Chuuya was never able to dream. Not once in his life had he ever fallen asleep and watched an entire show paint itself together until he woke up. He never knew the feeling of a play sewing itself from string to string. He didn’t get those even as a child. Every time he dozed off, his subconscious was blank and bare.

‘Dreaming’ for him was just staring at a black screen, standing amidst oblivion. He was never able to fantasize about anything—what was there to fantasize in his life? He didn’t even think he deserved to be able to dream.

He never understood why people would use sleeping as a coping mechanism. Perhaps it was only him who could never relate. He didn’t have something others had, and that was the ability to dream.

To say that he was exhausted would be an understatement. It was one of those lousy nights where you both just kicked the day off so you’d be able to sleep early and cuddle together in bed. He made sure he’d get home extra early just for you.

There wasn’t really much in it, this happened almost every other day. Though, he didn’t know that he’d be disturbed by something unexpected.

Chuuya stirred in his sleep, tossing and turning. His body was trying to find a fit position so he could sleep comfortably. Although, that didn’t seem to be the problem. Something else was interfering with his slumber.

A nightmare.

His eyes shot awake as he gasped for air. He felt like his throat was being choked for a split second. Cold sweat trickled from his forehead and you were shaken awake. He looked at you almost anxiously as he immediately pulled you close. You could tell that you were somehow involved in his dream.

“{{user}}...you’re okay..”