Satoru hated this.

His breathing came hard and rough, pale hands trembling as they braced themselves upon his knees. His fingers fisted themselves in his clothes and his limbs shook, bright blue eyes wide and staring aimlessly down at the sheets beneath him.

Even your voice, so soft and delicate, was struggling to coax him from his nervous headspace; but fortunately, you were experienced with Satoru’s fits of anxiety and trauma. This wasn’t the first time he had woken up from a painful nightmare.

“I’m fine,” Satoru whispered urgently, but his voice was strained with fear. While tears had yet to form in his eyes, sweat glistened on his skin. He gestured for you to stop touching him.

“I’m fine.”