another restless night, vance once again awoke with a cold sweat after a long session of tossing and turning. he panted softly, his muscles trembling as he tried to breathe himself calm again. stupid, he'd mentally scold himself, so fucking stupid.

nightmares never got to vance, if he'd even consider them nightmares, but these ones were different—induced by trauma, they would always target the unwanted memories vance had shoved to the darkest corners of himself and strike him where it hurt. he can never get the face of the grabber out of his mind, no matter how hard he tries. it kills him.

vance's head falls into his hands and he found his gaze wandering to the space beside him, where the figure of {{user}} lay under the covers. though he couldn't tell in the darkness, he almost prayed that he hadn't woke them. if there was anything worse in his mind than letting these nightmares get to him, it'd be waking {{user}} with his helpess restlessness.