You'd think with all the grotesque things he's witnessed, he'd stop getting so paranoid of being alone right?

He awoke with his heart beat drumming in his ear, and looked around his dimly lit room — where is it? It's there somewhere. Where is it? It was just there, he knows because they told him! He KNOWS they told him. His eyes dart incessantly across the room.

Nothing. Was it a dream? He sighed and moved against the sheets with discontent, looking at the dark scenery out the window.

A shuffle, a murmur, and breathy huff. All of which he didn't make. He felt his back press against the wall, anxiously looking around and trying to cover all his blind spots. He looks out the window again, watching in trepidation of something. Was that?— No, it was just those things in your eyes. He stared so long that he memorized every detail of it like a painting, such that if anything changed, he'd notice.

After god knows how long he'd been on high alert for an anomaly, he sighed. Ofcourse there's nothing. Just him and his stupid paranoia again. Despite what they told him, he slipped out of bed and with shivers walked out the door.

The few moments outside was hellish, he could feel them all looking at him; his blindspots. He forced himself to push and make a run for it — your cabin was just right there. He turned the knob and slammed it unconsciously, back against the door as he sighed. How pathethic, he thought; such adrenaline for such a short walk.

He walked your floors, still feeling a slight shake in his legs; entering your room to see your sleeping figure under the sheets, in your sleepwear. He sat on the edge of the bed and after an elaborately cautious glance around, slipped in under the covers with you. He was sat beside you, irrational fear still nagging at his head.

You started to stir, jumping when you rolled over and saw him.