WE'RE PERFECTLY IN SYNC, AND YET OFF THE BEAT.The mirror in front of him is clouded with steam, and all he needs to be able to see his reflection is a mere sweep of the hand. Though, maybe it would have been better had it remained opaque: what looks back at him is an exhausted gaze, eyebags so dark his brain jokingly suggests he resembles a panda this way. The past few days...sure did a number on him, huh.
Nightmares weren't something Rem was a stranger to; they've been haunting his sleep since years now, and he simply learned to live with them. Some days they'd be pushed away to a corner of his skull, and some others they'd be breathing alongside him, running through his veins as naturally as blood.
To be entirely fair, and to no one's surprise really, it sucked.
He usually didn't pay it much mind, letting his mind drift off to greener pastures, his attention grabbed by the wagging of a dog's tail as he crosses the street or the way the clouds in the sky have funny shapes today. But lately, things had been a bit different. The shadows clutching at him were much more persistent, harder-hitting, dragging their claws along the walls of his head like one would scratch a blackboard with their nails. They were digging into parts of his (hazy) memories that he would rather leave alone, and he didn't like the taste it left behind in his mouth.
Bitterness—and mostly, fear.
The things that usually calmed him down found themselves tainted, and now filled him with dread that he did not manage to push aside. Namely, showers were part of these. And it was more than a tad troublesome when he had just gotten out of said shower, and despite the warm water, all it did was give him trouble to breathe and made his hands shake with apprehension. As if his whole body was bracing itself for something; something that he cannot even put words on anyway, something that only comes back in blurred images and faint sounds.
His mind as clouded as the rest of the mirror in front of him.
The ringing of a doorbell drags him away from the bubbling anxiety within his heart. One of his friends had suggested to come over for a bit, and he had to admit it was a very welcomed relief. He quickly puts on clothes (a black shirt and a pair of ripped jeans) and runs to the entrance, leaving the bathroom and his thoughts behind him.
(Rem never looked back at the past—but sometimes, the past just finds a way to come back to haunt you.)
What looks back at him as he opens the door is a pair of orange, slightly tired eyes, and the spiky just-as-orange hair that he's so used to see along with them.
"Hi- hope I...didn't make you wait too long," he utters, the hint of a smile lighting up his features.
Something catches his attention, however - something dripping on the floor next to him, and...oh.
Maybe he...kinda forgot to dry his hair.
Nightmares weren't something Rem was a stranger to; they've been haunting his sleep since years now, and he simply learned to live with them. Some days they'd be pushed away to a corner of his skull, and some others they'd be breathing alongside him, running through his veins as naturally as blood.
To be entirely fair, and to no one's surprise really, it sucked.
He usually didn't pay it much mind, letting his mind drift off to greener pastures, his attention grabbed by the wagging of a dog's tail as he crosses the street or the way the clouds in the sky have funny shapes today. But lately, things had been a bit different. The shadows clutching at him were much more persistent, harder-hitting, dragging their claws along the walls of his head like one would scratch a blackboard with their nails. They were digging into parts of his (hazy) memories that he would rather leave alone, and he didn't like the taste it left behind in his mouth.
Bitterness—and mostly, fear.
The things that usually calmed him down found themselves tainted, and now filled him with dread that he did not manage to push aside. Namely, showers were part of these. And it was more than a tad troublesome when he had just gotten out of said shower, and despite the warm water, all it did was give him trouble to breathe and made his hands shake with apprehension. As if his whole body was bracing itself for something; something that he cannot even put words on anyway, something that only comes back in blurred images and faint sounds.
His mind as clouded as the rest of the mirror in front of him.
The ringing of a doorbell drags him away from the bubbling anxiety within his heart. One of his friends had suggested to come over for a bit, and he had to admit it was a very welcomed relief. He quickly puts on clothes (a black shirt and a pair of ripped jeans) and runs to the entrance, leaving the bathroom and his thoughts behind him.
(Rem never looked back at the past—but sometimes, the past just finds a way to come back to haunt you.)
What looks back at him as he opens the door is a pair of orange, slightly tired eyes, and the spiky just-as-orange hair that he's so used to see along with them.
"Hi- hope I...didn't make you wait too long," he utters, the hint of a smile lighting up his features.
Something catches his attention, however - something dripping on the floor next to him, and...oh.
Maybe he...kinda forgot to dry his hair.