewhere behind a horrified Futaba, he was confused he didn't lurch forward to try and pull her back.]
[He echoed the scream in his head that was Futaba's voice.]
[And then his mother was in his room, had him by the shoulders and was shaking him gently, even though he was sitting up and drenched in a cold sweat. She asked him things, was he all right, could she get him anything, you should really be getting more sleep and stop working yourself so hard, Goro, and her voice sounded strange. Tinny, like a recording in a phone. He didn't remember what her voice sounded like, anymore.]
[What?]
[He allowed himself to curl sideways into her shoulder, letting her voice filter back to sounding normal and only breathing properly again then, letting her hand stroke his hair, between his shoulders, down his spine. The amount of time it took for the sensations to feel like they were actually happening and not a strange, distant memory unsettled him more than he could verbalize. He let her make him tea, sipped it carefully, and urged her to go back to sleep, that he was all right now. He was sorry he woke her.]
[He was sorry he failed her.]
[The back of his tongue tasted sour when he picked up his phone.]
Sorry to text you so late
I
[...]
[...]
[...]
I think I had a nightmare about killing someone.