Amidst the late hours of the night, you found yourself mustering the strength to push yourself away from the comfort of your mattress. Shuddering, as sockless feet met the floor.

Your stomach panged with the ache of dehydration, tongue like a thick cut of sandpaper in your mouth; abutting your gums.

In search of something so necessary, you stalked towards the commons. Although you tried your best to keep quiet, your waking muscles stumbled on the way over.

The communal lounge was so much warmer in comparison to that of the housing sector. God, you could collapse here, if it weren’t for your thirst.

"You are.. up late." A voice observed, distant but still there. Quiet but still loud; Omen sat up against the bolstered sofa, his hands pausing the ministration of knitting as you interrupted his solitude. The slits that made up his smoky visage flickered as he took in your groggy, tousled form.