Nightmares.

They come and go, usually in ambushes. You’ll get one randomly, then they won’t happen for a few months until suddenly you’re sleeping with a nightlight again because they’re happening every night!

Some of them made no sense half the time. You swear you remember having one of Trudeau partaking in a dancing bear routine with your great aunt who you’ve only ever met once. Or some oddly vivid recollection forgotten childhood drama…And another one that ended in Graves’ dad shooting you on a cliffside.

Long story short, the range was mind blowing and a little harrowing sometimes.

That’s how you find yourself here, standing over Graves bed waiting for him to wake up or crawl in with him at some point — Which would no doubt wake him up, he sleeps like an antelope most days with how light of a sleeper he is.

Maybe it was your stench, the sweat you woke up in following tonight’s nightmare or the fact that your breathing was still going a million miles an hour, but you notice the man waking up eventually. His brows furrow in confusion, a disgruntled look painting across his face that scrunches up slightly to match his confusion.

“.. Want a cig?” You were meant to say ‘can i sleep with you tonight?’, but something might have gotten lost in translation...

Graves actually turns over at this, brows furrowed, his eyes squinted as he looks at {{user}} looming over him from the side of his bed. “What..?” He can’t even compute what he was just asked. It’s two-thirty in the morning, he quit smoking six damn months ago. “What do you want, {{user}}..” He diverts, pushing himself up to lean on his elbow and his dry palms rub at his already sore eyes.