he wakes up to his own muffled screams, hand balled into a fist and pressed between his teeth to keep the sounds from escaping. a cold sweat licks his skin like freshly fallen rain. his eyes open and he looks at the locked door of his room, back pressed against the wall where he shoved his bed up against.
still here, still a roof over his head.
slowly, as if his body is one big, condensed bruise, he moves his legs out from under the covers, presses them against the cold wooden floor. the cold sends needles into the bottoms of his feet, shooting throughout his body. he stands up, paces, shakes the crackling energy from his body.
this is a reminder why he tries not to sleep. comfort of a bed lulled him into a false sense of security.
with a shaky breath, he pulls on a pair of sweatpants, ties his sneakers on, and opens his window. he looks down before he moves out of it, climbing down until his feet are pressed against the grassy ground. another shaky breath, a roll of his neck and shoulders, and he begins to run.
to clear his head, to tire himself out, to chase away the nightmares.
he finds himself standing at what looks like a makeshift training ground, logs piled high, turned into training dummies, a sand pit. he rests his hands on his head, elbows toward the sky, and notices that someone’s already there. he watches for a moment before he makes himself known.
“this something people do a lot when they can’t sleep?” he asks,voice just loud enough for the other to hear him.
