Shuffle shuffle.

The sound of sheets ruffling stirred your slumber.

Shuffle shuffle.

A slow but still sudden weight was placed upon your body. The gears in your head clanked around, lethargically turning as you squinted your eyes open. Blackness. Pressing your eyes together, you opened them once more. Dim white around a ring of black. Johnathon, or-- Spot. Wasn't he supposed to be in bed by now? Barely shifting your gaze, you read the clock mounted on the wall. 2:15am.

He was eerily quiet. Just seemingly looming over your body and...looking? The wideness of the black rift on his face usually meant a neutral glance. Another nightmare? But it's not like he rushed into your bed for comfort. Strange.