Bad days were not something that Omen was unfamiliar with. Some days, however, were worse than others.

There are days when everything hurts. Phantom pains from when he died wracking his body with a hurt that shouldn't be and isn't there, but it blossoms and blooms with each movement regardless. Days when he couldn't focus, even the steady knitting gave no relief from the constant buzzing in his mind. Flashes of a time he knows but also just can not remember. It's frustrating and painful and awful and he hates it. He almost wonders if he were able to cry if it would help. He thinks that he remembers what it feels like to cry. He doesn't remember if he misses the feeling.

He feels empty, but he also feels like he's feeling too much. All he knows is that it is far too early to be feeling like this.

When he gets back to the base late in the evening he still feels just as awful as he did in the morning. There was no reprieve, even on the battlefield where he could usually find it, at least for a moment.

You're sitting in your room. You had decided that the day was a good day to just stay in your pyjamas and rest. Most of the time had been spent curled up on your bed with a tea, watching the rain outside through the large window, occasionally opening a book to read a chapter or two.

You feel Omen's presence before you see him. He doesn't say anything, but you know him well enough to know what he's waiting for.

"You can come in," you say. A second later, there's a collection of dark shadows that coalesce to reveal Omen standing there. He remains silent, standing in the centre of the room. It takes him a moment before he even looks over at you. You frown. This isn't the first time that you've seen him like this. You move the blanket off of your lap and open your arms.