ＮＯＴＨＩＮＧ ＩＳ ＳＴＯＰＰＩＮＧ ＹＯＵ

ＡＵＧＵＳＴ １ＳＴ － １０ＴＨ

[ for raiden, nights were usually calm sessions of sleep. if he dreamed, he only remembered bits and pieces, and if not that, only feelings, sensations, pondered little of it, usually waking up and starting his day straight away. he slept like a log despite his explosive, alert energy when morning came, and when that energy drained, it served him well. he was so used up he'd drift away with little troubles. if he were upset, he wouldn't sleep, couldn't sleep to start, and would either wait for tiredness to come or bring it on somehow. but normally, he didn't particularly have any known problems when it came to his sleep.

the influx of spiders in koriko had kept his nerves on a very obvious high at first, soothed by a blanket of possibilities he'd rather take with him than think other things, and thus carried on. he was carefree to start, he didn't enjoy staggering with uncertainties and fears, and so he makes it a habit of leaving it at the door and find the only solution possible: it's nothing to worry about. alas, they still unnerved him. he can't get near them without feeling his palms sweat and have the urge to jump to the next room as fast as he could. he tells himself that everything was fine, though. that it had nothing to do with what had happened those few months ago. miss asi was a spider. maybe it was nothing. he goes on, feels guilty for having killed one, and builds that little shrine he said he would, mostly for his massive respect towards the dream eater.

it's nothing, his conscious says. his subconscious thinks differently, and it shows not just in his nervousness, but grows the more raiden demands it be ignored. the first day or so goes on as normal: he works, he avoids spiders, he tries to enjoy himself in between, keeps himself busy, and sleeps.

until one night he wakes up with a jolt that kicks his covers into the air, shooting up in his futon and leaving him breathless, heart a harsh drum in his chest, shaky breathing and the accumulation of sweat around the collar of his shirt a signal of his nighttime strife. he breathes in, out, lifts his hands to wipe his face. they stop midlift in front of him. they're shaking. whoa, he thinks, eyes wide and looking around him--

everything seemed well. roommates were sound asleep, their room quiet  and with not a single stir of odd movement around them. he doesn't remember a thing. all he had gained was the clamminess of sweat against his skin. affected enough, he sits up, goes to the bathroom, washes his face. he goes back to bed, stays awake some with an alert sort of feeling at the back of his mind. shaking it off is what he feels he should do, and after a while of turning about and looking up at the ceiling, he sleeps once more. two hours later, he awakens, an hour earlier than his usual schedule, and decides, together with a body that can't stand staying put that it wouldn't be a bad thing to go to the gym a little earlier than normal. 

the next night goes about normally. the night after that ends with the episode reoccurring in a similar fashion. the night after that, again, and this time he loses enough desire to sleep that he's up before sunrise, an odd sensation prickling the back of his neck. It goes on and off these first few days, and it's during these days that he's finding himself even more active than usual, seeking out interaction, whether through letters or with some hang outs.

he just needs to keep himself busy. ]