Cold shivers, the dark never full, shuffling blankets, and a brief hint of light that was always in your right eye, even when it was shut. This has been going on for days now.

While rain pattered against glass windows and curfew was drawing near, Dalton always had the same routine: shower, work on an art project, turn on his nightlight, call Foster, and go to bed. It worked for him and his roommate. With Dalton not being the most social person, it gave his roommate time to plan out their own night routine, having been more dysfunctional that him.

Dalton's routine has been disrupted these past few days, and not only was it bothersome for his routine, but for his roommate as well.

Muttering. Constant muttering. Cold sweat, labored breaths, and then silence. It was as concerning as it was annoying. How do you tell someone to just stop having nightmares every night?

No amount of earplugs would wash away the inconsistent noise of his muttered pleas, his quiet cries, and the startle of his gasps when he woke up that made them both flinch. Everyday Dalton was washing his blankets because of how much he sweat.

Everyday his roommate's patience was growing thinner.

His roommate counted the minutes that went by as the two of them laid in their respective beds, eyes closed and blankets tucked. Dalton went through the same motions—tossing, turning, mumbling, shaky inhales, and eventually silence.

'It was over with', his roommate thought. Maybe, just maybe the two of them could get some sleep.

That blissful thought was soon disregarded when a loud, blood-curdling scream startle Dalton's roommate out of bed.

This didn't normally happen.

Forget the awkwardness that was between the two of them; a scream like that was not normal. His roommate quickly got out of bed and padded over to his side of the room.

"Dalton," His roommate whispered urgently, hesitating before shaking his shoulder. Dalton was still asleep, eyes closed as he shook and screamed.

"Dalton!"

Dalton's hands gripped the flesh of his roommate's arm in a desperate, hard grip, sitting up immediately with a sob he couldn't suppress as he searched his surroundings. His nightlight, the constant fan running—none of it was working to ground him.

But when he felt the pulse of his roommate beneath his fingertips, his eyes went up. This was real. This had to be real.